#with them exchanging mail before meeting

[aweina]

ᰔ. wrong package : mike schmidt — suggestive warning !! + ft. secondhand embarrassment.

next door neighbor mike who randomly appears in front of your doorstep, an unusual flushed look in his tired features. neither of you have been formally acquainted, if you don’t count the forced awkward exchanges when getting the mail outside.

although, mike was good looking despite his unkempt demeanor — the remnant memories of his stiff politeness and husk voice had you fawning over him for as long as you were made aware of his presence. but it seems like he’d rather get to work or rest at home than getting to know any of his neighbors.

but now, he stands in front of you shifting one foot over the other — his wavering eyes settling onto the torn box in his grasp rather than your face. there was a bob to his throat, swallowing down on his thickening saliva in anticipation.

“uh sorry to bother you, but i’ve actually gotten your package on accident and ummm … i opened it.” his fumbling words shot through his lips like he’s in a rush, but you still manage to make his statement coherent.

he directs your curious eyes over the beaten package and immediately, your polite smile turned into a silent scream. the rabbit vibrator that you ordered online was hastily covered in some old newspaper — what mike probably did beforehand out respect of your already invaded privacy. the hot pink color and obnoxious packaging taunting you. your name was bold and printed on the delivery sticker, sparing you no excuses for your erotic purchase.

your dilated pupils and now flushed complexion made mike feel apologetic, yet somewhat amused. his encounters with you were a rarity, but he made sure to remember those moments. like when you would focus on reading the mail beside the shared mailbox, the way your face looked so cute carefully squinting and mumbling each word. or even that time you mistaken his sister as his daughter, the same dust of pink settled onto your cheeks like it did now.

mike formed an impression that you’re put together and tooth achingly innocent, but after accidentally opening your package — his superficial thoughts about you has gone down south and into the depths of a more lustrous head space.

how would you look like using it? what would you sound like? crude and carnal ideas spilling over the mental image of your face, his senses clouded with this new epiphany.

he carefully hovers his hand over yours and guides them with a phantom touch, placing the package gently in your stiffened grasp. the furrow in your brows and lack of response made him worried you might pass out — but then you began to sputter a shy “thank you”, your quivering eyes never meeting his. it was a nice look, he couldn’t deny it.

“i won’t tell, promise.” his previous nervous manner completely melted away as he teases you for a bit, his pointer finger pressed against his friendly smile — like it could somehow permanently seal his lips from exposing your status on your sex life.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak — not when you heart feels like it’s about to explode while your body temperature is fighting between haunting chills or overwhelming heat. the gaze in his eyes was much more darker and relaxed than before. weirdly enough, you trust him like you’ve known him your whole life. mike gives you a friendly farewell before he makes his way back into his house.

slowly shutting the door with a solid click, you immediately pathetically fall to your knees and shriek in absolute horror — the box crashing down with you and revealing the one thing that made this rare exchange so humiliating, embarrassment settling so thick in your core. your hot neighbor knowing you’re sexually active? currently getting off to a dingy sex toy? you cannot go back outside again, not if you’re going to possibly see him. hell, you cannot even use the toy without thinking of mike. it’s like he cursed it with some spell, the whispers of his name draw closer each passing second whenever you gaze at the toy.

his ears perk at the bloodcurdling scream that pierced through your closed windows — one so loud and dramatic, it sounded like an active crime scene. he couldn’t help but helplessly laugh into his baggy sleeves, prickles of tears in the corners of his eyes. it’s been awhile since he’s laughed like that, it was needed. returning back home felt less eventful, your embarrassment still making him chuckle under his breath and somewhat eager to see it on you again.

of course, there’s no shame of getting yourself off, but if you needed a helping hand — mike would gladly come over and do his due diligence to be the perfect neighbor. with his new image of you carved into his mind and colorful second impression of you, maybe it’s time for him to make a more formal introduction of himself, once you actually start recovering from your eternal embarrassment.

[lexirosewrites]

Omega Steve that suffers chronic migraines that impacts his dating life. Usually his dates think he’s dramatic or blowing them off, he’s even been left at a bar one night after spending it with his head in the toilet.

That’s the same night he met his knight it shining armor, sitting in the alpha’s lap and taking in his scent while he waited for Robin. Of course, he’s sick and forgets to get the alphas name, but his scent has been imprinted in Steve’s nose.

So it’s a few years down the road, Steve had taken his kid brother Dustin and his friends to a metal concert they had won backstage passes for. Prepared with his pain meds and earplugs, he kept his eyes in the kids. Towards the end, they go to the back for their meet and greet, but when the bands coming in that scent floods his nose and it takes everything not to jump into the alpha’s arms.

While the kids are picking out free merch that the band offers to sign, the alpha slides up next to him with his curly mop of hair that had grown in the few years and nervously picks up a conversation with Steve. He finally got his saviors name and three other interested alphas. They’re all hitting on him, trying to get him to swoon that it gets him to chuckle. The kids come back over and distract the band, so Steve just sits on the sofa offered. Hours shift, the bands manager trying to get them to hurry because they got to make it across country in two days for their next concert.

After the kids calmed down and started getting nodding off next to him, Steve takes them to the car for the hour travel back home. He doesn’t expect his savior helping him carry four young, sleepy, boys to his car. There’s an awkward exchange between them before they exchange numbers, telling him he’d like to see him again to thank him for taking care of him.

With a promise and a nip in the neck from Steve, they split way. Color Steve surprised when he receives a FaceTime, not just with his savior, Gareth, but the whole band. Cue them deciding to court him when Steve admits he’s polyamorous. And if he received things the boys have scented in the mail that kick in his heat early, well that’s for only them to know.

At the end of the tour, they show up to swoon Steve off on a group date, except he’s having a flare up of his migraine and he’s ready for them to shove him off to the side and leave, call him a tease like many other alphas have. Instead he’s in Gareth’s lap while the other’s help get him comfortable.

If he wakes up to four alphas in his nest and ends up taking four knots that day it’s no one else’s business. Maybe a few years down the road Steve’s round with a pup, it still no one’s business.

Also a side note because I couldn’t fit it in anywhere. Steve has chronic migraines due to his abusive parents beating him as a young pup. Claudia was his foster mom that ended up adopting Steve so she’s his mom and will always be his mom. I just imagine she’s excited that Steve has many mates and a grand baby on the way.

i wasn’t expecting this to turn into Corroded King, but that’s my favorite kind of surprise tbh!!!💛

[marvelfilth]

Just to be clear

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x f!reader

Warnings: oblivious™ reader

Summary: you get the girl... eventually

Masterlist

You've never felt like you belonged in this industry. The people you've worked with were kind, compassionate and totally devoted to their craft, so creatively gifted it almost made you feel bleak in comparison, so you never felt like you could share your ideas with your fellow actors, you didn't feel brave enough to come up to a director and offer him your thoughts on the scene you were about to play out. You never thought you'd fit in enough to feel comfortable in the studio, cornered between blue screens and people dressed in superhero costumes, not when you got your first Golden Globe and not even when you got your first Oscar.

You still couldn't wrap your mind around the fact that you were nominated in the first place, let alone won, but the awards under your belt gave you enough credibility to pick and choose between roles offered to you, and you used it to your advantage, disregarding scripts sent to you to check the cast instead, only picking films with people you actually wanted to meet.

Your manager always tried his best to keep his hands to himself when you did that, barely holding back from slapping the back of your head every time you threw away an Oscar worthy script, huffing and rolling his eyes as he typed away on his phone.

That's why, when a script to Scream 7 landed in your mail, you snagged it away before he could burn it. After all, you've been a fan of the franchise for a long time now, you couldn't let an opportunity like that pass.

He groaned and banged the back of his head against the wall repeatedly when he saw the script in your hands, muttering something under his breath. You just smiled and made him schedule a meeting with the director.

You didn't regret your decision.

The first time you met the cast you felt a bit timid, seeing how familiar they were with each other, laughing and exchanging jabs around the table, before falling silent when they finally noticed you lingering at the door.

"Oh my god it's true!" Jasmine screeched, jumping up from her seat. Her eyes shone so brightly, you couldn't help but smile. "When Jenna told me you were casted I laughed in her face. I can't believe it!" She came to a stop in front of you, holding you by the elbow as she led you to the table. "What are you doing here with us peasants?"

You chuckled, feeling at ease and she blabbered on, gesturing wildly as she introduced you to the people in the room. Relief flooded through you with each smile sent your way, and soon enough you were seated at the round table, actively engaging in banter and laughter, your eyes crinkling in the corners and your grin so wide it made your cheeks hurt.

Working with them was as easy as breathing.

While Jasmine and Mason never failed to make you feel welcomed with their harmless jokes and good-natured teasing, Melissa took the role of an older sister, always making sure you felt comfortable around other actors and filming crew, showing you around the set and taking you to her favorite cafés. It made you feel warm all over and each night you returned to your rented apartment with a content smile.

Jenna, on the other hand, was an enigma. While everyone else took a direct approach from the first day, not shying away from questions about your previous projects, gossiping about people you've worked with and dragging you around the city whenever you had free time, she seemed to almost tiptoe around you, greeting you with a simple smile and tilt of her head and never uttering more than five words in your presence.

At first, you thought you did something wrong, your eyebrows furrowing each time she brushed past you, headphones around her neck and a small smile in place as she greeted you with a simple wave of her fingers. You always made sure to send her a small wave in return, your expression growing even more confused every time she ducked her head, her falling hair hiding a flustered expression she tried so hard to keep from showing on her face.

When you asked Melissa about it almost a month into filming she just laughed and shook her head, muttering something about clueless teenagers. It left you even more confused.

The next day after that conversation Jenna approached you during lunch, sitting beside you on a bench and offering a single earbud with that small smile in place. You beamed and took the offered item, spending the next forty minutes happily munching on your fries and listening to her playlist, occasionally stealing looks at the beautiful girl beside you.

A fry fell from your grasp each time your eyes met.

If you thought you spent a lot of time with Melissa and Jasmine, you were wrong, because now, three months into filming, you felt like you and Jenna were joined at the hip.

She grew bolder after your every interaction, monopolizing your lunch time at first, then moving on to picking you up in the morning and driving you back after a long day on set, and recently she chose to drive you both to her place instead, claiming she needed someone to watch the newest movie with, which usually ended up in you staying in her guest room after hours of heated discussions.

The mornings after those nights were your absolute favorite.

You'd wake up from your alarm to find her humming in the kitchen, cooking the two of you breakfast. She never made anything requiring much effort, sticking to scrambled eggs and toast, but sometimes you'd wake up a little earlier to surprise her with a new recipe, setting the table for two and waiting for the grumpy brunette. The smile she sent you at the sight never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

It was perfect, really, save for one thing.

Somewhere along the lines you started to fall in love.

You didn't know how it happened, you didn't expect it and you certainly didn't plan on it, but at the same time you weren't surprised.

Jenna could charm the pants off anyone without even trying, and the way almost every conversation you had with her almost always turned flirtatious made your heart swell in your chest.

"I love this shirt on you," she said one night after the movie ended, reaching forward to straighten the collar of your shirt, "you should wear it more often."

Somehow the shirt ended up in her closet, and when one day she wore it on set you almost face planted right on the ground, catching yourself at the last moment.

"I thought you wanted me to wear it more often?" You asked her at the end of the day, your cheeks reddening slightly at the way she smiled and hugged the fabric closer to her body.

"I think it looks even better on me."

You laughed it off and let her roam your closet that same night when she dropped you off, feeling warm all over at the sight of her being so comfortable in your space.

Melissa was the first one to notice the change in Jenna's wardrobe, but she didn't say anything, instead simply sending you a knowing smile and a thumbs up.

Jasmine, however, didn't notice until a few weeks later when the five of you were having a movie night at Mason's place, all tucked in the spacious couch spreading along the length of the room.

Jenna just came back from the kitchen with freshly made popcorn for the two of you when the movie was suddenly paused, making everyone in the room groan.

"Come on!" Mason threw his hands in the air, falling back against the cushions.

"What the hell is that?" She pointed a finger at the hoodie Jenna wore that night, your hoodie. Her eyes narrowed to slits, darting between the two of you and you could almost see the gears turn in her head. "Are you two fu-"

"Jasmine!" Melissa cut her off, taking the remote form the taller girl and unpausing the movie, shushing any attempts at asking questions.

You chose to ignore what was almost said, turning to focus on the movies when you felt your neck prickle. Knowing what it meant you kept your gaze pinned to the TV, ignoring a certain pair of brown eyes boring at the side of your head.

A hand sneaked up your thighs to rest at the edge of your shorts. "Are you okay?" She whispered, her voice quiet enough so only you could hear.

You nodded, not daring to look back at her, and placed your palm on top of her hand, lacing your fingers. She exhaled and slumped against your side, nestling her head on your shoulder.

Neither of you moved until the movie ended.

×××

All of it would've been perfect if you were the only one on the receiving end of her undivided attention.

Mason, who broke up with his girlfriend before filming started, seemed to always keep an eye on her, sending her secret smiles and whispering with her in corners of the set. She gladly followed him whenever he called her over, sharing quiet laughs and short hugs. You always looked away whenever you caught them, your knuckles turning white from the grip you had on your chair.

You kept telling yourself you didn't have a right to feel jealous, but deep down you knew it was a losing battle.

Maybe when she offered you an earbud she took your heart in exchange, gently cradling it in her soft palms only to squeeze it hard each time she walked away with Mason's arm slung around her shoulders.

You certainly felt like it when you noticed her drunkenly dancing with him after a game night you had at Melissa's place, all giggly smiles and sloppy steps.

You barely managed to take your eyes off the scene, focusing back on the cards you had, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn't concentrate, your mind still keen on what you knew was happening mere feet away.

Sighing, you sent an apologetic smile to the other two women and stood up to fix yourself another non-alcoholic drink in the kitchen, walking past the dancing pair and failing to notice the way Jenna reached out to grab you, almost falling at your feet before Mason managed to keep her upright.

You leaned against the counter, no longer interested in the drink and this night in general. Maybe it was time to go home.

A second later a pair of slender arms slid around your waist from behind. "Take me home?" Jenna asked, her words slurred against your back as she struggled to keep her balance. You turned around out to wrap an arm around her waist, keeping her pressed firmly against you.

You think you felt her hum against your neck before she pried away to look up at you, keeping hold of your shoulders.

You looked up from her glossy eyes to look back at Mason who was now throwing himself at the poor Melissa, almost crushing her in a hug.

Fingers wrapped around the back of your neck before your face was tugged back down, your breath hitching in your throat when your nose gently bumped into hers. "Why are you looking at him?" She pouted, her other hand coming up to cup your jaw, keeping your face firmly against her own. "Want you to look at me," she mumbled, failing to stay upright as she fell against your chest. It didn't stop her from muttering something you couldn't figure out as her hands circled your waist once again.

You closed your eyes, your grip on her waist hardening as you fought the urge to scoop her in your arms and kiss the pout away. You almost gave in to the urge when you felt her hands sneaking past the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your back, taking a deep breath you pulled her along to tell everyone you were leaving.

She fell asleep in the passenger seat of your car, your right hand tightly clasped between hers as she dozed off, quiet snores reaching your ears. You couldn't bring yourself to wake her up, instead carrying her to her apartment, barely managing to keep both of you upright as you unlocked the door with your key.

When you finally reached her bedroom she started to stir, turning her head from the spot on your shoulder to take in her surroundings. She let out a content breath at the sight of her bed, falling back against your shoulder, the grip she had on your neck was almost iron clad and you couldn't pry away no matter how hard you tried.

"Jenna," you stirred her gently, "Jen, let me go."

She hummed and pulled you against her, the two of you falling against the soft cushions.

It was the first time you slept in the same bed.

×××

"Wanna tell me about it?" Jasmine called the next morning, surprisingly chipper considering the amount of drinks she had yesterday.

"There's nothing to tell." You bit the inside of your cheek, sending a look to the girl slumped behind the counter.

She woke up with a nasty headache, groaning as she tried to shield her eyes from the sun with the back of her hand. You made fun of her only once, when you handed her water and Advil and immediately scurried away to make coffee when she threw a pillow in your face.

"Sure seemed like something," her tone was smug and you could already hear the start of her interrogation, but a groan from Jenna made her stumble over her words. It was way too quiet for a moment, before she finally screeched, "I knew it!"

Enduring her teasing turned out to be much easier than you thought, especially with Melissa's constant warning looks and Jenna's death glares sent her way whenever she as much as smirked at you. Eventually she relented, stomping her feet and grumbling about how unfun you were.

That left only Mason to torment your thoughts. He didn't do anything wrong. Hell, if anything, you were the one in the wrong with your unwarranted jealousy. But every time he stole Jenna from you during lunch, every time he jokingly jumped on her back between takes, both of them tumbling to the floor in heaps of laughter, made your chest constrict with that ugly feeling, leaving you to wallow in your misery as you tried your best to not pay attention to the pair.

You felt like shit every time he happily brought you sweets from the local bakery, pulling you tightly against his chest and ruffling your hair. He started doing that a long time ago, claiming it was his way to make you feel at home. It worked before, when you were blissfully unaware of your feelings towards a certain brunette, but now it left you feeling empty.

He was a great guy, anyone would be lucky to date him and the fact only spurred your jealousy even more.

You blinked when he waved at you, a confused expression on his face and you realized you were staring at him all this time.

"You spend a lot of time looking at him." A quiet voice came behind your shoulder.

You turned around to face Jenna, her stare so intense it almost made you look away. Almost.

"You spend a lot of time with him." You countered, crossing your arms.

Her brows knitted, frustration crinkling in her eyes. "That's what friends do."

You huffed, and finally looked away, the weight of her stare becoming too much for you to handle. "Right."

There was a blissful moment of silence before a chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"I'm going to kill you both," Melissa hissed, rising from her seat and throwing her script on the chair she occupied a second ago. "I'm this close," she pinched her thumb and forefinger until they were almost pressed, "to locking you two in some supply closet so you could finally figure this out. So please, please go away and talk like adults."

"We are talking…" you hesitantly spoke up, taking a step closer to Jenna.

The seething look the older woman sent your way almost made you stumble.

"We'll talk," Jenna cut in, taking you by the elbow and leading down the hall to a supply closet. The situation seemed so absurd you couldn't help but chuckle, Jenna's glare shutting you up not even a second later.

"Do you have feelings for him?" The words left her lips as soon as the door closed behind you.

You stopped dead in your tracks, staring at her, your mouth hanging open. The idea seemed so ridiculous you couldn't even form a sentence to deny it. She closed her eyes, crossing her arms against her chest. "So you do," she whispered, defeated.

And then it hit you.

She was jealous.

You thought back on the night she was drunk, the way she held you, not allowing you to look at him, demanding you to look at her instead, and today, when she caught you staring at him, she confronted you about it. You almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

The girl you fell in love with thought you were trying to steal her potential boyfriend.

You took a deep breath, blinking away the tears, your voice wavered, "I don't care about him like that." Her head shot up, her eyes focusing on your face swirled with emotion you couldn't decipher. You continued, holding her gaze, "You should go for it, though. He'd be lucky to have you."

No matter how much it hurt you to say this, you had to. He made her happy and she deserved to know she had nothing to worry about.

But as soon as the words left your lips you immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"What? You think I have feelings for him?" She gaped, staring at you incredulously.

You didn't know why, but you felt really stupid at that moment. "...yes?"

She breathed in, and took measured steps towards you, leaving a few inches between you before reaching up to pull your face down, pinning you with her eyes. "And what? You want me to chase after him? Want to give me advice on how to get the man?" Her words were laced with something dangerous, and you felt like this moment was about to change your whole life.

You swallowed. "I- if that's what you want," you whispered.

She stared at you in silence for what felt like ages, before scoffing and turning around on her heel, stomping away and leaving you to your thoughts in the dimly lit space.

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

"What the fuck did you do?" Melissa cornered you right after the filming wrapped for the day, tugging you by the elbow to her trailer, and pushing you on the uncomfortable couch.

"I think I screwed up."

"Yeah, no shit. Tell me everything."

And you did. You told her about the first time you caught yourself staring at Jenna, about the first night you spent at her apartment and the morning after that, full of soft smiles and gentle touches. You told her about the way you felt whenever you saw her wearing your clothes, how it made you giddy and full of hope. You told her about the first time you felt jealousy coursing through your veins, all those weeks ago when Mason snatched Jenna away for the first time. You told her how elated you felt when she fell asleep snuggled against you, snoring away in the crook of your neck. You wiped a stray tear and told her about what you said just hours ago.

"You're both idiots," she groaned, but pulled you into her arms, holding you tight while you tried to blink away the tears.

×××

It didn't get easier after that, if anything it all became even worse. Jenna avoided you like a plague, disappearing from sight when your eyes met, and hiding behind Mason whenever you tried to approach. You tried your best to not let the hurt show on your face, after all, you were the one to push them together, but judging by the worried look on his face, you did a very poor job.

Jasmine took it upon herself to lift your spirits, taking the empty spot by your side during lunch and carpooling with you after long days of shooting. You could see questions swimming in her eyes, could see the way her eyes darted to you whenever Jenna entered the room.

You couldn't answer her questions when you yourself didn't know the answer.

Jenna was supposed to be happy by now, but the dark circles under her eyes and slight tremble of her hands told you a different story.

You tried asking Melissa, but she just shook her head and rolled her eyes whenever you bugged her about it.

"Figure it out yourself," she said after two weeks of you begging her for answers.

You tried hard, you really did. Doesn't mean you were successful.

When the director mentioned a wrap party taking place next month, dread filled your stomach. With your mind constantly preoccupied with Jenna you didn't even notice how much time has passed.

It was time to do something.

"Are you stalking her now?" Mason asked you as he rounded his car after a long day of filming.

You blinked from your spot on the hood of Jenna's car. "Maybe."

He snorted, opening the door. "Just tell her already."

You tensed, knitting your brows. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh my god," he grumbled, throwing his head back to look at the night sky. He straightened then, and briskly walked up to you, taking hold of your shoulders. "She's in love with you." He punctuated each word with a shake to your shoulders.

He waited for you to process his words before he took a step back, watching the gears turn in your head.

You gulped, hopping off the hood, shaking your head in denial before thinking back on the conversation you had with Jenna a few weeks ago in that small supply room. The way she looked so small and defeated when she thought you had feelings for Mason, the way she stared at you when you told her she was wrong, waiting for you to say something before you screwed it all up.

Want you to look at me, she said all that time ago.

Oh God.

"She's in love with me," you whispered.

Mason almost jumped in relief, closing the distance between you in two short strides, and pulled you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before he suddenly tensed, pushing you away. "I'll leave you to deal with that." He muttered before scurrying to his car and driving off in record time.

You looked behind your shoulder just in time to see Jenna approach you with pursed lips.

"What was that?" She asked, avoiding your eyes.

You turned around to face her, your lips stretching in a grin so wide it made you look like an idiot, or a love struck fool. You bounced on your heels, barely managing to stop yourself from lunging at the smaller woman, your eyes roaming around her form, drinking her in after so many days spent staring at her from across the room.

She finally looked up when silence stretched for a long awkward moment, her brows disappearing behind her bangs at your excited smile. A corner of her mouth went up almost unconsciously, your happiness so contagious she found herself relaxing.

And then she frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Under her scrutinizing gaze you felt like the air was sucked from your chest, but you braved on, taking the chance to make things right.

"Well, my original plan was to jump in the car with you, hoping you wouldn't throw me out." You began your rant, training your eyes on the small logo of her t-shirt. Your t-shirt, you realised after a second, the sight giving you enough confidence to look her in the eye. "I prepared this really long speech about my stupidity and jealousy clouding my thoughts and influencing my actions, and it ended in professing my feelings for you. My romantic feelings, just to be clear. Also there was a bit about fighting Mason for your affections, but it was recently pointed out to me that it's probably no longer necessary..." you trailed off, suddenly hesitant.

What if the weeks you spent gaining courage made her feelings change?

You took a deep breath and looked up just in time to see her throw herself at you, pulling you in a bruising kiss. You squeaked in surprise, eyes growing comically wide as she settled in your arms, her hands circling your neck to pull you impossibly closer.

Her lips felt like heaven, so soft and responsive and gentle, gliding against your own, her tongue swiping against your bottom lip, and then you were pushed against the hood of her car, her hands trailing down your body to hide beneath the fabric of your shirt, gripping at the burning skin of your waist hard enough to leave marks.

You pulled away for a breath, her body tensing before she saw the adoring look in your eyes and your blinding smile. "Do you want to hear the speech? I have it memorized." You asked, nuzzling your nose against her cheek.

"I want you to be quiet," she muttered, her fingers threading through your hair to pull you closer. "And you're on probation, by the way," she said, before pulling you in for another passionate kiss, pulling little whines and moans out of you as she dipped her other hand in the back pocket of your jeans, squeezing you possessively.

"Just to be clear," you mumbled between kisses, "I'm in love with you."

Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled away, looking up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pulled her against your chest, burrowing your face in her soft hair.

Later that night, when the two of you lay in her bed, trying to catch your breath, she burrowed into your side, mumbling something against you, her soft breath sending shivers down your spine.

"What was that?" You tugged her chin up.

Her eyes opened, alight with mischief. "I said I was the one to mail you the script."

"What? Why?"

She groaned, ducking her head. "They thought you'd never agree to a movie like that, completely disregarded my suggestion to ask you, but I had to try, so I stole the script and mailed it to you."

You bit your lip to keep yourself from grinning at her confession. "And why was it so important for me to be in this movie?"

"I wanted to meet you," she murmured, placing kisses over your collarbone, "because I've been enamored with you ever since Jasmine made me watch that stupid Marvel movie all those years ago."

You let out a surprised oh, your heart hammering against the ribcage and your mouth hanging open as you tried to process the information.

"Just to be clear..." Her hands came up to cradle your head, her thumbs trailing circles on the sensitive skin behind your ears, her eyes shining so brightly it felt like they lit the whole room. "... I'm in love with you, too."

×××

When you walked on set the next morning, your arm slung around her shoulders and her hand around your waist, almost everyone in the room let out a collective ear piercing squeal.

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 4

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship

Johnny has silently been sitting across from him for 20 mins now; his eyes were narrowed with a wide smirk on his face. It was clear that he had something on his mind that he wanted to bring up, but Simon is refusing to be the one to bring it up first. 

“So…Lt.” Johnny leaned forward, “Who did you meet?” 

Simon paused with what he was writing and looked up to meet Johnny’s eyes. The two of them were close, but he doubts that the other can read him so well to know that he met someone while away. “Why do you think I met someone?” 

"It's written all over your face, and I'm reading you like a book." 

"My covered face?" 

"It's written on your mask then, either way I can tell." 

"Hmm." 

Simon decides to do what he does best and ignores the conversation; if he doesn't react Johnny would eventually get bored of poking and leave him alone. This must be the most interesting happening in the sergeant's life though because he doesn't seem ready to let go.

"Is this mystery person a new friend or partner?" Johnny continued to stare at Simon as if he was actually trying to read him.

"Do you have anything you need to be doing right now or do I need to find you something?"

Right away he watches as Johnny jumps out of his seat and walks towards the door with his hands up. That grin hasn't dimmed even the tiniest bit though as he turns to Simon once more, "Oh by the way the reason I came to find you was that the mail room says they have a care package for you." With that Johnny is quickly out the door. 

Simon glared at the spot the other once stood. That explains what had Johnny so bothersome he supposes then. He'll also need to talk to the mail room about not announcing what he's getting to nosy sergeants. 

With a huff he stands from his seat and also makes his way to the office door. Simon isn't going to show it, but he is always very excited whenever he gets another package from you. He's been away for a little over a month now. The two of you have talked over the phone plenty of times, but there's something more intimate about exchanging letters and packages with one another.  

Once reaching the mail room he is quick to gather his things, and make his way to the confines of his private space. He would have made it there without any interruptions, but he just had to run into Price on his way. 

"Ghost." Price smiles and gestures towards the box, "What you got there lad?"

"A box, sir." 

"From anyone special?"

Simon wasn't sure how to answer that because you were special to him, but he really didn't want anyone knowing about you right now. He's not ready to share who you are and what you mean to him yet. It's bad enough that Johnny already has an inkling about who you are; bad things always seem to happen when everybody finds out.  

As if sensing his internal struggle, Price asks, "Is this the same person who gave you that bracelet?" 

Looking down at his wrist the bracelet was out for all to see. Simon swiftly moves his sleeve to cover it once again out of sight; giving Price a hard stare. "It might be." 

Price gives a small chuckle and as he walks past gives him a pat on the back, "Well then, I won't keep you any longer."

Not needing to be told twice Simon rushes to his room. Right away he opens the box from you; right on top is a note reading, “Facetime me, if you can, while you open the rest of the box!!!” 

Looking at the time you should be home already. Good, he’d hate to miss a chance to talk to you. Simon takes a few moments to make sure his space is presentable for you before calling.

You answer on the second ring. Your face appears on screen with a wide smile as you move about the room. “Simon!” 

There it was again the feeling of his heart threatening to burst from his chest. You’re able to stop all other thoughts as soon as you say his name, “Hello, love.”

"How have you been? Did you get my package? I put an extra special item in there for you!" 

"Oh really? Well let's see what's in here then." Simon pulls the box into the camera view, and takes out the first item. It was a large container of chocolate chip cookies. He had asked for more after the first time, and now you always add baked goods whenever you send him anything. 

"Those are to share by the way. I packed extra so your friends could enjoy some too!" 

That was another thing he really admired about you. You were always thinking of others and wanting to help when you could. He had told you all about the team; little stories of them around base or out at the pub. You also asked about them once in a while; wanting to make sure everyone was doing ok. "They're my coworkers." 

"You can't lie to me Simon. I know you care about them more than you would a normal coworker."  The camera view on your end now showed you in the kitchen preparing to cook dinner for yourself. "Take out the next one!"

"Whatever you say love," he reaches back in and in hands now sits a tin of his favorite tea. 

You gasp and lightly clap, "Here it is!" 

Simon had complained during one of the phone calls that he hadn't had a good cup of tea in ages, and whenever good tea does come onto base it's usually gone within the hour. "I don't deserve you, love, thank you. This is going to make my time here much more enjoyable."

"That's what I like to hear! Just let me know when you run out and I'll be sure to send more." Simon would do anything to make sure that the smile you're giving him never leaves your face, "There should only be one more thing in there now!"

Pulling out the last thing was a small envelope. At first he thought it was a letter, but after opening it he found that the envelope actually had several polaroid pictures inside. Carefully he pulled them out and examined them carefully. 

One of them was of a sunrise on the street he had always walked you to work on. Another was one of your hands in the shape of half a heart in front of his flat door. The next one was you; you were smiling at the camera, at him. 

"I got a polaroid camera just a bit ago, and thought you'd like some pictures of home." 

“They're perfect.” These were worth more to him than you would ever know, “What about you, love; did you get your package?” 

You grab the phone and start to walk again, “Yeah, let me show you what I did!”

The camera is soon flipped and there on your living room window sill are all the rocks he has been sending you. 

“What’s the story behind this one?” You hold up the most recent rock he had sent you. It was palm sized and vaguely resembled a mountain peak. 

“That’s the very stone that took down Johnny.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, “He was running away from Gaz, and before either could get very far Johnny trips and falls straight on his face. It deserves the honor of being in your company for that.”

The two of you continue to talk as you make dinner for yourself. Talking about your day, work, and future plans for about another half hour. He can’t stay with you forever though, and he still has things he needs to do today. 

“I’ll call you later love.” 

The two of you exchange goodbyes and Simon is left with the silence of his room, wishing that he could be with you right now. 

Looking at the time he noted to himself that Price has a briefing planned in just a bit. He placed some aside for himself for later before grabbing the box of cookies from you and started to make his way towards the meeting room. 

Taglist: @nexthyperfix @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole @just-pure-trash @definitelynotaclown

@141tfsan @arminarlertssword @openup-yourmind

[whatsnewalycat]

Secret Admirer

Javier Peña x f!Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: It's Valentine's Day. Which means it's time to take a chance on your workplace crush, Agent Javier Peña.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Season 1 (ish), US Embassy, yearning, secret admirer, confrontation, drinking and smoking (real brief), smut, protected PIV sex, dash of angst and fluff

A/N: Yeeehaw, this was written for a valentines day exchange SOOOO Happy Valentine's Day to @typingcorgi 💌 This one is for you, I hope you like it!!!

The papers cradled in your arm dig into the sticky crease of your elbow. Your fingertips part the thick stack of faxes and run along the crisp edge of an envelope hidden inside. A bass drum starts thudding in your chest and heat creeps up your neck. 

One last peek over your shoulder at the empty, sterile mailroom gives you permission to do it. You slip the red envelope out from its hiding place and shove it into the cubby labeled JAVIER PEÑA. 

The shuffle of approaching footsteps sends your heart into an outright sprint. 

You scurry over to the fax machine and pinch the paperclip from the first fax, then slide the papers into the tray. As you punch the outgoing fax number into the machine, the footfalls grow closer, and soon start thudding against the shiny white linoleum of the mailroom. 

The low rumble of conversation between two men grows more distinct. You recognize their voices, but keep your eyes glued to the papers being sucked through the gears of the fax machine. 

“We’re gonna get a bottle of wine, candlelit dinner, put on some Marvin Gaye to set the mood,” Steve Murphy says, “Should probably get some flowers for her or somethin’, huh?” 

Javier Peña hums in response. 

They make their way over to the mailboxes. You stand there and try to blend into your surroundings as you wait for a fax receipt. The sound of them sorting the contents of their mail makes your stomach churn. 

“What’s that?” Steve asks as they start to walk away. 

“Let’s see,” Javier murmurs, then his footsteps come to a halt as he opens the envelope and he hums with curiosity. 

Steve stops, too, then chuckles, “Is that a fucking valentine?”

“Looks like it,” Javier mumbles, then directs his voice at you and says your name. 

You stop breathing and clench your eyes shut, then open them and turn around, trying your best to keep your face neutral, “What?” 

He holds up the unsealed red envelope and its folded up white contents between two fingers, “Did you see who left this?” 

You meet his dark brown eyes for a few devastating moments before dropping your gaze to the stack of faxes in your white-knuckle grip. All the moisture from your mouth evaporates. You clear your throat and shake your head, “No, sorry. I just got here.” 

“A secret admirer?” Murphy’s lips curl into an amused grin and he raises an eyebrow at Javier. 

You take another quick glance at the duo and realize Javier is narrowing his eyes at you, jaw working back and forth in subtle movements. Your skin burns and twists under his examination. 

He breaks his laser focus and looks to Steve with a shrug, “Guess so.” 

The fax machine roars to life behind you and starts printing. You spin on your heel towards the noise, and the men start off the way they came. Your hands are shaking when you go to grab the confirmation. 

—

The clack clack clack of your typewriter ricochets through the empty halls of the United States Embassy. Although you can’t see it from your desk, you know the sun outside is sinking below the horizon and giving way to the inky black of nighttime. 

Without Ambassador Noonan there to pull you into meetings for transcription, or assign you urgent outgoing faxes, or ask you to run any other number of errands she deems important, you’re able to perform the more “menial” of your clerical work. You sift through the stacks of papers at the corner of your desk, each one containing hurried handwriting scrawled by Noonan or one of her many Agents, trying to decipher their contents and transfer them into a more legible print. 

Footsteps sound from down the hall, but you’re too busy squinting at a puzzling clusterfuck of scribbles to pay it any mind. It’s not until your desk creaks under the weight of Javier leaning back against it that you notice he’s there.

With a jump, you clutch your blouse over your pounding heart and gasp, “Jesus fu—Hi, Agent Peña.” 

He comes to rest just inches away from your chair, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns down at you. Dangling between two of his knuckles is the red envelope you left in his mailbox earlier. Adrenaline pumps thick and hot through your veins. 

Your hands feel numb as you meet his gaze and manage to ask, “Can I help you with something?”

His jaw cocks to the side and he raises an eyebrow at you, then tosses the red envelope onto your desk, “What’s this?” 

“I—I—” you shake your head and widen your eyes, glancing between him and the letter. 

“Don’t play dumb,” he interjects. 

You swallow hard and hold your eyes steady on his as they bore into you. It’s a standoff. You don’t even dare to breathe. The silence is deafening. 

Javier breaks it as he clears his throat and picks the creamy white paper up off your desk, then unfolds it. Your stomach drops to the floor. 

He reads it aloud in a gravelly purr: 

“Oh, how I long to devour you. To unhinge my jaw And swallow you whole.  Do you feel it too?  Do you ache with hunger when I’m near? When I meet your starving eyes, I know.”

Your eyes stay trained on his as he peers over the paper at you like he expects you to say something. But you don’t. Your skin buzzes electric when he rolls his tongue against his pouty lips, along the edge of his dark mustache, then drags his gaze down the length of you. 

Javier sets the paper back onto your desk, taking a look around before he leans in and murmurs, “I do. I know.”

Then he digs into the pocket of his tan suit pocket and takes out a folded slip of paper. He pulls it away just as you go to reach for it. When your fingers curl back and you blink up at him in question, he searches your face, “This stays between us, ok?” 

“Of course,” you nod. 

His throat rumbles, eyes flick down to your lips for a moment, then he extends the paper to you again. This time when you go to take it, he lets it slide out from between his fingers into yours. 

“Come by when you’re done here,” he says, more of a demand than a request. 

“I will,” you try to suppress the grin stretching across your lips. 

Javier taps two fingers against your desk, then pushes off it and saunters back down the hallway, giving you a quick backwards glance before turning the corner. 

You look around to make sure no one is watching, then unfold the note, revealing an address written in his angular, messy script. Below this, it reads: 

Starved. 

—

Your knuckles rap two quick knocks against the door before Javier swings it open. His darkened gaze slides down your body like molasses as he steps back and lets you enter the apartment. The scent of his cologne wafts into your nose as you pass him. It’s light and crisp, clean smelling, contrasting his whiskey breath. 

You slide out of your heels and set your purse onto the ground, then study the dwelling with curiosity, dropping down two steps into the living room on your way to a leather couch. The walls are painted a cream color, pastel green and pink spliced here and there. It doesn’t seem to represent Javier at all. You figure the apartment was furnished by the Embassy, like yours. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air like a dense fog. It’s tediously quiet. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, striding over to a stand-alone dry bar, which hosts a variety of amber colored liquors. 

“Sure,” you answer as you sit down on the couch, smoothing out the black dress you changed into before walking over here. 

Javier doesn’t ask what you want to drink. He just pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one to you while he lowers himself onto the other end of the loveseat. 

Which, it’s a loveseat, so he’s still intimidatingly close. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, then swallow a mouthful of the alcohol, wincing at the burn as it travels down your throat. 

It’s not until now you realize you’ve never been alone with him. You’ve only experienced his intensity from afar. The way his eyes linger on you, seeming to study you when he thinks you won’t notice. 

But you’ve noticed. 

And you like it. 

You’ve been careful to only leave hints of your wanting. Flicking your gaze to his when you feel it on your skin. Holding it there until your heart starts pounding and one of you looks away. Letting your body brush against him in passing. No words spoken, only heated eye contact and near-touching. Following an acute awareness of the way you’re drawn to him, how fervently your blood courses through your veins when he’s near, how his presence seems to tug at the edges of you. 

“Did you write that yourself?” he inquires now. You take another sip and look up at him, meeting his eyes. 

It’s unbearable. Yet, you don’t want it to stop. Like magnets are buried beneath your skin and his, opposite poles, aching to meet in equilibrium. 

“I did,” you admit quietly, then tilt your head at him with curiosity, “Did you like it?” 

He hums and nods, glancing down at your mouth, “I’ve been watching you. I see the way you look at me.” 

“I know,” you respond in a whisper. The confession sends your heart racing… but you feel emboldened. You tip the glass to your lips and let the remaining whiskey slide down your throat, then lean forward to set the empty cup on his coffee table and scoot closer to him as you settle back into the couch. 

Javier sits up to place his drink on the table, and when he returns, he’s only inches away. He brings his breath to your ear and murmurs, “You like it, don’t you? The attention?” 

“Yes,” you answer. His hand rests on your knee, a branding iron that heats your core and steals the air from your lungs. 

“Teasing me with those short skirts,” he travels up your thigh, letting his rough palm drag along your skin. The touch sends a shock wave of pleasure across your body. 

You whimper and your eyes flutter shut. 

His voice lowers to a rasp, “Staring at me with those fuck-me-eyes. You think I wouldn’t know it was you?”

He stops at the crease of your thigh and grips the tender flesh, pulling a wanton moan from your throat as your head falls back against the couch. 

“Look at me,” he demands, so your eyes blink open and you meet his heated, meticulous gaze, “Do you want this?”

“I want this,” you nod, bringing a hand to his cheek, working your thumb against the grain of his stubble. He studies your face, dropping his eyes to your mouth, kneading your thigh, drawing closer. 

You succumb to his beckoning lips, capturing them in a kiss. Fire sparks in your chest and spreads through your veins like wildfire, spreading to him as your tongues meet, rolling soft and wet, whiskey harsh on your shared breath. 

Then he’s on you all at once. 

Pushing your back flush to the couch cushions, rocking his hand against the seam of your panties, sliding the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders, liquefying your insides into molten need. He rids you of the red lace thong, tossing it on the floor while your trembling fingers unfasten the buttons of his shirt. You splay your fingers across his chest and slip the shirt off his shoulders. It joins your abandoned lingerie, followed by your dress, then his pants. 

Javier pauses to study your naked body, lust-blown eyes trailing along every inch of your exposed skin, hands dragging up your legs. You examine him, too. His smooth, bronzed skin. His broad shoulders. His lean frame. His swollen, needy cock. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you breathe, reaching out to him, rolling your hips against nothing, aching with lust. 

Your compliment pulls a rumble from his throat, then he returns to your body, to your lips. His warmth sends shockwaves down your spine. You arch your back into the sensation, drinking up every ounce of heat your thirsty skin can lap up. 

When he touches the slick pool between the legs, spreading your arousal up and down your slit, you both moan into the other’s mouth, and he pants, “So fucking wet.”

You slide your hands around his shoulders, whimpering, nodding, reveling in the exquisite heat stoked at your center, urging him to continue with a breathy moan, “Don’t stop—fuck, that’s so good—”

He groans and captures your lips in his, kissing you hard, messy, working you faster, and the flames licking your insides continue to grow hotter, breaking you out into a sweat, making you gasp and moan against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut and it’s just this aching, heated bliss building at the base of your spine, and your pleas for him not to stop, and his skin on yours, his mouth planting wet kisses down your jaw, your neck, his moans of secondhand pleasure vibrating down your middle, fueling this brilliant concentrated ball of fire burning a hole inside you until you reach the edge of something and push past it.

Ecstasy washes over your body and steals the air from your lungs. You release a shattered breath and start to free fall, but his touch doesn’t relent, and your body shakes with pleasure that’s too intense to bear, legs clamping shut around his arm as you start to whimper at the stimulation. 

Javier pulls back when your legs go jelly, his chest heaving, eyes wild and black and glued to yours. His pink tongue rolls against his lips, then they pout out into an O when he drags his fingers through your release. Your hips jerk at the jolt of his touch, heavy eyelids fluttering as you moan, and he smirks, “Wanna move this to the bedroom?” 

You bite down on the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip as your gaze drops to his engorged length, and you manage to respond, “Uh-huh.”

He stands and starts towards his bedroom. You follow him on wobbly legs, head swimming, ears buzzing. 

Just like the common areas of his apartment, his room is decorated tastefully and obviously courtesy of the Embassy. It’s surprisingly neat, though, the dark walnut chest of drawers cleared of clutter and personal effects, hardwood floor unencumbered by piles of dirty laundry, dark walnut four-post bed dressed with white linens. Based on the constant state of disarray his desk is in, you expected it to be messier, and wonder if he cleaned up for you. 

Javier strides over to a side table and pulls a condom out of its drawer. While he wraps himself up, you settle at the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the side as your eyes trail down his shoulders, his arms, the defined muscles of his back, swallowing hard when he turns to face you. 

He takes the two short steps to settle his hips between your knees and hums, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your head up towards him as he presses his forehead to yours and purrs, “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Hmm? For me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, linking your hands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his breath puff hot against your mouth, grip on your chin tightening.

His lips find yours and he kisses you slowly, deliberately, with a tender sort of reverence that tightens around your skin and makes you whimper. The noise spurs something inside him. He cups your cheeks and picks up speed, climbing onto the bed, pushing you onto your back. 

It completely consumes you, the way his mouth works against yours, the way you writhe against each other, touch roaming, both of you tugging and rubbing and digging your fingers in and moaning at the fire blazing between your sweaty bodies. 

When the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, you wrap your legs around his back and arch against him, panting, “Fuck yes, give it to me.”

He stares down at you, holding your gaze as he plunges forward, working you open, and both your faces contort with pleasure. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans as he starts to rut into you at a steady pace. Every single nerve ending he rubs against buzzes with ecstasy. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his, immersing yourself in a series of messy, frantic kisses, swallowing each other's moans, working your bodies in tandem to fuel the hungry flames. You start to roll your hips against his thrusts, each one accumulating hot and gooey and tingling, tugging at the edges of you as you whimper, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

“That’s it, baby,” Javier pants, his voice jumping in time with his hips as he drives into you, “So fucking good—feel so fucking good—” 

He kisses you then, and his eager lips, his soft tongue, the scent of whiskey on his breath, the burn of his mustache scratching your skin, the blissful ache of him stretching you again and again, it fully engulfs your body, like you’re melting together, the heat between you too great, the fire too intense to remain whole because this glowing molten core is growing wider and hotter with each moan, each touch, each thrust, and you beg Javier not to stop, fuck, don’t fucking stop, and he steals the words from your mouth with his own, fucking you hard and fast just like you knew he would, pushing you closer and closer to bliss, and then you reach it.

For one second, you’re suspended right at the edge, mind blank, body humming. Then it hits you, and it hits you fucking hard, euphoria breaking you into pieces and tearing a sob from your throat. Javier’s hips stutter as your muscles tense and your pussy convulses around him. He gasps against your mouth, then shudders as he finds his release. Both of your bodies slow their pace, cooling to a crawl, then a stop. 

The sound of your labored breaths fills the bedroom, heaving chests working against each other as sanity starts to return and your bodies struggle to recover. He rolls off of you and stretches out across his bed, inhaling deep and wide, exhaling a content hum. 

Then, without a word, he gets up and leaves the room. 

Your guts twist into a knot. It should give you whiplash, how fast you go from total satisfaction to nervous wreck. 

Since moving to Colombia for this job, sex has been a rare occurrence for you. And by that, you mean… it doesn’t happen. Even before the move, a series of long-term relationships have been your only claim to sexual experience. So this situation is uncharted territory. 

But you’re pretty sure this is your cue to get the fuck out. 

While staring at the ceiling, you kick yourself for giving him the note, for putting yourself in this position. Shame simmers hot under your skin when you try to imagine what it’ll be like the next time you see Javier at work. When you’ll both know what happened here tonight, but pretend it was nothing. 

Why do you have to feel this burning desire for someone like him? For someone so intimidating and closed off? And, more perplexing still, does he feel it for you? 

Your chest and throat tighten when it dawns on you that he probably doesn’t feel the same as you. Maybe he saw an opportunity to get laid and took it. Maybe… it was nothing to him. 

You sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, peering out the bedroom door a moment before hopping down and padding across the hardwood floor into the living room. 

He’s doing something in the kitchen, so you fold your arms in front of your body and make your way over to the couch, snatching your clothes off the ground before you sit and start to get dressed. 

As you pull your dress down over your head, he returns to the living room. He’s wearing jeans now, but remains shirtless, and a lit cigarette dangles from his lips. 

You glance up at him and mutter, “Sorry, I can get out of your hair. Thank you for, um… indulging me.”

He plops down next to you and crushes the burning ember of his cigarette into a glass ashtray on the coffee table, then leans back and extends his arm along the couch behind you, frowning, “You’re leaving?”

“I—I guess, right?” you turn and search his face, meeting his eyes that are all puppy dog soft. They tug at your heartstrings, but you continue to stammer onward, “That’s—I don’t know, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” 

“If that’s what you want,” he shrugs, dropping his gaze to your lips. 

While you stare at him and try to understand what the fuck that means, he leans close, brushing his hand against your cheek, “Or, you could stay… we can ‘indulge’ ourselves again.”

“Is that what you want?” you ask in an attempt to parse out his intentions. 

“Is that what you want?” he counters in a low voice, furrowing his brow. 

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod, then blink and shrug, “I mean, if that’s what you—”

His lips cut you off before you can embarrass yourself more.

—

You woke up with the sun. Javier was still holding you close, his shallow, dream-drenched breath spreading across the nape of your neck in soft puffs. You wriggled out of bed and collected your things, then walked the city block to your apartment and got ready for work. 

The day passes by like any other, with the exception of your strained muscles making every movement more difficult. You don’t cross paths with Javier, but when you return to your desk after lunch, there’s a red envelope sticking out of your typewriter. 

You take a cursory glance around, then pluck it out and open it. A smile spreads across your face when you read the note inside. 

Roses are red  Violets are blue  Come over tonight  I want to see you XO, Your Secret Admirer

[bumblesimagines]

Headcanon:

Becoming the Quinn-Goldbergs obsession

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns for y/n: he/him/his

~~~

Living in Madre Linda had its ups and downs. The community was tight-knit and you could practically always count on someone for something. As long as that something wasn't gossip worthy.

The soul sucking residents of your town were irritating to deal with and borderline hellish on a bad day. Over all, you were able to count on one hand the amount of neighbors you considered friends.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

The Quinn-Goldbergs. A young couple who were new to the wonders of parenthood. It only took an hour after their arrival for you to learn virtually everything about them through Sherry and her minions.

You met Love first. She'd been out grabbing mail when you returned from town with some groceries. She'd flashed a charming smile and seemed more than happy to chat until the duties of motherhood swept her away.

Popping open the trunk of the car, you slipped out of the driver's side and closed the door. Barely noticing movement in the yard over, you walked to the back of your car and began picking the bags into your arms.

"Hey, neighbor!" A cheery voice called out and you leaned back, catching sight of a brunette standing on the other side of the fence. She carried some envelopes in one hand, lifting the other to wave at you. "I'm Love! We just moved here a couple weeks ago."

"Nice to meet you, Love." You returned the smile, using your free hand to close the trunk before approaching the fence. She perked up and stepped closer, resting her hand atop the short picket fence.

"You must be (Y/N). Sherry mentioned we were neighbors."

"Did she?" You didn't intend to sound so ticked off about it but from the knowing look that passed over Love's features, she understood your distaste completely.

"I'd introduce you to my husband but he's off at the library. He's pretty serious about his books." Love chuckled lightly.

"Oh, really? I'm an avid reader myself."

"Seriously?" Her brows rose, eyes practically twinkling. "Oh, then I'm sure you two will get along!"

Only a couple days would pass before you were invited to a party and there you'd meet Joe, the beloved husband and polar opposite of Love.

It'd been a little awkward at first with neither you nor Joe knowing exactly what to say. That was until Cary spoke and you exchanged an exasperated look with Joe. Afterwards the conversations began, going from complaining about the residents to books and the library.

Love grew obsessed first. She often found herself over at your place with Henry, finding solace in the fact she finally had someone real and honest to talk to in the neighborhood.

She didn't realize the signs at first, too caught up in the bliss of what she believed was innocent friendship until she began keeping track of your day to day life and involving herself more and more.

She frequently cooked you meals and brought them over, insisting she just wanted to do something nice for you and 'I just really appreciate your company'.

Love only truly noticed her obsession when attending a birthday party and overhearing Sherry giggling about you and another woman. The dread, rage, and jealousy that erupted inside her was enough to push her into a full obsession.

Smiling softly, Love watched Joe tend to Henry as she picked up a slice of cheese from the table and took a bite from it. Without thinking, she began searching for you in the crowd of guests, taking slow steps until she neared Sherry and Kiki.

"I heard the reason they divorced was because she was seeing (Y/N) on the down low." Sherry whispered, nodding wildly when Kiki gaped at her. "I mean, I believe it. She's always flirting with him."

Love felt her body freeze, eyes dancing around frantically in search of you. It couldn't be true, could it? If you were seeing someone... No, you'd tell her, right?

Finally spotting you in the crowd, she walked forward, pace quick but not fast enough to draw attention to herself. You sweetly smiled at her upon noticing her and she felt herself relax, unable to resist smiling back.

"(Y/N), I was looking for you everywhere!" She breathed, turning her attention onto the woman you'd been speaking with. Looping her arms around yours, she tilted her head.

"Could I steal him for a moment?"

"Of course, no problem."

"Great!" Whipping out her best fake smile, she resisted the urge to sneer at the woman before pulling you away from her.

Upon recognizing her feelings, Love grew conflicted. She still loved Joe completely and hated the thought of ruining their family, especially after powering through the Natalie situation. So, she remained silent... Unaware of her husband's own dilemma.

It had taken Joe only a few days to realize his obsession. He had brushed off his desire to be around you and hear more about you as the want for a friend in the nightmarish town of Madre Linda.

Until he found himself putting on his favorite cap and watching you from the safety of his car. It had clicked the moment he turned his car engine on and began his typical monologue.

Joe was no stranger to obsessions. In fact, one could consider him extremely experienced in the area. There had been Nurse Fiona, Candace, Beck, Love, and Natalie. All of them shared some minor similar traits but the biggest one being they were women. You were not.

This realization had sent Joe through a bit of an identity crisis where he both distanced himself from you- limiting his face to face interactions with you, sending Love on his behalf- and kept an eye in you by continuing to watch you.

But, you had noticed his odd behavior and finally confronted him about it, much to his relief and dismay.

"Okay, what's up?" Joe blinked, tearing his eyes away from his wife and child. His throat tightened as he stared up at you, internally cursing and panicking.

"Wh-What do you mean?" He chuckled nervously. You raised a brow and plopped down beside him on the bench, noting the way he rubbed his palms on his pants.

"You've been avoiding me." You pointed out, giving him a look when he attempted to protest.

Time to come clean. Or at least, partly come clean.

Clearing his throat and exhaling deeply, he shifted to face you. "It's nothing personal, I promise. I've just had a lot on my mind between Henry and settling into the new neighborhood." He explained softly, reaching out to touch your shoulder.

"Is that all?" You asked, frowning at him. "You can tell me anything, Joe. You and Love are the only people here I actually trust."

Trust... Trust and eventually... Love. Joe was sure of it. You'd love him just as much as he loved you. He just needed to play his cards right and avoid drawing suspicion from Love. She'd done enough already. Natalie's decaying body was proof of that.

From then on, the couple tiptoed around each other, fully unaware they had similar feelings for you.

Joe found it easier to keep from Love. He'd already slipped into your house, taking small things he knew you wouldn't notice go missing. He kept them stored in a spot he knew Love wouldn't think about looking and plotted ways to make you fall for him.

Love, on the other hand, found it more difficult. She felt guilt and worry eating her up inside. She loved Joe wholeheartedly but she felt similarly about you. Eventually, she couldn't keep it up, desperate to get closer to you without risking Joe lashing out.

"Joe, we need to talk." Love called from the kitchen, staring at the freshly baked cupcakes in hand. She set them down on the island and sighed, looking up at Joe as he entered the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, finishing his tea and placing the cup down. Dread filled both of their stomachs, staring at one another.

Joe worried she'd figured it out and attacked you impulsively.

Love worried he'd discard of you as easily he'd done with the others.

"It's about (Y/N)."

"What about him?" Joe asked, attempting to keep a calm and cool mask. Love dug her teeth into the inside of her cheek, fingers tapping against the island.

"I... I think I love him, Joe." She whispered and felt a weight lift off her shoulders. "No, I'm... I'm obsessed with him." She added just as quietly.

"Are you serious?" Joe stared at her, a wave of surprise washing over him. When the brunette nodded, Joe pushed himself away from the island and turned, listening to her panicked calls for him. Removing the painting and reaching into the little nook he had created, he pulled out the book and returned to the kitchen.

His wife blinked, brows furrowing. "W-What is that?"

"Guess." Joe answered, lifting the top off and pushing it toward her. Hesitantly, Love peered inside and reached in to pull out the silver ring. Her lips parted when she remembered having seen you wear it the day you had met Joe.

"Joe... Does this mean...?" Love trailed off, meeting her husband's eyes.

"Yes."

They had nothing to fear from each other. They could learn to share, learn to love you equally. They could plan together. They could finally have you all to themselves.

[deadlymistletoe]

Concerning Hobbits

Pairing: Fili x hobbit f!reader

Request: Anonymous asked: Could I request a Fili fic where the reader is a hobbit and really close friends with Bilbo so he has brought them with him to Erebor several times and between their last visit and their current visit Fili has been exchanging letters with Bilbo to learn about Hobbit courting etiquette so he can ask the reader out?

A/N:I hope you enjoy it! I'm honoured you trusted me with this request, especially since I haven't written for Fili before.

Genre: Fluff/romance

Description: Fili enlists the help of Bilbo to learn about hobbit courting customs in order to ask you out in the best way possible.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1471

You’d always been close to Bilbo, he was like a brother to you, so it was only natural that you thoroughly questioned him when he came back months after disappearing so suddenly.

His tale fascinated you, more than it should fascinate a respectable hobbit. You asked questions, about the elves, about the mountain, about Smaug, but most of all, about his 13 companions, the dwarves.

You’d never met anyone who wasn’t a hobbit, but ever since you were young you’d had a fascination with the race of dwarves, reading books about them, begging your parents to bring you back hand-crafted items the dwarves in Bree were selling.

So yes, it was only expected that you would be most interested in Bilbo’s companions - how you wished you’d been able to meet them. But most particularly, you were fascinated by the Durin’s, especially the golden-haired prince who’s good nature and humour Bilbo would fondly talk about.

Therefore, when Bilbo casually mentioned returning to Erebor to visit his friends you immediately begged to go with him. Knowing how much it would mean to you, particularly with your birthday coming up as you so kindly reminded him, he agreed, and one letter to the dwarf king later the two of you were on the road.

To everyone’s (or no-one’s) surprise, you and Fili hit it off immediately. The golden-haired prince had taken an instant liking to you and you to him.

The second visit was much the same, except the relationship between the two of you only grew stronger as you grew closer and closer to the line between friends and something more.

Both of you were beginning to feel things for each other that went beyond friendship, but neither of you said anything as you left with Bilbo once more, this time with a promise to write.

Neither of you noticed the knowing glance Thorin and Bilbo had shared, and after you left, Fili had been subjected to endless teasing from his brother until Tauriel of all people had taken pity on the heir and reminded Kili that he was just as smitten, if not more.

In the weeks after the trip, you and Fili had sent letter after letter to each other, and when Bilbo mentioned taking you on another visit you’d instantly agreed, the blond still vivid in your mind.

What Bilbo didn’t tell you, was that you weren’t the only one who had been in regular contact with Fili. Ever since he had returned to Bag End his mailbox had been full of letters from Fili asking all kinds of questions about hobbits and their courting customs.

It was bad enough reading and answering the incredibly long letters that seemed to revolve around you, but he also had to hide them from you - something that was quite difficult since you’d often bring in his mail for him when you came over for breakfast, forcing him to wake up even earlier to snatch any letters Fili should send before you came over.

In the end, he had sent a thick book regarding hobbits and their customs which had seemed to satisfy the dwarf for the foreseeable future.

Now, he was finally taking you to Erebor again, and you were beyond excited. Little did you know, but Fili, upon hearing of your visit, had been a flustered mess, his usually calm demeanour seemingly gone as he scoured the text in the book over and over as he scurried to make sure that everything was perfect as he anticipated your arrival.

No one commented when your greeting with Fili was far from ‘formal’, his arms winding around your waist as he lifted you from the ground and spun you around, your laugh ringing through the air, your curls bouncing when he set you down.

It wasn’t until later that Fili asked you if he could show you something and the two of you excused yourselves from the company.

You completely missed Kili’s encouraging wink and thumbs up to his brother from behind your back.

Fili didn’t tell you where he was leading you as he led you through halls you’d never seen before. You were about to ask when he pulled open a door, gesturing for you to step through and you stepped into perhaps the most beautiful part of Erebor you’d seen.

It was a terrace, or courtyard of sorts, jutting out from the mountain and looking over Dale, but it wasn’t the view that amazed you most.

The terrace was more like a garden, with grass instead of stone and all sorts of brightly coloured flowers blooming in various places - some you recognised, some you didn’t.

You turned to Fili, a bright smile adorning your face. “This is amazing. Has this always been here?”

He shifted, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sort of. It was awful when I first found it. I’ve been fixing it up since your last visit. I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it!” You assured him, walking further out, relishing the feeling of glass tickling your feet again as you headed towards the only non-plant in the place; a yellow picnic rug set out with your favourite foods.

Fili followed you to the rug, watching you sit down and look admiringly at the food.

“Did you make this too?” You asked, half joking.

To your surprise he didn’t object. “Bombour helped. I hope it’s alright.”

You stared at him for a moment. Did he realise that in The Shire something like this would be seen as an intention to court? Or was he just being friendly? You smiled. “I’m sure it will be.”

As you ate, you couldn’t help but notice that Fili was acting a bit strangely. Yes, he would laugh and smile, but he fidgeted when he thought you weren’t looking and only picked at the food.

You set your plate aside. “Is there a reason for all this? Or am I just that good a friend?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…” He sighed, seemingly building up his courage before he faced you. “Maybe this will tell you what I mean.

He reached behind him to pick up a bouquet which he then held out to you.

You accepted the bundle of carefully picked flowers, a few immediately sticking out to you. Red roses, both white and pink camellias, red carnations, orchids and tulips.

Clearly, in the eyes of a hobbit, a declaration of love and adoration.

You glanced up at the blond, who was watching you with a hopeful expression. “You know, in The Shire, this sort of thing would be considered a clear intention to court. A declaration of love, even.”

“And what would you say if that’s exactly what it is?”

You smiled, leaning across to place a quick kiss to his lips before leaning back, watching the expression of surprise and happiness cross Fili’s face. “I’d say I accept and the feelings are returned.”

He smiled, leaning closer to brush a stay piece of hair behind your slightly pointed ear, letting his fingers linger. “That’s good, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He kissed you again, this time lingering longer, the remaining food all but forgotten as your grip on the bouquet loosened and you leaned into the kiss.

You’d be lying to say that you’d never thought about what the Prince’s lips would feel like against yours, how his beard would brush against your skin, and it was safe to say that this surpassed even your wildest dreams.

Fili pulled away, blue eyes shining. “Maybe later I can show you our courting customs.”

“I’d like that.” You murmured. “How did you know all this stuff?” You asked, glancing down to admire the bundle of flowers in your hands again.

“I asked Bilbo.” Fili admitted. “And he sent me a book.”

“What book?” You questioned with a smile. You found it adorable that he’d put in so much effort for you.

He grinned back. “Concerning Hobbits.”

~

Bilbo wasn’t surprised when you nervously pulled him aside the day before you were to leave, glancing anxiously at Fili over the other hobbit’s shoulder, who nodded encouragingly. He’d already talked to his uncle, who had agreed that you should be the one to talk to Bilbo.

“Bilbo?” You began, “Bilbo, I’m not ready to go home. I want to stay here…with Fili…” At his silence you rushed on. “I don’t want to upset you, and I’ll miss you but-”

Your long time friend wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I understand. You don’t need to explain yourself.” He pulled back, smiling at you. “I’m happy for you.”

So with a promise to visit again soon and one last hug, Bilbo left Erebor, and you remained behind, Fili’s warm hand around yours as you returned his radiant smile.

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[unluckywisher]

So @exactlycleverpirate had an idea for an angsty fanfic: How would the guys react to being invited to MC's wedding, if she married another man?

Well, here's my take.

Zayne arrives at the wedding, gift in hand. He's dressed in a plain suit, not wanting to stand out, but he's also wearing the cuff links you bought for him once. He's not sure what kind of statement he's making by wearing them. As soon as he spots you, it's like there's no one else in the room. His breath catches in his throat, but the feeling is quickly replaced by a tightness as he remembers he's not the one by your side. He recovers his composure and approaches you, smiling. He forces himself to look at the groom as well, which he manages, but he looks away as he wishes both of you happiness. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and squeezes you hand, not able to meet your gaze, and gives you his gift, turning to leave so you can greet the other guests. Or that's what he tells himself, as he leaves the ceremony all together. He looks like a good man, he'll treat her well, he thinks, a void growing in his heart. The truth is that he doesn't trust anyone but himself to look after you, but he has no choice. When you open his gift, you see a pair of earrings made of unmeltable ice, small snowflakes shining inside of them.

If you marry Xavier, he'll wonder if he didn't express his love enough. If you marry Rafayel, he'll wonder if he wasn't bold enough. In any case, he continues being your doctor, because he still wants to take care of you in his way, even if it hurts to see the ring on your finger every time you come for an appointment.

Rafayel arrives late at the wedding. At first he wasn't going to show up, having burnt the invitation to dust as soon as he received it in the mail, but in the end he decided he had to see it for himself. He appears after the ceremony, at the banquet hall. He looks his best, if anything, he's trying one last time to win you back. He approaches your table and congratulates the groom with a tone that would make anyone think he was insulting him. Then he looks at you. And he's angry. But you look so beautiful and so happy. So he smiles and leans closer, wishing you the best in a soft and honest tone. He turns away and sits at his table. His eyes are on you the entire evening, and by the time you're doing the first dance with your now husband, he has finished two bottles of wine by himself. He leaves shortly after, unable to stand it any longer, his face flush from the anger and the alcohol. A few days later, his gift is delivered to your house. A portrait of you underwater, smiling as a fish nuzzles your cheek.

If you marry Zayne, he'll curse himself for being so carefree about his relationship with you. If you marry Xavier, he'll curse himself for not being there for you more often. He'll tell you he doesn't need you as a bodyguard anymore, stating that he wants you to enjoy your married life, but he'll make as many drawings as his hands let him if you ever visit the beach near his house, observing you from a distance.

Xavier didn't sleep well the night before the event. In fact, he shows up with tired eyes and an even more tired smile. He remains still during the ceremony, his stomach curling into a knot as he hears you exchange your vows. At the banquet, he leaves his present with the others, in a corner, now worried that it might not be good enough. Since he doesn't want to bother you, you are the one that has to approach him to say hi. He smiles broadly and gives you his blessings, indulging himself in one last hug as he gently embraces you. He instantly pulls away as the groom appears by your side, nodding at him as a greeting and to congratulate him. Later, when everyone has finished dining and is now dancing, he stays at his table, fidgeting with his napkin. You invite him to dance with you, unsure as to why he looks so out of it today, but wanting him to have a good time. This only manages to make him self-conscious, because you're worrying about him instead of enjoying the party. He excuses himself, saying it's late and he's getting sleepy, and leaves the party with a smile. His gift is a brand new weapon that you had said you wanted a few months back.

If you marry Zayne, he'll think he wasn't good at protecting you anyways, and surely you'll be better with him. If you marry Rafayel, he'll think he wasn't as fun and engaging, so of course he's a better partner for you. He thinks about moving away, picking up a new job, but he finds himself unable to do so as he sees you again the next morning.

[honeys-hotties]

loved your recent jb fic!! was wondering if you had any hcs for her and actress!reader??

OMG OMG OMG I LOVE U THIS IS SO GOOD

Okay so, I've never done hcs officially before so I hope these are okay!

actress!reader is my bby i've been acting for so long so i love her

i hc that julien is a big fan of her work and has loved her for years, like maybe she's jb's unofficial celeb crush?

the major swiftie in me has actress!reader and taylor as good friends, so i think actress!reader met phoebe through taylor and the two of them rly hit it off

and actress!reader loves phoebe's music but doesn't know bg that well, so she starts listening and (like all of us) immediately loves julien

and phoebe knows julien loves reader and now reader likes jb, so she's scheming to get them together so hard

so maybe actress!reader goes to the eras tour, to one of the shows phoebe opens for and sees the boys on stage and is just SO enamored with julien

and jb knows she's there and is freaking out the whole time

and then after they finish their set the boys go to hang out in the tent and actress!reader meets lucy and julien and they're both totally freaking out

and jb gets all flustered and is like "omg i love you-i mean, i love your work" and the reader is just so happy

and when she compliment's julien's singing and guitar? it's over for baby jules

so throughout the whole show jb and reader can't keep their eyes off each other, julien is like sneaking glances as her and is just so in awe

reader is so into the show (the best concert of all time i will forever be reliving it) and is dancing with pheobe, and eventually pheebs pushes her onto julien and they're all over each other dancing and singing and just being in each other's presence

and after the show they all hang out together and jb and reader just can't get enough of each other and everyone can see the sparks flying

they exchange numbers and are talking and texting all the time, and eventually jb asks her out, and the rest is history!!

okay dating hcs!

i think jb is insanely protective of the reader, like any time they're out together she has her hands on reader, she's always keeping an eye on her, just guard dog vibes

julien is also her number one fan, every project, every event, every award she is just so proud and hyping her gf up at any given moment

actress!reader and jb bring each other to all of their awards shows and premieres and stuff and there are SO many pictures of the two of them just being so in love

the boys (and muna<3) are in love with actress!reader

phoebe and reader are besties, but after reader and jb start dating lucy loves her too

muna is literally obsessed with her and will tease jb constantly, like "you better watch out or one of us is gonna steal your girl"

hyping each other up online like "FUCK YEAH LOOK AT MY SUPER AMAZING TALENTED GF"

the cutest photo dumps of each other online

actress!reader and jb both have really crazy schedules and they're both traveling a lot, so constant facetiming is a must, but I feel like they send snail mail and love letters too

she gets tattoos for actress!reader, like her initial or maybe a reference to one of her roles or smth?

matching tattoos! (if that's something ur into ofc)

the hickeys she had on snl and the red carpet? some of actress!reader's best work

omg matching hickeys yes please

lots of reassurance for each other, like "i love you, you're the one i want to be with" especially when actress reader has to play someone's love interest or reader sees jb kissing the boys on stage

LOTS of physical touch, her hands on actress!reader's hips or in her back pocket or around she shoulders at ALLLLLLL times

actress reader has a shirt that says something like "i'm with the band" or "i <3 guitarists" that she wears to bg shows

literally just them being so obsessed and in love it hurts

constantly telling each other how grateful they are to have each other

jb definitely writes songs for & about actress!reader

hopefully you guys liked these!! ty for the requests, love you all infinitely <3

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

just over 4k words

tw: dark fic, dark content, dubcon, obsessive behavior, E rated, 18+, mature themes

Part 1, 2, of 3? 4? 5? (More parts planned)

You had lucked out at the office white elephant party this year. You drew the shortest straw, which normally was a bad omen, but in this particular situation meant you got to pick the last gift, or steal the gift of your choice, assuming it hadn’t been stolen twice already and when it finally came down to the last present and you ripped open the wrapping on a candle scented as something called “Caramel Cashmere” you knew you’d be taking your pick of the lot.

You surveyed the circle with sharp eyes. Two mugs, a blanket with a kitten surrounded by pink feathers emblazoned on it, a sample tray of exotic meat sausages, a gift basket from Sephora, An assortment of flavored Schnapps nip bottles with a set of shot glasses, a pair of AirPod pros (that had already been stolen twice and were thus, out of the game), two tickets to see some standup comedian named Roy Ramheart at the Holiday Inn over the weekend and lastly a two week trial to the brand new bougie gym that opened up downtown.

You turned slowly in the middle of the circle, shitty candle in hand, eyeing each person and their presents one by one. Sharon was shaking the blanket with the feathers and kitten on it, trying to entice you with it. Mark, the gym rat, was trying to hide the two week gym trial under his crossed arms. Maureen was already unpacking the Airpods and changing the heads to one’s that would be most comfortable to her ears, everyone else looked beyond bored. You did one more rotation before stopping in front of Mark who let out an irritated huff as you held out the large beige candle to him. He snatched the candle from your hand and reluctantly held out the gym brochure.

You grabbed it and opened it, leafing through it as the rest of the office stood and began to chatter about their new gifts with heated exchange, there’d be secret swaps later no doubt. Someone turned the music back up and the circle slowly broke and dispersed into a half drunk crowd of sloppy dancing and idle chatter.

Mark came up to you, obviously upset with your steal of the gym trial. “You could’ve had the Sephora gift basket. Maybe you’d get laid a little more if you indulged in some makeup.” You looked up at him, a winning smirk on your face, unfazed by his nasty jest and looked back down at the flashy brochure. Your office bestie Nancy came over and Mark strode away, annoyed at losing out to you and failing to get under your skin.

“What was that about?” You looked up at her and rolled your eyes as she stared after him. “Sore loser.” She eyed the brochure in your hands. “I see you got Mrs. Magna’s gym trial.” You smiled and popped the trial in your purse. “So it was hers, I had a feeling.” She handed you a little red cup full of spiked punch. “Got it in the mail yesterday, she’s already gotten four of them and I was about to throw it out with the rest of the junk but then I remembered she still needed something for the white elephant thing so I saved it back, good thing too, the other option was a airmall catalog from her last business trip.”

You rolled your eyes, your boss had always been contemptuous at best, and if she held the whole of the office at foot level she held your best friend Nancy, her secretary, in the dirt. You had spent countless hours after work, drinks in hand listening to her vent about being Mrs. Magna’s doormat for forty hours a week.

You sucked down the last of the punch in your cup and regarded the hazy swirling quality the room had taken, it was time to go home. “I’m headed home, Nance. You wanna catch a ride with me?” She looked down at her feet, a look you’ve seen all too often, one that meant she’d be taking it face first again. “Gotta stay and clean up. She’s got an early board meeting in the morning and they’re having it here, so I’ve got to have this place spotless by 6:15.”

“God, does that woman ever give you a break?” She pulled you in for a hug and took your empty cup from your hands, replacing it with your purse. “Get home safe, and text me when you get there, yeah?” You smiled and nodded before turning for the door, pulling out your phone and opening up Uber.”

When you were home and locked up tight you texted Nancy, brushed your teeth and fell into bed, letting the buzz carry you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning, sour taste in your mouth and head throbbing dully. You slowly lurched from the nest of your bed and shambled into the bathroom, wincing at the brightness of the lights as you flicked them on and breathing out shakily as you shut them off again. With the little corner window casting gentle waxy rays into the space you turned on the shower and set about brushing your teeth. Bad taste gone, you climbed under the flow of steamy hot water and let the force of it all wash away your grogginess and began to feel just a bit better.

When you were out and dressed you made a light breakfast and pulled your white elephant gift from your purse. The front showed the shiny new building and the fancy letters at the top read “Baliquinox”. The brochure outlined the extent of the trial, all amenities available for the duration of the trial, including but not limited to the scheduled hot yoga, cycling and something called gravity assisted pilates. The gym also advertised a sauna, a full length Olympic sized pool, an in-house smoothie “artist”, as well as massage therapists and personal trainers on staff.

On the back of the brochure various payment plans were listed for membership packages, starting in the thousands, you immediately flipped the brochure back over to the front, two weeks was all you had, but you were going to make the most of it. If you could come up with a routine that you could do at home then you could give up the luxurities that came with the cushy admission price.

A week later you found yourself in front of the glitzy building, gym bag in hand as you stared at the shiny made up people behind the gleaming doors. Walking into the bustle of people you are met with a long white desk, there’s two people behind the counter, a fit beautiful woman and strong chiseled man, both already occupied with customers. But while the actual humans are occupied there is a row of kiosks set up with a sign above them that claims they can help you.

You walk up to one hesitantly and find that it’s actually a really simple process, you scan the barcode on the back of your brochure, type in some preliminary basic information, your name, address, email and phone number, and your free two week trial has begun. The machine spits out a laminated wristband at you. You tear it at the dotted lines, place it around your wrist and now you’re good to go. The machine wishes you a very productive workout and sends you on your way.

You walk further into the building, following a colored line on the floor that claims it will take you to the locker room. As you follow the line your eyes scan your surroundings, to your left are three glass rooms. One is currently occupied by a spin class, the next some sort of dance exercise class, the thumpy music felt through the floor in your feet but unheard to you outside of the walls, the last was a hot yoga class, you could tell by the mats on the floor and the condensation on the glass but as you were watching the instructor pressed a button on the tablet she was holding and the glass grayed out before your eyes, concealing the room from view.

You passed a room which you guessed held the pool, the sounds of echoing splashes crashed against the walls. Finally you could see the locker rooms before you, a door split off into men’s and women’s, keeping to the right you found yourself in an expansive room filled wall to wall with lockers. You came up to one with a green light on the front and pulled on the door, it opened freely and you began to change. When you had on your workout clothes you put the bag inside and shut the door, as you stepped away the light changed from green to red, signifying it had locked and you left the locker room.

You found the open gym space by following a different line on the floor. The room was split up into sections, one for machines, one for free weights, and one for cardio. Meandering into the cardio section you found a row of Peloton treadmills that stretched the length of the wall while the other side were full with cycle machines. You opted for a run to start with. There were a couple treadmills in use at the front but the ones in back were empty. You picked one by the far wall, stepping up onto it and putting your headphones in. You looked up at yourself in the mirror lined wall, taking in a deep breath before finding a song and picking a speed.

Head down and focused you let your footfalls come to the forefront of your mind, the only thing that mattered, soon the room around you faded and became unimportant. You had just broken out a sweat, head lifting and eyes opening to meet the mirrors of your own on the wall, but that wasn’t all.

Standing behind you, eyes connected with yours was a ruggedly handsome man, he stood behind you a few feet back from the treadmill and when you caught him staring he didn’t look away ashamed, just held your gaze with shockingly pale blue eyes. He wore black athletic shorts and a white shirt with the gym's name across his chest, he definitely worked here, personal trainer maybe, judging by his ripped physique. His lips turned up in a smirk and it was you who finally broke the locked gaze.

You looked down at your phone, shuffled through a few songs before checking the mirror again, he was still there. You were about to turn and speak to him when he turned on foot and headed out of the cardio section and out of sight. You stopped the machine and took a moment to take in your surroundings. There were a few more patrons in the cardio section of the gym but they didn’t seem to notice this interaction between you and the handsome stranger at all and there didn’t seem to be some kind of maintenance going on or equipment around you that was needed, warranting the long stare you’d received from the employee.

You turned back to your machine and after looking once more over your shoulder for any other disturbance you resumed your workout, picking up the pace and settling into a jog. It wasn’t five minutes later that the man was back, this time though he was strolling the area and looking, quite obviously, anywhere but you. You felt heat rising in your cheeks and somehow more exposed than before, you almost regretted this isolated treadmill towards the back of the room.

He had passed the other patrons at this point, there was no reason for him to walk back this way any further other than to speak to you. Still you felt compelled to keep your head down, like somehow you weren’t supposed to be here. He stopped behind you once more and the hair on the back of your neck pricked to points. As you made up the courage to confront him he took the first step, walking up to the side of your machine and tapping the handle arm.

Pulling one earbud out you turned the machine down to a walk, a little annoyed at the interruption but compliant and friendly as you could be. “Yes?” He flashed you a smile and gods was he handsome, tan skin, nice white teeth, he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine, absolutely a personal trainer, but what did he want with you?

“Hi, m’name’s Johnny. I’m a personal trainer, dinnae think I’ve seen you around before.” His voice is gruff and that accent, Scottish? Maybe. Delicious whatever it is. “I’m new, first day.” He rocked back on his heels slightly, smile never faltering. “Ahh, I see. Ken I’d never seen ye before, would’ve remembered such a pretty face.” Charming as well, you couldn’t help but avert your gaze for a moment, the intensity of his presence a little faltering. When you speak your voice is a bit higher pitched than you’d wish and he knows he’s flustered you just a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, just umm.. just started my workout actually. Didn’t get very far.” You turn to go back to the machine but he reaches out and grabs your wrist and it stops you, your eyes flick back to his baby blues. “Have ye set your goals?” One eyebrow shoots up. “My goals?” That dazzling smile is back, it’s bright, nearly blinding. “Yer workout goals, cannae start yer workout without yer goals, hen. Gotta ken where yer at and where yer goin’.”

You consider this for a moment, a little off guard before stuttering forth an answer. “I’d like to work on my cardio.” It’s a simple enough answer, and seems stupid considering that’s what you were doing before he interrupted you and you thought maybe it was enough for him to leave you be, as handsome as he was you wanted to be polite but you also wanted to get back to it.

“That’s a good start bonnie. But we need to know where yer at still. Follow me.” And then he turns away, obviously expecting you to follow him. You stop the machine and stand idly for a moment, unsure what you’ll do, you probably could just go back to walking and that’d be the end of it, and maybe that’s what you should do, but you think it’d be rude, he was being nice so far and maybe he could help you set some real goals to accomplish, he is after all a personal trainer. It would be stupid to pass up his professional help. You climb off the treadmill and walk towards him, speed walking a little to catch up.

He carts you through the gym, and it feels like you’ve walked the whole length of the building, passed through a few sets of double doors, long since stopped seeing any patrons actually exercising. Now you feel like you’re in the back rooms of the gym, maybe where you’re not supposed to be. But you still follow him, keeping track of where you’ve been and how to get out if you have to, you know, just in case.

He finally opens the door to a room and pushes you in, it’s small but furnished. A single ancient treadmill pushed into one of the corners, a few scales against the far wall, charts explaining how to find your BMI and the nutrition pyramid are tacked to the wall. He shuts the door and the room takes on a warm and stuffy quality.

He starts by measuring your height. There’s a laminated ruler all the way up one wall and he pushes you up against it, kicking your feet until your heels touch the wall. You feel the strength in his hands as they bracket your hips, controlling you with just the minute movements of his wrists, caging you closer to take “the most accurate” measurements.

His breath is in your face, warm and minty as he places a finger at the tippy top of your head to pinpoint your height. You would think he’d have some sort of chart or goal sheet to jot these numbers down but he’s typing them into his phone instead, after all everything was online these days.

When he had your height he motioned for you to step on the scale, something you were a bit hesitant to do. “Don’t be fashed, bonnie. S’all part of the process.” You step up on the scale and after he takes a careful moment to be sure it’s settled he records your weight. You think it all might be over and you can go back to your workout when he says “Open.” You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded and he waits patiently for you to comply.

“Open?” He grips you by the chin gently and taps his thumb against your lower lip, and your breath hitches at the gentle but intrusive gesture. “Open up.” You slowly part your lips and he smiles, his pretty blue eyes staring at your lips and you’re beyond flustered, thighs shifting uncomfortably. “Wider.” You do as he says, not sure how any of this is necessary but too far gone to stop now. “Good girl.”

He rocks your head from side to side, thoroughly examining your mouth, you feel his thumb apply pressure to your plush lower lip, drawing it down and you feel the saliva in your mouth gathering uncontrollably. The weight of it dips and you're backing away so as to not drool on his hand, your lower lip plopping back in place, but not before a drop of it collects on his thumb.

He looks you, unabashedly in the eye as he lifts his thumb to his lips and pushes the digit with your drool on it into his mouth. Your eyes are as big as saucers but without skipping a beat, and without recording any kind of data on that last test? Measurement? Examination of your mouth, he moves you over onto the treadmill and starts it up. He starts at a low speed and as the tread begins to move under your feet you have no choice but to move along with it.

It’s a walk, no sweat and you look over to see him watching your hips, his eyes flick up to yours and he leans forward and ups the speed. Now you’re at a light jog and you can no longer watch him directly. You hear him walking around the treadmill, alternating between being directly behind you and off to your side. He ups the speed again until you’re full on running, arms pumping as you try to keep up with the tread, you’re breathing quite heavily, chest heaving with each breath.

He turns it up again, just a notch but it’s past your limit and you’re struggling to keep up now, the heels of your feet nearly dangling over the end of the tread, you speak in between breaths, telling him you can’t keep up, it’s too fast. “Just a little more, hen. Keep goin’.” He’s behind you, you hope he’ll catch you if you come flying off the end, and just when you thought you would he comes up and hits the emergency stop and you feel the tread’s speed dwindle beneath your feet. When it stops you stand there, heart beating triple time in your chest, your arms gripping the arm rest until he comes up and makes you place them interlaced behind your head.

He says nothing while you recover, just plugs more data into his phone and when you’re better he looks up at you with cold assessing eyes, the baby blues icing over and chilling you. But then that smile resurfaces and they melt into pools of tropical blue and he speaks.

“Alright, lass. I'll do it.” And he just stands there not explaining until you ask. “Do what?” He laughs and it’s a gorgeous sound that still manages to unnerve you. “I’ll be your personal trainer.” You have a lot of questions and are about to voice them when he pulls you out of the room and has you following him again, talking the whole while.

“We’re gonna stretch your goals a bit. “Working on your cardio” isn’t exactly gonna cut it. We will work on your cardio, because trust me lass, it needs work.” You’re slightly offended at this, but he pushes right on through without soothing it. “But we are gonna get you in shape together. Dinnae worry, Johnny’s got a whole plan mapped out for ye already.” He takes you into a little cove by the front where a bunch of people are seated and drinking smoothies. This must be the smoothie artist you read about in the brochure. He walks up to the counter, bypassing the line and orders something you can hear from the table you sat down at. He’s handed two drinks and brings them over.

Handing one to you he sits across from you and when you don’t try it right off he sets authoritative eyes on you and deadpans in a no nonsense tone. “Drink.” You bring the straw to your lips and suck, which seems to please him and the fruit mixture that floats to your tongue is sweet and refreshing. “Now I want ye to do some homework for me when ye get home tonight. Two�� nah. Make it three sets of sit-ups, two sets of toe touches and ten lunges.” You look at him and know that now is the time to tell him, you guess he just didn’t know or didn’t think to ask. “Johnny.” He looks up at you, eyes alight with excitement. “Yes, hen.”

“I’m only gonna be here for two weeks. I’m doing the free trial thing.” He keeps on staring like what you’ve said hasn’t registered and after a moment he adds. “And?” You thought it was clear but it seems you’ll have to go further. “I’m not sure I’ll be committing to coming back.” This is a lie. You know you can’t afford a membership and after your two weeks are up you simply couldn’t keep coming. But this seems to not matter in the slightest as he replies. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah? Til’ then three sets of sit ups, two sets of toe touches and ten lunges.”

You don’t know what to say so you just nod and he smiles and despite yourself you feel almost relieved to see it. “Good. Come in tomorrow at three and we’ll get started on yer first real workout.”

“But I don’t get off work til 4.” He smiles and knocks once on the table with his knuckles. “4:30 it is then. Don’t be late.” With that he stands and walks away, leaving you with a half finished smoothie and conflicting emotions.

Later that night after you found yourself compelled to at least finish the “homework” he’d assigned and after you’d repacked your gym bag with fresh clothes and climbed into bed, the image of him pushing his thumb into his mouth filled your head until you burned in bed like a torch. His pale blue eyes, dark hair, tan skin, all very conventionally attractive aspects of his features but there was more, a more secretive darker part of you that was drawn to the way he picked you out. Took notice of you immediately and coerced you into training under him, even after he knew you might not commit.

The burn of it became too much and you grabbed for the vibrator in your nightstand, coming at the thought of those strong arms hooked around your thighs and those pale blue eyes peering up at you from the junction of your thighs. At 4:30 the next day you found yourself in front of Baliquinox, gym bag in hand and nervous.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Burn me down

Michael Gavey x Reader

18+ Minors DNI WC: 4.6k Warnings: Cigarettes, Alcohol, Smut, Wax Play, dom-ish Michael, Nerd in the streets, freak in the sheets A/N: I've asked you to choose a little something for my Birthday and you chose this! Yay! Here's to my 22nd birthday and a rather sweet and kinky Michael.

You stood in front of the Pub, taking quick drags of your cigarette. You damned the horrendous british weather, you damned the fact that the student's exchange office apparently 'lost' your exams in the mail, making you re-sit everything in the winter break, but most of all you damned that Michael.

He was supposed to be your buddy - your mentor, showing you around campus and helping you connect with the other students, though all he did was invite you to the pub where he'd drink his pint in relative silence before leaving again.

It wasn't like you disliked STEM students, no; most of them were the chillest friends one could wish for. But he? He was a right royal pain in the ass, trying to convince you of his intelligence everytime you'd meet up.

You shivered as the cold wind whipped around you, making your eyes water and your teeth chatter. The rain pelted down hard, turning the pavement into a slick, shiny mess that squelched beneath your feet with each step. You finished your cigarette quickly, flicking it away into a nearby puddle with a silent curse as rain dripped onto your fingers. The smoke from it mingled with the damp air, creating an acrid smell that mixed with the scent of wet earth and cobblestones underfoot.

You tucked the next one into your mouth, feeling the familiar burn as you lit it from a soggy match that barely stayed alight in the weather. Pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket, you frowned when you saw no new messages from Michael; he'd stood you up again.

Blowing out a plume of smoke, you sucked your teeth and were just about to turn back and head home when you just-about-avoided giving Michael a burn as he appeared out of nowhere, stepping way too close to you.

"Sorry," he mumbled and looked down at your shivering form. "You said to meet up at eight, why would you text me if I'm here at quarter to?"

You took a step back and offered him a cigarette, which he quickly declined. "It's rude to be on time, it's best to be early. Doesn't matter, you're here now," you said and gave him a one over. That man really did not have a single fashionable piece of clothing to his name, it was incredible. He looked like he'd raided your father's wardrobe. "What's the plan for this evening?"

Michael shrugged, his eyes clung to the glowing end of your cigarette as though the answer was hidden in the embers. "The usual, I suppose," he stammered. "Grab a pint, talk about... things?"

You chuckled, "Ah, the endlessly fascinating 'things'," you teased, flicking some ash off your cigarette onto the pavement. It mingled with the small droplets of rain on the ground like stardust on a cosmic canvas. "How absolutely riveting."

He frowned slightly and looked at you; his eyebrows knitted tightly with confusion. "I didn't mean to be vague," he explained. "It's just..."

"It's just...?" you repeated with curiosity.

"Everything," he muttered. "Everything has been so much more... complicated since meeting you."

You looked at him in surprise as your next words hung precariously in the cold night air. You weren't sure where this conversation was going, but it certainly wasn't in the direction you'd expected.

"Complicated?" you echoed his words, blowing a cloud of smoke into the wind. The bitter cold bit at your face and you withdrew back into your collar. His expression was unreadable underneath the dim wintry light, giving him an aura of mystery that was oddly arresting.

"Yes," he nodded slowly before rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Because you're so different from what I'm used to."

You raised an eyebrow at that comment but said nothing, intrigued by his sudden openness, a stark contrast to his reticent persona up until now.

"But it's not a bad thing," he quickly added, pulling up his shoulders.

God, he was so awkward. Watching two drunk, scantily dressed girls leave the pub, you could see into the establishment and shook your head, grumbling.

"That damned thing's full to the brim. Would you be cool with coming to my apartment and have a drink or two there? I should still have beer and schnapps." Tossing your cigarette butt away you gave him a small, cheeky grin. "Or are you afraid of being alone with a woman?"

Michael's eyes widened at your bold comment, but after a moment his face relaxed into a sheepish smile. "No, I'm not afraid," he admitted. His voice was quiet but firm. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes so you decided not to push any further.

"Good," you replied, slightly impressed by the unexpected admission. "It'd be a shame to go and drink my beer by myself." You proceeded to lead the way to your apartment, just a few streets away. The cold rain was unrelenting and by the time you reached your building, both of you were drenched to the bone.

As soon as you stepped inside however, warm, dry air greeted you like a comforting blanket. You hurried up the worn wooden staircase leading to your apartment, Michael following closely behind. He looked around with curiosity and slight apprehension as he entered your abode for the first time.

Your apartment was small but cozy. A worn-out sofa sat before a small TV set, a coffee table littered with textbooks and research papers spread out before it. The walls were filled with photographs of family and friends; some from home, some from university. The kitchen was compact but well organized, a fridge full of post-it reminders of upcoming exams and assignments.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him as you headed into the bath to grab some towels for drying off. He hesitated for a moment before finally settling down on the edge of your sofa.

When you returned with two towels, his eyes were darting around your living room - taking in all the photos and personal items that adorned it - like pieces of a puzzle about yourself that he was eager to solve.

"Different..." he mumbled again, almost to himself while his gaze lingered on a picture of you posing with your old high school friends.

"What?" you asked, throwing him one of the towels and ruffling your hair with the other.

He fumbled to catch it and cleared his throat. "You're just... different from what I expected," he repeated, sounding unsure of whether he was complimenting or criticizing you.

"And how's that?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as you headed towards the kitchen, deciding to ignore any potential insult for now. "Want a beer or schnapps?"

"Uh... a beer, please," he said, trying to wipe the rain off his glasses with the towel you gave him.

You opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles. "And how exactly am I different?" you asked again, popping off the caps and joining him on the couch.

He took the offered drink quietly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You’re more… real," he finally said, looking into your eyes earnestly. "I thought you're just another hippie lit student, but you do seem to be... uh, more scientific."

You burst out laughing at that comment, causing him to blush awkwardly. "Are you saying I am deep?" You took a gulp from your bottle before continuing, "Well, despite your stand-offishness and your slight academic snobbery, Michael," you said pointing at him with the bottle. "You are not so bad yourself."

He looked taken aback and looked away, taking a gulp of beer. Deciding that there wouldn't be much conversation from now on, which was usual for the both of you, you set your beer aside and walked to your wardrobe, pulling out an oversized T-Shirt and some short shorts, deciding to get out of your wet clothes. Not bothering to go into another room - you were still wearing your underwear, so there wasn't much to see anyways, you argued with yourself - you changed quickly.

When you turned back to Michael, he was staring at you with a startled expression, his cheeks flaming red. He quickly averted his gaze, muttering a soft, "Sorry."

"No worries," you replied nonchalantly, taking your seat back on the couch. You enjoyed his discomfort and couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Silence hung in the room as both of you focused on your beer bottles, the familiar scent of hops and barley filling the room. The distant sounds of the city could be heard through the thin walls of your apartment as well as the constant tapping of rain hitting the windowsill.

After a while, you broke the silence, "So... about these 'things' we're supposed to talk about?" You smirked at him, noticing how he squirmed under your gaze.

He sighed heavily before looking at you directly; eyes full of seriousness. "I think... I think I like how things are complicated with you."

You were taken aback at his straightforward confession and blinked at him. He looked just as surprised by his own boldness, face paling slightly.

"Look," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "what I mean to say is... I find it intriguing, being around you. You don't strive to fit in any mold and that's... refreshing. And after our... our... evenings, you don't go about shouting it from the rooftops."

You stared at him for a good few seconds before bursting into laughter once again. His obvious discomfort combined with his honesty was endearing in its own strange way. Of course he was mighty uncomfortable about your deeper, emotional talks once you were drunk enough, but who were you to hold it against him.

"You are one weird bloke," you said amidst your laughing fits.

His face reddened once more but this time he nervously stood up and sat down flush next to you, eliciting another round of small giggles from you. "What are you doing? Are you trying to cuddle me?"

"No, I'm not trying to cuddle you," he protested, looking both embarrassed and indignant. Yet, despite his words, he didn't move away. Instead, he found himself moving closer to you on the sofa, closing the distance between you two.

"Then what do you call this?" you asked, laughter subsiding as you turned to face him. His close proximity made your heart beat a little faster, to your own surprise.

"I call this... um... adjusting for... comfort," he said, sounding nervous and uncertain. But his eyes never left yours and there was determination in them that was hard to ignore.

"Yeah? And who's comfort are we talking about here?" you asked, looking at him with amusement. You wondered how much of his boldness was down to the beer or simply his genuine personality.

He hesitated before answering, "Yours. And mine."

Grinning, you set your bottle down and turned towards him, laying an arm over his shoulder (which wasn't very easy, that damned man was so much taller than you were) and licked your lips. "Oh really? Yours as well? I'd never have guessed." With that, you closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him softly, giving him the option to retreat from it if he'd wish to.

Much to your surprise, your kiss elicited a small groan from him and made him wrap his arms around you, tighter than you'd have thought. So your suspicions were true then - he was as interested in you as you were in him.

Michael's touch was warm, his scent of rain and musk mingling with your own, his unsure hands very rough on you, though you had to confess that you didn't mind it as much as you'd have thoought you would. He tasted like beer and something else, something uniquely him. As you kissed him deeper, you could feel his heart pounding against your chest. There was a spark that ignited between the two of you - a mutual curiosity and eagerness that had been brewing beneath the surface for quite some time.

When you broke the kiss, you both gasped for air, eyes locked on each other's. "I think we should take this to bed," you whispered huskily, leaning in for another kiss before standing up and offering him a hand to help him up too. He took it gratefully, his palm soft against yours as he rose from the couch with you guiding him through the darkened room towards your bedroom door. Once inside, you turned lit one of your copious scented candles, casting a soft yellow glow across the space.

You both undressed slowly, shedding layers until all that remained were your underwear and his slightly damp shirt clinginging to his broad shoulders. His tall, lanky frame towered over you as he sat down heavily on the mattress, pulling you into his lap with an easy strength that made your heart race faster than before. The wet shirt clung to your skin as it rubbed against yours during every movement.

As you lay in his lap, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, his fingers tracing your spine and shoulders, you couldn't help but notice how warm and safe you felt in his embrace. He kissed your neck softly, the stubble on his chin brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your back. You moaned lightly as he nibbled on your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His other hand slowly found its way to your breast, cupping it gently as he explored its softness beneath the padded fabric, causing you to gasp. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. You held your breath as he kneaded it gently, his touch sending sparks of desire straight to your core.

You couldn't believe how comfortable you were with him already; with someone you barely knew but somehow understood on a deeper level than anyone else ever had. The alcohol maybe? Or maybe it was just him—his innocent yet bold nature? You'd never know. All that mattered was this moment—his hand on your breast, the heat radiating from his body, the wet shirt clinging to both of you as if they were magnetized—made every nerve ending tingle with anticipation.

You pushed yourself closer into his touch, arching your back slightly when he pinched the nipple between his fingers teasingly before licking and sucking it softly. A groan escaped your lips at the sensation. You thought he'd be a virgin, but much to your surprise by the way he expertly unclasped your bra behind your back with a single hand and guided you gently onto your back it seemed like he did have a fair amount of practice.

His cock was throbbing against his pants, begging to be freed, but it seemed like he knew that wasn't the only thing that mattered right now. He wanted to get to know you in every way possible - and not just physically. He loved the taste of your lips on his, tangy from the beer but still sweet and soft. Both of you were shivering with anticipation. His hands traced up and down your sides slowly, feeling every curve and edge of your body as if they were made for each other. His fingers brushed against your underwear-covered mound and he gasped slightly at the wetness there before moving upwards to cup one of your breasts, holding it gently.

Your lips trembled as you whispered, "How long have you been wanting this?" Your breath caught in your throat as he clumsily lay next to you, his throbbing arousal pressed against your chilled skin. The way his fingers expertly teased and twisted your nipple made it clear that this was not a spontaneous decision, but rather a burning desire that had been building up inside him for a while. And making out with someone like Michael Gavey would never be just a spontaneous act - he would've started planning this weeks before.

"I... uh...", he muttered, clearly trying to conjure up a lie that he'd never thought about it, so you gave him a small smile. "Didn't mean to offend you," you mumbled as you moved a bit closer to him. His lips met yours again, hungrily, his tongue digging deep into your mouth as you felt his arousal press against your leg. You reached down and grasped it through his pants, feeling the warmth and length of him beneath the cotton. He groaned into the kiss, pressing himself against you harder. You could feel his heart racing as much as yours was, and it only fueled your desire even more. You could taste the beer on his lips and feel the barely-there stubble against your chin as he traced nervous kisses down your jawline, across your collarbone, and lower to your breasts.

When he took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder as you gasped, you arched your back off the mattress. He moaned into your skin, humming quietly as he continued to tease you with his lips and teeth. His free hand slid down between your legs, pushing aside the damp fabric of your underwear to touch you directly. Your hips bucked up towards his hand instinctively as he found your already slick folds and began to rub gently. The softness of his touch only added to the intensity of the sensation that coursed through you both.

Your breathing grew heavier as you ground yourself against his hand, needing more contact but also not wanting to beg for him. As Michael's tongue danced around yours, your kisses became more intense, your bodies pressing closer together. His heart was racing, his breathing heavy with anticipation. His hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist before landing softly on the lace of your black panties. You caught your breath as he ran his fingers lightly over the fabric, feeling the softness against his skin. He leaned away from the kiss gradually, smirking at your flushed face and parted lips as he pulled the delicate garment down to reveal what lay beneath.

"Oh," he breathed out, taking in the sight of you - already wet and ready for him. He gave a mocking chuckle, "So ready for me, like a little slut." You blushed even deeper and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. His free hand found its way to your chin and tilted it up gently until you met his eyes again. There was a twinkle in his green irises that made your stomach flip-flop uncontrollably.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips once more in a slow kiss that lingered for far too long before pulling away. A teasing smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he took in another deep breath and sat up, straddling you, effectively trapping you under him. "Now tell me, how long have you been wanting this? How long have you been moaning my name before you went to sleep?"

Opening and closing your mouth, you blushed heavily and licked your lips as he gingerly picked up the candle and let a tiny droplet of wax fall onto your belly. "Michael!" you gasped and blushed even further, especially as you could see him biting his lips. Shit, you thought, he likes to see you writhing under him. "Michael, I... I... didn't want to bother you, I..."

To that, he only lifted an eyebrow and grinned, letting more hot wax drip onto your chest, which was echoed by a yelping moan. "You still haven't answered my question."

The heat from the candle wax dripping onto your skin sent shivers down your spine, but you didn't flinch away from him. Instead, you inhaled sharply and arched into his touch, feeling every inch of his presence against yours. His hands gently caressed your skin as he waited for your answer, his thumb brushing across the sensitive flesh where he had dotted it with hot wax. You licked your lips nervously, trying to gather enough courage to speak the truth. You couldn't lie to him anymore - you felt like you might explode at any second and were this close to begging him to fuck you senseless.

Oh yes, you knew he'd do that. These shy, standoffish nerds - you knew for a fact that they had the biggest cocks and were willing to use them.

"I've wanted this for weeks," you finally admitted in a barely audible whisper. "Every time I saw you at Uni or when we sat together in the library, I could feel myself getting wet just thinking about what it would be like to be underneath you." Your blush deepened at the admission, but at least now it was out in the open. He was looking at you with such intense curiosity that you could feel yourself melting under his gaze.

As if in response to your confession, he set the candle down again and kissed a trail from your collarbone to your other nipple, nipping softly before catching it between his teeth and sucking gently. Your back arched off the mattress as pleasure coursed through you; he knew exactly what he was doing to make you lose control. His other hand moved lower still, fingertips dancing over your clit. "Hm," he mumbled, "I think I still haven't heard enough."

Whimpring, you tossed your head from one side to the other, trying your hardest to form a coherent sentence, or even just a word, the way he was circling your nub with an ever quickening pace. Losing all your dignity, you looked up at him and whined needily. "Please, Michael, fuck, fuck me... I need you, I..."

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your earlobe before whispering, "You need me?" He nibbled softly, sending shivers down your spine. "I think that can be arranged..." His voice was trembling with anticipation, giving away his own nervousness and excitement. He trailed his tongue along the edge of your earlobe, grazing it gently as he slid off of you and stood up.

You couldn't help but watch him as he pulled down his underpants. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for action, glistening with his precum as it lazily slapped up ointo his his stomach. He was certainly well endowed - not the thickest, but by god that must've been at least twenty centimetres. You licked your lips unconsciously, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to feel him inside you. He smiled shyly as he quickly rummagged through the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out a condom from his wallet.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded in that same low voice that made your insides melt as he opened the package and rolled the rubber quickly over his cock.

Obediently you complied, presenting yourself to him in a way that only heightened the anticipation building between the two of you. The room was dark now as he extinguished the candle, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he moved behind you. His warm breath fanned over the nape of your neck making you shiver again as he ran a hand through your hair teasingly.

A sharp intake of breath escaped from you when he lightly skimmed a kiss over your spine before tracing it back up, holding tightly onto your hair as you could feel him positioning himself in front of your pulsating pussy.

Without another word, Michael's cockhead pressed against your entrance, teasing and stretching it before he finally found the sweet spot. A low moan escaped from his lips as he sank in to the hilt, filling you up completely. He pushed further inside until he was fully sheathed within your tight heat. You felt him to the core, his length stretching and filling you up completely.

The feeling of his length inside you was both exhilarating and overwhelming, making you moan out in pleasure as he gently began to move within you. His hands cupped your breasts, massaging them gently as he slowly withdrew and thrust back in again. Every inch of him flexed inside you, rubbing against your walls as if trying to find that perfect spot that would make you scream his name.

He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you hard, forcing a gasp from your lips. His hips pounded into you with unyielding force as it seemed like every muscle in his body tensed up with desire. The sound of skin smacking against skin echoed around the room, creating a rhythm that seemed to match the pounding of your hearts in your ears.

He looked down at your exposed ass cheeks while he kept pounding into you, admiring how they shook and clenched with every thrust. One hand moved around to caress them in tandem with his hips, making sure those cheeks received some love too as he slapped them harshly.

Your legs trembled beneath him as he startet grunting more loudly, his fingers clenching around your hips, pushing and pulling in a way that made you feel like he was using you like a toy. Fuck, who would've thought that Michael Gavey was such a freak. Though as soon as that thought had run through your mind, he wrapped his arm around you, quickly rubbing your engorged clit while he pistoned into you at an impossible pace. That was enough for you to scream into your pillow and to half-collapse, him following you almost instantly as your cunt squeezed his cock dry.

He collapsed onto your back, panting heavily against your neck. His heart hammered against your spine, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. He remained in you for a few more moments, his pulsating cock still buried deep inside you; you could feel him twitching with every throb of his orgasm.

Finally, he rolled off of you and onto his side, pulling out of you carefully as he did so. You whimpered at the sudden lack of contact, your body feeling oddly empty without him filling you up. He looked at you then; his eyes soft and full of wonderment as he took in the sight of you lying there—sated, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

You turned to face him on the bed, reaching out to touch his chest as if to make sure he was really there beside you. His skin was damp with sweat, and he shivered as your fingers traced the contours of his chest and abdomen before finally coming to rest on his softening cock. You gave it a gentle squeeze, making him groan and buck into your touch.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he stammered shyly after a moment’s silence. “I… um… didn’t mean to be so…” He trailed off uncertainly, looking rather sheepish as he glanced down at you.

But instead of chastising him or laughing at his awkwardness—as any other woman might have done—you simply smiled up at him before leaning in for a kiss. It was sweet and tender—a stark contrast from the roughness that had transpired between you two moments ago.

"Michael," you murmured against his lips once the kiss broke, "do you think I didn't enjoy it?"

He looked a bit taken aback, his brows furrowing in confusion as he met your gaze. "I-I mean... I just..." he stammered, clearly still embarrassed by the sudden shift between his lustful and awkward side. It was endearing to see him this flustered, considering moments ago he had been a commanding force.

"Hush," you cooed, pressing a finger to his lips to silence his ramblings. "I enjoyed every single breathless second of it," you reassured him. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at your words, but his eyes sparkled with relief and satisfaction.

You saw him gulp down his lingering nervousness before he finally managed to utter something coherent again. "I'm glad," he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Really glad."

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

Dieter Bravo masterlist

All masterlists

[meaninglessrambles]

everything has changed.

ship: spencer agnew x reader.

summary: you move in next door to spencer.

warnings: none!

author’s note: not at all what i was meant to be working on but, hey, when inspiration strikes… kinda went into this with the idea that neighbor!reader may be a recurring character, so if there’s any scenarios you wanna see, let me know. 

'cause all i know is we said, "hello" and your eyes look like comin' home.

the first time you meet your neighbor, it’s with a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and a smile on your face. you’re nervous—desperate, really, to make a good first impression and worried one last minute gathering will ruin it—but damn near giddy at the idea of meeting someone new. always the people person, you look at every introduction as the chance to make a friend.

you knock, confident, loud, and if possible, your grin gets bigger when the door slowly opens and a man appears, angling himself so carefully in the entry way you have to assume there’s at least one pet lurking behind him. “hi! i just moved in next door.”

“hello?” it’s more of a question than a greeting.

you continue on, undeterred. “and i wanted to introduce myself.” which you did—finding out the person whose night you interrupted was named spencer—but that wasn’t your only goal. “there is one more thing…”

“okay…” spencer breathes. he’s not trying to be rude—really, he’s not—but it’s been a long week and he’s tired and you’re far too pretty to just show up at his door like this. 

“i’m having a few people over.”

that get’s his attention. “you’re having a party?” with the quirk of a brow, he really studies you now—he’d been keeping strong eye contact until this moment—if you’re not exactly his age, you’re close enough he would have expected you to age out of apartment ragers a decade ago.

“worse, actually,” you admit, almost sheepish. “having some friends over for the real housewives of oc premiere and, uh, bravo really brings out the worst in us.” you just your chin towards the cookies. “these are a bribe.”

“ah,” he nods. “cookies in exchange for no noise complaints.” a pause. “i like your style, dude. i’m no narc but since you’re offering…” he pulls the plate gently from your grip.

well, at least that was one less thing to worry about. “enjoy!” you turn, ready to go back to your place, and give him a quick wave. “see you around!”

“yeah,” he says, “see you around!”

─────────────────────────────

and you do see him around. you give polite smiles and quick hellos when you pass each other in the halls or run into each other in the mail room. but you don't really talk to him again until a week later.

you'd just step into the lobby when you hear a familar voice yell, "shut that door! don't let her out."

you come to a stop right as a big blur of fur comes running right at you, careening off your shins and bouncing back. you don't give the cat even a chance to do it again; with ease, you scoop the feline up, doing your best to be gentle while keeping it restrained.

it's only seconds later that spencer comes into view, curls dishelved, breathing labored and cheeks pink. chasing a four-legged friend down three flights of stairs will do that to a person.

"shit, thank you, seriously," spencer says once he catches his breath, extending his arms so you can give the little escape artist back to her rightful owner. "you're an actual life saver. if she had gotten out..."

he doesn't even need to finish the sentence. while work kept you too busy for a pet of your own right now, you'd grown up with them. losing one was akin to losing a family member.

you reach out, meaning to give a comforting pat on the shoulder, but your hand rests there a little longer than you intended. when spencer's eyes meet yours, for a minute you forget what your intentions even were.

you'd hadn't touched him before—why would you? he's just the guy in the apartment next to yours.

you blink.

once.

twice.

then a distraught meow pulls you back to reality and you shake your head. "no sense in thinking about the what-ifs. just get houdini back under lock and key, yeah?"

the two of you make your way up three flights of stairs. the whole time you're silent, while spencer mutters sentiments ranging from intense frustration to deep relief to the cat who, with his attention solely on her, seems quite content.

─────────────────────────────

when you part ways at your respective doors, you expect this to be the last of it. until spencer shows up at your door the very next day, your plate in hand, with some precariously placed brownies on top.

"hey, uh, just wanted to return your plate and the favor after you thwarted zola's escape attempt yesterday." he's a little nervous, a little on edge. "and don't worry, i didn't make these so they're edible."

"you really didn't have to do that," you assure him, although you're glad he did.

"actually, i'm pretty sure i did. and i still owe you, like, a million favors after this too."

you laugh at that. "you really, really don't. that's just what neighbors do."

"well, still... thank you."

with yet another expression of gratitude, silence falls over the two of you and you can sense with it's arrival, spencer is getting ready to say his goodbyes. before he can, you surprise even yourself by asking, "do you like thai food?"

when you get a nod of the head in affirmation, you continue on. "'cause i've got a delivery coming any minute now and i think i went a little crazy. if you're hungry..."

you've never needed help finishing takeout before, but you decided right then in that very moment, that you would like his company just a little bit longer.

"you got some pad thai coming?" spencer's first reaction is an immediate yes and he has to say something, anything, to sound less eager.

"duh."

"in that case, hell yeah i'm hungry."

that's all you need to hear. you step aside, giving him access to your humble abode and shut the door behind him.

in all the places you've lived, you've never once invited a neighbor over—let alone for a meal. it's about time that changed.

all i know is a simple name, everything has changed.

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober 11

11. Body Hair/Shaving, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Teasing

Aziraphale is trapped behind his shopkeeper’s desk. He has to be. He’s waiting for a delivery to come and needs to be around to sign for it. Last time that he missed a parcel, it went to the sorting office and was lost for two weeks. 

Even a miracle can’t fix the Royal Mail. 

So, of course, the two of you are rubbing it in his face.

You’re hidden behind an adjacent bookshelf. From this angle, nobody from the public can see you, but Aziraphale certainly can. 

You meet his eyes as you swallow down Crowley’s cock, grinning when you hit the base. Crowley groans and throws his head back against the books. 

“Those are vintage. Be careful,” Aziraphale says, but there’s no bite to it. In fact it comes out as a bit of a whine. You see him shift uncomfortably in his seat as you begin to bob your head back and forth, tears pricking your eyes as Crowley hits the back of your throat over and over. 

“Oh Crowley, you taste gorgeous,” you say, pulling back enough to speak. Your spit makes a filthy line from his dick to your lips, you make a show of licking it clean. 

“Stop,” Aziraphale whispers. 

“You could join us.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, angel,” Crowley calls, voice hoarse. If there’s one thing better than one lover’s mouth on his cock, it’s both of them.

“Please,” you sigh, dreamily. Aziraphale adjusts his trousers and you see him losing a fight with himself. Just as he goes to stand up, deciding that the two of you are too tempting, the shop door opens with the ringing of a bell. 

Aziraphale drops back into his seat like a shot. You freeze around Crowley’s cock, him half in your mouth, his hands tangled in your hair. The two of you exchange a look and remain perfectly still. 

“Good morning Mr Fell, parcel for you!”

“Thank you,” he says, and you can tell how strained it is. Ah, your angel. Putting on a happy face but trying not to cum in his pants. 

“If you can just sign here…”

“Mmm-hmm, absolutely.”

Slowly you begin to move down on Crowley again. He grips your hair in warning, which you ignore, instead choosing to slide him entirely into your mouth. One of his hands has to come up to smother his own moans. 

“Mr Fell, are you quite alright?”

“Fine.”

His eyes flick over to the two of you. You’re playing a dangerous game, and he’s thunderously angry about it. Oh how perfect. 

Aziraphale squiggles his John Hancock, before taking the package quickly. 

“Well, see you next time!”

“Alright,” says the postie, clearly confused about Aziraphale’s strange behaviour, but not wanting to push it any further. When you hear the door shut the sound of locking isn’t far behind it. 

Azirphale’s shadow drops over the two of you. You look up from around Crowley’s cock. 

Slowly, with severity, he rolls back his sleeves to the elbow. 

“Well. Seems like the two of you need to be taught a lesson.”

@bootlmoth @elleofdragons  @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael @jelly-terror @larkiesparkie

[tma-reader-inserts]

Gerard Keay x Lonely Avatar! Reader

Tw: suicidal thoughts; mentioned character death

XXX

You missed Michael. You missed him so much you ached. You missed his breezy laugh and fun sweaters and how he always made tea for the two of you every morning. You missed your best friend, and his absence weighed on you like a stone.

You never worked together exactly; but you were an assistant to Elias, and you took the same route home every day and he was just so friendly it was hard not spend time with the sweet and sensitive man.

You didn’t have many friends. Hardly any except for Michael. And by extension, you were on friendly terms with Gerard Keay, who worked closely with Micheal and Miss Robinson on several statement cases. You were… intrigued by Gerard. Michael had encouraged you several times to “go for it”, to suck down your cowardice and just asked the attractive book-burner out for drinks; but you were so, so awkward; even more bumbling than Blackwood.

It felt like a miracle Elias hasn’t fired you yet. You assume it’s because you’ve memorized his coffee order and know exactly where to buy the biscuits he enjoys so much. You really didn’t do much in the was of assisting. You help take names and numbers of potential statement givers, arranged for them to meet an archivist or archivist assistance, fetch coffee and teas, and mostly just sit at the desk in front of Elias’s office and look busy. Whatever papers Elias gives you usually are meant for someone else and all you do is have the building’s mail system bring them to the specific person, so you don’t really do any actual filing.

Well, it’s a living.

A small reprieve from the hum drum of your boring work life was Michael and his fun stories.

Now you don’t even have that.

You wore all black for three weeks in mourning when you realized Michael wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t the first assistant to disappear, but it was the first that affected you. Elias and Gertrude said nothing about the change of your attire and attitude.

You also haven’t seen Gerard in ages. You had seen him once in passing as he exited the building while you were walking up to the stairs, smoking heavily with a dark look on his face. You have to assume he knows of Michael, you couldn’t imagine telling him, and Gerard always seems to know about everything that happens in the Institute. He eyed you briefly, in your dark clothes and somber expression, and he gave you a pitying look before walking in the opposite direction.

Not a word was exchanged, and you had felt so utterly and horribly alone since.

The loneliness creeps into your chest cavity, hollows it out and curls in there like a fog on a pier. Michael was gone, Gerard hasn’t been back in so long, and you were so alone.

Elias briefly checks up on you, asks about your morning walk and compliments your new shoes, wishes you a peaceful weekend and lends you an umbrella when it’s storming. But he’s no friend, and you are under no delusions that you are replaceable to him if needed.

You had no family to turn to. No more friends. Even the stray cat you were feeding regrettably was hit by a car. You felt so desolate and solitary.

You used to cry about it frequently. Every night even, especially after Micheal’s disappearance. But now you can’t even bring yourself to shed tears, they dried long ago; now all you have is the cold knowledge that you have nothing, and that nobody wants you.

When Gerard comes to the Institute again, you don’t even see him at first. You used to jump at the chance to even look upon the handsome man with his badly dyed hair and plethora of tattoos, but now when you hear the other people in the office tittering over his arrival, you just… acknowledge he’s there in the building. You don’t feel excitement or dread or anything. You meant nothing to Gerard, why would he visit you? You don’t even leave your desk to see him.

You felt it again, the loneliness. The heavy fog settling in your brain where you just stare ahead and register nothing going on around you, not processing anything, just barely existing.

Maybe you’ll kill your self today, your thoughts muse in the back of your mind. Death must be nice. To not have to worry about anything; not about friends dying or abandoning you, about poor strays on the street, about perfectly distant bosses and co workers…

It’d be easy; people kill themselves all the time. The Institute was a rather tall building. A drop from there would surely end you; and you know where all the key copies were to get access to the roof.

You had to cross a bridge over a river to get to work; on your way home you could easily crawl over the railing if you wanted.

You were suddenly acutely aware of the sleeping pills in your apartment, ones you bought months ago to aid with your insomnia. It’d be like taking a long rest, like going to bed.

Someone was shaking your shoulders, someone was saying your name with a rising pitch of desperateness. You felt your office chair swivel to face a dark mass and warm warm hands cupped your face.

Rough thumbs wiped away at the hot tears settling on your face. When your vision focused, you saw Gerard. Black lipstick, teased hair, tattoos and dark, wide, worried eyes.

He says your name again and it sound like it aches in his throat to say it.

Several long moments were in silence as the book-burner wiped your face with his finger and smoothed your hair down, eyes darting around your figure as if to search for an injury.

Finally, your voice croaked. “Hi…”

A sigh of relief escapes him, he visibly sags. Hands rest on your shoulders heavily. “Hey. You were crying, did something happen?”

A part of you wants to be enraged. Of course something happened. Micheal is probably dead. The cat that sleeps in your apartment all winter is dead. You want to be dead. You want to carve out your insides so your body reflects how you feel and this whole time he wasn’t there-

But you can’t even feel the anger within you anymore. The burning spite inside you is snuffed out by the chill of your indifference of the situation.

“… I’m fine…” you eventually mutter, looking to your desk. The files on the surface were meant to be sent out ages ago, you should really get on that.

Don’t want to leave your replacement a messy desk after all.

You see Gerard flinch in your peripheral. “Listen- I’ve been meaning to talk to you…”

He smells like cigarettes and sweat, and you briefly realized you will miss that smell when you kill yourself. He flinched again.

“It’s really kind of important, um, can we talk about it over drinks? Right after you get off?”

This stalls your brain. Sure, suicide was a sudden desire, but it felt like the right decision to make. Drinks would just put off the inevitable.

Gerard’s hands came back up to your face again, warm and solid. “Please?”

… you’ve never heard Gerard Keay say please before. At least not earnestly. Usually it was sarcastic and in annoyance. The sincerity of the word casts off whatever dregs of the fog were left, and now you were hyper aware of yourself and your surroundings.

Your cheeks were wet; when did you start to cry? And your hands were balled up into fists so tight your knuckles changed colors. Your mouth was incredibly dry and your jaw aches which how tightly you were clenching your teeth.

Gerard’s presence was warm, comforting. It almost make you choke a sob, and you felt very suddenly the desire to spill every thought about your plans to kill yourself to him, and the only thing that stopped you was social graces and the idea that Elias was right behind the door beside you both and could probably hear you.

“Drinks?” You inquire, blinking away the swell of cold tears in your eyes “um, it’s Tuesday, though-“

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just-just say you’ll come. I’ll walk with you after work.”

It sounded more like a plan for himself but you were always so weak willed you didn’t have it in yourself to contest him. So you nodded. Gerard smiles and breathes out a long breath, like he was holding it in. “Good.” He concludes, rising up from his crouching position and removing his hand from your face. “Good. I’ll see you at five.”

He almost turns to leave, before staring hard at Elias’s door. Thick rubber soles squeaked slightly as he steps even closer to you. He looks down at you, eyes wide and searching. One of his black painted finer nails prodded at your fist until it was pulled apart and relaxed by his ministrations.

“Hey…” he sighs, “I’m… I am sorry for not coming back to you sooner.”

A small frown pulls at your mouth. You never meant to make Gerard feel guilty. “It’s fine.” You assure, voice soft.

His eyes alight with sadness. “It’s not. It’s not okay, you need to know that.” He stresses, before finally turning and leaving.

As soon as the door to the hallway close, Elias’s door opens.

He says something about a meeting he has tomorrow with a Board member, a Mr. Lukas, and he asks you to be sure to brew strong coffee for the gentleman when he arrives tomorrow.

You nod, and plan on maybe killing yourself later in the week; to make it easier on everyone.

—

Five pm rolls around at a snails pace, but surely and dutifully, Gerard is there at the door to the exit, waiting for you.

He looks… not stressed, just anxious. Like he’s itching to leave the building as soon as you’re within reach. And that’s exactly what he does. The second he saw you his face erupts into a smile and one of his pale, tattooed hands reached out and gently grabs your elbow, pulling through the front door and down the steps to the road as he sings praises about the bar the two of you were going to; nothing too stuffy but not overtly casual, and he promises that the cocktails are unique and the music they play is a far better selection than most.

You knew from his description he was probably taking you to a goth bar; you didn’t really mind. The idea of strong drinks and black painted walls and sad music almost seemed like a comfort to you.

The hand on your elbow migrates down to your wrist, and finally your hand. His grip was sturdy, and he never let your digits go, squeezing slightly whenever he thought the two of you might get separated.

Gerard was always affectionate with you before. Casually playing with your hair whenever he passed by you in the hallway, placing a hand on your shoulder as you laugh along with Michael over the latest office mishaps, even a few times bringing his lips to your knuckles when you handed him a well appreciated cup of tea whenever he was staying late at the Institute. The touching was not foreign territory, but it felt like forever since you’ve been there, like walking through your childhood house after having been moved out for decades.

When you finally make it to the bar, which was in fact a hole in the wall goth bar, Gerard lead you to the darken back corner, and huddled up next to you comfortably, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, like it was a regular thing. His arm was heavy and warm around your shoulders and he handed you a cocktail menu.

True to his word, they all had fairly spooky names and sounded tasty. You didn’t even really know which to pick, but Gerry points to one that seems like it’ll suit your taste just fine. You almost titter at how well he knows you, before swallowing down your excitement. You could just be an easy read.

You don’t even order for yourself; as soon as the waitress, decked in black and spiked black hair, came over, Gerard ordered for himself and you, his voice lilting and he seemed utterly uninterested in even looking at the woman, rather eyeing you as he moves some hair out of your face as he spoke.

While the drinks were being made, he fusses over you, asking small conversational questions like, “How is Elias treating you?” and, “You’ve been sleeping well, I hope?”

After weeks of no one even asking after your health you flush under the attention, answering each question softly and as briefly as you can surmise, shy and bashful as Gerard’s dark eyes roam your face and observes your mouth every time you opened your lips to answer. He nods along and occasionally his hand rubs your shoulder.

You feel like he’s avoiding the obvious. Avoiding Michael. Maybe the loss was felt as keenly for him as you felt it. Maybe he was just as wrecked by the blond’s disappearance and is trying to find solace and common ground in you.

When the drinks do come, the goth man removes his arm from your shoulders and sets a napkin in front of you, moving your cocktail onto it without prompt. A tense moment of silence settles now that you’re alone again, and Gerard heaves a heavy sigh.

“I never should have left you alone for so long after he left.” He chokes out, eyes searching your face for your reactions to his words. When not a muscle twitches in your expression, Gerard continues. “I was… hurting. I was angry, and it had nothing to do with you but I was acting ugly and I didn’t want you to see that side of me.”

You nod, ready to let forgiveness slip past your lips when he cuts you off.

“It wasn’t okay of me, it’s not alright. I should have never, ever, let you go through that alone.” He looks so regretful, so sorrowful, it made your heart ache; it was one of the strongest emotions you’ve felt in a while. “I- I don’t even know how to make it up to you, for abandoning you like that.”

The earnestness in his voice makes you stall. You’re not the kind of person people seek forgiveness from. You just got walked over and forgotten and you were used to it. To have anyone, especially someone as high up and composed as Gerard, beseech you for amnesty, seemed to fully pull you from whatever slump you’ve been in these past few weeks.

Your face finally emoted; you frowned and your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, and you shouldered the darkly dressed man. “Drinks is a good start, but I don’t want you beating yourself up over it. You’re here now.” You tried really hard to show that all was forgiven. “Just… try not and leave me again for so long?”

It felt silly to even ask, like a child begging their parent to return safely from a business trip.

Gerard looked at you very seriously, one of his hands coming to yours that were clasped in your lap. “Not as long as I live.”

—

The night was a blur, your drinks were consumed and you’re not entirely sure when you kissed Gerard on the cheek in gratitude or when he kissed your shoulder in fondness but somehow the two you ended up just… kissing in the dark alley next to the bar.

Gerard was all consuming; the way he leaned into you, how his thumb ran over the pulse in your wrist with one hand and his other thumb pressed into your jugular. He smelled like cigarettes and old books up close, he felt warm and heavy against you, how he sighed and moaned when you grabbed onto the lapels of his leather duster to pull him in closer. Every time you opened your eyes all you saw was his dark and brooding set gaze at you from behind heavy lids and the sight was too much for your heart to handle so you close them again, Gerard pulling you closer.

Any closer and you’d become one.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so lonely then.

His head ducks down, nosing your neck and the hand the occupied your throat drops down to your waist. A hot tongue licks your pulse and you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head. A black jean clad leg slips between yours, and you’re effectively pinned against the brick wall.

“Missed you…” he moaned, teeth scraping against your skin. “Missed seeing you, being around you, talking to you…” a hand snaked around and pulled you closer by the small of your back. “Fuck me for leaving.”

You gasp and groan, and come to the realisation. That Gerard was a talker, and that you were easily swayed by words. You didn’t even realise that Gerard even liked you this way until about twenty minutes ago. How long has he harboured a crush on you? Had he thought of kissing you often? As often as you thought of kissing him?

He said other things, salacious things, directly in you ear as his hands moved up and down your body, hot breath puffing against the shell of your ear as he occasionally dipped down to kiss you or give you love bites along your neck.

You desperately wanted to do something besides just being there, allowing yourself to be kissed and bitten and wooed. You wanted to move, kiss back, make Gerard as flustered as you were; but the skin to skin contact, the affection, the confirmation of attraction overwhelmed you so much you almost choked up.

In fact you did.

A small sob crashed through your lips as tears welled in your eyes.

The sound causes Gerard to straighten up, and he quickly took in the sight of you crying and stepped away from you, concern of his face.

“Shit- I’m sorry.” He rushes out. “Fuck I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

The separation makes you feel cold and lonely again and your stomach swoops in dread because Gerard, beautiful, wonderful Gerard, is now looking at you like some fragile breakable thing and you just can’t stand the idea that you’ve ruined all the ground you covered in the last hour, and that after this he’ll never want to talk to you again. Boys don’t like people who cry when you kiss them.

Fog begins to seep into the alley, coming off from the street and the dead end a few yards away from you. You don’t try to comprehend how fog just manifested from no where, you just sob again because Gerard was going to shun you out for being too damn weird and unapproachable.

You babbled apologies, heart clenching, trying to verbalise that you were fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, just that you were fucked up about everything and he should probably just ignore you forever after this.

The fog became thicker and you shiver at the coldness it brings. You sob again, hiding your face in your hands so you can stop looking at the man’s beautiful and worried face.

God, you wished that the wall would swallow you up entirely; you wished you could just disappear and stop being such a nuisance; you should’ve just gone home and killed yourself.

So a brief second, the sound of the air about you had changed. The music leaking through the wall stopped, cars were no longer passing by the mouth of the alley, you didn’t hear the wind shake the plastic lid to the dumpster, you even stopped hearing Gerard’s breath in front of you. The silence was deafening, frightening. For that second, you felt utterly, terribly alone. Like you were the only person in the entire world.

And just as soon as the sounds of the world were gone, they were back. Cars hitting the puddle on the road, early aught goth music seeping through the brick, and Gerard saying your name with desperation.

Warm warm hands clasp your shoulders and you finally peer through your fingers to see the man, lipstick smudged and hair frizzy from the fog. He eyes looked wild, fearful, and he gripped your person so tightly like a life line, like you’d runaway if he let go.

Gerard says your name very lowly. And your sobbing ceased at his tone. Oh god, he was going to yell at you or something, you were certain. He was going to call you a freak and that he never should have even bothered with you in the first place-

“You need to breathe.” He commands. “Look at me, and breathe; be here with me right now, get out of your head.”

Your eyes dart wildly around the alley, not wanting to meet his gaze. God, why couldn’t just be normal for once-

A small pang of pain snapped across your brow, right between your eyes.

You look ludicrously to Gerard, eyes moist from tear and voice shaking from crying. “Did you just flick me?” You warbled.

“Yes.” He admits readily. “Now, calm down.”

His word sounded normal but felt… staticky in your ears. Like tv fuzz was playing just under his voice.

Almost instantly your breathing evened out and you no longer felt the desire to cry; your mind wasn’t filled with self-hateful thought but now just focused on Gerard, who was watching you carefully.

Reaching into the pocket of his duster, he pulls out handkerchief, and wipes at your face, sighing. He looked expressionless, and you feared the worse.

“I’m… I’m not great at this.” He says softly, stowing the cloth back into his coat. “I always go too fast, I’m told, It’s just-“ he screws his lips together as he thinks. “I- I feel like if I left you alone for too long, you’d forget about me, and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I’ve lost interest in you, I didn’t even think that I’d, well, overwhelm you like I did.”

You swallow thickly, considering his words.

“I never knew you were interested in me.” Was all you can say.

Gerard sighs. “Yeah, I’m piecing that together now.” He winces. “I had it in my head that this was a long time coming for both of us, I never stop to think that I might be surprising you with my sudden infatuation. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth is already opening to forgive him when he silences you with a cool look.

“I… must’ve freaked you out pretty badly, huh?” He questions, moving closer to you, but refraining from touching you again.

“It’s not that you freaked me out,” you’re quick to answer, “it’s just… yeah, it came out of nowhere to me.” He looks down casted and you wait a moment before speaking again. “I like you so much, Gerry.” You confess, voice creaking with emotion. “I’ve just been so lonely, and it’s hard for me to think that you’d like me too.”

He looks to you, sympathetic. And he nods to himself before extending one hand to yours, gently grasping your fingers.

“How about we do this a little more properly?” He suggests. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

You almost laugh at how hopeful he looks, like you would say no.

The idea of dinner was nice, but the thought of going back to your empty apartment scares you now. Being alone again scares you; the idea of someone not watching you scares you because what if you get lost in your own head again and this time the silence wouldn’t disappear after a second.

“Tonight?” You ask, stomach twisting. It’s wasn’t exactly early evening any more, by all rights he could deny you.

He nods, decisively and eagerly. “My place?” He suggests.

A smile fights its way across your face. “Scary movies too?”

Highly amused, Gerard smiles, and pretends to think for a moment. “Well, if we do that, you might be too scared to go home by yourself.” He reasons.

“Sounds like I’ll need to sleep over, then.”

“Brilliant.”

[spoiled-fawn]

Meeting Johnny

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 2,726 CW: None

AN: I'm alive! Sorry this is so short, this was a good stopping point and I need to work on my world-building for Soap before getting to the next part. Just know- I haven't given up on this AU (It's literally my firstborn, blood, and soul, but I will be a bit slow until my brain juices stay flowing. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

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Johnny’s proposal to you was quick in terms of a few letters exchanged; three letters in, he invited you to come out and sent you enough money to figure out accommodations to get to him. As soon as you read those words at the post office, you ran home high on endorphins and adrenaline began packing your bags without grandiose care in the world. The fire inside you licked at the bottom of your heart, anger at staying in this shithole for far too long and feeling a sense of belonging- the sense of feeling wanted to make you have an ulterior purpose in life as if a phoenix reborn and spreading its wings while nose-diving into the unknown. When your parents came home as you zipped your bags, you sincerely couldn’t give a flying fuck as you shoved past them and began berating your parents with a grand show of a public yelling match for the neighbors to hear. 

Good for you! 

You had already planned how to get to him after receiving his first letter back; First step, buying a train ticket that led you to Santa Fe, New Mexico. From there, you had to embark on the Gila Trail, before having to buy your horse and head out on the San Diego Crossings wagon road by yourself. 

This trip was a long haul, and you prayed that Johnny would trust in your quickly established faith to wait out for you. The promise of a strong and loving man is all you could think about...

While in your adrenaline-filled escape, you hadn’t plucked the book in your room that hid his photo as a bookmark, but thankfully had grabbed the letter that gave you his directions. While you scavenge your mind to have a solid image of him, you think over his features and re-read the letters countless times.

Johnny has a background of all sorts, having grown up in a family that held their bond strong, especially after his father had passed in a mining cave-in, which rendered him the man of the house from a young age. Even in his brief telling of these events, you could tell he’s moved out to California to find a deeper meaning of himself, create the line in concrete for it to harden as he ages. 

That isn’t to say that he has lost his sense of boyishness, not at all in fact. His stories that he wrote even contained small doodles along the borders to better depict what he was writing about, and it was half your mind to cut them out and keep them as little bookmarks or place them in your wallet as a keepsake. He was playful, writing jokes about the smallest things, even letting you in on some secrets about the people in his town before you got there.

While the sense of his flame burned hot in multiple directions, deep in his hearth was a passionate man. Just as he seemed so sweet, with a flick of his wrist the writing would turn into something hot enough to make you blush, averting your eyes as your mind ran wild with his thoughts. He seems to enjoy a bubble bath… but maybe only when you’re in it with him. Even writing about the future and him stating he wants a family by any means, you could only imagine a deep possessiveness inside of him to claim you as such. Even if you were able to have his biological children or not, he’d still make sure you felt like you did.

But back to your journey. 

The course of the trains provided you an oversight of the new lands you had yet to ever see, as it was the beginning stages of territories turning into states. The rides were long, and adjusting to the set time zones was a large throw-off to your circadian rhythm. Having already traveled two states west, it was difficult to decide on which line would grant you the fastest access to Johnny. Luckily enough, a kind person in the Denver station helped point out that taking the route from northern Nevadah into California would grant you the fastest time, and ease your solo traveling. 

The kind person stated that they were in a similar situation and now waiting for the train, having a bit of time to offer some advice while making it toward their end goal. Thanking them with bountiful wishes and good luck’s in their journey, you were on your way.

It took four more days to find yourself in Temecula, California. An astonishing change from the desert lands that reflected the sun so brightly now showed the capabilities of a plush environment of greenery and clouds. The train station was reached as the sunlight began pouring in over the mountains; being quick on your feet, and from the other settlers being far too tired, you found a deal on the last remaining horse available. 

Traveling by horseback prompted challenges with reading Johnny's directions, and you did not want to admit that you were lost. The lack of directory and signage left you getting flustered already by noon and being left alone in such a rural area in between towns felt far more daunting than any part of this trip. Passing by stagecoaches who all seemed to know their way around, you filed in line through a secondary road filled with houses in the valley of the small mountains.

Three hours later and a small urge to cry while having given up on re-reading the letter, you accepted defeat when you saw someone sitting on their porch down a dirt road with his house being the only one there.

“Hi! Excuse me, sir?” The sound of your voice breaks through the stillness of the settling valley, enough to make the man look up from the table he is currently hunched over.

“Would you mind helping me out by giving me directions?” Willing yourself to not blush or shrink into your large coat, embarrassment running through your chest while in the new environment.

For a moment, the man doesn't seem to acknowledge you, having to do a double take before his eyes widen in surprise. The toothpick that was delicately hanging on his lip falls to the ground, less he even notices before he sits up straight readjusting his hat, and clears his throat.

“‘Course, my dear. How can I be of service.” His accent is rich, leading you to believe that he’s been raised in the West, and has a perfectly smooth twang to his speech as it leaves his side smile.

“I’m looking for the country store… There’s supposed to be an old Coke sign on it.” The words leave you in a higher pitch than you’d normally speak, having a handsome stranger stare at you with a wide-eyed stare as he watches your lips move. “And to be honest- I wouldn’t know if I’m in the right place to begin with.” 

As if snapped back to reality again, eye contact cut short as he blinks before looking down the road and then back to you. “Ah, store’ way down yonder with a crossing sign. If yer’ headed west then a left will take you to the interstate,” A nod confirms his sense of confidence in his directions, explaining it plain and simple as the roads that his house lies on.

The smile that crosses your face lights your eyes, and it's the most relief you’ve gotten ever since getting on horseback. “Thank you, I really do appreciate it.” Your hands pull on the reigns of the horse, already turning around to try and beat sunset before it's too dark to ride alone.

Before you’re out of earshot, “When you’re in, you gotta stop and ask Ms. Bell for somma’ her sweet tea. But remember, take a right, and you’ll end up right back here to me.” The wink that leaves him makes you question if you’re seeing things in the late light of the day, but you’re sure he can see the blush that burns your cheeks.

A laugh leaves you before nodding in response, now clicking your horse into a quick trot while you’re high on the adrenaline from the interaction. Well… at least you have a backup plan in case your bachelor doesn't work out.

Arriving far too quickly than you’d expect, the store was only a few minutes down the road and concealed by a line of trees. Hitching your horse and walking into the store on stiff legs, you plan on following the stranger's advice to get some sweet tea.

The bell above the door jingles as you walk in, catching the attention of the older woman behind the counter. Here eyes take in your form, surprised such a fresh-faced person has arrived this late into the day. “How can I help you, sweetheart?” Her voice rings out a bit rough, someone who knows how to pull her weight if trouble would arrive.

“I’m actually looking to get to someone's home near town, but I was told to make my way from this store to not get lost.” A pause as your eyes take in the scenery of the rustic store; A layer of dust settled onto the wooden floors as shelves are stocked with an assortment of canned goods, spices, and a few refrigerators labeled as eggs and milk. “Met a stranger on the way and was told I should get some sweet tea here, too.”

Her eyes, still studying you as you speak and noting your accent, or lack thereof, bring a small quirk to her face. “Well, lemme get you some of my tea while you get yourself found.” Leaving her seat she makes her way to a wall in the back, pulling out two large mason jars with a light brown liquid. 

“That stranger you met- was he small ways up north fr’mere?” The smile on her face grows as she walks back to her seat at the register as you walk forward to meet her.

“Yes… A lone house down a single road. Blue eyes, brown hair, and some stubble.” The answer is pulled from you automatically, reciting the mental image of him.

“Toothpick in his mouth?”

The question is almost absurd in how spot-on she is, but then again this is a very small town. “Yes.”

The answer makes her laugh, somewhat un-ladylike when compared to the women from your home, and the noise makes you startle in place for a second.

“That damn Johnny makes me work my ass off to keep this tea in stock. He’s been so stressed waiting for his person to come ‘nd has been drinking me straight out of this stuff.” She levels when calming down for a moment, now placing the jars in bags.

She has yet to look back up at you and fails to notice your limbs seemingly frozen in place as the air leaves your lungs. That was Johnny?

“I’m so sorry ma’am. Did you say that was Johnny? As in MacTavish?”

The rustle of the brown paper bags stops, her eyes darting up to find yours. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She murmurs lowly before a sly smile takes over her face. “You’re here, and you’re damned too good from what you made yourself out to be, sweetheart.” 

Still frozen with your mind reeling, adrenaline begins to pump back into your bloodstream while a jolt alights your muscles. “Oh- I’m so sorry ma’am, I must get going its getting late and-”

The sliding of the jars on her counter interrupts your rambling, “Ah ah, its Ms. Bell dear, and you best be taking this with you to him. Don’t worry bout nothin’ but I’m happy to welcome you to the town.” 

If you looked now, you could notice the tremor in your hands. Nodding and taking the bag, a rush of endless ‘thank you’s’ and an elated smile seats itself permanently before loading the bags on the saddle and turning back around to start galloping forward back towards where you once were.

—

The sound of horses and wagons isn’t a constant to Santa Ysabel during the night hours, usually only occurring after the dayshift ends. As Johnny sits on his porch, his mind muddled with confusion as he stews over his soon-to-be partner arrives, thoughts of the stranger asking for directions makes him confused.

Fresh toothpick in his mouth as he widdles away at a bar of tallow, working to pull off glycerine for work. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence, right? The picture you sent was muddled down with water stains, and he blamed it on the damn train that sent your envelopes out this way. It was beginning sunset, and though he couldn't make out most of your features because of the coat you concealed yourself in- 

The bar of soap drops to the ground and he curses, now jumping out of his mind and into the present. 

The sound of hooves beating and approaching make him look up.

There, Here, you’re back again and the whites of your teeth are illuminated by the fading sun to show your smile.

Slowing down your horse to a stop, breathing in a slight pant as compared to your horses, the smile never leaves you.

“Figure you need some more directions, sweetheart?” His drawl leaves him, standing to make his way towards you. 

“Take off your hat.” The response is curt, and demanding in a way, but that glimmer of excitement makes it sound so sweet.

Johnny himself is befuddled for a moment, eyebrow cocked but complies anyway. Now raising the hat off of his head and holding it to his chest, his eyes answer for him. This what you wanted?

A small sound of excitement leaves you, nodding before your leg swings over your saddle, dismounting with a small jump and walking forward.

“Johnny, it's me.”

A swear leaves his mouth, accompanied by a rush of air before he drops his hat to the side and plucks hit toothpick out with it. The smile that coats his face makes him appear so young and boyish at heart as he moves forward with arms open to wrap around your hips with a low growl, “C’mere you,”

You could be embarrassed by the small squeal that leaves you, but you couldn’t give a rat's ass on anything right now. He spins you around for a quick moment, arms around your body as he lifts you easily with his strength.

Staring down into his eyes, you grab a shoulder while the other hand cups his jaw. “Didn’t know it was you until Ms. Bell said something.”

He laughs, head tilting back in bewilderment at the situation and excitement. “Talkin bout her sweet tea?” He asks while setting you down on your feet, hands never straying as he pulls you against him and traverses over your body.

“Yes, gave me some to bring home.”

The use of home sparks his heart with a bright thrum, butterflies encasing his stomach while he rumbles out a laugh. The texture of his hands is both soft and ruff, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones before one hand moves to brush over your hair, cupping the back of your neck.

“Well, in that case, welcome home, sweety.” The rumble sends a shiver down your spine, eyes darting over his face before settling on his lips. A breath settles before you look back into his sharp blue eyes, as he looks at you seemingly waiting for permission.

A small nod of your head and gently pulling him towards you, the band on the back of your head pulls you forward as he brings your lips together. The taste of him has a spice to it, the favor of cinnamon cotes his lips and brings a slow burn over yours while his body’s warmth brings another wave.

The stubble of his beard rubs your face- and it's a welcome feeling as compared to the winds of the valleys whipping past you. Something you’d gladly leave your skin bright red and raw from hours of the feeling.

Before growing too heated, you part with a small gasp and trail him slightly before blinking to find his smirk growing as a low rumble vibrates against you. “Let's get you settled in, then we can celebrate s’more.”

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[Who do you all think the reader met at the train station? If you get the song reference for their meeting you get two gold stars! I hope yall enjoy.]