#to anyone who hasn’t read the guy upstairs

[diesomedayalone]

(spoilers) reading The Guy Upstairs right after binging Hand Jumper and then seeing This was truly one of the experiences of all time

protagonists who have deeply antagonistic relationships with their murderous older siblings…. are following me………

[sunsh1n3s]

— make it up. ( don hume x reader )

a.n. nurse reader is inspired by bedside manner by snappleapple on ao3. i’m studying to be a nurse and the idea was cute when i read it, so credits to them for sparking my interest :)

contains. fem!reader, swearing, sick fic, also very long i apologize i couldn’t stop writing ideas

“boys, this is your nurse, y/n. she will be here during majority of the practices if you have any pain or anything concerning to your performances. please go to her, she’s kind, she doesn’t bite.” coach ulbrickson spoke, gesturing to y/n who walked forward.

the guys couldn’t help but check her out, the action didn’t go unnoticed. y/n cleared her throat and stood next to bobby. “like you listen to your coaches and bobby, you will listen to me. anything i instruct will be beneficial for your performances and health. trust me with what i have to order, i’ve been doing this for two years now. i’ve been here longer than you guys have on the team and im in medical school, i know i have an idea with what you deal with.” she spoke.

stern, pretty, and kind. it took the guys’ attention, and like every year; they would try and flirt with her.

throughout the ongoing practices and races, y/n was seen beside the coaches. she spoke with them on training and things to heal the team, or work their muscles. she had her own small room alongside the coaches, and the boys always hobbled their way to her. along with the cries of sore arms and sprained muscles, calluses, and headaches; flirting that never touched y/n’s heart followed.

bobby stood in y/n’s office, watching as she wrapped his hand. “has anyone given up on trying to woo you yet?” he asked. the two were bonded due to the years bobby had been there, and her main focus on the varsity boys. “nobody has given up yet- but one hasn’t even dared to try.” y/n informed. bobby and y/n shared a look, “don. he hardly talks, let alone to girls.” bobby teased while y/n snickered.

“they keep asking me if we’re together.” bobby rolled his eyes, making her laugh again. “jealousy over their own cox. i’ve heard that story before.” she joked. letting him go, bobby stopped at the doorway. “i think donny is pretty head over heels though-” “oh get out.”

shaking her head and cleaning up, y/n looked back out the window and saw don walking into the locker room. bobby’s words came to mind, but she couldn’t. it was her team, her patients, she wouldn’t.

for the next months, don didn’t hear the end of it when bobby caught his stroke staring at the nurse. eventually the boys stopped because they noticed their quiet guy head over heels. it was new, and boys will be boys, so they never let don’s crush on her down.

so when it was time to get her for the train to berlin, don was the one to get her.

placing her two suitcases on her bed, y/n packed for the quick and eventful trip; clothes, uniform, accessories, and whatever she needed for schoolwork. her medical boss had packed a bag of necessities, knowing once they signed her as the nurse for the team, she’d be set with whatever else she needed.

y/n wore her uniform to match the guys’ professionalism. though she preferred her comfortable clothes, she wanted to look nice.

a knock at her door stopped her from her packing, “come in.” she spoke softly, turning to the door once it opened. she didn’t expect to see a guy, let alone don hume. it took y/n by surprise that don hume was upstairs, surpassing a strict dormitory director and several girls; just to get to y/n’s room.

“hello don.” she greeted with a soft smile, folding up the last of her clothes and placing them in the suitcase. “hi.” he said, slightly awkward. he stood with his hands behind his back, not knowing where to stand or sit. y/n looked at him again, “go ahead and get comfortable. who’d you fight to get in here?” she questioned. she closed her suitcase and started getting to the other, adjusting the books and case for her writing utensils.

“i didn’t have to fight thankfully. ms stevens is stubborn though. uh- we wanted to share with you- uh a hat. the guys and i- since you’re our nurse.” don said, moving his hands forward to show the hat that matched their uniform. y/n looked at it and smiled at him, “oh that’s so sweet. thank you.” she thanked. he nodded and handed it to her.

“what’s medical school like?” don asked, sitting awkwardly at her vanity chair. y/n smiled, “it’s interesting. i enjoy it. i think because i’ve always wanted to help people. but with now my grades excelling and everything, i get to help you guys. i’ve had to learn a new course to treat you guys. i’m practically a physical therapist alongside being a nurse.” she spoke.

she walked over to her heels and put them on, walking in front of don. “how do i look, mr. hume?” she asked. she turned to grab and put on the hat before posing for him. don was breathless and she smiled softly at him. “beautiful.” he spoke. she beamed, “thank you.” she said, shocked at how much the compliment touched her heart.

there was another knock at the door, both straightened and y/n finished packing. coach ulbrickson walked in, looking at don with slight question but brushing it off. “y/n, you ready?” he asked, checking his watch and looking at her softly. y/n nodded, closing her other suitcase and grabbing her medical bag.

“hume.” coach motioned, don realized and quickly yet gently grabbed her suitcases. she smiled at him and they followed coach out of the girls dormitory.

little cheers from the guys came down the hallway once they noticed don with the suitcases, causing him to go red and for y/n to shake her head.

boarding the train was a hassle, y/n and don rushed in. reporters yelling questions about the two at them, and girls giving glares at y/n. “god i’m just a nurse!” she yelled out the door. y/n turned on the balls of her feet and walked down to a train seat. she placed her bag in one bench and don placed the rest beside it.

y/n turned to him, “thank you don, i owe you.” she said. he shook his head, “nah you don’t-” “i insist. i’ll make it up to you somehow.” she spoke. he couldn’t argue so he nodded and bid his goodbyes. y/n relaxed in her quiet evening as they traveled while he returned to the guys; getting teased for being a gentleman.

he returned later to see her asleep, she was bunched to keep warm. don frowned and retrieved a blanket for her, his blanket. she dealt with eighteen boys daily, and soon nine in a new country. she deserved rest and comfort.

that night, he slept cold while she slept comfortable and warm. he could care less.

berlin, something new for the team. the ten students and coaches followed directions and ignored reporters. questions were shot at the coaches and y/n.

they all were led to their rooms, y/n was farther from them as she was placed closer to the hospital wing. the guys watched as she left with a few nurses and settled into the atmosphere, speaking butchered german and following a doctor.

they all settled and don became exhausted.

the next morning, he felt terrible. he was too tired to go to the introduction. “i’ll get y/n.” tom spoke, letting ulbrickson and george make sure he was alright. the boys parted ways as her heels clicked through the hallway and into the room, wearing navy dress pants and a blouse to match them- she had planned to walk out with team, but her plans now changed.

y/n had her bag and stethoscope and everyone watched as she gently checked his forehead. “no fever. i’ll watch him, you guys go and be with the team.” she spoke. george insisted on staying back, “go george, support your boys.” she spoke softly. he left and y/n turned to don, “hey donny, what’s going on?” she asked.

“just tired.” he spoke, closing his eyes as she touched his face and neck. “anything sore?” she asked. he hummed, “muscles, but not like practice soreness. heavy soreness.” he spoke. y/n nodded, she helped him change and laid him down in bed.

y/n packed her things and was ready to leave. “can you stay?” don asked, she looked at him. his hand reached out for hers, “yeah i can, i’m sure the boys will be back soon.” she said. y/n placed a chair next to his bed and his hand was still stretched out as he dozed off, she held it gently and looked out the window.

the coaches returned and y/n walked out to the hallway to talk with them. “he has a low grade fever. one he can work through if he continues to rest tonight, he said he has muscle soreness but it’s heavy. the fever is hitting his body hard because he works it enough. it’s eating at his existing exhaustion, so i’m just keeping an eye on him. is there any demand for him for the rest of the night?” she informed, leaning against the wall.

the coaches looked at one another, “not until tomorrow. is he contagious?” ulbrickson asked. she shook her head, “he’s not coughing nor sneezing. the boys should be fine, we just keep monitoring him in case he gets worse. i gave him medicine to kill the fever, so he’s okay right now.” she explained.

the next day, don had to compete with the boys to make it to the final race. y/n watched with the coaches, they stood on the boarding dock and she watched as ulbrickson spoke to them. she walked down once he was done, “are you guys feeling okay?” she asked, the eight nodded. her eyes went to the ninth, who sat tired. she walked over, “you got this don. just push through and before you know it you’ll be able to rest. how are you now?” she asked.

he shrugged, “decent.” he answered and she nodded. she shared a concerned look with bobby, bobby gave her a reassuring nod and she got up and returned to tom’s side.

they all prepared to watch the boys race; as hoped they won.

y/n checked on don before leaving to go to the hospital wing. he was decent, but looked tired. his assurances to y/n didn’t fool her. so she beat everyone to it to report his illness.

sure enough, as she spoke to a doctor, the coaches rushed in. they brought don in where he was checked up on by doctors, they prescribed him medicine and couldn’t put a diagnosis to what he was sick with; but gave y/n what she needed. the coaches left with the doctor to move the rest of the boys.

a doctor returned to the room with ulbrickson, “he can stay with me. i’ll watch him and if he’s contagious i can try to get it out of him and send myself home to prevent risking anyone else’s health.” she spoke, resting a hand on don’s shoulder. she knew what she was doing, and the doctor trusted her, so they agreed.

the boys didn’t have any urge to tease don amongst one another, but they knew it’d be something they brought up in the future.

with a bed across from her, y/n helped don into bed while she unpacked his things alongside hers. “thank you.” he spoke, quiet. “no need to thank me, it’s my job.” she said softly, walking to him. “you didn’t have to do this though.” he continued. she smiled softly, “i know.” she answered.

overnight, don got worse. he threw up after practices, y/n found him sat next to the toilet in the middle of the night. she watched as he became pale and thin, and he watched her worries grow.

the night before the big race, he sat on the bathroom floor while she wet a cloth. “y/n you’re gonna get yourself sick.” he spoke, she kneeled down and wiped his forehead with the cold cloth then rested it on the back of his neck. his eyes closed and she retrieved medicine.

“i can leave early if you’re better and i’m sick.” she stated. he looked up at her, the way the light hit her made her look angelic. “we’re lucky to have you.” he spoke, he wanted to say im lucky to have you, but his nerves stopped him. he was afraid she’d stop and leave him there to suffer, only because he admitted he was just as infatuated with her as the rest of the guys were.

she crouched in front of him with medicine and water, “and i’m lucky to have you guys. especially you.” she said, watching him take the prescription. his hands shook in pure nerves as he handed the cups back. “why me?” he asked. “you’re kinder than them, yeah they’re nice and one is my good friend. but you make me feel normal, not some big deal because i’m a nurse to eighteen guys.” she explained.

y/n sat beside him, and he looked at her. “plus you’re cute, and talented.” she added, watching him go red with a bashful smile. “you’re brains and beauty, how lucky am i to have you as my nurse.” he spoke. she blushed now, letting out a soft laugh. don smiled once she did, and he felt better just by that.

“if only you weren’t potentially contagious and throwing up, i’d give you a big kiss.” she admitted. don fought his nerves, “you can make it up to me later.” he said. y/n blushed and bit back a smile, she couldn’t respond and felt like they swapped places. all she could do was intertwine her hand with his. “you have a big day tomorrow, let’s try and rest.” she gently said.

she helped him to bed and rested a cold cloth on his forehead. y/n slept lightly that night while he slept through the night calmly, she was just happy to see him not wake up until morning.

the olympics came and y/n stood with don at the dock. he looked down at her with some nerves, she smiled at him lightly. “push through. i believe in you. america does too.” she added. she kissed his cheek and let him join the guys, he smiled and they all jokingly nudged him.

“thanks for getting our don happy and moving.” bobby thanked her, smiling and winking. y/n waved him off and smiled, “good luck bobby. yell at him if needed.” she said.

the coaches watched with y/n, the race was remarkable. y/n watched bobby spark don back up, and they pushed towards first place. it was a questionable ending.

y/n paced on the dock, waiting for the answer. ulbrickson watched ahead as the man walked to the microphone; everyone went silent as he held up the photo. “america.” he declared. cheers roared through the stadium and the boys cheered. y/n smiled and joined ulbrickson and tom, who watched proudly.

they all watched the boys pass the wreath, which they brought back to her and picked flowers for her as thanks for everything. thanks for taking care of their boy. hugs were shared and don stayed back. “how are you feeling?” she asked him. “like i could spend the rest of my life with you.” he said, boldly. the statement took her aback and she smiled, “i won’t ask you yet, but let me take you out first.” he added.

the boys cheered, knowing he was going to ask her to be with him somehow. y/n blushed, “i’m yours.” she responded. they shared a smile and returned to the team. the boys teased don all their way back to the rooms.

don sat in his bed, exhausted. y/n walked up to him and checked his forehead. “olympic winner.” she smiled, which he returned. “i won when i got to share a room with the brains and beauty we call the team nurse.” he admitted, nicknaming her the brains and beauty.

y/n beamed and couldn’t stop herself, she kissed him softly and he tensed. yet he relaxed at her touch and pulled her close, taking in the moment. she pulled away and he was blushing, smiling, and scared. “i’ll be fine, i had to make it up to you.” she assured.

— j’s note. this was super long, but i’m sure you guys don’t mind. i hope you enjoyed, and i hope to write another sometime soon! i’m busy with school and some mental stuff, but once i get ideas i’ll write you guys more.

[radiant-reid]

300

him in cult episodes >>>>

Summary: Reader recalls something Spencer told her months ago when he’s taken hostage by a cult (based on 14x01)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst/fluff)

Content Warning: mentions of most of spencer’s trauma

Word Count: 3.4k

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Everything’s a mess.

Y/n’s used to the BAU lifestyle, and today is not the first day a team member has been abducted. It’s not even the first time that it’s been Spencer’s life in danger. Last time it was a three-month-long nightmare that seemed never ending during his time in prison.

It was different now. After what he said, everything between them changed.

She’s not expecting anyone when Spencer slides open the door to the balcony, and she whips her head around to see him.

It’s late in the evening, and she’s escaped the ground floor of Rossi’s mansion, where everyone’s partying, to a quieter balcony upstairs. Cicadas chirp in the spring night air, and there’s a faint beat of the bass of the music from downstairs. Rossi lives far enough outside of DC that the stars are bright, shimmering in the dark sky.

The balcony has a comfortable outdoor couch and armchair, perfect for sitting there and tuning out the world. She needs to do that. Spencer, her fellow BAU team member and friend, has been out of prison for a month, but the stress hasn’t dissipated completely. If she thinks about it hard enough, she’s back sitting at the round table while Penelope reads over an arrest report from Mexico, feeling completely helpless.

“There she is.” He greets her with a kind smile.

His smiling is something she seriously missed when he was away. “Hey.” She replies.

He holds out her jacket that she’d left downstairs, helping put it on her shoulders. “I thought you might be cold up here.” He explains the thoughtful gesture. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, not at all.” She shakes her head, nodding to the armchair she’s not occupying. “Sit, please.”

He accepts her offer eagerly. Then he follows her eyes out over Rossi’s perfectly maintained yard to the sky. “Wow.” He comments.

She hums at his tone. “I know.” She agrees. “Has everyone else gone home?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, but they’re onto karaoke.” He informs her, laughing before his following statement. “Very alarming sounds.”

She chuckles slightly. He wouldn’t believe it, but he’s funny. She appreciates their time together more now, having gone without it for three long months.

“They’re missing out on your singing.” She jokes, smirking at him.

It’s mostly in reference to karaoke at The Benjamin all those years ago, where they sang all night long. It seems like a long time ago, and so much has changed, but despite what he’s been through, Spencer’s glow never diminished. He’s still the guy who somehow knew how to deliver a baby when he needed to.

“They don’t need to hear that.” He assures her, chuckling. “Again.”

“I thought it was great.” She admits or teases: she’s not sure which. “A highlight was Bohemian Rapsody.”

He cringes, shaking his head at the foggy memory. “I was hoping by then you’d had enough to drink.”

“Oh, I had.” She assures him, earning a confused look from the genius before she reminds him of something he had happily forgotten. “Hotch videoed that whole night.”

Spencer does something he rarely does then, sharing the feelings in his big brain. “I miss him.”

Y/n does too. She’d never missed someone more than she missed Hotch when Spencer was in prison, knowing that his skills as a prosecutor would have been insanely helpful.

“Me too. I’m happy he’s spending time with Jack, though.” She reminds them why it had been his time to go. “The kid deserves it.”

Spencer agrees, but he doesn’t feel the need to say anything, so they sit there in silence. It’s the most peace he’s felt in a long time.

“Y/n?” He asks, briefly getting her attention when she turns to look at him.

“Mm?” She replies, prompting him to continue.

It’s now or never. He draws in a deep breath, preparing for what he needs to say. There’s been so much weight on his shoulders for the last month, and this confession will lift some of it off. One thing he’s learned since prison is that he needs to say what he feels before it’s too late.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He admits, voice wavering slightly. “I think I was always meant to be in love with you.

There’s a beat of silence. And then another. One more.

She’s taking the information in at a slow processing speed, and the words don’t reach her mouth.

He takes it as his answer. He didn’t tell her expecting anything, like her to love him back, just to feel lighter, which works. “I just- I need you to know that.”

She should kiss him. It’s the right thing to do. Not right as in socially acceptable, but right for herself. In her heart, she’s meant to be with him and now is the perfect opportunity. A literal confession spoken to her. There’s no room to worry about him not returning her feelings and their friendship souring. He’s in love with her, and she can’t reply.

More silence, and he decides that it’s getting awkward. He spirals about making her uncomfortable, so he stands up, walking back to the door. “Good night, Y/n.”

She wills her legs to work, to run after him and catch him on the stairs, eagerly jump into his arms and kiss him like she’s wanted to do since she met him in front of Rossi’s expensive artwork. 

She doesn’t.

It’s what she’s thinking about on the jet. Maybe it’s selfish when everyone else goes over where the cult could have taken him, but she’s replaying that evening. How his hand felt when he grazed her bare shoulder, the sound of his shoes as he shuffled away, and how sweet the air tasted that night compared to the bitter resentment she tasted after she didn’t follow him.

“He told you the truth, huh?” JJ asks, sliding into the seat across from her before she even notices someone’s focus on her.

“You know?” Y/n asks in reply, slightly shocked. Sure, they’re best friends, but she didn’t expect Spencer to be spilling his romantic feelings about a colleague to JJ.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know for so long.” She remarks, met with a confused look from her friend. In her mind, Y/n had assumed Spencer had been in love with her for a few months, maximum. “He’s been in love with you for years.”

Her heart sinks in her chest. Is it wrong for her to feel warm? Knowing Spencer’s out there alone- hurt, from what Penelope said- it seems inappropriate. “He has?” She repeats. 

“Since he met you.” She answers before amending her speech. “Maybe a week or two after.”

So about as long as she had loved him. And she might never get to tell him. 

She can’t help but think about how she might stand over his casket and cry next week, wishing she had told him that night, back when everything was perfect.

JJ sees the panic, how her face goes pale, and she reaches out to touch her friend’s arm. “He’ll be okay.” She promises. She has to have that faith, too, if she’s going to be able to function.

Y/n nods, willing herself to keep it together. “I know. Let’s get him back.”

She must have spent most of the flight before JJ came to sit with her in shock because soon the plane’s landing, and they’re in SUVs driving to the cult’s compound.

Her heart races in her chest, pulse thumping once they arrive, and Emily initiates the infiltration plan. They’ve got to be quick and quiet, knowing the cult will claim Spencer as their 300th victim without being talked down. To them, his being there is a decade in the making. It’s spiritual, and there’s no way they’ll let him go. 

He’s completely tied up onto a structure, standing upright, when she gets a peek at him, his hands strapped by his side, legs tied, and a band wrapped around his head to keep his head in place. It’s very sacrificial with The Messiah and Agent Meadows standing around him. 

He’s bruising, too, red marks around his face that will develop into a deep purple. She can’t see into his mind, but she wonders if he’s formulating an escape plan because he looks like he’s accepted it, conceded defeat, and come to terms with dying. Even from far away, his eyes are watery and his breathing steady, like he’s finally admitted to himself that they’re not coming to save him. 

It’s easily the most terrifying expression she’s seen on anyone’s face. It’s bone-chilling.

They move in quickly, knowing he has seconds, not minutes. Y/n dashes to Spencer with JJ, the cult members around her getting shot or arrested being blocked out of her mind. 

His face softens when he sees her, fingers flexing as she and JJ untie his restraints. When his hands are free, he falls forward onto her, clutching her tightly, one arm over her shoulder, one under. 

It’s the tightest she’s ever been hugged, his grip making her feel like she’s his lifeline and he’s coming back to life. He pants out a breath like he hasn’t breathed since he was tied up. His hands spread out on her back, he buries his chin in her neck, and they rock side to side. 

“Y/n.” Spencer whispers, closing his eyes and focusing on holding her. “You came.”

“Of course.” She replies. “Always. You good?”

“Can I have another minute?” He asks, practically begs. Even if she’s not his, he needs to hold her for a bit longer before he can’t ever again.

She squeezes him tighter, assuring him it’s okay. “Always.” She repeats. 

It feels like it’s just the two of them, despite the chaos behind her. She takes in his cologne and how right it feels to be comforting him. Her feelings for him are much more straightforward in her head than they were that night at Rossi’s. 

His breathing calms down, so it’s not erratic hyperventilating, and he loosens his grip around her, more than ready to get out of there now that he feels alive and whole again. 

She loses him after that, keeping some distance while he hugs everyone else and thanks them in true Spencer fashion. There isn’t an opportunity to talk to him when they’re on the jet home since Emily is. She just sits and watches him, reminding herself that he’s okay.

She can’t stop thinking about his expression from the cult compound when she saw him, how unafraid he looked despite knowing he was about to get sacrificed. Maybe he knew they were there, like something deep inside him told him he’d be okay, but he looked prepared to die.

There are more hugs when they get back to Quantico, Penelope practically unwilling to let him go or out of her sight. The case has to end, and exhaustion falls over them when the adrenaline wears off, despite a new day dawning. 

That night, she runs after him like she should have done at Rossi’s, barely making it to the elevator before the doors shut. 

He looks surprised to see her. “I thought you went home.” He says.

She couldn’t. She’s not sure she’ll be able to leave him in the BAU ever again. “I didn’t.” She reports then immediately feeling like an idiot because that much was obvious.

“Why?” He asks caringly. 

“You were still here.” She admits honestly, looking up at his gentle brown eyes. They’re always more golden in the morning.

“I just had to do a psychological counseling thing.” He explains.

Her eyebrows furrow, confused about why someone would make him do that only hours after he was saved. “This soon?” 

He nods. “Damaged goods.” He says, like it’s his label. And he fully believes it. 

“You’re not.” She firmly tells him, mostly angry the FBI would subject him to something invasive so early.

“Y/n.” He says in a tone that sounds like he’s begging her not to sympathize with him falsely. 

Y/n shakes her head, eyeing him with fiery irises as she dares him to continue speaking negatively of himself. “You saved yourself, Spencer.” She informs him sincerely. “Are you hungry?” She asks.

The change of topic disorients him, but it seems a better conversation than arguing over how much of a mess he is. “Starving.” He answers. He didn’t have much time to think about it, with being abducted by a cult, but he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, if you can call a packet of chips lunch.

“Do you want to get breakfast?” She offers before quickly retracting any implications her suggestion could have. “Unless you just need some time alone or don’t want to hang out with him. I won’t be offended.” She wants to tell him, needs to confess what she should have before, but he’s in such an emotional state that she would hate to take advantage of that.

She couldn’t get further from the truth. Spending time with her, specifically, has always made things easier. “I’d really like that.” He admits, sending her a soft smile. 

They barely speak on the drive into DC. There’s a lot of tension in the air, words left unspoken, but Spencer needs time to look at her. He’s at a point where he knows nothing will happen between them, but there’s still a life he imagines when he needs a quick spike of dopamine. She, and an imagined future between them, is his drug of choice now.

He orders pancakes, copying her, rather than getting his usual meal of eggs, bacon, and toast. He ditches coffee in favor of juice, knowing he’s going home to sleep after breakfast when the rest of the adrenaline wears off. 

No deep conversation gets brought up at breakfast, either. Instead, there’s laughter, and every time she looks up at him, Spencer smiles. 

He’s used to going home alone after any trauma in his life. Even after prison and Mr. Scratch, he returned to an empty apartment. After he was abducted by Tobias Hankel, when he got out of the hospital after getting poisoned by anthrax, and even after he got shot in the neck in Texas after Alex dropped him at home, he was by himself.

It’s better with someone else -he decides while they’re sitting there- because he can not think about it in favor of thinking about her.

He eats like he’s been without food for a week, even getting a refill of juice, although everything he’s been through would make anyone hungry.

And he pays, despite her telling him she would, so she drives him home through the traffic-less streets, thanks to everyone being at work.

He hesitates before he gets out of the car once they arrive at his apartment. “Do you want to come up?” 

She accepts, following him up the stairs. It’s a good time to do it, now that they’re alone and in private. 

His apartment is lighter than when she saw it when she went with Penelope once to water his plants while he was in prison. It’s neater with the curtains open, and he might have added even more books to the impressive collection she previously noticed.

Unsure of how long she’s staying, Y/n takes off her shoes on instinct. Spencer’s not sure why he invited her up other than wanting to spend more time with her, so he’s not sure what to do now that she’s there. 

She speaks before he can offer her water. “Were you scared?” She asks before realizing the insensitivity of her question. She doesn’t want to sound like a shitty Bureau psychologist, just his friend, haunted by a snapshot in her mind of his expression. “I just mean... we were, and Penelope was when she came. JJ was because you’re her best friend. You weren’t even shaking. Sorry I didn’t-”

Spencer cuts her off before she can spiral. “I wasn’t. Not when Penelope was safe.” 

“Why not?” She asks. It makes sense, his wanting to protect Penelope, but she can’t understand why he wasn’t scared when he was moments away from death. She’s thought about it enough without coming up with an answer for it to be necessary to ask. 

“Because, Y/n, what I told you that night at Rossi’s.” Her breathing hitches at the mention of the best, or maybe one of the worst, nights of her life. “If that’s the last proper, non-case-related discussion we have, I’m okay with that. I couldn’t die without you knowing I love you.”

She shakes her head, eyes tearing up at the confirmation of his acceptance of dying. “There’s more for you than that.” She says, hoping he knows it. 

He does. 

He’s got three perfect godsons, he’d love to go back to Paris, he’s always wanted a family, a wife and a big house, there are still books he hasn’t read, there are still sequels being written, there are classes yet to teach and profilers yet to train, there are chess games to win and to lose, and old friends left to see. 

They both know his life isn’t close to be finished. 

“You knowing is what mattered.” He repeats. “Right from when I realized I wasn’t going to get out by myself, I knew it would be okay since you knew.”

“It wouldn’t be okay!” She says a little too loudly, close to crying. “You can’t be okay with that.”

There’s more in her head, and he’s reluctant to push her to find out, but he does. “Why?”

She sighs, feeling small standing there in front of him. “Because if you died, I couldn’t have told you I love you.” She reveals one of her deepest fears that she hadn’t realized until recently. 

“Oh,” Spencer says, jaw going slack. He’s rarely speechless. “Recently or...” It’s the only thing he can think to do: establish a timeline.

“For a long time.” She admits. “I just- I froze that night. I couldn’t say it, but I felt it.” 

He senses the apology that’s about to spill and shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He believes it when he says it and walks closer to hold her hands in front of her. She’s surprised by the contact, but it’s nice, even if his hands are slightly cold.

For a moment, they just stand there, and she admires his gorgeous cheekbones and those honey-colored eyes that make her weak when he looks at her so intensely.

He doesn’t rush his next move. Slowly, he drops her hands and cups her cheeks, smiling softly. Then he leans forward, giving her what she’s been waiting for for a long time. His lips are soft on hers like he’s testing the waters, giving her a chance to pull away before pouring passion into it. She matches his pressure while basking in the glow of kissing Spencer Reid. Spencer Reid, who loves her. 

They share a matching fond look when they pull back. 

Then he’s laughing, and it’s the cutest thing in the world, along with being confusing. The slight, amused frown on her face causes him to explain. “You love me, and I love you.” He says like he can’t believe it. “Wow.”

She knows that reaction from when she had it at Rossi’s, and he looks adorable experiencing it, grinning so hard his face might split. For a long time, he’s wanted to be loved by someone romantically, and now he is. After everything he’s been through, Spencer thought it wouldn’t happen, and for the first time in his life, he’s glad to be wrong.

“What are you doing today?” He asks when he’s collected himself.

“Well, I was going to go home and sleep.” She answers, wondering what he’s going to suggest they do while knowing she could be persuaded into almost anything by him.  

“Sleep here.” He says quickly. “Not like that.” A blush fills his cheeks. “If you want. Then we could go to dinner, lunch, a movie theatre, or the park, wherever you want.” 

She’s nodding before he finishes. He could ask her out on a date to watch paint drying in his spare bedroom, and she would eagerly accept. “Yes.”

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[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Okay I’ve been toying with an idea for a Six of Crows au post-Crooked Kingdom where Van Eck won for a little while now and yeah idk but I had a scene idea come to me just now so I’m gonna write it here to see what you guys think and if there’s any interest then I might add it to my list of fics to write

This feels like a weird introduction but, er, here we go:

Inej knew the moment Kaz got home. There were no longer any crowds in the house to come to attention at his entrance, or if there were then no-one had bothered to come down to the half-room and tell Inej, but she could hear his voice drifting through the vents as soon as the door upstairs banged shut behind him.

“Where’s Inej?”

“Where do you think?” Matthias’ reply came roughly, and Inej could all but picture the disapproving grimace that must be crossing his face about now.

Let him judge. She didn’t need to leave the half-room, and for as long as that was true she wouldn’t. The vents did not give her every room though, and she did miss gathering her secrets. She wondered if there was anyone else in the house, but the five of them. Five? She stopped and counted them on her fingers. Yes, five. Hopefully still five. Inej had not bothered to leave the half-room in days, and no-one had been down to see her since yesterday morning.

She heard the door click open behind her, of course, but she did not bother to look up as Dirtyhands entered the room.

“Wraith,”

“Don’t you read the papers, Kaz?” Inej asked, without turning, “The Wraith is dead,”

She stood up, hand wandering across the table for her little pot of jurda. It tasted like shit and it wasn’t nearly as strong as she wanted it to be, but it took less than a month for the price of the blossoms to surpass the height of the stars so she’d have to make do with whatever they had left.

“Inej-”

“They found her body on the steps outside the Church of Barter almost three months ago, remember?” she finally turned to face Kaz, unscrewing the lid on the little silver pot as she did so, “Killed by some mercenary called the White Blade, who still hasn’t been found by they way in case you haven’t seen the latest. I guess it’s difficult to catch a ghost,”

Difficult to catch a wraith.

“We’ve had this conversation several times, Inej-”

“And we’re going to have it again,”

Inej placed an orange jurda blossom on her tongue, then offered the open container to Kaz. It was almost empty. He waved her off.

“I thought you didn’t go in for that sort of thing,”

Inej shrugged.

“Gotta stay awake somehow, haven’t I? We’re busy,”

“We’re not on a job”

“We’re never on a job. Unless the reason you’ve bothered to grace me with your presence is a proposition?”

Kaz shook his head.

“I just wanted to tell you there’s no news,”

Inej looked away. There was never any news. And yet somehow she always expected differently.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Probably,”

Inej caught another jurda blossom between her fingers. She needed to stay awake, because if she slept she would see him. She would see all the ways she’d failed.

“It wasn’t your fault, Inej, we’re having the same conversations on repeat can’t you see-,”

“And we’ll have them again,” she shrugged, “We will have this conversation again, Kaz, because I made a mistake and you are coddling me like a child who won’t be able cope if you tell them something was their fault. Tell me it was my fault, Kaz! We both know that it’s true,”

Kaz shook his head.

“I’d rather repeat the previous,”

“Then let’s,” snapped Inej, because hell if this jurda wasn’t strong enough to keep her awake then maybe an argument would be, “Let’s repeat the goddamn conversation, Kaz, because you’re right. We have the same two conversations on repeat and do you want to know why? Because I am owning up to the mistake I made and I am trying to deal with the consequences of it, but you had no right to do what you did, do you understand me? You messed up and you need to take some damn responsibility, because if you think-”

“You always knew Tailoring Dunyasha’s body to look like yours was a possibility for your escape option,” said Kaz, calmly.

She hated how quiet his voice was, how slow and deliberate he sounded next to the and ramblings that she could not stop from stumbling out of her.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she hissed, slamming her jurda back down on the table.

“I couldn’t have done anything to stop that,”

“You could have tried,”

“Inej-”

“Shevrati,”

Know-nothing.

She waved a hand vaguely at the door.

“Get out,”

Kaz turned to leave, then paused.

“I am sorry, Inej. They’d like to see you upstairs, you know. Nina misses you,”

“Nina can come down here then,”

“Inej… I can’t do anything for you but apologise,”

“Keep you apologies,” she snarled, and when the door had closed behind him added: “Choke on them,”

Kaz could apologise all he wanted. She would not forgive him. What right did he have to expect anything different from her than this? Did any of them? Kaz had not had to watch his parents cry, as they carried home the body of a child that wasn’t theirs. Kaz had not had to feel the ironclad grip of the person he thought he’d trusted most in the world as they held him back and told him to swallow his sobs and keep quiet. Kaz had not given up and gone limp in their arms, a mess of tears and useless prayers, as he saw his parents slip from his grasp once again and knew that he would not have the chance to tell them truth.

Kaz had also not failed the others, and did not have to feel the truth of that choking him every time he saw them. Kaz had not spent almost three months barely daring to venture out of the half room, just so he would never have to lock eyes with Jesper Fahey. There was a scream inside Inej that had been slowly building itself since the day of the auction, and if she did not find a way to release it soon it may very well eat her alive.

[therosebunpost]

~Regret~

Steve Harrington x Disabled!Disfigured!Fem!Reader

Steve has a lot of regrets involving who he was back in High-School. Including the way he left things with you. Will a last ditch decision to see you before he saves the world be enough to salvage the broken pieces?

Warnings: Descriptions of Steve’s injuries and pain, blood, general angst. Reader is inclusive as possible, but is written to have a facial difference/is disfigured. (Picture used is not intended to be Reader’s literal features, but instead the hiding of her face as a metaphor.)

Beta read by my two buddies @marigoldsandbuttercups and @paladinshenanigan-blog thank you so much guys!! <3

—…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…—

You hear a knock on the front door. It’s 10pm, and you can’t sleep. You were stuck in front of the radio, listening to the local news broadcasting the death of another Hawkin’s High Student.

You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. Eddie, sweet, dorky Eddie Munson murdered three people? It just didn’t make sense. Sure, you weren’t incredibly close to the man, but he was one of the people who accepted you. You knew that whole Cult thing was bullshit, you knew he didn’t fight unless he had too, so it just…didn’t make sense.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Hold up in your home with your parents asleep upstairs, you were left worrying but safe.

Right?

Another knock on the door. You aren’t expecting anyone, but in the end you go to it. You lean up to peer through the hole in the door, which results in the shock of your life as you fling the door open.

“Steve?! What are you doing doing here? The curfew! Oh my god what happened to you-“

-

Steve wasn’t surprised by your lack of enthusiasm. Even if it made his chest ache. He smiles regardless, fingers running through his hair. “Hey, I-“ But before he can speak, he feels your hand take his and pull him inside.

“Hey? You come here unannounced, bleeding and you just say hey?” You hiss at him, brows furrowed in anger as you tug him into the kitchen. You make him sit, only pausing at his groan of pain. For a moment your face softens, worry filling your eyes.

“Let me grab some supplies. Stay, okay?”

You rush out the door before he can say anything, his hands carding through his hair. Doing this now was a bad idea. They didn’t exactly have time for this, but it was literally now or never.

You come back with a large box of different supplies. Steve watches as you root through it, his eyes shifting over the familiar items. Things he hasn’t seen for a while but he remembers.

“I thought…when you got it out, you were gonna burn this stuff?” He asks without really thinking, reaching out to pick up a Trach tie that’s still in its package.

-

Gazing up at him, a wash of surprise falls over your body. “I just…never got around to it. Plus, I guess…I was a little more sentimental than I realized.” Picking up a tracheostomy tube, you let your finger brush over the package before dropping it and shoving the box aside. “What..what the hell happened Steve?”

“New Report coming in from the local police. Eddie Munson has still not been found. Towns folk are strongly encouraged to remain inside until the suspect has been found and apprehended.”

You flick your eyes up from the gauze in your hands, then over to Steve.

“It’s not him.”

“What?”

“Eddie, he didn’t- He’s not responsible for this, or the killings. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

You blink owlishly at him before looking down and slowly pulling his dressings from his wound. It wasn’t gauze you realize, but instead a piece of sweater. You have to keep yourself from throwing up at the absolute horror underneath. His stomach was torn and clawed at. Dried blood caked his tan skin, making things look ghastly under the kitchen lights.

“Steve, you need to go to the hospital, this, I can’t treat this-“

“I didn’t ask you-“ He stops himself, softly murmuring your name before reaching out to grab a clean gauze roll, “I just want to talk. Please, I don’t have a lot of time here.” He sits up with a wince, swallowing down the pain to start wrapping the wound, but stops when you grab at his wrist.

“You can’t either! You need to disinfect it man, here.” You wave his hands away in favor of taking over, soon pressing a alcohol soaked cloth against it. You kneel down in order to reach the wounds better. His breath hitches, hand coming out to grab your bicep as his eyes squeeze shut. He mumbled your name, almost pleading. You finally pause, swallowing thickly.

“Talk to me Steve, just focus on that, okay?” You shift your voice into something softer. You place a hand on top of his, squeezing his fingers until he finally eases up so that you can clean him.

-

It hurts. It hurts so much, but Steve couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He grips the dining room table until his knuckles turn white, head tipping back in pain as the alcoholic rag brushes against his skin.

“I….it’s a lot to explain. I don’t understand half of it myself, but I knew…I knew I had to see you. I had to talk to you before-shit-shit went down.” He blinks away tears, shuddering as rolls of pain wash over his already exhausted body. “There’s…something wrong with this place, this town.”

“Tell me about it.”

He chuckles a little at the quip, but it makes him wince all over again. “Right? Shocker. But no, there’s…there’s something out there. Murdering people, and Eddie’s just caught in the crossfire.”

He can see the way your face is twisting in confusion. He can barely believe it so it’s no wonder you’re struggling. He shifts a bit, trying his best to stop himself from shying away from the rag. “And, well, we’re going to stop it. I’m going to stop it.”

That gets you to look at him, and Steve wonders how he’s gone so long without seeing your face. How he managed to keep himself from seeking out your eyes or hearing your voice.

-

Steve’s eyes were clear, though scrunched with pain. He was speaking clearly through clenched teeth, and he seemed completely sober. Which only confused you further. “Steve, you…you need to let the police handle this. I’m glad that you think it’s not Eddie, I don’t either, but you can’t go vigilanting around the place. You aren’t fucking Spiderman.”

The two of you pause at your words, your cheeks flushed pink. You pull away, dropping the bloodied rag in the sink before grabbing the gauze to staunch the blood that was quickly seeping from the claw marks. Claw marks?

“I still have the costume, so..” Steve shoots back, his head clearing as the pain dulls for a bit. His head leaning to the side as he watches you slowly dress the wound. “Just don’t go getting scooped up by any big gorillas, okay miss Ann Darrow? I finally watched King Kong and one huge monster is more than I can handle.”

Despite yourself, you do snort a little. Securing the gauze with tape, you stare at him for a moment. “So, what, you’re just going to go out and hunt a serial killer?”

“…Something like that.”

“Steve, that’s insane. Why? How? And why, why tell me this?”

“Because I’m sorry.”

-

Steve bit his lip, the breath leaving his nose in a rush as he let the words hang in the air. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m so fucking sorry, and I should have said that to you. I wanted to for so long, but…I'm such a coward.”

He leans forward despite the pain, hands reaching out to hold your own. “I never should have just let Tommy and Carol say that shit about you. I shouldn’t have pretended that I never went to the camp. Those summers were some of the best years of my life.”

You’re stunned still, hands limp in his. “Steve, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scared too, honey.”

He smiles, but it’s only half hearted. “Terrified, in fact. You’d think getting attacked by a…demo…bat would be scarier than this but no.”

-

You don’t even try, and understand what that means. Just the things that do, like Steve apologizing.

“Because…being your friend was the best thing that happened to me, the best thing and I fucked that up.”

There’s an ache in your heart at those words. A dual attack of happiness and dread. Shifting on your knees, you look away from Steve’s sweet brown eyes. Your feelings are mixing and shifting, but that anger remains. That bitterness. “You did.” It hurt to say, but it was the truth. Still, you let your shoulders sag the fight leaves as soon as it came.

“I know you probably don’t forgive me.” Steve admits, shoulders sagging as he looks off in the distance. “I hurt you. I hurt so many people. I’m trying to be better, but…I don’t expect you to forgive me. I was an asshole.”

Sitting back on your legs, you tug the box close and drop the gauze in. Your hand carding through the multitudes of medical supplies. A reminder of everything you’ve gone through. Everything Steve’s been with you for.

He gently lays the trach tie back in the box, head leaning in his palm as he sits there and breathes. He’s clammy, and flushed. Dark circles under his eyes that speak of stress. Just what happened to that boy you knew?

“Those summers were my favorite too.” You admit, slowly looking up at him. “…You really kept your costume?” You can’t help but smile at the memory. Your craniofacial camp often had costume nights. “I still can’t believe you went with Spiderman. It was a jungle theme, Steve.”

Steve grins, all boyish and confident. “Spiders are in the jungle. Besides, he’s your favorite right? I knew you’d get a kick out of it. The other counselors did too.” There’s a moment where what he said doesn’t catch-up with him right away. You only know it does because his cheeks have a little more color in them now. You have to admit, your own were pretty warm too.

“You….wore that for me? Really? But, why? You had been avoiding me all week. It was our last year there, and you made it pretty obvious that you were glad about it. Then you ditched the party halfway just to go spend time with Tommy and Carol.”

You didn’t want to question it, but Steve seemed to have a way of toying with your heart. He distanced himself from you, only to admit he went as your favorite superhero? It was like he enjoyed seeing how far he could string you along before dropping the line. All the while expecting you to sit, and wait for him to acknowledge you. That wasn’t always the case, but highschool had changed him.

“I did, I did do it for you.” Steve admits, the truth pouring out of him now that he was on a roll. “It was stupid, I was stupid.” His leg bounced in his chair as he looked down at the tiles. Blood droplets stark against the white. “When I heard there was a party, a big party, I knew it’d be weird if I wasn’t there. So, I just snuck out. I didn’t tell anyone because-“

“You didn’t want people to know you were a camp counselor for a bunch of disabled kids?”

He winces, this time not from his injuries. “That sounds awful out loud.”

You hum in agreement, but it’s not unkind. Just facts.

“Before I knew about the party, I got the costume.” He admits, sighing deeply. “I got it, knowing it was our last year and I wanted to surprise you, you know? I had every intention, but…I fucked it up.”

He finally rises from the chair, his hand resting on the table in an effort to keep himself upright. “You don’t have to forgive me. I’m not kidding about that.” He sways, and you’re quick to hop up and hold him upright.

He’s solid against your body. Grown up and responsible, but maybe still that sweet boy you used to know when you were younger. The kid that sat with you when you couldn’t swim in the lake due to your breathing tube. The one who made an effort to understand the kids around him who were so much different then him. The one boy you would have given your heart to in a second if he asked, even now.

“Honey, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

He was not fine, and that freaked you out. “Steve please, you need a hospital. I can take you there-“

“You need to stay inside okay? Please, I can’t let him find you. Fuck, wait, where’s your Walkman?”

Before you can even say anything he’s breaking away from you and hurrying up the steps. You follow, cursing him and the fact that you can’t yell at him right now.

He’s standing in your room, a sight you never would have expected. You two mainly interacted at camp, given you had to drive a while to even get there. The fact that Steve even made the drive in his condition baffled you.

He’s fiddling through your cassettes, an invasion of privacy you’d usually berate anyone else for.

-

“Steve, please! You’re really freaking me out.”

The words barely registered in his mind as he searched for the cassette. It had to be here, right? Unless.. He turns, startling you. The way you back away from him hurts, but he can’t focus on that right now. He says your name, all smooth and calm as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Where’s your Walkman?”

Another expression twist. Irritation scrunches up your features, and if this was any other time he would have said it was cute. Maybe give into these feelings and cup your face in his hands in an effort to sooth away those worried lines.

Instead he watches as you march over to your dresser and pluck the set up from its place. You shove it at him, mouth opening to throw another question his way but he beats you to it.

“I want you to keep this with you. Okay?” He opens the player, plucking the familiar cassette from its spot. “Music stops him from getting you, so keep this playing. You got extra batteries? I got some in the car-“

“Steve, stop it!”

You explode, only to stop as you look over to where your parents bedroom was. There’s an audible thump, and then rush of feet as your mother heads for the door. She calls your name, sleepy voice tinged with panic. “What’s wrong? Sweetheart??”

Steve sees the way you eye him, and he knows that he can’t get caught by your parents like this. Injured, spouting out nonsense about killers and music while inside their daughter’s bedroom. He musters up his best pleading look, the same one that’s gotten him out of trouble before. He knows your frustrated, but he’s losing time as it was.

It works, though Steve can guess that you wish it wouldn’t. “Just…just a nightmare mom! I’m fine, okay?”

“I knew letting you stay up to listen to that radio was a bad idea. I’m sure Steve is going to be just fine, okay?”

You tense, eyes wide. You can’t look at him, instead staring at your feet like they were the most fascinating thing ever. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, he’s probably…just fine.”

Your mom soon shuffles back to her room, leaving the two of you to stand there in silence. It’s heavy, but Steve can’t help but smile. “You were staying up to make sure I was okay?”

“Well, yes! When I heard people from Hawkins High were getting killed, I had to make sure it wasn’t you.” You finally meet his gaze, the anger melting away into something softer. “So, you can’t do this. I can’t let you.”

Steve swallows, slowly stepping close to hold your hand again. He puts the cassette back in, breathing in deeply. “I have to, honey. They need me.”

“But what if I need you too, huh? What if I already forgave you long ago, and you being here has been all I ever wanted?” You grab at the vest adorning his chest, not even realizing that it wasn’t his. “I don’t understand half of what you're saying, and I don’t care. Whatever it is you think you need to do, you don’t. I promise you don’t.”

Admittedly, there’s a moment where Steve considers it. A guilty, selfish part of him that wants to just tuck away here for the rest of the night. Forget the monsters that lurk in the shadow in the safety of your arms. He’s dreamed about this, actually. Dreamed about standing in front of your doorway, professing his love and saying he was sorry. In his dreams, you always pull him inside where he ends up in your bed, making up for lost time.

As much as he wanted to recreate that dream, he couldn't. Instead he pulls you into a tight hug. His fingers weave through your hair as he just holds you. “I’ll be okay.” Steve whispers, barely believing it himself but knowing it’s what he needed to say. “I’ll come back. I’ll come back, and we’ll catch up. We’ll go build that bonfire and burn things together, yeah? I got a few things I’d like to get rid of too.”

-

He pulls back to smile at you, palm gently cupping your face on your affected side. His thumb ghosting along the surgical scars. His calloused touch feather light on your skin. “But I have to go. I do. One day I’ll tell you why, but for now..” He brings the headphones over your head and onto your ear. He clicks play, forehead resting against yours as the notes of your favorite song ring in your mind. He sways with you there for a moment, humming along to the tune before pulling away.

You watch him leave, him saying one last thing to you, but the music drowns him out. Not that it mattered, as you could read his lips just fine.

I’ll be back. Don’t stop me.

“Steve!”

You rush after him, wobbling down the stairs due to your poor balance. He’s already out the door, but he turns to you. Strained, and torn. His eyes pleading with you to listen, but you need to do this.

You crash into him, cutting off his mumbled curse by holding his face in your hands. Your fingers curling through chestnut hair, and caressing tan skin. There are no words as you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. Your first, and possibly your last. He responds almost instantly, strong arms curling around your body as the music keeps playing in your head.

“Come back.” You mumble against his lips, wishing you could tug him back inside. “Please. Just come back.”

“I will.” You feel him respond against your lips, breath mixing with yours. “I will.”

——

Hawkins was on fire. Split in four, you watch as the cars speed away from the old town. Living a ways away from the town, you only got a fraction of the damage.

Eddie was cleared, thankfully. You heard through the grapevine that he was in the hospital, recovering from an ‘animal attack.’ You couldn’t forget Steve’s injuries when you heard that. The clawed, torn skin on his stomach and around his throat.

Steve left with your heart in his hands that night. Whatever it was, whatever thing that was killing people, you prayed Steve killed it. You prayed that Eddie’s innocence proved that he’s won.

You hear a knock on the front door. It’s 10 am, and you were stuck in front of the radio. Listening to the local broadcast report on the Hawkins earthquakes and its casualties.

Another knock on the door. You were expecting someone, so you quickly rush to the front door. You fling it open, nearly in tears at the man standing before you. All sweet smiles and scruffed up appearance.

“Hey Honey, I got some firewood. Think you’re up for that bonfire?”

[tinycoded360]

As per a post you reblogged a bit ago, I would love to learn more about the “lore” of your borrowers story, if you feel like sharing. Can we learn more about Sterling, or how there came to be multiple settlements in the house? Thanks!

Perfect! I got really excited when I saw this! 😍

I'd be more than happy to share! Now, I do kind of add to this as I write, lol.

But funny enough, I almost made it, so there were more borrower families in his house, like the upstairs and the borrowers in the attic. Buuut, I felt like that was too many characters to keep track of to start. It might still happen in the future, but not right now.

So, moving on.....

For our main big guy:

Sterling Silversmith is a 35-year-old. He is six feet tall.  He is a kind and gentle man who enjoys reading and spending time at home. He’s a bit of a homebody and a nerd. He identifies as bi and currently single, he just hasn’t met the “one” yet. But he also doesn’t feel a huge urge to date around; he’d rather do other stuff. He works at a publishing company.

I imagine he Looks like Michael Garrett Shanks. Actor who played Daniel Jackson in Stargate.

Emma lived in the house before Sterling. She had moved out of her borrower colony in her twenties. Her colony was in an abandoned military base turned into a field, so the likelihood of humans building there again was slim. She wanted to live alone and didn’t want to settle down with anyone and have kids. (I do plan to mention the colony at one point, lol.)

Originally, the house Sterling owned belonged to an elderly couple. Emma did that on purpose because the elderly are the best humans to borrow from. They are slow and slowly losing their senses. They often horde things and don’t notice when things go missing. And nobody believes them if they start talking about little people.

The Elder couple passed. For a time, Emma was the only being living in the house. She got used to making things for herself. She prefers the basement because of the easy access to the outdoors.

One day a borrower messenger from the field colony shows up and asks if the house is safe and if she would be willing to accept a new couple, who are looking to start a life in a Bean’s dwelling, and it would be good for them to have an older or at least experienced mentor to help them with the transition. Emma says yes. She likes the idea of helping her fellow kind and the future generation.

So, Milton and Cassia move in with Emma. They take the walls on the first floor. And they start a family.

Then, Sterling enters the picture and buys the house. This happens when Cassia is pregnant with her third child Lila. So, now they must be extra careful, and their kids must stay inside the walls more, until their parents are confident, they won’t get caught. Sterling doesn’t get his cat until much later. Now, Sterling is oblivious, but because of this, Milton lets his guard down over the years, leading to the moment Sterling does catch sight of him.

Emma prefers the basement, where she gathers and makes what she needs from the outside. She rarely borrows from the main floor. It’s kind of a pride thing for her. She is very independent.

[raitrolling]

Gone

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

It did not take Glasya long to put the pieces together. 

Gaia had been alerted to a sudden increase in eldritch activity in the city of Atlantis, which the Investigations team was monitoring. It appeared to have been a short burst of energy as a result of an eldritch scream, but apart from the residual influence lingering around the city being worth keeping an eye on, it was not deemed an immediate threat. They could send a team out to investigate in-person should the levels of eldritch activity increase, but based on their initial assessment it was clear that at this stage it would be a waste of resources.

At the same time, Thrixe had not answered any of Glasya’s text messages they had sent over the past 24 hours. They didn’t care when they sent the initial message, a silly meme they’d found before they heard about the recent situation in Atlantis. But when they messaged him again after hearing the news and he still had yet to respond, they knew their suspicions were confirmed.

And when he still didn’t respond to their later threat to forever revoke his free candy privileges if he didn’t reply to them, they knew it was serious. 

Glasya knew there wasn’t much they could do but keep an ear out for any whisperings of investigations or changes in activity in Atlantis. Even though it was known that Thrixe was their friend, they would not be allowed to tag along for any investigation. For starters, they were not officially employed for fieldwork, and could not go out unless the matter was deemed safe and they were accompanied by a senior member of the Investigations team. But also, given the high potential that the eldritch influence could trigger their possession trauma, their moirail and boss Mikail would not allow them to get exposed. 

It sucked, but they knew that no amount of pouting and trying to bribe him would change his mind. They may be dating, but they were still both required to act professionally on the job.

However, they did know someone else they could ask…

After messaging one of the members of the Special Operations team to confirm if a certain other troll was onsite tonight, they slipped out of their office, informed Astera that they’ll be back shortly if anyone needs them, and headed upstairs to the other department’s wing. 

It was easy to find who they were looking for, all they needed to do was follow the chill in the air. He was sitting in one of the common areas, reading through what appeared to be a briefing for an upcoming meeting. 

“Hey,” - There was a pause, as if Glasya had to stop themself from using one of the nicknames they call him behind his back. - “Mikiel. You heard the latest news?”

Mikiel looked up from his papers, eyes instinctively narrowing in suspicion. Glasya never approached him for any good reason.

“What news.”

“Oh, you know, just a certain starfish prooobably doing some sort of fucky-wucky up in Atlantis that has gotten him back on our radar, and he hasn’t responded to any of my texts. You heard anything?” Glasya’s tone was as casual as always, and Mikiel didn’t care to try and gauge how genuine their flippancy was.

“I haven’t, but…” The blueblood paused, properly considering their words. He had messaged Thrixe last night, but he wasn’t the type to follow up an unanswered text. His moirail was a grown adult who can look after himself, and if he takes a couple nights to respond, that usually means he was simply too busy. 

But everything else made that sound suspicious, and while Mikiel’s expression didn’t change the drop in temperature around the two trolls made it clear he was perturbed.

Glasya didn’t need to wait for any other response.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. I know you guys are tight, but no way he’d ignore lil ol’ me while still chatting to you,” they shrug. “Anyway, you think you’d be able to do a cheeky lil investigation? Make sure your own moirail hasn’t finally returned to his ancestral calling as a haunted sea sponge and become one with a coral reef?”

Mikiel rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what his ancestor was. But, fine. I’ll go.” 

Glasya grinned. If it was anyone else, they knew the answer would be a definite no. But, somehow, under those hundreds of layers of ice and pretentiousness, Thrixe had managed to get Mikiel to care for him after all.

“Pog. If you need an outie of whatever mission your guys were gonna send you on, say something important from Investigations has popped up. I’ll vouch for you.”   

Mikiel doubted such a plan would work, but he didn’t care if Glasya got in trouble for it. That’s their problem.

And even if he wasn’t allowed to leave for Atlantis, no one was going to stop him. Not if it was true that Thrixe was in trouble. 

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

Mikiel shivered as he entered the city of Atlantis, making a beeline for Thrixe’s hive and trying his best to ignore everything else. The eldritch presence in the air was palpable to someone like him, given his sensitivity to the supernatural, but apart from the inherent wrongness of it all, it didn’t appear particularly dangerous. 

The amount of trolls wandering about thinned out considerably the closer he got to his destination, which he anticipated. He had chosen to investigate off the clock so he did not need to seek the approval of his boss, but as a member of Gaia it was still his responsibility to ensure the safety of the general populace from supernatural threats. Fortunately, the eldritch presence was doing its job keeping everyone else away, whether they realised it or not.

Mikiel could also feel the desire to turn away and abandon the investigation lingering within his mind, but he ignored it and kept going. 

As he approached the hive, he was stopped in his tracks. The front door was open, a sign that someone else had been here… Or still was inside. He bristled, on high alert, relying on The Patron’s gift to try and sense any other supernatural entities amongst the horrorterror’s lingering aura. The temperature around him was rapidly cooling, and frost creeping up the windows of the hive would alert anyone inside to his presence, but he was ready to fight if necessary.

The interior of the hive was wrecked. Mikiel did not visit Thrixe’s hive often as the hybrid preferred to visit the blueblood’s own, but he knew his moirail would not willingly leave the place in such a state. Furniture had been overturned, paintings fallen off the wall, lightbulbs shattered, and black blobs of something melted into the carpet. Ink, presumably, or some sort of sludge? He didn’t think it was necessary to understand exactly what it was, but he knew enough about terrors to know what kinds of liquids to expect. 

He crept through each room, looking for any signs of life. Nothing, no intruders like he had feared from the open door, and still no signs of the seadweller. Just a trail of the black substance, and-

Mikiel’s head suddenly turned at the sound of some animalistic noise, as his psiionics reacted in kind, freezing the floor directly underneath his feet.

Oh, it’s just Archimedes. The gryphon had left its  hiding spot and approached Mikiel, recognising him as a troll it could trust. Mikiel could not understand the animal’s body language, but he would not be surprised if it was distressed by the disappearance of its owner. He relaxed slightly, and crouched down to examine the creature. It didn’t appear like it’d been harmed, and it simply stared curiously back at him.

He nodded in acknowledgement, then stood back up, motioning for the animal to not try and follow him. If he can’t find Thrixe, he’ll need to take Archimedes back with him to make sure it gets looked after. Glasya would likely know what to do. 

He cast his attention back to the black fluid on the floor, and cautiously followed its trail. The lingering eldritch influence was starting to make his head hurt, but this appeared to be his only lead into locating his moirail. The trail took him to another door, which had been completely shattered, like something massive had forced its way through it… Or out of it.

Gazing into the open entrance of the broken door, he noticed where the trail of muck had ended. The seafront hives in Atlantis were built to be half-submerged for the seadwelling occupants, and many contained passageways and chambers that lead directly into the depths.

Mikiel grit his teeth, and turned to run out of the hive and towards the shoreline. Without thinking, he kept running, allowing his psiionics to freeze the water directly underneath him so he could take off over the ocean. He gripped his gloves in his teeth and tore them off, allowing for his cryokinesis to operate uninhibited, spreading the ice further across the waves and freezing a thick platform he could safely cross. He had learned he was able to trust in his abilities now, and that he could put his full faith that pursuing this hunch would not lead him astray. 

He did not stop until he was far from the shore, past the sandbar that only trained swimmers and those with gills would dare to cross. He knew he would not see any signs of the horrorterror hybrid from the surface, but - and he felt stupid for hoping this, but god was he desperate, despising the way his own fears burned in his chest and lead him to run into the maelstrom of eldritch activity - perhaps, he could-

“Thrixe!!!” 

He screamed his morail’s name out at the ocean, as loud and as shrill as his lungs were capable of. The chill in the air felt piercing, and he was clenching his fists so hard they were freezing over. He took in another deep breath.

“I know you’re out there somewhere, I can feel your damn presence all over the place! You- You- Coglione! Cretino! If you’ve done something stupid, get back here and tell me! Don’t just fuck off and leave everyone worried! Tu rompiscatole!” 

The words came out far angrier than he had intended, but… Seeing the state of Thrixe’s hive, the black sludge that slathered the floor, the wrecked furniture and doors that reeked of a desperate escape, and then knowing that whatever he had done had triggered Gaia to start monitoring again without knowing if this was even his moirail’s fault, he was terrified. 

“You- Answer me, goddammit!!” He screamed until his throat felt raw, and clusters of ice spikes had sprung up around him as his psiionics reflected his own rage. The ice around his fists shattered, but kept threatening to freeze over once again. He could no longer see through his glasses, having also frozen over until the lenses shattered.

But that did not matter, as there was only silence.

Silence, and the increasing feeling of absolute dread caused by the eldritch influence swarming around him. 

As Mikiel stood there, it became clear to him that Thrixe was no longer within the confines of Atlantis’ ocean, and was not in control of what lingered around the bay. If he was still in control, it’s deterring aura would have likely been much stronger to the point where the blueblood would’ve found himself unable to even get close to the hive. Thrixe would not have want his moirail to worry so much, or to get injured and fall under his thrall.

If Thrixe was still in control, it wouldn’t feel so hateful. 

The cryokinetic shivered, not from his own psiionics but from the sudden awareness that he was absolutely powerless. His moirail had vanished into the depths, and there was nothing left of him remaining in this area, nor any other ways that he could be pursued. All that was left was something that felt actively malicious towards Mikiel the longer he stayed here, feelings of hatred and resentment prickling under his skin. 

Like a man possessed, he finally followed his instincts, and fled back to shore. 

[raggedandrich]

Watching

This fic takes place sometime after the previously posted fic introducing Fyodor.

Rating: E for Explicit / Sexual Content, Rimming, Anal Sex, Voyeurism, Oral Sex

Art by @beelzeebub

Things between the Russians and the Irish were going well. They were about three months into their arrangement and everything was running like a well-oiled machine.

Robert had been introduced to many of the boys in Fyodor’s gang, mostly at the bathhouse, but his favorite was Fyodor himself. He was loud, he was spontaneous and had the energy of an excited child all wrapped up in a big, burly body.

They fucked upstairs from The Hammer, the bar that served as the Russian HQ, they had fucked at the bathhouse, even in one of the private rooms at Blossom.

Willem had received several photos and videos over the many weeks of Robert having a good time with any number of men. It was always a thrill but something was missing. Some element that hasn’t been unearthed.

Robert walked from the shower, naked and drying his hair with a towel. Willem sat in bed reading with his little glasses.

“The thing was totaled. Chain broken in three places, entire frame crumpled. Gnarly stuff,” Robert continued for a conversation half-heard from the bathroom.

“What happened to the guy?” Willem asked, licking his fingertip and turning the page of his novel.

“That’s the weird part. No more than a few scratches on his shoulder. Fucking unreal. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Robert said, walking back to hang up the towel before climbing in bed.

“Well, it’s a project, something to do when you’re there,” Willem said, looking over the golden rim of his glasses.

“Definitely,” Robert said, snuggling up to his man under the sheets. He pressed his face into Willem’s side, wrapping around him like vines creeping over a garden wall.

Willem put his bookmark in place and shut the book, placing it and the reader’s on the side table before turning in Robert’s arms towards him. He pressed their foreheads together and took in the scent of his body wash and shampoo. Like milk and honey, subtle and sweet.

Robert rolled them over and straddled Willem, bending down to kiss him, guiding his hands over his bare hips and ass.

Willem sighed into the kiss and raked his nails down Robert’s back, making him break for air and moan.

“There’s something I wanna ask you,” Robert said, rocking himself against Willem’s crotch.

“You picked a hell of a time, kiddo,” Willem panted, bucking up involuntary and gripping Robert tightly around the hips.

“Fyodor really likes you. I see the way you guys are together. He’s nothing like Marcello or any gook on the North End. Because you two get along so well, I was thinking,” Robert said, stopping to swallow and catch his breath some.

“Thinking?” Willem asked, sliding his hands up to Robert’s chest and neck.

“I want you to watch us sometime. I haven’t had anyone who felt right for it before. Fyodor feels right,” Robert said, sucking on one of Willem’s fingers when it reached his lips.

Willem sat up and supported himself on his hands, tilting his head to the side.

“Where would it happen?” Willem asked.

“His place, or here. Whatever you prefer,” Robert said, stealing little kisses as he found a sweet spot and ground down against Willem’s bulge.

Willem stared into Robert’s face as it contorted in pleasure, his tongue occasionally wetting his lips between open mouth breaths. He reached down with one hand and pulled himself out, stroking both of their cocks together. Robert was sopping with precum and shaking.

He came first, followed by Willem who fell back into the pillows with a groan. Robert rolled off and onto his back, one of his legs hanging over the bed.

“Ask him if Friday works,” Willem said after a long beat.

“Will do,” Robert said, crawling under the covers again and feeling the dreamy haze of post-coital bliss wash over him.

—

The week went on as usual. Meetings, collections, inspecting product, shaking hands and exchanging cash. Just below the surface, a heat and tension simmered, building up as the days stretched ever closer to Friday.

After his last meeting, Willem hopped into his car and pressed the intercom.

“I’m not headed home, just yet Donovan. Take me to Dorchester please,” Willem said.

“Sure thing, boss. Any particular stop?” Donovan asked.

“The Hammer,” Willem said, the warmth under his skin already rising.

When he arrived, the bar was filled with all manner of folks. Mostly affiliates, very few civilians. But he didn’t enter the bar when he stepped out.

Donovan rolled down the passenger side window.

“Want me to wait out here?” Donovan asked.

“Nah, take the rest of the night off. We’ll call a cab,” Willem said, giving his driver a wave before walking around to the side of the brown brick building and up the staircase located there.

He knocked at the door when he reached the top. The door swung open and Fyodor stood in an all black ensemble.

“Welcome, I’m glad to see you,” Fyodor bellowed, pulling Willem into a hug.

Willem patted his back and tried not to pass out from the lack of air in his lungs as Fyodor squeezed him.

“Good to see you, is he already here?” Willem asked.

“Yes, please come in. I hope you brought appetite. I made stew,” Fyodor said, guiding Willem to the kitchen, the smell of hearty food filling his nose as he entered.

Robert sat at the table, sipping some wine when he saw Willem and lit up.

“Just in time,” Robert said, leaning up for a kiss as Willem approached and sat beside his boy.

“Would you like drink? I have wine and vodka,” Fyodor said, opening the fridge.

“Wine is fine, thank you,” Willem said, laying his hand in the table palm-side up. Robert took it and have it a squeeze.

Fyodor poured a big glass and handed it to Willem before scooping stew into three bowls and placing them on the table. He then placed a large, fresh baked loaf of bread in the center with a dish of butter and sat.

“Would you like to say grace?” Fyodor asked Willem.

“Certainly,” Willem said, taking the hands of the two men at the table.

“Bless us, Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.” Willem said.

“Amen,” Robert and Fyodor said in unison.

They dropped their hands and began to eat. The food was warm and perfectly spiced, they tore from the loaf and passed around the bottle of wine. There conversation covered many areas, childhood shenanigans, past loves, brawls and close calls.

With bellies full and nerves calmed, Fyodor cleared the table.

“That was lovely, my friend. I can’t remember a time I had a meal where I wasn’t the one at the stove,” Willem said.

“It is pleasure, I love to cook. I am no stranger to food,” Fyodor said, playfully patting his round belly.

He stood at his chair, gripping the top of it after the dishes were put away, an electricity hanging in the air.

“So, still want to do this?” Fyodor asked.

“Of course,” Willem said, rising from his chair.

Robert did as well and Fyodor led them to the bedroom at the back of the apartment. The place had an old school charm, perfectly organized clutter, every object seeming to hold a story as they passed through the living room.

The bed was large with a handcrafted headboard, no doubt a family heirloom. A plush chair sat in the corner next to a small bookcase.

Willem pulled off his suit jacket and draped it on the chair before sitting and opening up his shirt some.

Fyodor took Robert by the hand and led him to the bed. They stood at the edge for a moment, Fyodor taking Robert’s face in hand and kissing him deeply. The first twinge of excitement raced across Willem’s nerves.

Robert kissed back before Fyodor gently pushed him onto the mattress and climbed onto him.

They undressed, taking their time to kiss newly revealed planes of skin, groping and sliding hands over each other in a familiar way.

Willem sat with his legs open, hand reflexively cupping his cock and the tight fabric encasing it. They hadn’t even really begun and his heart was pounding.

The two men on the bed were down to underwear when they started wrestling playfully, trying to pin the other down. Their laughter pulled at the pit of Willem’s stomach, so wholesome.

Fyodor won out, pinning Robert down with his head pointed towards Willem. He tilted back his head and saw him upside down in the chair, groping himself.

“How ya feeling?” Robert panted with a smile, Fyodor’s beard brushing against his chest as he kissed and sucked the skin there.

“Just fine, kiddo. You?” Willem replied, low and calm.

“Dirty,” Robert said, grinning and wrapping his legs around Fyodor.

“Well, you are my dirty little dog, after all,” Willem said, watching Robert keen as Fyodor sucked a bruise into his neck.

Fyodor hovered over Robert for moment, smiling up at Willem and winking before rolling the boy over under him and wrenching off his black underwear and grabbing Robert’s ass with his big, meaty hands.

He dug his fingers in and spread his cheeks, letting a long trail of saliva slide from his tongue to wet Robert’s hole and eating him out. Robert’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands gripped the sheets, pressing his face to the mattress. His cock hung half hard between his legs as Fyodor lavished him.

Willem unzipped his trousers and spread his legs a little wider as he took himself out. He wasn’t rushing, casually stroking and palming the head.

Fyodor pulled back and gave Robert’s ass a nice slap before reaching over to the bedside table and pulling out a condom and lube.

“Are you clean, Fyodor?” Willem asked.

“I would believe so, I always wear protections,” Fyodor said, dropping the bottle and foil packet to the mattress and pulling out his fairly large cock, tapping it against Robert’s upturned ass.

“No condom. I want you to come inside him,” Willem said, not feeling like he could control the words as they poured out of him.

Robert looked up and met Willem’s hungry gaze with surprise but smiled.

“As you wish, Mr. Magpie,” Fyodor said, popping open the bottle and wetting his fingers and pushing them inside Robert.

He opened him up easily, Robert being no stranger to it. Fyodor poured a generous amount of lube on his cock and stroked it throughly, coating every red hot inch.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Robert’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Ready sobachka?”

“Mhmm,” Robert hummed, biting his lip.

Fyodor pushed in, holding Robert by the hips as he pulled out and back in again, building up his rhythm. The clout of their skin knocked a groan loose from Willem, pulling heat down to the root of his cock.

Robert lifted his head and arched his back, pushing into Fyodor’s thrusts, with little moans and noises punctuating every hit. Fyodor reached one hand up and yanked Robert by the hair, making him both cry out and clench around him.

“Such good boy,” Fyodor said, pulling Robert back enough to kiss him and then letting his head drop down again. His bangs flopped into his eyes and he pushed them back, wanting to see Willem and for Willem to see him.

“I’m daddy’s good boy,” Robert grunted out, pushing back and tapping Fyodor, indicating he wanted to ride him.

Fyodor pulled out and lied back against the pillows, reapplying some lube before Robert climbed on and sank down on his cock again, showing Willem every he had.

Willem swallowed thickly and felt himself getting close. He didn’t want to finish before his boy did, wanting to drink in the entire experience before that.

Robert rolled his hips and relished the fullness he felt with Fyodor inside him The big bear’s hands digging into faded bruises on Robert’s hips from earlier in the week. At a certain point Robert couldn’t control his mouth and babbled like he did with Willem.

“God, it feels so good. I could die like this. Fuck. Fucking use me, I want it all,” Robert panted out, the burning in his thigh nearly unbearable.

“You close, baby boy?” Willem asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“Yes, daddy. Can I please? Please?” Robert asked.

“Do it, do it for me,” Willem said, his abdomen tightening.

Robert reached down and finished himself off, moaning to the ceiling and squeezing around Fyodor who came shortly after and cursed in Russian as he filled him up.

Willem stood on shaky legs and crossed the room to the bed.

He nodded at Robert to come over. Robert nodded and crawled off of Fyodor and wrapped his lips around Willem’s cock.

Willem gripped his boy’s skull and pushed him all the way down, coming as he hit the back of his throat and filling him up as well. Robert swallowed and pulled off gagging, drool and cum dribbling over his lips.

Willem cupped his chin and looked into those bleary eyes.

“Beautiful,” Willem said, looking over at Fyodor who laid with an arm sling over his eyes, nearly passed out.

“I can certainly say this was better than I ever imagined. We will have to do it again sometime,” Willem said, catching his breath.

“Of course,” Fyodor groaned, sitting up and mindlessly holding his dick.

“May we use your shower before heading out?” Willem asked, helping Robert to his feet and giving his ass a squeeze.

“My house is your house, you both know how to have good time. Spasibo,” Fyodor said, falling back to the pillows and laughing softly to himself.

Robert gave Willem a sign to hold on before walking around to the head of the bed and giving Fyodor a kiss.

“Goodnight, ya big bear,” Robert said.

“You too, sobachka,” Fyodor replied.

Willem led Robert to the shower where he undressed and hopped in with him, washing each other and stealing a few kisses before stepping out clean as a whistle.

They gathered Robert’s clothes from the bedroom where Fyodor had fallen asleep and began snoring.

They dressed and headed down to the street.

“Donovan coming?” Robert asked.

“I gave him the night off. I’ll call a cab,” Willem said, finding the number saved in his phone.

They waited together, with Robert’s arms wrapped around Willem’s shoulders, swaying in the streetlamp light and the rising moon.

“I hope you’re not too worn out. I don’t think I could go to bed without getting a piece of you for myself,” Willem said.

“Even if I was, I’d let you do whatever you wanted,” Robert said, kissing Willem tenderly.

“And that’s why you’ll always be mine,” Willem said.

[steddiealltheway]

Spin the Bottle

I accidentally wrote another (sort of) rant fic again. (Scroll to the end if you just want to see the descriptions of the kisses)

Backstory: The party is hanging out at the Wheeler’s house in the basement, and the fruity four are upstairs. For some reason, the boys are curious about what girls do at “girl sleepovers” and El says her and Max played spin the bottle.

The boys obviously freak out, and Max tries to explain that their version of spin the bottle involved El spinning a bottle to see who she would spy on. Then El is asking what the other spin the bottle is. The party all kind of look at each other, and Max is finally like “it’s easier if we show you.”

So, they all start rushing up the stairs to see who can find a bottle first. But then they run into Steve who is yelling, “Woah, woah, woah! What’s going on?!” and he’s doing the mom stance with his hands on his hips. 

Suddenly Dustin is stealing the beer out of Eddie’s hands announcing, “We have a bottle!” And they’re all running back downstairs as Dustin pours out the rest of the beer in the sink. Dustin responds to Eddie’s protests by simply saying, “Spin the bottle,” as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Eddie and Steve yell, “Tone!” at the same time, but Dustin is already back downstairs. 

Upstairs, Steve and Nancy reminisce on the last time they played spin the bottle, and Eddie and Robin say they have never played. For some reason, Steve and Nancy think they have to fix this and are seeing who can finish their beer first (it’s Nancy). 

Downstairs, they all settle into a circle, but then Dustin is cursing, “Son of a bitch,” because there’s no way for him to ask Suzie poo if it’s okay. So, he steps out of the circle, and then Will tries to as well, but Mike is stopping him. 

Will explains that he hasn’t had his first kiss, but Mike is insistent that spin the bottle kisses don’t count. Then Max speaks up and offers, “I can be your first kiss?” And Mike gives her the biggest glare and explains that he is Will’s best friend so really it should be him. Max just raises her hands up in defense and is like, “Go ahead then.” 

Will is absolutely frozen in fear and anticipation because he never thought this moment would come, especially not with all his friends watching. But it’s like Mike can read his mind because he’s demanding everyone to turn around and give them some privacy. Then, he asks Will if he’s sure he wants him to be his first kiss and all Will can do is nod and force out a choked, “Yes.” Then Mike gently takes Will’s face in his hands and is slowly bringing him in to close the distance and their lips meet so softly in the sweetest and most chaste kiss. 

When they pull away, they just stare at each other, but then Dustin is asking if they’re done yet. When they say yes and quickly jump apart everyone turns back around and Dustin yells, “Let the game commence!”

Upstairs, they run into a similar issue except Robin is rambling at the speed of light trying to explain why they can’t play until Nancy just takes her hands and gently asks, “What’s wrong?” And Robin blurts out, “I’ve never kissed anyone!” 

But then Nancy is asking, “Do you want to?” And Robin really thinks this is a proposition so of course she says yes. But then Nancy is looking at Steve expectantly, and Robin and him are yelling, “NO,” once they realize what she’s implying. So, Nancy looks at Eddie next and Robin is finally like, “It’s not guys that I want to kiss.” 

Nancy has a little ‘oh’ moment, but then she’s asking Robin if she wants to kiss her. And if Steve were drinking a beer, this would be the exact moment he would start choking on it. But he’s nodding at Robin who is asking consent with her eyes and Steve’s communicating with his this is your chance please take it. So, Robin nods and then Nancy is kissing her gently but definitely not shyly. 

Robin thinks she might faint. When the girls pull away, they’re both a little red in the face, but they agree that they can play now. Then Eddie is the one hesitating and saying he’s in the same predicament as Robin. Which Nancy and Robin instantly get, and Steve is wondering why everyone is suddenly looking at him. Then he’s asking Nancy if she wants to do the honors again, and Robin is saying “Steve” in the same tone as the Tammy Thompson confession and- Oh.

Steve just kind of stares at Eddie and then his lips, but it’s not the first time he’s had the thought so why not. But then Nancy and Robin are staring, so Steve tells them to please look away. Just for good measure, Steve yanks Eddie down behind the table to give them more privacy. Steve begins to ask, “Are you sure you want-” but then Eddie’s hands are in his hair properly messing it up and kissing the life out of him to the point Steve seriously doubts that this is Eddie’s first kiss. But then they’re breaking away because Steve can’t breathe, and Eddie’s popping up from behind the table announcing, “Let’s play.”

The Party Kisses:

Max and Lucas: The kiss is familiar. Not super intrusive but light and loving.

Lucas and El: They kiss so shyly and fast, it’s barely even a peck. Max is calling them lame.

El and Will: They kiss each other on the cheek because they’re literally siblings and already do this.

Will and Lucas: They’re giggling their entire way through this kiss. It’s barely even considered a kiss.

Lucas and Mike: They shrug and give each other a solid kiss. Lucas jokes that he should’ve given Mike better kissing advice when they were younger for El’s sake.

Mike and Max: Max wants more than anything to not do this, so when Mike leans in she turns her face away at the final second, leaving him to kiss her cheek which she still complains about.

Max and El: They’re making out with no shame. Also, the bottle seems to suspiciously be landing on them a lot. One time, El doesn’t wipe her nose fast enough and everyone is yelling, “You’re using your powers?!”

El and Mike: They kiss gently, but when they pull away Mike is saying he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to kiss her without Hopper yelling at him in the back of his mind. 

Mike and Will: The second time the bottle lands on them, they’re kissing a little less chaste. The third time... Will starts experimenting with tongue. The fourth...

Will and Max: This is the awkwardest kiss that ends the game.

The Fruity Four:

Eddie and Steve: It’s literally Eddie’s personal mission to kill Steve via kisses, and he’s succeeding. The girls are cheering him on.

Steve and Robin: They’re both complaining and as soon as Steve kisses Robin literally just a peck, Robin’s yelling, “Did you try to use tongue?!”

Robin and Eddie: They give each other a solid kiss and high five after. 

Eddie and Nancy: They’re looking at each other as if they didn’t even know this was an option. But then Eddie is dipping her to get rid of her nerves and gives  her a peck while she’s laughing. (Steve asks why Eddie doesn’t kiss him like that, and Eddie promises next time he will.)

Nancy and Robin: They’re both getting butterflies and not shying away from these kisses. Usually it ends with them giggling. 

Nancy and Steve: They kind of shyly kiss, but it’s familiar and soft. They both pull away and immediately realize that it’s not what either of them want any more though. 

Bonus: Argyle and Jonathan: The pair come inside the house looking for food when they see the game going on. Argyle asks, “That’s the game where you spin the bottle and kiss someone, right?” And before anyone can answer him, he’s spinning the bottle, but before it’s close to stopping he’s making out with Jonathan. 

[sugawarassoulmate]

listen,,, imagine reader peering at Samu’s phone as the boys are calling them pretty/beautiful and he hasn’t noticed them standing there until they ask “what does it mean that Aran finds me pretty but not hot?” He is shocked and fumbles his phone and tries to lie “they’re not talking about you its another y/n” but like “another y/n? You guys literally only know me” and he proceeds to pout for the rest of the day.

awwwwww osamu's so cute here 🥹

both of the boys were hunched over their phones today, leaving you the only one actually doing homework. you chew on the snacks their mom left on the counter, thinking you should ask if something happened at practice earlier, but it might be best to stay quiet.

you’re about to ask atsumu if needs help with his science work when he huffs walks upstairs without a word. you glance over at osamu, who has a similar scowl on his face and wonder if the two of them are fighting again. 

osamu rolls his eyes and turn in his chair, his back to you. maybe the twins just aren’t in the mood for company, you think and you’re about to pack up your stuff and head home when you catch a glimpse of the screen on osamu’s phone. he’s chatting with the teammates in the inarizaki groupchat and messages are getting sent pretty rapidly.

not wanting you be nosy, you’re about to look away when you notice your name coming up a few times in conversation, including one from aran reading i wouldn’t say “hot” but of course y/n’s pretty.

aran thinks you’re pretty? for some reason, the thought makes you smile. but then you get confused. you’re pretty but not hot? isn’t that the same thing? does it mean a different thing between boys?

“what does it mean that aran finds me pretty but not hot?” you ask without thinking and osamu’s body tenses up, spinning in his seat again to stare at you.

putting his phone done, he opens his mouth and starts stuttering, completely unlike him. “they’re not talkin’ about ya, dummy. it’s another y/n.” he says, but you’re not convinced. you have a fairly unique name and you’re one of the few people outside of the volleyball team that the other boys talk to.

“how is that possible? you guys literally only know me,” you chuckle, smiling sweetly at osamu who looks as if he can’t process a thought right this second. is he flustered? “so aran thinks i’m pretty? does anyone else think i’m pretty?”

you expect osamu to make a snide comment but he stares at you. confused, you tap at his screen to see a message from kita this time, but also y/n is beautiful and you guys should invite her out more, it read.

“i’m beautiful?” the smile on your face grows bigger. never did you think the boys would say those things. when you look up at osamu, a cute, angry pout has formed on his face as if he’s upset.

“stop readin’ my texts,” is all he says before walking out of the room, grumbling to himself much like his older brother did moments ago.

you’re not sure what has the twins acting so weird but your ego is so inflated, that you don’t dwell on it too much. while you’re packing up your work to head back home, you start thinking if atsumu and osamu agreed with their friends.

atsumu calls you pretty a lot—complimenting you when you wear a dress or do something different with your hair. there’s been plenty of moments where he’s wiped your tears away after osamu did something cruel and said “pretty girls shouldn’t cry, y/n.”

but then you wonder if osamu felt the same. does he think you’re beautiful too? the way he was staring at you seemed like there was something else he wanted to say. if osamu complimented you, would it make you feel different than when his brother does?

you feel your cheeks heat up and decide that it would.

[oro-e-diamanti]

The one with Ethan’s suggestion

Description | Ethan suggests something that you had never seen coming - but for how long will you be able to resist him?

Content | smut with a bit of fluff

Pairing | Ethan x fem!Reader

Word Count | 3138

Tagging | @ginny-lily @mywritingonlyfans

***

"You did not just ask me that."

Ethan didn't even seem bothered by your shocked reaction. Instead, he simply kept looking at you, waiting, as if he had posed a completely normal question. You were certain it wasn’t though - who the hell just came out and asked one of their best friends to start hooking up? Surely this wasn’t just you thinking this was more than odd. You couldn’t stop looking at him, relaxing on a lounger in the sun, book still open in his hand, and how he didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, come one, Y/n,” Vic interjected from where she was relaxing on a pool float. “Poor Ethan hasn’t been with anyone since the pandemic started. The least you can do is help him get laid.”

“Get laid by me?!”

“Who else?” Victoria laughed. “It’s not like he can go out and pick up someone when we go on a promo tour in a week. We’re barely allowed to meet anyone as a safety measure.”

You shot her a pointed look and Victoria being your friend for the longest got it immediately.

“And no, I’m not gonna hook up with him. So it’s gotta be you.”

You couldn’t believe the conversation you were having. Had everyone simply gone crazy? Surely, Thomas wouldn’t be on their side in this, right? You watched as he lazily strolled towards your loungers, cigarette in hand.

“Thomas!” You shouted over at him. “Ethan wants me to hook up with him!”

“Fucking finally,” Thomas laughed as you stared back in horror. Was everyone in on this madness? “He’s been moping around for ages. About time he gets laid and relaxes.”

“See?” Ethan interjected. “Everyone thinks it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea!”

“Fine,” Ethan shrugged. You hated how much he didn’t seem to care - how he had posed a question like that without an ounce of awkwardness and how your rejection didn’t seem to faze him in the least. You knew he was open about sex and sexuality, you’d been part of countless conversations among the band and had seen him pick up people at parties more than once, but this unnerved you. "If you change your mind, I'm available."

And with that Ethan went back to his book, Victoria went back to floating around the pool and Thomas went back to smoking his cigarette. But you weren't going to go back to anything, because whether you liked it or not, Ethan's suggestion would continue playing in your head for the unforeseeable future.

***

Three days. It had been three days since that fateful day at the pool and you could barely stand to look at Ethan. It wasn't because you were embarrassed - you all spoke about such things quite openly - nor were you angry at him having asked in the first place - if anything, it was flattering, a man such as Ethan considering you attractive in that way. It was more of a constant thought in your head whenever you were in the same room with him or he talked to you or you looked at him or he so much as popped into your mind. You kept lying awake at night, intrusive thoughts of Ethan towering over you clouding your brain. You didn't know what it was but you knew you didn't like it.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Victoria approached you, taking a couple of tomatoes you had spread in front of you and started cutting them up. You had been in charge of making dinner most days, with one or the other coming to join you in your cooking endeavors sooner or later. Today it seemed to be Vic, who was giggling away beside you, quite obviously dying to tell you something.

"And what is up with you?" You asked, a smirk on your face. You were happy your friend seemed so giddy and it had you itching to know why.

"I have a date!" Victoria was never one to keep things like these to herself for long - whenever she was positively excited about something, the world simply had to know. "Her name's Paula, she's on holiday here and we're going to go out for wine."

"Just wine?"

"Well, I'm gonna say, don't expect me back here tonight." She couldn't stop herself from smirking and then breaking out in another round of laughter and you joined freely. Good for her.

"I miss dates," you mused. "Or maybe - I don't know. Maybe I just miss at least staying the night with someone."

"You really need to get laid, babe."

"Who needs to get laid?" Damiano had appeared without warning, sneaking up on the two of you and pinching both of your waists teasingly before hopping on the counter next to where you were working. A slice of tomato was stolen and ended up in his mouth before you could react, only hitting him in the arm when it was much too late.

"Y/n," Victoria answered nonchalantly. You stared at her in annoyance but she didn't even catch your eye.

"So does Ethan! You guys should fuck."

"Not you too," you groaned. All of this seemed like a bad joke. In fact, you were starting to wonder if this was all some weird plot your friends had to get you to sleep with Ethan. But why would they?

"Huh?" Damiano sounded surprised but you didn't put it past him to simply put on a good act.

"Ethan asked her to hook up the other day."

"No way!" Damiano exclaimed. "He actually, fina- I mean, he actually asked you that?"

"Yup, and she shot him down," Victoria explained. You were getting more annoyed by the second. Especially because it felt like your love life (or lack thereof?) was being discussed without you. Plus, you couldn't shake the feeling they knew something you didn't.

"Aw, poor Ethan. You know, you should really give him the chance. Make the most of the fact that you've both got the house to yourselves tonight." Damiano's eyebrow wiggle earned him a tomato slice to the face due to pure irritation on your side. He wasn't bothered, quickly shoving it into his mouth and happily munching away on it.

"Wait, what do you mean? Where are you going?"

You sounded much more panicked than necessary. So what if you were alone in the house with Ethan? You'd survive. Easily. You'd read a bit of your book, maybe watch a movie, go to bed. You didn't even have to spend time with him. Right?

"Going out with my girlfriend, she's in town for work. Not sure where Thomas is off to but he's already left" Damiano shrugged, finally hopping off the counter to hopefully stop being in the way. "So, if there's anything you want to do, do it tonight."

***

So this was it. You were alone with Ethan. No, this was nothing. So what if you were alone with him? Not like it was going to change anything at all.

You had said your goodbyes for the night to the two lovebirds, wishing Victoria the most possible fun on her little date, before pouring yourself a glass of wine and retreating to the patio. You had no idea where Ethan was and you didn't mind.

The sun was setting, the temperature was more than bearable and you had your book lying next to you. Eyes closed trying to enjoy the last rays of sunshine, your hand grasped the stem of the wine glass, and fuck that moth scared the living daylights out of you. And caused you to spill your wine all over your blouse. Red wine. Crap. One was supposed to wash those out immediately, right? Right? You realised you had no idea, as you sprinted towards the upstairs bathroom, already unbuttoning for fast removal.

You threw the door open, feet set to move towards the basin, when you realised you weren't alone in the room. It happened in slow motion, as much as you hated the cliché of it all.

Ethan's back was towards you, strong, hard muscles visible under an array of water droplets that were slowly, slowly making their way downwards, hypnotising you and keeping your gaze locked on them. Your eyes were still travelling lower and lower when he noticed your presence, turning around out of reflex, and you could not help but notice he was not wrapped in a towel, nowhere close, when your eyes fell on-

Oh.

Oh.

In a rare moment of clarity, you tore your gaze away, looking up at his face instead, just to find him eyeing up your cleavage. Your blouse was halfway undone, putting your white lace bra on full display. Then his eyes snapped away and looked into yours instead. For a second, it felt like the world was standing still. Your brain only worked for another moment before it decided to let your body - or potentially your heart? - take over.

You told yourself 'fuck it' - or maybe you said it out loud, judging by the sudden smirk appearing on Ethan's face - and reached for the man in front of you. He reciprocated without hesitation, pulling you in and meeting your mouth with his, as he walked you backward until you hit the wall. His body felt hot against yours, providing a stark contrast to the cold tiles pressing into you. His hands cradled your face softly, fingers stroking along your cheeks, while he kissed you, open-mouthed, in a way that left you breathless.

If you had ever had doubts that sex with Ethan would not be worth it, they had evaporated into thin air altogether.

His hands had started roaming your body, finally landing on the last buttons of your blouse. You had expected him to slowly open them up, but instead, he tore the fabric apart in one swift movement, buttons flying and hitting the ground with little clacking noises. You wrecked your mouth from him for a moment, staring at him in both surprise and awe.

"Spiacente," he murmured, although he didn't look all that sorry. "I couldn't help myself. I can get them sewn back-"

"Ethan, stop talking and start fucking me."

Your bold words took both of you by surprise but none of you minded, simply relieved that you were on the same page. His hands were now grasping tightly onto your thighs and, and without giving you a warning, he lifted you up, still pressed against the wall. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively and he took a step back, finding his strength and balance, and slowly carrying you into his bedroom.

You couldn't stop staring at him. Ethan's beauty was a sight to behold on any given day, but the way his lips looked kissed after just a short while and his eyes had that kind of shine to them that had never previously been directed at you, it felt like you were looking at something ethereal. Never mind the fact that you knew he was completely naked, not just the toned chest that was pressing into your torse, but everything else. Hell, you were sure you felt a certain something press into the back of your thigh quite shamelessly.

He dropped you on his bed, leaving you to bounce slightly on the mattress as you lied on your back. He looked like he was about to devour you and you just knew you'd bend to his every wish.

Without any further hesitation, Ethan moved onto the bed, immediately grabbing onto the shorts you were wearing and slowly pulling them down your legs. He held eye contact with you the whole time and you were convinced you had never seen anything sexier in your life. Your panties were the next piece to leave your body. Normally, this would be the point you got nervous about, crossing your legs, hiding behind hands, anything to protect what little of your modesty you had left, but this was different. Ethan took all shame away from you.

"Is this okay?" He asked, as he slowly crawled upwards, spreading your legs and leaving hot, wet kisses along your calves. As much as you appreciated him asking for consent, you almost had to laugh - at this point in time, you had lost all willpower to deny him anything. So, with a blissful smile on your face, you eagerly nodded at him, your hand reaching down and tangling itself into his hair. He groaned as you gave a little tug and the sound was more than enough to get you even wetter than you already were.

At least that was what you thought up until Ethan put his mouth on you. You had been expecting a bit more foreplay, maybe his fingers, but instead you felt his tongue lick along the length of you. Your moan loudly echoed through the room and you had never been so glad that Vic, Thomas and Damiano had deserted the two of you in the house.

Your grasp on his hair tightened as he started flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. The fact that you could feel his hair tickling the inside of your thighs only seemed to make you more sensitive. Suddenly, one of his fingers entered you, quickly to be joined by a second. Your back arched off the bed in an involuntary reaction as your breathing became more and more laboured. You could hear- hell, you could feel him chuckle against you.

With a sharp tug, you pulled his head away from you.

"I'm not going to be able to take much more, Ethan," you confessed. He looked up at you with wide eyes, chin wet from going down on you and fingers still slowly moving in and out, and you momentarily forgot what you meant to say. "So if you wanna fuck me, I suggest you get a move on."

He didn't need to be told twice. You still sighed in disappointment when he actually removed his fingers from you but you were quickly distracted by him moving them to your mouth and slipping them in. You eagerly sucked on them, twirling your tongue around them, tasting your own arousal, and his composure was slipping with every second he looked at you. He quickly pulled his fingers from your mouth to crawl further up your body, his cock moving against your leg. He was so well endowed it would have almost been frightening if you hadn't been so turned on.

Ethan kissed you with a force that was unparalleled. There wasn't even a question about who was in control. As his fingers trailed from your neck down past your collarbones you both suddenly seemed to remember you were still wearing a bra. You made short work of the piece of fabric, carelessly throwing it across the room, and he thanked you by squeezing your soft flesh in the most delicious way. You repaid the favour by letting your hand wander to his cock and giving him a few strokes. He immediately let out the most sinful moan you had ever heard, head collapsing onto your cleavage.

"I don't think you need any more help from me down there," you giggled.

"With you lying under me like this, I sure don't."

Moving your legs around his waist once more, you slowly guided him into you, your walls swallowing him bit by bit, careful not to stretch you out too fast with his size. It felt like heaven on earth. You both moaned in pleasure as Ethan slowly started moving, making sure you were comfortable as he looked into your eyes, while you broke the eye contact time and time again, too overwhelmed to leave your eyes open every time he thrust into you. You kept grabbing onto what you could, the back of his head, his shoulders, his butt, as he increased his speed, hitting you in all the right places every single time.

You knew you weren't going to last long, not with him on and in and all around you, not with his fingers playing with your nipple, not with his lips clumsily attaching themselves to various places around your neck and shoulders, and as you felt his hand between your legs, softly circling your clit once again, you were gone. You came in waves of euphoria, unashamed of the volume of your moans and the strength with which you pulled on his hair. Your actions, combined with you clenching around him and a few more thrust, had him follow you moments later.

He carefully slipped out of you, never once letting go of you, and turning you onto your side with him so you were facing each other. Both of you were still breathing heavily, vision cloudy, but intertwined. You were convinced he had ruined you - there was no way anyone was ever going to live up to how he made you feel.

"So, did it live up to your expectation?" You couldn't help but giggle as you posed the question. "Getting laid again after such a long time?"

Ethan pushed a damp strand of hair from your face. You hadn't expected such softness.

"It wasn't actually about getting laid, you know."

"Huh?"

"It was about you."

"Okay, you've lost me now," you said, brows knitting as your hand searched for his, finger entangling the same way your legs were doing. "What are you talking about?"

"I... I've liked you for a while. And I tried so much, but you never even noticed."

Your mind replayed the last few weeks you had spent with the band in their summer house. Instances of Ethan bringing you food, cocktails, adjusting the shade to make sure you were in it, offering to put sunscreen on your back. Moments of him searching for your company, moving much closer than necessary in the heat, arms constantly touching when you were sitting next to each other. Jokes and teasing from the others, drunken remarks. You hadn't paid attention to any of it. You wondered how you could have been so blind to a man so wonderful.

"Wait, so instead of asking me out like a normal person, you suggested we hook up?" You couldn't keep the laughter in now. The situation was simply too ridiculous and you had not yet stopped riding on your high from the endorphins he had caused.

"It was Vic's idea." He buried his head into the sheets, but you could still see his cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. "She knew I missed sex and she said you mentioned something similar so she thought this was the way into your..."

"Pants?"

"Heart, actually."

You snuggled closer, arms wrapping around him so that your noses were touching.

"Well, as embarrassing as it is, it somehow worked, didn't it?" You stroked over his head lovingly. "And I'm sure not letting you go any time soon."

[sporesmoldandfungi]

Hi there!! I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night/whatever time it is for you!! 🥰

If the boredom hasn’t left and you’re still taking requests, may I please request a cute, fluffy Egon x f!reader fic where the reader is like a foot shorter than him (definitely not based in real life or anything 😅…)? I don’t really have any specifics for the plot itself, so you can go however you feel with that tbh. Thank you so so much!! 😋💞

Jump for It - Egon x Short!F!Reader

A/N : Hello! I had a fun time writing this and I hope you enjoy it. The end might be a little out of character for Egon, but I just needed to find somewhat of a conclusion with also making it super cute. 

Also to anyone reading, please keep the requests coming! I’m having so much fun writing them!

Word Count : 951

Being the only female ghostbuster was hard. Being the only female ghostbuster who was also almost a foot shorter than her colleagues, even harder. The boys being taller than her was a no brainer, most of them were over six feet tall, but even Janine, who was a petite woman, was a few inches taller than Y/N.

The proton pack looked like it was constantly swallowing her as she busted ghosts around New York. She often had customers asking her if she was alright when she answered the call. Don’t even get started on Venkman.

“Hey shortie.”

“What’s up short stack?”

“How’s the weather down there?”

Were all things she heard on a daily basis. Today was no exception. Y/N was sitting upstairs in the lab, working beside Egon. He was scribbling down something as she filed paperwork. Peter walked in to make a pot of coffee. He tapped her gently on the head as he walked by her.

“How ya doing today, Y/N? You look like you’re having a hard time reaching the top drawer, need me to grab you a step ladder?” Peter said, smirking.

“Nice to see you too, Venkman.” Y/N grumbled.

Peter started the coffee maker and waited for it to finish. He leaned on the filing cabinet, looking down at Y/N. She was struggling to place a file on the top shelf, even on her tip-toes, she couldn’t reach it. Peter snatched the file from the top, waving it above her.

“Jump for it, little fishie.” He smirked.

Just as she was going to humiliate herself by jumping, a large pair of hands took the file out of Peter’s hands. She turned around to see Egon looming over her, he was glaring at Peter.

“That’s enough, Venkman.” Egon said seriously.

Peter raised his hands defensively, “Yeah, yeah. You two are no fun.”

He walked out of the lab, forgetting his steaming coffee. Egon looked down at Y/N and gave her a gentle smile, he handed her the file.

“Thank you.” she blushed.

“It’s not a problem, Venkman can be a little obsessive with the jokes and teasing sometimes. I should know, he called me ‘Brainiac’ and ‘Four Eyes’ all throughout college.” he said.

She hopped up on the counter and sat down. “You know, sometimes I wish I wasn’t so small. I mean, it’s bad enough that I sometimes get carded at bars, but you guys are huge compared to me. It’s not like anyone will take me seriously standing next to you.”

Egon leaned next to her. “I take you seriously, besides, I like that you’re smaller than me.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, and then smirked, “You like that you’re taller than me, Egon?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he looked around the room, trying to appear normal, he did not. He cleared his throat before speaking, “I never said that.”

“True, but you said that you like that I’m smaller than you, which in turn means, you like that you are taller than me.” Y/N quipped back. He stuttered, trying to think of a rebuttal. Y/N hopped off the counter and stood beneath him, her hands placed on her hips. She looked at him innocently before asking, “Tell me Egon, why do you like that you’re taller than me.”

“I’m, uh, I don’t know why, I just do.” he said, his cheeks getting redder.

Y/N shrugged, “If you say so.” She began to walk away, but was pulled back by Egon. He spun her around and leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips. They pulled away, looking at one another in shock. Y/N smiled and reached up to kiss him again. Egon had to lean down, but felt it was awkward. So just as their lips met, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted off the floor gently so they were at the same level.

Someone cleared their throat at the doorway, Egon practically dropped Y/N to see who it was. Peter stood in the doorway half in shock, half in amusement.

“I was just coming back for coffee.” He said. He pushed past the two blushing adults to pour a cup. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to them and said, “Does this mean I’m gonna have to knock before I enter any room you two are in? And I’m personally hurt, Y/N, I thought I would be your first pick.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Don’t have too much fun, I’m not ready to be Uncle Pete.”

Peter left the room and Y/N looked back at Egon, who looked shocked by his own actions. She smiled at him, “Is that why you enjoy our height difference so much? The fact that you have to pick me up to kiss me?”

Egon smiled down at her, “Perhaps, or maybe that it’s easier for me to do things like this.”

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on top of her head. He smiled at her and began walking back to his desk, “Come on, I’m gonna need some help with the next part of my work.”

“Hold on, just let me grab that file.” Y/N said, beginning to grab it.

Egon snatched it before she could grab it. He held it above her head and smirked, “Come on, jump for it little fishie.” he said, mocking Peter.

To his surprise, she leapt up and grabbed it no problem. “Do that again and I’ll climb you like a tree, Spengler.”

He smiled at her, “I’d like to see you try.”

[plainlo-inthemorning]

The Night Jeb Magruder Took the Deal (Sweetheart)

Warnings: F/M smut + shameless babygirlification of the very fictional version of a real-life piece of s***. Historical accuracy be gone!

Pairing: Jeb Magruder (Hamish Linklater in Gaslit) x You

Words: 5.800

Summary: Jeb pays a visit to the FBI. Shenanigans ensue in interrogation room 3 (this is really just a fun, lighthearted little piece, written on a whim this afternoon.)

Prefer to read it on AO3? Here we go

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“You put the man in cuffs? You can’t be serious?!”

A scoff from Lano. A sigh from Magallanes.

“Does the director know about this?”

You look from one colleague to the other in disbelief.

This little macho stunt of theirs is not only bound to get them into trouble with the higher powers if anyone finds out, it could also put a stain on your entire department.

And that means complicating your job.

“Listen, Y/N”, Lano says, throwing up his palms in a mock display of innocence.

“We’re only keeping him for a few hours. No one has to know. Everybody’s heading home now anyway. Besides, believe me when I say…”

He and Magallanes exchange knowing smirks.

You clutch the file you’re holding a little tighter, bending the spine, annoyance making you grind your teeth.

Smug little fuckers.

“…he may be throwing around threats in there right now, but this one won’t tell a soul. He’s neck deep in shit, Y/N, and he knows it. There’s no outcome of this thing that doesn’t end with him having to take his part of the blame.”

“That may very well be,” you protest, “but handcuffing him is still way over the line. Way over! If somebody finds out, if somebody from upstairs comes by and finds him, there might be complaints coming in from the freaking White House."

“Hardly.”

Magallanes adopts a more serious expression. You’ve always seen him as the sensible one of this mismatched albeit, well, resourceful duo, but right now he can’t say much that’ll placate you.

“He did refuse to come with us when we asked him to come in for questioning. Raised his voice and, um, like Lano says...threatened us.”

You level him a long, hard stare and discomfort passes over his features before he composes himself again.

“He threatened you? Right. Okay, boys.”

Lano rolls his eyes.

“Hey, like I said, we’re just gonna let him stew for a few hours while we go grab something to eat, alright? He’ll be ready to strike a deal when we get back. And then,”

The agent snaps his fingers in front of your face.

“Showtime.”

“Showtime?”

“Yeah. Come on, you know. He falls, Mitchell falls. They’ve lined themselves up like dominos by placing this prime dumbass in charge of ‘budgeting’.”

“And,” Magallanes interjects, “the dam is already springing leaks.”

Both men guffaw.

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes at whatever little joke they've got going on.

“Promise you’ll have him out of here in a few hours, okay? And at least move him to one of the rooms downstairs.”

“That was the plan.”

Lano looks entirely too pleased with how easily you’re dropping this potential standoff.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“We owe you one,” Magallanes adds, ever the diplomat.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You shake your head at them, but if they’re right, if this guy truly starts spilling the beans, you know it’s worth the risk.

And the chief’s wrath.

You and the guys are not the only ones who have wondered about his initial, odd resistance to pursuing this case with the proper man power behind it.

“You better bring this home,” you tell Lano and Magallanes.

“We will. But, hey, maybe you could just check in on him at some point while we’re out? Seeing as you’re working late anyway? Make sure he hasn’t drowned in his own tears of regret. We’ll put him in room three downstairs.”

Lano grins.

You look to the ceiling and count to ten.

“Fine.”

“Great!”

The men who may make history within long, if they don’t land themselves in jail first, continue down the hall looking somewhat like two naughty schoolboys, you think, and you’re left wishing you hadn’t asked them any questions about their weird ‘catch’ in the first place.

Oh, to hell with it.

You can’t deny that you’re curious to see if their tactic will work on the campaign manager for the President. The supposedly fairly dim campaign manager for the President.

If the old rumors around town are to be believed, this Jeb Magruder only got to where he is in the first place not because he’s smart, but because he’s looks great in a smart suit.

And while he’s got to be in his forties now, he’s still one of the youngest members of the C.R.E.E.P.S. (the most hilarious, hilariously non-inside joke there ever was), bringing some much-needed voter eye-candy to the line-up of balding stiffs that surrounds Nixon.

Yes, you’re curious.

And so, after dropping the file you had collected from the archives on your desk (tax fraud case, unreasonably boring, yet blessedly straightforward), you make your way downstairs.

.

.

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.

This is wrong, he knows it is.

They cannot do this to him!

It’s harassment on an unprecedented scale and it’s absurdly illegal and it’s … it’s something he won’t be able to tell anyone about.

Unlike what he furiously assured the detectives he would, the second they let him go.

Jeb Magruder swallows hard for the umpteenth time to keep from breaking into sobs.

He will not give them the satisfaction.

Again.

He has already crumbled once in front of them when the anger and fear and frustration overtook him in the car when they drove him here, handcuffed in the backseat like some common criminal and watching his career and his marriage pass before his eyes as the cold metal bore into his wrists behind his back.

So, this is what it feels like.

For a hysterical moment he had half expected the men to drive him straight to the airport and put him on a private plane with no windows bound for South America, and so when they instead turned into a parking garage only a short way from his office, he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that had the agent behind the steering wheel, this infuriatingly smart-mouthed Italian, throw him a puzzled look in the rearview mirror.  

Now, though, after shouting every obscenity he could think of at the men (truly not many) and all but threatening to have the President himself waltz in and put an end to this “completely baseless!” travesty, he finds himself paralyzed with humiliation.

Sitting on a metal chair in the middle of an empty room, hands now cuffed to the back of said chair, his once crisp white shirt clammy with sweat.

He can feel it running down his neck, too, and through it all he’s at least grateful that he was allowed to go to the bathroom on the way down here.

His bladder would never have recovered from the stress of the ordeal if his captors hadn’t taken pity on him.

He'll bet they're laughing about that too.

If this was a movie, he would be awaiting actual torture, but he tries, tries as hard as he can, not to let the paranoia in.

Of course, the modern FBI of the 1970s doesn’t engage in torturing American citizens, and least of all people like him. Important people.

Right?

Jeb knows what they want to know, and despite his vehement protests and claims of innocence, he’s afraid he’ll end up giving it to them if he doesn’t pull himself together fast.

Closing his eyes, he wills his breathing to calm, vowing to not give them a thing, not a single thing.

They’ll have to see reason and let him go sooner than later.

Surely, they would never keep him overnight, just sitting here alone with his decomposing pride?

It’s already early evening.

Whatever would he tell Gail?

His wife already has one foot out of the door of their house in the expensive Washington suburb, and he’s pretty certain she’d take the entire step tomorrow morning if he returned from detention at the FBI.

He hangs his head, eyes still closed.

Gail suspects that he has fucked up, he can feel it, but what’s worse is that she has found him infuriatingly dull, if not borderline intolerable, for much longer than that.

They barely even talk anymore when he comes home from work, outside of exchanging practicalities to do with the children.

Consequently, the roses in the front yard have never looked healthier with all the hours he’s spent nurturing them, preferring the odd prick of a thorn through his gardening gloves to the icy stabs of silence to his heart when he sits in front of the tv next to a woman who’d sooner let him touch her with the garden hose than his pathetically inefficient cock.

You’re a failure.

A disgrace to your family and very soon to the nation itself.

Why on Earth did he go along with that idiotic operation in the first place?? Just because he so desperately wants to be in the room where it happens?

If you stand for nothing, then what do you fight for?

Jeb’s not sure about anything anymore other than that not too long ago, he passed the point of no return.

His head jerks up, eyes flying open, when the door to the room suddenly opens and he braces himself for more scorn being levied on him by the two bullies.

But to his surprise, it’s not them.

It’s a woman.

A female agent, by the look of her clothes.

A very beautiful female agent.

Oh, this is even worse.

As if he wasn’t already beyond embarrassed by his teary outburst in the car, now they’ve sent a beautiful woman to survey his unraveling.

“Evening, Mr. Magruder.”

He wants to refuse to respond, out of spite, but his manners get the better of him.

They will not reduce him to some savage.

“Evening.”

Calm.

Stay calm.

Her look is not unkind as her eyes search his face, and as always when confronted with attractive women, Jeb’s unable to switch off the blush slowly creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

Even now, here.

It’s a cruel trick, her presence.

He tries to sit up a little straighter, pushing his chin out in defiance of whatever’s to come.

But she just looks.

Why is she looking at him like that??

.

.

.

.

.

Oh, no.

Really?

Of all the people…

The man in front of you on the chair is a mess.

Floppy, dark brown hair unruly from jittery hands being run through it over and over before he was handcuffed.

Shirt crumbled, fashionable tie loosened.

Sweat is glistening on his brow, just as the fabric under his armpits appear soaked.

He’s clearly squirming to sit up straight, to give off a prouder stance, but the way they’ve secured his arms behind his back, he doesn’t succeed.

Besides, his look is so frightened and his eyes puffy from crying (ah, the beforementioned dam) that there’s no salvaging the overall picture of his utter defeat.

But those eyes…

My god, his pictures didn’t lie.

Even if you’ve mostly seen black and white clippings of Jeb Magruder, those bright eyes always burned right through the paper.

Yet nothing could have prepared you for the shock of blue depths you’re now being pulled right into against all logic.

Together with his sculpted cheekbones and movie star chin clef, those eyes make him one of the best-looking men you’ve ever met in this city.

Maybe ever, ever.

You suddenly recall reading a profile on him in a lifestyle magazine, years ago when he was first appointed, in which the journalist highlighted (along with other “personal facts” included to endear the President’s man to the public) that Jeb Magruder was an “expert swimmer”.

Judging from his broad shoulders that are currently straining most deliciously against the shirt as he attempts to make himself taller, you believe it.

Also, he’s damn tall.

He needn’t pull a muscle to convince you of that, cuffed to a chair or not.

“My name is Y/N, I work with the two gentlemen you’ve already met. I’m just checking to see if you’re alright in here, Mr. Magruder,” you say, appalled to find your voice sounding a lot more throaty than usual.

Jesus, girl.

He glares you.

“Do I look alright, Miss??” he hisses, his wholly unimpressive mask of self-composure already cracking.

“You’re keeping me here without charges! This is an outrage, and an attack on democracy, and-”

“An attack on democracy, is it now, Mr. Magruder?”

You raise an eyebrow, and there’s no mistaking the way he’s blushing.

Except it’s not from shame alone, you suspect.

You didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes (the eyes!) quickly roamed over your body as you walked into the room.

“I don’t…I really have no idea what…this is not…I have done nothing wrong!” he stutters, mouth twitching wildly in what must be the world’s most obvious poker tell.

The way he’s so helpless, this gorgeous, corrupt man, his long, black lashes still wet from crying, knees anxiously bobbing up and down, strong arms tied…

You feel the heat pool between your legs just at the sight of him.

Completely at your mercy.

And despite everything you know and are, your work, your moral, your anger at Lano and Magallanes’ recklessness less than half an hour ago, a most wicked idea blooms.

What if you were the one to get to him?

What if you got him warmed up and willing to spill all his dirty secrets to the boys the second they walked in, no persuasion needed?

When Jeb’s wide eyes start flickering from you to the door, accompanied by rather frantic blinking, you realize you’re staring at him with a not-so-subtle mischievous smirk.

Mind made up and a little high on the danger of it all, you turn to close the door, then take a few steps towards him.

He looks up at you, suspicion painted all over his face.

“I think you’ll talk, Mr. Magruder.”

“W-what? I have nothing to say to… I already told the other…”

Such weak protests.

This shouldn’t take long.

He could sue, absolutely, but he won’t. You’re sure.

After all, if everything checks out, he’s a menace to this country, is he not?

No way he’d risk drawing even more unwanted attention to his affairs.

He deserves whatever’s coming to him.

You walk around the chair to stand behind him (he cranes his neck after you as far as he can), and his entire body jolts when your fingers lightly touch his moist neck above the shirt collar.

“What are you-?!”

His voice is high pitched and scared.

You shush him.

“Now, Jeb, you’re going to cooperate with my colleagues when they get back. You’re a married man, are you not?”

A sharp intake of breath.

“Wh-why?? What does that have to do with anything??”

His hair curls at the nape of his neck, the sweat starting to reveal a very different, more natural look than the polished one he favors going to work.

You flick at the locks with your thumb and forefinger before lightly grabbing a fistful and leaning down close as you pull his head back.

His breath hitches in his throat.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want your forthcoming dishonorable discharge-”

He winces.

“…muddied any further by something… scandalous?”

“What do you…what do you mean?”

His blue eyes are staring up at you, terrified and upside down.

You tighten your grip on his hair. A tiny whine escapes him.

“Imagine for instance if…”

Your breath ghosts over his lashes, making them flutter even more.

“…imagine if word got out that you solicited a female FBI agent for salacious…activities?”

“What?!!”

He tries to shake his head free of your grip, but you don’t let go.

“Are you crazy?? You’re holding me here!!”

He’s raising his voice, though, and you cannot have that. Even if the floor seemed silent when you made your way down here.

You slowly slide your free hand over his shoulder and down his heaving chest, over the buttons on his shirt and relishing the feel of taut muscles under there.

Enjoying how he tries to twist and turn on the chair before you grab his tie and quickly yank it back over his shoulder.

He yelps as it tightens around his neck, but you only pull harder, wrapping it around your hand behind his back, and dipping your mouth to his left ear.

“You’re going to be a good boy, Mr. Magruder. A good, quiet boy, or I’ll stuff your fancy tie here in your mouth, is that understood?”

It’s so grotesque, so outrageous, you’re amazed that you pull off the line without dissolving into giggles or having stone cold mortification steal your resolve.

Forget the guys cuffing him, what you’re doing to him now is assault.

Yet you don’t stop.

He deserves it. Think of the war. Of all the wrongs him and his power-hungry friends have done for fat pay checks and shiny cars and weekend golf with the Supreme Dirtbag himself.

You figure you have at least an hour an a half before your colleagues return.

Plenty of time.

Jeb splutters and wheezes, and you loosen the grip on the tie to let him breathe again.

“Well, are you going to be good?” you ask, and to your delight he actually nods without further protests.

Well, that was easy.

.

.

.

.

.

What is happening to him?!?

Jeb gasps for air as the woman behind him lets go of his tie, but she’s still holding his hair in an iron grip, pulling his head back and exposing his throat.

He has a mad thought that she might bite him, like Vampira on that show that made him feel certain things when he was younger.

She doesn’t.

Instead, shivers run through him as her tongue darts out to playfully lick his earlobe before she plants little kisses behind his ear and down his neck, and he’s dizzy, and afraid, and baffled, but now he’s also closing his eyes and letting out a small moan as her soft lips brush over his skin.

He cannot help it.

No, he doesn’t understand what’s happing, what it is she’s threatening him with. If this is being filmed as part of an elaborate blackmail scheme.

But when she lets go of his hair to instead undo his tie completely before running both her warm palms down his front, working open the buttons of his shirt as she goes, he decides that there are probably worse forms of punishment.

Still, he should be fighting back, of course.

Yelling for help, even if she did threaten to gag him (the nerve!).

But however ludicrous the circumstances are, Jeb hasn’t been touched in so long.

Hasn’t felt a woman’s fingers explore him with such audacious curiosity.

And to his secret shame, the fact that she’s got him tied up doesn’t exactly deter his cock from growing hard.

Fast.

When she has his shirt open halfway, she straightens up, walks around the chair, and stands in front of him, surveying her work so far, and when her eyes drop to his crotch and she smiles with satisfaction, Jeb begins to worry that he may not last long under this brand of alternative interrogation after all.

“Why…why are you doing this to me?” A strained whisper as she kneels between his legs, pushing his knees apart, but she just holds a finger to her lips, reminding him that he promised to be quiet.

He bites the inside of his cheek when she runs her hands up his legs and the insides of his thighs, fingers idly tracing the seams and folds in his pants.

Up, up she goes, taking her time while his cock grows stiff and starts throbbing with anticipation and, pathetically, he eagerly spreads his legs further apart when she’s almost there.

Her fingers knead into his flesh just inches from the bulge, and he vividly imagines her hands taking hold of his length, when she smirks up at him… and her fingers move away again.

By its own accord, or so it feels like, his pelvis thrusts forward on the chair, and she grins and places a palm flat on the inside of each thigh, holding his legs spread wide.

“What’s this, Mr. Magruder?” she asks. “Is there something you want?”

A drop of sweat makes its way down his nose as he looks down at her, and he feels the familiar, treacherous tightness in his throat that signals another oncoming bout of liquid humiliation.

Soon there’ll be no telling one kind of salty stream from the other.

She licks her lips suggestively while awaiting his answer, allowing him to speak.

His cock twitches and he groans.

Please don’t stop, is what he wants to say.

Good god, please just put your hands on me.

But then he forces himself back to the present.

“I can’t…I’m married, and this is wrong, and…”

The tears come.

Blurring his vision, spilling over his lashes, running freely down his cheeks, and dripping onto his exposed chest without him being able to wipe at them.

He clenches his hands into tight fists behind the back of the chair, and hates himself.

His wrists are numb, and his arms are starting to hurt, and there are a million things he’s supposed to say and feel and object to.

And all he wants is for her to not stop touching him.

“Jeb?”

The way she speaks his first name, so softly, makes him blink with surprise against the tears.

“Y-yes?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to continue a bit?”

“No…?” he replies weakly, nodding vigorously.

She looks like she’s trying not to smile.

“Is that a ‘no, you’re not sure’, or ‘no, you want me to stop’?”

“I…”

This is torture.

When was the last time he and Gail had sex?

He cannot even remember.

“How about this, Jeb.”

She sits back on her heels, hands coming to rest easily on his knees in a manner much too intimately casual, he feels.

“You cooperate with my colleagues, taking whatever deal it is I know they’ve already flaunted, and I….”

Oh, god, her fingers begin their little dance up his thighs again.

“…I’ll make this whole sorry thing go down a little easier for you.”

Does she mean…?

Still, he promised himself he wouldn’t.

As much as he wants her to do whatever it is she's referring to, Mitchell, Dean, the PRESIDENT are the ones who will have his balls in the real world if he gives in.

It may all be coming down anyway, but Jeb Magruder will not be the first piece on the board to fall.

He won’t willingly accept that role in the story of the scandal that rocked Washington (as it will).

“No.”

“No?”

“I won’t. I can’t.”

He can hear how timid he sounds, and sure enough she doesn’t look in the least bothered.

“Okay, Mr. Magruder….”

She stands up, and Jeb feels his stomach sink.

That was it then.

His cock is still straining against his boxers, and the damn tears Just. Won’t. Stop.

…Except it isn’t it because now she looks at her watch, sighs, then slowly unbuttons her blouse, right there in front of him, and lets it slide off her arms.

She unhooks her bra, and Jeb makes a valiant and totally futile attempt to not gawk at her breasts as they are freed from their confinement.

His sobs do let up though, lodged in his throat, while his cock calls on all the blood to leave his brain.

And she doesn’t stop there.

Reaching up under her skirt, she pulls her panties down, shimmies out of them, carefully slipping them over first the one heeled shoe, then the other before discarding them on top of her blouse on the floor.

Does she not care if it’s dirty??

Jeb has always cared a great deal about hygiene himself.

A fact that he forgets the second she steps between his legs, bends down, and undoes his belt while looking straight into his eyes.

Her face is so near, and her eyes are so alive, and he thinks she’s going to kiss him, or that he’s going to kiss her, he’s not sure.

But she doesn’t, and he doesn’t dare.

Belt buckle open, his breathing becomes more labored, and he expects her to move on to the button and zipper, but once again she opts differently as she instead tugs at the belt, pulling it through all the loops around his waist until she has the whole thing in her hand.

Then she swiftly kneels again (oh, the way her breasts bounce!) …and uses the belt to tie his right leg to the leg of the chair by his ankle.

Tight.

What??

“Wait, what are you doing? This doesn’t…”

Is this because he won’t talk?

Are they going to inflict real torture on him after all??

Of course not, you idiot, a part of him intones, but the rest of him has a hard time staying calm on account of his bloodless brain.

She doesn’t say anything, but briefly stands up, removes her own belt, then kneels to tie his left leg to the chair as well, and he cannot stop her unless he wants to kick her in the face, and he would never, ever do such a thing.

He is trapped.

More trapped.

“Now…” She purrs.

He swallows.

She straddles him, placing her hands on his shoulders for support, feet on either side of the chair, and lowers herself down onto his lap, and Jeb closes his eyes and tries to think of something, anything, picking up after the President’s stupid dog, that will make him not lose his mind and give her anything she wants.

However, then she grinds her naked sex over his erection, right at the same time as leaning in to kiss him, and he knows he’s lost already.

Roaming hands slide up his shoulders to his neck, into his hair, before she cradles his face as she kisses him so heatedly, he can only reciprocate, helplessly moaning as she nibbles on his lower lip.

As her tongue slips into his mouth in a way he hasn’t been kissed in too many years to count.

She begins to roll her hips over his cock, and while he cannot look down as long as her lips are on his, he can feel her folds rubbing against him.

And the wetness.

For him.

How??

He aches to thrust up against her heat, craves more friction, but with his legs tied and her on top of him, he can’t move.

She’s the one in control.

Leaning back and breaking the kiss, she gets to work on the last buttons of his shirt, pushing the garment open and dipping her head to kiss his collarbone, before moving even further down and tapping her tongue against his left nipple, causing his stomach muscles to contract at the tickling and another moan, a surprised “o-ohh” leaves his lips.

She hums approvingly, hands exploring his chest and biceps, and then her lips return to his while her probing, magical fingers finally move down to where their bodies meet, pop open the button of his pants and pull down the zipper.

“That’s it, Jeb…” she mumbles against his mouth, and he yelps again when she lifts herself up and frees him.

“Ooh, there you are…” she coos, stroking all of him, and if only it had been biologically possible, his face would have turned an even deeper, never-before recorded shade of scarlet at the praise in her voice.

She sounds so pleased.

Then she’s grinding against him again, and now it’s slick, sensitive skin against skin, her pussy rolling over the underside of his cock as the head leaks onto his stomach, and he tears at the cuffs to absolutely no avail, desperately wanting to touch her, to grab her hips and guide her to slide down onto him.

Even more so, he wants to fuck her on this maybe-not-quite sanitary floor, spreading her wide open with his weight between her legs, pinning her wrists above her head as he thrusts deep and hard into her and chases his release.

His rightful reward for having been subjected to this insanity.

But he can’t.

He can only pant heavily while she uses him and tilt his head up towards her and beg through the locks of damp, wavy hair that have fallen in front of his face.

And so, he does.

“Please…please just…j-just do it!”

Please just fuck me, woman!

He cannot bring himself to say the word, and if he had his wits about him, he’d curse his conservative upbringing.

As it is, he whimpers pleas that she ignores, instead grinding down harder on him, rolling her hips, and gasping in a completely uninhibited way that tells him she’s courting her own climax, her juices making her slide easily over his cock.

“Please..!!”

He can’t take it. He almost shouts.

She stops her movement.

“Now, Mr. Magruder,” she says, breathless.

Her fingers once again weave through his hair, gently tugging.

If he wasn’t tied up in an interrogation room and about to lose everything he has and is, this would be the hottest thing that has ever happened to him by a mile and a million.

He wants to lean into her touch and close his eyes.

“Are you going to play nice?”

Oh.

So, this is how it’s going to be.

His cock, so hard it almost hurts, doesn’t give a shit about his pride.

“I…”

He takes a few deep breaths. Tries not to look directly at her face.

She sees his hesitation – and promptly rolls her pussy against him one more time. With feeling.

“Oh, god, oh…!”

“Well?”

He lifts his eyes to hers.

And sees it.

Fleeting, but there.

The way her pupils widened as they met his.

Who are you?

Another roll of her hips, and he pulls at the cuffs with so much force the chair creaks dangerously under them.

A glimpse of worry in her eyes.

But it’s game over.

He just prays she hasn’t been playing him.

“I’ll do it…I’ll take the deal. Please just…please let me have you.”

She smiles a bright, wide smile, right into his face like a little sun, and he forgets to blink.

“Good boy, Jeb. Good boy.”

…and she reaches for his cock, lifts herself up and guides it to her entrance, rubs the head against her dripping folds, and then, finally, she’s lowering herself onto him, slowly, so slowly the world disappears as her tight heat squeezes him so perfectly, and he’s sure he has never felt anything this good before in his life.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big…” she gasps, forehead resting against his, but he can hardly understand what she’s saying, because then she begins to move, lifting herself almost all the way off and then sinking all the way down on him, her breasts bouncing, and she lets him bury his face in the crook of her neck while he mewls with pleasure.

After a while (three minutes? 10? He has no idea), he can feel her thighs begin to quiver from the exertion of moving up and down, and instead she starts rolling her hips against him again, this time with him buried to the hilt in her pussy, and her fingers hungrily clawing at his scalp, his shoulders.

Her nails are leaving marks.

She could scratch her initials across his cheeks, and he wouldn’t care.

He only cares about her wanting him, as it sure feels like she does, although he cannot for the life of him understand why.

He’s getting so close, and he would sell the FBI his soul, possibly a couple of his children, if she would only let him free right now so he could hold her, kiss her breasts, and roll her hard nipples between his fingers…and set a bruising, unrelenting pace towards the finishing line.

“Let me go…please, I want to touch you!”

She yanks his head back by his hair and squeezes her pussy around him, making him growl like a wild animal.

“Not a chance, handsome.”

And so, with tears of lust and frustration and amazement drawing glittering trails down his sunburned face, Jeb Magruder sits tied to a chair in interrogation room 3, scarcely able to move, as a female FBI agent rides his cock until he comes, spilling his seeds inside her and filling the room and the (thankfully empty) hallway outside with deep groans of ecstasy.

After his cock has stopped pulsing, she carefully lifts herself off it, and he feels his cum leak out of her pussy and onto his pants and knows he’s not quite himself because he doesn’t worry about the hard-to-explain stain it’s going to leave.

Then she makes herself comfortable on his lap again, thighs spread, and reaches down and brings herself to orgasm while he stares dumbstruck at her fingers slipping in and out of her pussy, and toying with the clit he yearns to put his mouth over.

When she shudders and slumps forwards against his chest, and he rests his chin on her shoulder, he tells her.

“I would have done that…for you. I mean…I would have liked to do that for you,” he whispers into her hair, and her arms wrap around his neck, squeezing.

“Maybe next time.”

His heart nearly stops.

“You mean…?”

She sits up, takes his face in her hands, and tilts it up so she can kiss him. Deeply.

When she breaks away, her expression is something awfully akin to tender.

“Who knows what’ll happen somewhere down the line… Mr. Magruder.”

He doesn’t know what to say, and regrettably reality comes flooding back.

‘Somewhere down the line’ he’ll go to jail.

For god knows how long.

Unless…

As she gets off him and gets dressed, he decides.

He’s going to be the first piece to fall, yes, but not only will he cooperate, he’ll set the whole goddamn board on fire.

He will not go quiet into the night.

He feels like his brain has been short-circuited, and he’s still scared and confused, but something is different.

Can you fuck someone into being a better man?

If true, Jeb has to concede to the pitifully shallow depths of his beliefs seeing as it took this wonder woman less than an hour to complete the task.

She frees his legs and ties his belt around him (with some difficulty as the cuffs still don’t allow him to twist much. He can no longer feel his hands).

Then she stuffs his cock into his boxers – they share a sheepish grin at the absurdity – and she closes his pants and buttons up his shirt.

Finally, she smooths his hair back in place as far as it will go and plants a quick kiss on his cheekbone, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“See you around,” she says, and he wants to ask her something, but then she’s already by the door, and it’s her who turns around before he can find the words.

Hand on the doorknob, she gives him a long look.

“Don’t be stupid once you catch your breath again, okay? Take the deal…sweetheart.”

Jeb nods.

“I will.”

“And Jeb?” (Jeb. Not Mr. Magruder. A sign).

“Yes?”

“I can give you a lift back to your office once they’re done with you. It’s… on my way.”

“O-kay…?”

“Unless you want to take the bus. Or have Lano drive you, of course.”

“No, no. Definitely no.”

Whatever deal the other agents are offering him, it will never be as sweet as the promise of this one, of that Jeb is certain.  

That sunbeam smile hits him square in the face again.

And then the door slams shut and he’s left alone with his thoughts racing.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading!

You can find all my other Hamish Linklater character fics here:

Masterlist

Tagging @aherdofbees @supplanther @girlwiththenegantattoo @agirlinherhead @vintageglassheart02 @ebiemidnightlibrarian @littleredwritingcat @everythingbutresolved @pegplunkett

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

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[sandbees]

A few about the Great Seven interacting with Twisted Wonderland characters VIA Yuu. 👀 I only have one word summary; Chaos.

Who would meet the Great Seven first? Obviously the first years (along with Ortho and Grim). They’re Yuu’s best friends after all.

Actually, it was Friday, the last day of the week. And coincidentally, that night would be a special night at the House of Mouse. Ariel and her sisters would be performing that night.

Mickey told Yuu that that they could invite anyone to watch the performance. So Yuu went to get special permission to take their friends along with them.

After kidnapping Ortho After Yuu gathers everyone, they explain that they’re going out to see a special performance at their workplace.

Keep in mind that no one knows exactly what Yuu’s new job was except Grim and Crowley. So naturally everyone was in on it and curious. (Only Grim knows about Yuu meeting the Great Seven though)

Ace: So where do you work at?

Yuu: I work at a club.

Epel: ...As in a strip club or a book club?

Yuu: Wtf Epel? It’s like a club but no alcohol. It’s technically a restaurant but they have live shows and put on a lot of performances so-

Deuce: Oh! That’s cool, we get to see it together!

Yuu: Actually I’m not going to be with you guys. I’m on duty that day so I’ll be waiting tables. But I’ll join during break.

Ace: Really? Bummer.

Ortho: Aw, I wanted to hang out with you too! But it will be fun nonetheless. :D

Yuu tells them to wait downstairs as they go upstairs to get everything ready.

They are low-key nervous, because the House of Mouse isn’t...exactly normal by Twisted Wonderland standards.

Meanwhile, Grim was telling the first years about Yuu’s experiences there.

Grim: You know, the House of Mouse is really popular, I’ve heard about a lot of customers Yuu has met.

Deuce: This job must have been hard...I’m glad Yuu got it though!

Grim: Yeah, they pay them 5,000 madol! Isn’t that great?!

Sebek: 5,000 madol?! That’s a lot more than being a waiter.

Ace: In a week? I mean having a salary of 5,000 is pretty impressive.

Grim: Hehe, it’s actually 5,000 a day.

First Years: WHAT?!

Jack: To be able to pay that much...the owner must be wealthy.

Epel: Yuu lucked out!

When Yuu comes down, the first years are asking a billion questions.

How did you find a job with such a high pay??? Is the work good?? Is your boss nice to you?? Explain everything-

Yuu assured them that their job is just waiting a bunch of tables, and that they’re payed well because the place is very popular.

Anyways, Yuu tells them that they’re going now and leads them upstairs.

“Shouldn’t we be going to the hall of mirrors-?” “It won’t work.”

The group kind of loses their mind as Yuu casually pushes Ace into their mirror, Grim follows behind.

“Come on, or do I have to push you through the mirror like I did with Ace?”

Safe to say is that they go through the mirror and are greeted with a very lavish dressing room.

“Wait woah this isn’t Mickey’s dressing room.”

Yuu finds a note and read it out loud. Apparently Mickey moved the mirror to a new room so they could have privacy. Anything in the room is for their use.

“I’m going to cry. He’s so nICE I DON’T DESERVE THIS-“

Yuu is pretty happy with this arrangement, actually. They also begin to explain the club’s shtick to their friends.

“So this is basically a club for entertainment with live shows and also cartoons on the screen. Oh, and sometimes a cat named Pete tries to sabotage the show so he can kick everyone out and make this his club.” “Isn’t that illegal-“ “Not if there’s no police.”

So anyways Yuu leads them outside and they run into Goofy.

Sebek: Is that-?

Yuu: Hi Goofy, I’m bringing my friends to a table for the show-

Goofy: Yuu! There you are! You’re needed at table 14.

Yuu: What? But my shift hasn’t started-

Goofy: Reservations from Hades himself.

Yuu: Oh shit, ok yeah I’ll be there as soon as possible-

Ortho: Hades? As in the God of the Underworld?

Yuu: Yes, I’ll explain later, more importantly let’s go find you a table.

Ace: I think not telling us you actually met one of the GREAT SEVEN!

Yuu: I did tell you; and you didn’t believe me.

Everyone is vibrating in nervousness and excitement. Especially Ortho. I mean, this is the GREAT SEVEN we’re talking about!

Yuu decides to introduce them to Hades. But surprise surprise, it’s all of the Great Seven!

Yuu’s first year friends are going to pass out from shock. Oof.

With some inquiry, Yuu explains to the Great Seven that the friends they brought were from Twisted Wonderland.

Let’s just say that the First Years got invited to sit at their table. (Sebek is quaking at the idea of sitting with the Witch of Thorns)

So while Yuu leaves to start work (not after taking all of their orders first, of course), the Great Seven begin asking the first years + Grim questions.

The first years are expectantly tense, but they loosen up.

Ursula and Jafar are a little disappointed that no one from their dorm is present, but they seem to easily forget that after Yuu tells them that they know people from their respective dorms anyways.

Yuu also gives them a little more information they found about their respective dorms, so that they don’t feel...left out? (Satisfied is a better word for it)

Ursula pets Grim and Jafar feeds him crackers. Grim does not complain, he’s fine. He becomes more compliant as his tuna arrives.

And some of the other’s thoughts? Well...

The Queen of Hearts almost blew up in anger at Ace and Deuce. They are idiots that do nOT KNOW THE PROPER WAY TO SPEAK TO THEIR SUPERIORS AND THEY HAVE BROKEN AT LEAST 359 RULES ALREADY-

But somehow, the Queen of Hearts warms up to the idiotic duo. She sees them as...annoying children she has to babysit but they’re also really adorable that she can’t stay mad at them forever. Plus, Deuce is trying and Ace has these wonderful card tricks that would make her Jester cry.

So at first, she does not approve, but as the night progresses she does. 8/10 would meet the ADeuce combo again.

Scar and Jack...hm. Well, I don’t think they’d get along of Scar’s sense of morality and justice of the past was brought up. However, the villains all agreed to not bring up their villainous past because they didn’t want to scare away Yuu/make them wary and distrustful of them. Same goes for the first years.

Anyways, Scar is impressed at how buff Jack is. He isn’t surprised though - he expected residents of his dorm to be powerful. Scar lays down some well deserved praise and Jack eats it up with a tail wag. Jack also talks about his dorm and what the dorm represents. Scar’s ego rises 100x and Scar becomes somewhat...egotistical. Well, maybe not like in a “I’m shoving my ego in your face” type of ego but in a “This pleases me and I will treat you kinder” ego.

Basically, Scar opens up a little more to Jack as the night progresses. Like a mentor/student bond.

The Evil Queen and Epel...well, the Evil Queen was quite picky with how Epel was acting. Yes, he had the proper posture but really, he was using the wrong forks to eat that particular kind of food. She expected better from someone who came from her dorm. So she ended up chastising him and scolding him for being “improper”. Like Vil.

She was shocked to say when Epel accidentally snapped back at her, before returning to his more “princely” persona. Ah, so the child had more than meets the eye. She tried a different approach, as in trying to ease Epel into talking to her. Certainly, Epel was much more headstrong and willful than that naive Snow White.

So, the Evil Queen and Epel have a rocky start, but by the end of the show.

Hades and Ortho...well, that’s a combo you never see everyday. But I think Hades would basically adopt Ortho. As in suddenly he gets father vibes from the kid. He’s also particularly interested in his own dorm, and asks Ortho about it. Ortho’s pretty chatty with Hades, and is happy to tell Hades about his dorm! He also asks a few questions himself; which Hades happily obliged to.

...and then it turns into Ortho talking about Idia and how wonderful he is. And Hades is like, “damn, this kid has a wonderful big brother. How come my younger siblings act like shit to me-“

So Hades silently swore to the River of Styx to keep this child safe, and Ortho had a fun time interacting with Hades!

Sebek and Maleficent...well, it could have been worse.

Poor Sebek was tense and tight lipped for most of the night. He really wanted to make a good impression on Malleus’ grandmother. (I don’t think Sebek has met Maleficent yet so-)

Maleficent was patient, however. She knew Fae kind were raised to think of Maleficent as a high authority figure that should be treated with upmost respect. Unlike the other kingdoms; the Valley of Thorns praised Maleficent like a goddess. She didn’t blame Sebek for acting like he was.

So she started with baby steps. Talking about how wonderful it was to meet her grandson’s bodyguard, how Malleus must have grown to be a strong magician, how she wished she had stayed to know more about her grandson.

Actually, the breaking point between the tense atmosphere between the two was Malleus. Sebek opens up a little more as he continues to talk to Maleficent.

At the end of the night, they’ve only talked about Malleus, but Maleficent was content with that. After all, keeping up with what her grandson was doing was more than enough.

By the end of the night, the First Years enjoyed the special performance and their time with the Great Seven. Things went well especially when Yuu came to join during their break.

So when it was time to go, everyone had happily said their goodbyes as they were ready to return.

“Oh, before I forget...Yuu, I have almost completed the portals for the others so do expect one of us to pop in soon.” “Oh, ok!” “...THEY MIGHT VISIT US?!”

Everyone is low key excited to meet again though.

So, the first years go through the mirror and stay at Ramshackle, chatting away at their time at the House of Mouse.

_=_

Yeah, this was a looonngg write, I’m actually going to do the rest of the TW cast in another post. I hope you enjoyed this one! :)

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Who Hurt You? | Kaz Brekker x Sister!Reader

Requested by anon: “Can you write a Kaz brekker fic where he has a younger sister who he takes care of, and one day she comes home after having a little fight and all he wants to do is take revenge on whoever layed a finger on his baby sister, but she wants him to stay by her side and take care of her?”

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sister!reader, Jesper x Reader (platonic), Nina x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 1088

Warnings: angst, injured reader, brief description of injuries, Kaz’s fear of touching, some cute stuff

A/N: it didn't turn out exactly like the request but its close? Also I’m bad at endings but I hope you like it. As always, spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :) 

(Backstory for anyone who hasn't read the books: Kaz and his brother Jordie were conned by Pekka Rollins and lost all their money. While living on the streets they got sick and Jordie died.)

Masterlist

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“HELP!” Jesper yells as he carries your badly beaten and lifeless body into the Crow club “I NEED HELP!”

Nina is the first to run over, clearing a table for Jesper to lay you down on and immediately checking you over.

“What happened?” Kaz asks, rushing over to your side.

“I found her in the alley round the corner, looks like she was beaten up and dumped there” 

“She’s alive, just about.” Nina explains “Her heart rate is very slow and she’s struggling to breathe”

“Can you help her?” Jesper asks

“I’m not a healer, but I’ll see what I can do” she says, placing her hand gently on your chest right above your heart. She closes her eyes, focusing on your heartbeat as Jesper grips your hand in his. 

Kaz stands on the side of the table, anxiously watching for a sign that you’ll be okay. Seeing his little sister, his only remaining family, lying there bruised and bleeding on the table breaks his heart. He scans your face taking in the deep slash on your cheek, the black eye, the dried blood around your nose. His eyes continue to scan down your body at the torn clothes now stained with dirt and deep red blood, until he reaches your hand which is covered in scratches and tightly encased in Jesper’s hands. He stares down at your other hand lying on the table in front of him and he inches himself closer to it, willing himself to hold it. 

He looks back at your face and after taking a deep breath he finally takes your hand in his gloved one. Jesper looks at him in shock but he ignores his friend, choosing to focus on you. His little sister who needs him right now. 

Suddenly you take a deep breath, slowly exhaling as your breathing becomes normal. Nina removes her hand and takes a step back. 

Your eyes slowly flutter open and you look around, taking in your surroundings as you realise where you are. You look at Jesper and he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze. That’s when you realise someone else is holding your other hand. You turn your head to see the black leather gloved hand in yours and look up at your brother.

“Kaz?” You say quietly. He gives you a tiny nod as he allows himself to let go of your hand. You understand how hard it will have been for him to do that, he can’t stand the feeling of touching someone. Even his own sister. 

“How do you feel?” Nina asks, rushing to your side to help you as you try to sit up.

“Like shit” is all you say watching your brother as he now slowly paces the room deep in thought, his cane tapping quietly on the floor with each step. 

“I’ll run you a bath and we’ll get you cleaned up”

You smile at Nina before she turns and heads upstairs. 

“I’m glad you're okay, you gave us a fright” Jesper says, taking a seat on the table next to you.

“sorry about that” you say, smiling back at him

“Who did this to you?” Kaz finally speaks, the smiles quickly drops off your face.

“It doesn’t matter”

“Someone thinks it’s okay to hurt my sister and leave her for dead and I can’t have that, so tell me who hurt you?”

“Please just leave it-”

“Who?”

“Just some guys-”

“Y/N!”

“Pekka Rollins” you finally admit and Kaz’s face turns to pure rage.

“I’ll kill him” Jesper says, jumping up and grabbing the guns from his pocket.

“I already tried that. Kinda why I’m in this mess” you say, letting out a small awkward laugh “I broke into his office-”

“Leave us” Kaz interrupts you, dismissing Jesper but never taking his eyes off you. 

There’s an awkward silence as you and Jesper silently exchange a look before Jesper goes to leave. He stops next to Kaz.

“Go easy on her” he says quietly and Kaz shoots him a look. 

Once Jesper is gone Kaz turns his attention back to you, anger in his eyes. You're in trouble. 

“What were you thinking?! Trying to take on Pekka Rollins on your own, he could have killed you! He almost did!”

“Jordie!” You snap, shouting back at him rendering him silent “I was thinking about Jordie, and how he would still be alive if Pekka hadn’t stolen all of our money.” 

“Y/N” Kaz sighs sympathetically. 

“It’s not fair Kaz. Our brother is dead because of him and he’s just walking around like nothing happened!”

“I know. Trust me, I hate Pekka Rollins just as much as you do-”

“Then why is he still alive? Why aren’t we doing anything?” 

“We will Y/N, we will make him pay for what he did but not yet. We can’t just go rushing in there like you did today. We need to take our time and plan this properly. But most importantly, we need each other.” 

He’s right and you know it, but you don't want to admit it so you just look away. Kaz sighs as he takes a seat next to you on the table, close but not close enough to touch.

“I need you to promise me you won’t try anything like this again” he says

“I promise” you look up at him “and I’m sorry I made you worry”

“I’m your big brother, its my job to worry about you” he flashes a small smile before his face returns to its naturally serious look. He stands up, leaning slightly on his cane. “I’ve got work to do. Do you need anything before I go?” 

“Can you send Jesper back in here?” 

“Why?”

“Because I’ve had a pretty rough day and I could really do with a hug” you say honestly. 

Kaz turns to leave, but stops. He stands still for a moment and you watch him confused as he takes a deep breath and turns back to you. Suddenly he pulls you in and hugs you tightly. After you get over the initial shock you close your eyes and sink into his arms, making the most of every moment. After a few seconds he lets go and takes a few steps back trying to calm himself down. You give him the time he needs to recover.

“Thank you” you say quietly when he finally looks at you. He just nods in response and sits down next to you again “I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait”