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ceilidho · 5 months

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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 2. (read part 1 here) tags: dubcon

There’s a photo of you taped up on the inside of his locker.

The glimpse you catch of it is quick. Not like you aren’t meant to see it, but more like Johnny’s so unconcerned with whether you see it or not that he doesn’t bother to make a show of it. Just reaches into his locker to grab his lunch and shuts it while you’re still gaping at the polaroid of someone that looks suspiciously like you in your store uniform. You hear someone clear their throat and you glance up, flinching when you meet Johnny’s eyes.

“Missing me already?” he teases, winking. “I’ll be back on the floor as soon as possible. ‘Promise, hen.”

“It’s not—”

He’s already out the door and on the way to the lunchroom before you’re able to get the rest of your sentence out.

Johnny seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re about to spurn his advances. Any other day he would have stuck around to listen to the rest of your sentence, but when he has an inkling that those words will be tinged by the flavour of rejection, he’s quick to book it. You privately have to admit it’s not a terrible strategy. It’s not often that you’re able to get the words out.

It’s one of those rare shifts where you’re clocking in later than Johnny, missing his lunch break. Small mercies. It doesn’t mean much because your schedules still overlap a significant amount, but it does mean that you won’t be forced to choke down your lunch while Johnny sits opposite you at the lunch table and stares you down the entire half hour.

“Wait, that was so fucking cute,” someone says from behind you. You turn on your heel to find a coworker staring at Johnny’s locker, properly enchanted by whatever she saw. Practically swooning.

“What is?”

“Didn’t you see the picture he has of you? In his locker?” She says it with emphasis, giving you a significant look.

“Yeah…I…don’t you think it’s a bit…like, weird?” you ask her, making sure to keep your voice low in case Johnny is still around the corner. You can’t help the way you glance down the hallway.

She frowns. “It’s cute. He’s like, smitten with you. I’ve never seen him with a crush on anyone before and I’ve worked with him for over a year. I think it’s kind of nice. Do you not like him or something?”

“Well, I just…we aren’t even dating and I think…I think he even has a photo of me as his lock screen—”

“Because if you aren’t interested in him, you should let him down now. It’s not fair of you to just string him along, you know. He’s a really good guy.”

You’re not sure about the whole good guy thing. Johnny acts like a nice guy most of the time, but you’ve had the unfortunate luck in getting to experience the other side of him.

The problem lies in the fact that Johnny is, you think, a genuinely likeable guy to everyone else. It’s not like your coworkers are all collectively wrong in their opinion of him—he really is an excellent coworker. A good sport, a funny guy; he lends a hand whenever someone needs help. He helped Jeff move two weeks ago, drove Daryl to the airport last Saturday, and looked after Sonya’s cat while she was away on vacation that one time.

It’s with you that his good-time nature evaporates; his lazy, drawled predilection for joking around and indulging himself and others in a good ribbing replaced by a weird, manufactured kindness. Almost sickly sweet. He lays it on so thick around others that they think you experience the same friendship with Johnny that the rest of them get to enjoy.

Not so.

None of them catch the way he’s always hovering, always staring at you. Eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes in the middle of your shift, in the middle of the workplace.

None of your coworkers are around when you’re at the register one day and Johnny takes his break to make a couple purchases, coming to your cash with a basket full of chocolate, wine, condoms, body butter, and batteries. No one except him notices the way you pause at the last item.

“Dinnae ken if your vibrator was rechargeable or not,” he says when you look at him funny, a big grin stretched across his face. Blue eyes gleaming almost feverishly. “Thought I’d be prepared either way.”

You scan his items in silence. When you hand him his bag, you try not to shudder when he purposefully glances his hand over yours.

Worse are the days when Johnny comes in as a customer, the days when he’s off the schedule. When he shouldn’t even be at the store at all. No one notices the way he pesters you the entire time he’s in the store, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. If a coworker does happen to notice his presence (and how could they not when he’s such a formidable presence in any room, when he almost glows from the energy stockpiled in his body with nowhere else to go), he’ll make polite conversation, just long enough to not seem rude, before shifting his attention back to you.

His conversation borders on interrogation. He asks you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners. He makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed.

When you rebuff him one too many times, he’s not shy about telling you off.

“Ye just need a good fuck ta sort ye out,” Johnny snarls when you brush off another invite out to lunch one day. It’s not often that he loses his temper with you, so his anger makes your eyes widen, your pulse pick up. During morning shift assignments, he’d corralled your manager into pairing the two of you up on curbside pick-up orders, meaning that you’ve been stuck with him for hours, nowhere else to go.

“Excuse me?” you say, voice going up a decibel.

He leans across the front of the cart loaded with flowerpots and gardening tools. “I get it, hen. No one at home ta play with your pussy, huh? No choice but ta come into work all pent up and frustrated—”

“This is in like, the outer Hebrides of ‘none of your business’—”

“—clit’s probably all swollen too. Fuck.” He breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes darkening. “No wonder you’re always pissed off. I’d be too if I dinnae have a little replacement pussy at home.”

“You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place, Johnny.”

“Aw, I ken, bonnie,” he says with a pout, eyebrows slanting down like he really, truly pities you, the gesture immediately contradicted by his next words. “Promise I’ll make it better. Wanna meet outside my truck in a half hour?”

You storm off before it comes to blows. Not that it’d ever be a fair fight. Johnny would probably hold you away with his palm against your head while you swung at him uselessly. You try not to think of that too often. Of him toying with you. Most of your interactions feel like that these days. Like he’s a big cat holding your tail down when you try to scramble away.

When you beg your manager to switch shift assignments, the look you get could wilt flowers. It’s not completely your fault, even if your request is a bit inconveniencing. Johnny has your coworkers and management so wrapped around his finger that no one can even hazard a guess as to why you might be uncomfortable around him.

It’s the only reason you haven’t complained to HR yet. There are channels and protocols for dealing with his behaviour, but watching people practically trip over themselves to please him reminds you that the likeliest outcome would be them transferring you to another store. It just doesn’t seem worth it.

You don’t think about how frazzled his words leave you for the rest of your shift. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about.

You know from the second that your manager reassigns you to women’s apparel that you’ve probably made a mistake. Customers buzz around you like gnats, like swarms of flies, and it’s only natural that you’d be compelled to swat a few. You hold on to the fraying edges of your patience with little finesse. About halfway through your shift, you get a stern talking to from your floor supervisor and put on an extra long break. You’re no less irritated when you get back though, somehow still agitated and snappy.

Big hands clamp over your shoulders and squeeze like he’s giving you a massage, thumbs digging into the grooves of your upper back. He ignores the way you tense up.

“Hen, you’re making the customers uncomfortable with all your huffin’ and puffin’,” he whispers into your ear, a light chuckle falling out with his words. Amused by your attitude this time instead of ticked off. “If ye want, I could take ye ta the back room ta loosen ye up a bit. Make your day a little better. Dinnae think anybody will even notice if we dip away for a bit—’sides management will probably send me a gift basket if ye come back perky after a good shag.”

You shrug him off to go clock out, ignoring the way he chuckles as you storm off. No one knows if you go home and wear out the battery in your vibrator while thinking about Johnny’s words. Thinking about Johnny guiding you to his truck with a palm flat on your low back, pinkie teasing just under the waistband of your pants, before laying you out across the backseat and climbing on top of you.

You come when you think about how he’d have to keep the door open to fuck you in his car.

Unfortunately, you’re more than familiar with his sweet side as well.

On your birthday, he comes in early with a sheet cake and organizes the employees so that the breakroom is dark when you come in. The entire staff is there when you switch on the lights, shouting your name and happy birthday, decked out in party hats and blowing into noisemakers.

It catches you off guard. Hits you right in the solar plexus and leaves you winded. You stand in the middle of the room like you’re under a spotlight and that spotlight is Johnny’s stare burning a hole in your head. For once, it doesn’t rankle. It leaves you feeling light, feathery, like floating down to earth. A coworker hands you a noisemaker and you smile until your eyes crinkle when you blow into it.

You’re in a good enough mood that you don’t argue when he insists on sitting beside you. He got you the cake after all. Maybe it’s the least he deserves. Your goodwill lasts until Johnny tries to feed you a piece of cake with his fork; he winds up getting cake smushed all over your cheek when you turn your head away.

“Johnny, ‘m not a baby,” you complain, wrinkling your nose when cake and icing slide down your face. “I can feed myself. This is so gross.”

“Shucks, hen, lemme get that. Shouldnae have turned your head,” Johnny curses, leaning over to scoop it off with his fingers. He holds them out to you, an offering. “Here ye go, kitty.”

You stare, horrified, until he shrugs like ‘suit yourself’ and pops them into his own mouth. Then drags the same spit covered fingers over your cheek again to keep cleaning you up.

You can tell that it’s hopeless to complain by the way your coworkers giggle and gossip, eyes drawn to the two of you. Maybe it would be better if you were transferred. You only have so many ‘I’m not his work wife’s left in you. Something’s bound to give. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be you.

On the walk to your car after your shift, which Johnny insists on doing like he does every time the two of you work a closing shift together, he jokingly asks if you’ve gotten your birthday spanks. He says it in that same awkward joking tone, just a bit too excited, staring at you too eagerly. Unblinking. Tuts his tongue when you tell him you’ve never heard of that before.

You jolt and squeak at the pop on your ass when he insists on opening the door to your car and helping you in. The betrayed look you shoot him hardly penetrates through his shit-eating grin.

“See ye tomorrow, kitty,” Johnny calls out, walking backwards away from you to where his truck is parked just a few spots away from yours. You think he would’ve parked right next to you if you hadn’t chosen a spot conveniently between two other cars. “More where that came from.”

Your hands shake against the steering wheel your whole drive home. Dreading tomorrow’s shift.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap #soap cod #john mactavish #x reader

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shibaraki · 1 month

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OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment I admit. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. And you wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your grin. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way home is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m up,” he says, throat rough from disuse. There’s a shaky smile on his face. “I’m home”.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

#deku x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #q’d

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lila-went-missing · 4 months

Text

Because of Her

Small Clarisse drabble I made while watching Are Your Afraid of the Dark? season 3 cause I'll watch anything if Diors in it. It's not that great but I have a fic coming that's slightly similar to this but more frenimies to lovers if that makes sense.

Pair: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demeter!Reader

Clarisse La Rue had a reputation to uphold. She never lost a fight. She was never soft, never kind. Always ruthless, cold, and calculating. She was a daughter of Ares if nothing else, that was for certain.

But that all came crashing down the day she met you. The moment her eyes met yours, she knew she was fucked. Your sweet, caring gaze had her locked in. In an instance she was wrapped around your finger.

She would never admit it, but everyone knew she was whipped. Except you, the one person that mattered.

Over the last four years of you being at camp, you two had become extremely close. The fact that you hadn't realized how infatuated your best friend was with you, baffled everyone you knew. You saw the way she stared at you, but that was normal for best friends, right?

She fell more and more in love with you every day. That's what brought her to the strawberry fields. You were knelt next to one of the bushes, picking the ripe berries and tossing them into your basket. Her footsteps broke you out of your trance as she crouched next to you.

"What'cha doin', pretty girl?" A smirk graces her lips as she looks at you.

"Pickin' strawberries. Where've you been, Clar?" You giggle as you look up from the bush. She swears it's the most melodic thing she's ever heard.

"Training a couple of the new kids, you know how long it can take. How about, I make it up to you? How does that sound?"

"Really? How?"

She doesn't answer, she just grabs your hand and pulls you up to your feet, dragging you away from the fields and into the woods. You laugh as you're led through the trees. After a while she slows, walking side by side with you. Her hand never left yours, pulling you closer to her.

"Where are we going?" You ask, smiling up at her.

"You'll see, we're almost there."

Soon, you came upon a clearing in the woods. There was a blanket laid out with a basket on it, surrounded by flowers.

"It's the anniversary of the day you arrived at camp. I figured we should celebrate." She whispers in your ear, coming behind you with a hand resting on your arm.

"Clar!" You turn to face her, wrapping your arms around her neck. "Thank you!" Her arms come around your waist, pulling you into her. She lifts you up off your feet, carrying you over to the blanket.

“Of course, pretty girl.” Your placed back onto your feet, sitting with her on the ground.

“This had to take you ages!” You marvel as everything she’s brought, lemonade, all of your favorite fruit, minis your favorite kinds of sandwiches.

“It was worth it for you.” Your eyes meet, her hand comes to your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s all worth it for you.”

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you stare at her. Looking in her eyes feels like swimming in pools of honey, getting lost in the sweetness she only presents to you. The care only you are worthy of. Suddenly her lips are on yours, it takes you a minute to realize and by the time you do she’s pulled back.

“I- I’m sorry..fuck, I don’t know-” She’s cut off by your lips against hers. It’s passionate and soft, yet hot and fiery. The perfect combination of both of you. Her hands land on your cheeks and pull you furth into her. You could get lost in the way her lips feel, the taste of her cherry chapstick on your tongue.

“Clar..” You’re both breathing heavily when you pull away.

“I should’ve done that way sooner.” She admits. You nod in agreement.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think you liked me like that. Thought you’d hit me and run away.”

“I could never run from you. Even if I wanted to, I think I’m pretty stuck with you.” You smile, your hand moving up to her neck.

“Yeah, you are.” She smiles back, kissing your cheek

“Well, we better not let this food go to waste..” You laugh softly, pulling back. She rests on her hands.” Yeah, this took me hours, you better eat it.”

Another laugh escapes your throat as you pop a piece of fruit in your mouth. “I thought you said I was worth it. Here I was thinking I was special.” Her foot nudges yours. “

“You know you are.”

The food is divine, and you have more fun than you have in a very long time. The flowers around you seem to bloom more, color saturating more, reflecting on your mood. The breeze is warmer. The trees sprout more leaves. And it’s all because of her.

#percy jackon and the olympians #dior goodjohn #x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue #percy jackson #clarisse pjo #percy jackson disney+#percy series #demeter #best friends to lovers #pjo series #pjo tv show

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pearlywritings · 3 months

Text

"Bring your kid to work" day

synopsis: but sometimes it's very much unplanned.

pairing and characters: Zhongli x fem!reader, Xiao. Your family name is Rex-Lapis. Childe plays part in it too.

tw: modern AU, University AU, established relationship, fluff

word count: 2.8k+ words

a/n: Also a part of my University modern AU with history professor Zhongli

The day started perfectly. Your older daughter was already at school with your permission to stay at her friend's house for a sleepover later, you had your day off, lounging in the living room with your son cuddling to you with his most favorite dragon shaped toy pressed between your bodies, listening to your husband walking around the bedroom, getting ready for the lectures at the University, being blessed with afternoon classes.

The day was perfect indeed. Until it absolutely isn't.

Sometimes you really want to kill your boss. It must be today that you are called to work to help with an emergency, that no one knows how to deal with except for you. And the fact that your boss does not consider any possibility of you having trouble with doing what's required, makes you fume harder.

"Li, I don't know what to do!" You cry in frustration, buttoning your shirt. "We can't find a babysitter in ten minutes! You have to go to work, I have to now too, we can't just ask Ganyu to cancel her plans, she's been waiting for this sleepover for weeks, and I can't take Xiao with me - by the sound of it I won't have a single moment to look after him."

It's been no longer than five minutes since you received that call, but you are already as stressed as after a week of non-stop work. Why must've the stars aligned this way!?

Your husband - bless his soul - is fully dressed and is holding your little son perched on his arm, supporting his back with a hand, watching your frantic movements with sympathy.

"I don't think I'll have many spare moments either, my love. Only breaks between lessons. Let me think," the man hums, leaning Xiao’s body more onto his shoulder and reaching for his phone with a free hand. The boy wraps arms around his neck, watching you brush your hair with a pout. The plan was to spend the whole day together with mama, watching cartoons, playing, maybe going for a walk or, ideally, taking a nap, finishing it all with making dinner and welcoming papa home. Now, it seems to him, all these plans are thrown out of the window.

However, Xiao was always a very perceptive and patient kid - he sensed somehow when the situation couldn’t be helped and him throwing a fit - not like he would - would only cause more trouble. That is why he is quietly waiting for what comes next.

And finally Zhongli finds a solution.

“I’m calling Ajax. He mostly spends time at the teacher’s lounge. As far as I know he really loves kids and has several younger siblings, he should be able to handle our son. And during breaks I’ll be taking over” “Oh,” as good as it all sounds, there is an instant hesitation in your mind. “‘Li, you sure you can ask him that? It’s a big deal after all…” “I know, dear, I know. That’s why I am calling him now in advance to make sure it’s alright,” your husband dials the number of his department’s secretary and puts the phone to the ear. “I don’t even mind paying him if he agrees.”

In reality you had nothing to worry about. The gingerhead was more than willing to watch your five-year old son. Maybe willing isn’t the right word even - the young man is excited.

Zhongli is lucky to arrive before the current class ends - the less attention is drawn, the better. He collected everything he could think of to occupy Xiao during his time at the lounge in a bag, which he passes to Ajax the moment his son and him are introduced. However while the secretary is wearing a wide and kind smile, the boy is glaring up at him from under the brown bangs, boring his strikingly golden eyes in the tall figure.

“Dad, I don’t like him,” the little boy pouts, hugging his plushie even tighter and throwing daggers at the gingerhead from behind the dragon’s mane.

“Ouch, little guy,” with a dramatic gasp, the young man clutches the shirt on his chest and presses the back of his hand to the forehead. “How will I live? Hated by Mr Rex-Lapis’ son…”

“Now, now, Xiao,” Zhongli gently pats his head, bending down to look into his eyes and finding displeasure there. “It’s only for today, baby. Me and mom are really sorry for not spending time with you today. I promise that soon I’ll be home for two whole weeks.”

To that the boy’s eyes widen.

“Two weeks… That’s fourteen days?”

“That’s right, sweety.”

“That’s a lot!” He jumps, elated by the news, no trace of dissatisfaction written over his cute smiling face.

“Haha, it is, dear.”

“Wow, Mr Rex-Lapis, your son is really smart!” The secretary stopped playing hurt, instead clapping his hands together in praise and nodding his head in approval. “How old is he?”

“He is five. Yes, he learns really fast.”

“No wonder, he has you and your wife as parents.”

The remaining 20 minutes before his first lecture Zhongli spends in attempts to make his son comfortable not only around Ajax, but also at the new place as well. All that time Xiao doesn’t let go of his ever-present companion - a toy dragon, which he is hugging close to his chest. He politely greets every professor that comes to the lounge, which makes the secretary’s jaw drop since he is the only one who’s been initially rejected and, Zhongli can swear, he saw his boy smirking in the toy’s fluffy mane.

Other professors can’t help but mention how much the son resembles the father, even making small talk with the boy, whom they’ve only heard about before or seen in the framed picture of your family on Zhongli’s desk. By how polite (sorry, Ajax) and shyly sweet he is Xiao quickly becomes everyone’s favorite, pockets currently full with all kinds of treats.

When it’s time to go, the man kisses Xiao’s forehead goodbye, promising to be back in an hour and a half for a break, and grabs the materials. Once he leaves alongside his colleagues, Xiao sighs and, ignoring his temporary caretaker, moves to the bag his dad left, starting to dig out all the candies to put them into its side pocket.

“Whatcha doin’, little guy?” The young man is at his side in two long strides, curiously watching the boy’s actions. Xiao gives him a side eye, before deeming the question plausible and turning back to his task.

“I don’t want them right now. I’ll bring them home and share with mom and dad.”

“I am sure they’ll like that,” Ajax hums, busying himself with the contents of the main section. “Oh, would you look at that! It seems that your dad packed some coloring books, toys and… oh, puzzles! You like puzzles?”

The boy quietly nods. Tiptoeing, he tries to see the two boxes his temporary caretaker is holding, and the young man immediately crouches down to let him look.

“This one is new,” Xiao finally points to the box in his left hand. Ocean blue eyes skim over the picture of a phoenix, drawn in a simple yet elegant style. Yes, that definitely looks like something Mr Rex-Lapis would’ve bought for his child’s entertainment.

“Alright, let's get you behind your dad's desk,” golden eyes sparkle and a glimpse of wonder appears on the boy’s face. Dad showed him his own space at the lounge; it's tidy and organized, with all the necessities sorted inside the drawers and some notes and pictures pinned to the corkboard on the wall to the left. He wants to see them closer!

His caretaker drags the chair back, but climbing on it Xiao performs himself. As Ajax is humming something while tearing off the tape on the puzzle box, the boy turns to look at the photos Mr Rex-Lapis has on display. It’s so funny, really - not so long ago this little fella’s father was an image of reserve to students, no one knew who his wife was or the fact he had two kids. The secretary remembers how just half a year ago he used to be among those only ones who knew of the professor’s secret (which, in reality, wasn’t a secret at all). Why hasn't he ever spilled any info to the students who adore him?

Well, what fun would’ve been in it?

“Is that your big sister?” Xiao quickly glances up, taking notice of how the tall (but not as tall as dad) man hovers over where he is sitting and points at one of the pictures. The boy looks at it again.

“...yes. It’s Ganyu.”

“I have a sister too,” the fond expression on that freckle-covered face and a seemingly lightened color of those ocean-blue eyes disarms the five-year old a little. He blinks, waiting for what more he can tell. “Not one actually. Oh, and I have brothers too. One is your age, by the way!”

“Doesn’t it get too… loud?” Small hands reach for the carton box, lifting the lid.

“It does, in a good way though. But when our two huskies join in on the fun… Let’s just say it’s a good thing we have our own house.”

“You have dogs? That’s so cool! I want to have a pet too,” Xiao unceremoniously empties the contents onto the table, yet carefully places the lid with the picture against the monitor of the computer. “Mom promised that when I get older, they’ll buy me a bird.”

“Oh? You love those?”

“Mhm… Maybe we’ll buy something as pretty as…” he pauses, looking at the fiery bird. Ajax quickly realizes the struggle.

“A fo-nuhks,” Xiao prompts.

“Yeah… A fee-niks.”

As the minutes tick by, the boy’s initial hostility seems to evaporate. He still doesn’t talk unnecessarily much, but he does talk to Ajax, so that's progress. He is quite quick to finish the puzzles, and his temporary caretaker makes sure to praise the child. They talk a bit more about their respective families, Xiao even introduces him to his dragon companion. And the gingerhead picks the small fox-shaped keychain his elder sister knitted for him to play toy pals.

For another half an hour it manages to entertain the boy, but as the end of the class is nearing, he grows more and more distracted, glancing either at the door or the clock hanging high on the wall. It’s not hard to guess he is missing his father and is anticipating his return, but both Zhongli and Ajax can do nothing to just speed the time.

What professor can do though, is excusing his class ten minutes earlier, quite happy they got to get through all the material he prepared for this lecture. Bidding the students goodbye, he locks the door of the auditorium with his suitcase inside and puts the key in the pocket of his fancy vest to come back in twenty minutes.

When Zhongli enters the teacher’s lounge, he finds the secretary showing his son something on his own laptop. However, once Xiao’s eyes spot his dad’s figure in the doorframe, the little guy is down from his chair and running all the way to the man.

“Dad!” Mr Rex-Lapis barely has time to close the door and scoot down to catch his son, who nearly bumps into his legs, threatening the man’s balance. Finally in his arms, with his own tiny ones tightly wrapped around strong neck, the carbon copy of Zhongli happily smiles and Ajax has to rub his eyes to make sure he is not hallucinating. Wow, this boy can smile like that (sorry, my guy, you are just not his favorite, though now tolerable at least).

“Hello, Xiao,” Zhongli plants an affectionate kiss on his son’s cheek. “I see you’ve missed me,” the words are answered with eager nods. “Did you have fun with Ajax?” At least some of it.

The gingerhead lifts his eyebrow when the boy looks back at him, holds the gaze of ocean blue eyes for a moment, and then turns to his father once more.

“I suppose.”

The older man has to clear his throat with a polite cough so as not to break into a smile at the image of the assistant's slack jaw.

“That’s good, my dear.”

“Are we coming home now?” His son wonders, fingers playing with the longer locks of dark brown. Unfortunately, the answer is a dejected sigh.

“I am afraid we are not yet, sweety. But mommy texted me recently that she’ll be able to come get you after my second lecture. And then I’ll have one more.”

At the promise of you soon arriving to take him home, Xiao’s just building pout quickly disappeared. It’s okay, he can wait for a little bit longer. And that fox-like man isn’t bad, his company is quite nice. He even showed him some pictures of his family - almost all of them are ginger. Oh, and he promised to download some simple games onto his dad’s computer so he could play. And he still has his coloring books back there and he believes he saw you packing a small book - there is plenty to entertain him with.

Only for all these thoughts and motivation to be shuttered when someone knocked on the door and a second later some student’s head pushed through the gap. None of the three people currently present in the room could’ve anticipated what a black hole is about to be opened.

“Good afternoon, is Mr Rex-La- Oh, professor, you are here! We were wondering if we could take the key to leave our bags inside? As always? Oh, hey kiddo- Wait, a kid???”

“Dad, who is it?”

“DAD!?”

Before anyone could do anything, loud gasps break their way into the lounge. It appeared that almost the whole group was standing in the hall and heard everything crystally clear. Of course students are curious. Of course, they know about professor Rex-Lapis’ kid - the news and that cute picture from an online lecture were still the talk of the whole faculty just a couple of months ago. Of course, they want to see those sweet cheeks for crying out loud!

Ajax is the one who has to get everyone who does not belong in the room out and calm them all down as more than a dozen youngsters beg and plead with Zhongli to bring his baby boy to the lecture. And the said baby boy doesn’t help the situation either, looking at his father with those striking eyes, silently asking to stay with him. “I’m gonna sit very-very quiet,” he even promises.

Is it really a surprise that Xiao ends up sitting at his dad’s desk with his coloring books while the man is reading a lecture? (Students almost crumbled when their tall, handsome, enigmatic history professor walked into the auditorium with his son’s tiny hand clasped in his? Look, he even had to bend his body a little to do so!)

And, as much as students want to gush all over their favorite professor’s small-sized carbon copy, they keep their best behavior, because the situation gives the “once in a century” vibes and they’d be damned to destroy the magic of the moment.

Well, maybe a little, because the smallest interactions between Zhongli and his son as the man lets his students finish writing down information from the current slide are mind-blowing. Groupchat-blowing too.

Even cuter the whole occurrence becomes when the boy stops drawing and lifts his head, curious of what his dad is speaking about. He turns slightly in order to see the presentation, golden eyes skimming over the pictures and words, though he does not understand most of it. But it’s alright though - he can listen to his father instead.

Zhongli is pleasantly surprised when no one can answer one of his revision questions and Xiao lifts his hand, giving him the answer he wanted (he misspells the word a little, sure, but he knew the right response nonetheless). Aaaand that’s probably when the students finally lose it.

By the time the lesson is over and Zhongli meets with you in the teacher’s lounge to pass your very happy and very proud son to you so you two could be on your merry way home, the man feels a little drained. Nothing that can’t be fixed by your tender cheek kiss and soft rubbing on his back, but he still exhales heavily and swears that when he comes home, you are in for a new story.

And by what Ajax had time to tell while you’ve been waiting, you're sure it’s going to be a hilarious one.

taglist: @meimeimeirin Cause I remember how you once said you'd love to see more of this AU

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #zhongli #xiao #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact modern au

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ode2rin · 10 months

Text

“what would you do without me?!”

he knows it's a joke.

from the way you say it, your voice carries a light teasing tone, feigning irritation, contrasted by the upward tug of your lips - anyone can tell it's a joke.

joke or not, gojo satoru, your lover, will never willingly entertain the thought of a life without you - even for a minute.

but still, he gives it a thought, not needing more than three seconds to realize he definitely knows the answer.

i’d be done for.

he chuckles softly at his plain-speaking thought, trying to play it off as if he's merely laughing at himself for his culinary mishaps. “well, i guess i'd starve to death or burn myself and the entire place down attempting to cook.”

you laugh along, not sensing the underlying truth in his words.

but gojo can't shake off the haunting possibility that your joke opened a door in his heart and mind. damn, it's a joke – for heaven's sake. he needs to act like it is one.

except that one day, it might not be just a joke anymore.

and god, may it have mercy, because nothing will ever terrify him more than the thought of losing you.

being the honored one will carry no meaningful weight at the brink of losing you. it will be empty words – because when he had you, honor was to have you in his arms, and being the chosen one meant being loved by you. consequently, without you means to lose himself and everything.

there was a time in his life when gojo satoru was painfully convinced that there was nothing more left to lose in him. in the chaos of his world as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, he had lost everything.

until you. you happened. and suddenly, he had everything to lose.

everything he can lose is here, cooking in his kitchen, humming to a familiar tune while making breakfast exactly like how he wants it.

so, you can’t blame him. you can’t take it out on him to ponder too much on a silly joke.

“why are you standing there looking at me like that? it’s okay, i forgive you for wasting six eggs.”

“i said i’m sorry! don’t worry, i’m going to make it up to you with dinner tonight,” he declares with a wink, hoping his playful charm masks the depth of his thoughts.

“dinner… like food?”

“wh- of course?! baby, what were you even thinking?!”

“you winked! what was i supposed to think?!”

“is this who i am to you, my love?!”

“oh shut up, satoru!”

gojo’s playful gaze lingers on your flustered face, taking in every detail, every nuance of your being. and he can't help but wonder how you manage to hold his heart in the palm of your hand without even realizing it.

he can't be without you. not now, not ever.

fate is never kind to anyone, but if by chance it takes pity, let it be on him. of all, he deserves that pity, does he not?

because to answer your silly joke, he’d be utterly and infinitely done for without you.

note. i just... love him these days.

#☁️ my ode to you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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createserenity · 6 months

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I won’t leave you on your own.

Right, this might be controversial, or I might be the only one who sees this moment in this way, but I need to talk about this now. It’s really sweet when Crowley says this, except what happens afterwards isn’t sweet at all. And can I just add right now that I love both Azirpahale and Crowley, they’re both wonderful and also brillianty flawed, I don’t hate either of them. But as far as I’m concerned Crowley behaves really stupidly here.

GIF by ladybokatankryze

C: I’m going to get the humans out of here and then I’m coming back. I won’t leave you on your own. A: I know.

Oh dear, Crowley. Why did you leave him on his own after saying this? Why did you let Aziraphale down? Why does no one talk about the fact that you did? You walked out that bookshop and Aziraphale was so confident you would come back that he expressed this confidence to the humans and then defended his reliance on you, “Crowley will have a plan,” “Rescuing me makes him so happy.”

But you didn’t come back, Crowley! Why? You left the bookshop, spotted Muriel and then in some super weird ADHD* move just left Aziraphale to sort out the demon problem on his own whilst you went off to heaven. Whyyyyy?

Now okay. I admit, Crowley was working towards the ultimate goal of finding out what the heck had happened to Gabriel, which was something that needed to be done. He spotted the opportunity, knew it probably wouldn’t come up again and so took it. He did what probably needed to be done. He also did it expecting that the demons wouldn’t ever be able to enter the bookshop because Aziraphale was never going to say they could come in. It’s not his fault Maggie is an idiot. I still love him and so does Aziraphale. Also Aziraphale is perfectly capable of defending himself in some ways and we see this after Crowley leaves…

BUT. What a mistake.

He basically left Aziraphale on his own to fight the demons. An Aziraphale who trusted so absolutely that Crowley would come back, and that Crowley would know what to do, that he hadn’t bothered to come up with the whole plan himself. He didn’t have to. Aziraphale and Crowley are a team, they work together and they don’t let each other down.

Except this time Crowley did.

It’s unclear exactly how long Crowley spent in heaven watching the trial etc but since the ball starts at 6.30pm and the demons seem to turn up not that long into the evening, we can assume it’s a really long time. By the time he comes back it’s very clearly morning again, the entire night has passed. Maybe Crowley didn’t intend to be away that long, maybe he expected his jaunt to heaven to be quicker, or maybe this is because time passes differently in heaven and Crowley had no way of knowing exactly what time he’d return to earth, but whatever the reason, he leaves Aziraphale alone for a really long time, after explicitly stating that he won’t leave him on his own.

By the time he does turn up it’s long after the battle is over and long after Aziraphale has been forced to take an action he really didn’t want to take in order to defend himself and the bookshop.

Just look at Aziraphale’s face when Crowley returns, he isn’t super delighted to see him, he's sort of happy, but more looks like he can’t believe Crowley is actually there.

When he says, “You came back!” he sounds kind of surprised and also perhaps relieved. Why? Because he’s given up on Crowley coming back by that point. He has no idea what has happened to him or why he let him down so badly.

I think we can fairly safely assume that Aziraphale and Crowley can sense at least to some extent where the other one is when they are both on earth if they try to do so, and it’s probable that at some point after sorting out the demon problem Aziraphale had wondered where Crowley had gone and tried to sense him, so likely he knows Crowley has been away from the earth. What he doesn’t know is where he’s been or whether he went there willingly (at least until he turns up with a bunch of angels, at which point he’s intelligent enough to work it out).**

So now he knows where Crowley went, but he doesn’t know why or what he discovered. He’s still in the “Crowley let me down,” space at this point. Then Crowley asks what happened to the demons and Aziraphale has to tell him he blew up his halo. Crowley finds this delightful and he laughs, but for once they aren’t laughing together. This is only the second time that we have seen Crowley laugh at Aziraphale (the first is when he mocks him about thinking he’s a demon after the Job thing, which he quickly stops doing and switches to being kind when he realises how upset Aziraphale is). When he laughs about the halo he doesn’t mean it to be mocking, it’s actually the same disbelieving reaction that he does on the walls of Eden about the flaming sword, except magnified, he doesn’t just do a single “you what?” of disbelief and amusement as he does in Eden, he properly laughs because he knows Aziraphale better and thinks their relationship can take the laughter.

Usually he’d be right, but the problem is he’s just let Aziraphale down. So while he isn’t really mocking Aziraphale, because he loves that Aziraphale does these unexpected and wonderful things, Aziraphale doesn’t like the laugh at all. Look at his face. He glares at Crowley and his look very much is one of, “if you’d come back like you said you would, if you hadn’t let me down, I probably wouldn’t have had to do it at all.”

Then since Crowley rather stupidly doesn’t read the reaction and stop laughing the look changes more to, “I’m really upset about all this, please, please don’t laugh at me, you’re hurting me.”*** It's only shown briefly so it's difficult to capture, but you can just catch this in his expression before the camera cuts back to Crowley, and then again for a second when it recuts to Aziraphale, just before he reacts to the arrival of the demons.

Basically, Aziraphale is really fucking pissed off and upset with Crowley at this point. (Side note, Maggie and Nina look less than impressed by the laughter too – even they know it’s not the right reaction.)

If you need anymore evidence of how annoyed he is, look at how far away he stays from Crowley whilst he’s laughing. Aziraphale never stands that far away from him!

Luckily for Crowley Aziraphale is very good at forgiveness, and also very much likes it when Crowley takes charge of a situation and thankfully Crowley finally steps up. Whilst Aziraphale worries about what he’s done (look at the tension in his hands) Crowley categorically declares there will be no war and the demons react by listening to him. You can see Aziraphale start to reconnect with Crowley, his eyes flick back to him and then once Shax is up and awake his hands relax and he closes the distance between him and Crowley, angling his body towards him and standing close to him again.

Crowley is going to sort things out and Aziraphale’s faith in him is easily restored, although without doubt it’s suffered some damage underneath.

So what does this all mean? Well, firstly Crowley hurts Aziraphale deeply here and doesn’t realise he’s done it (and this is the second hurt he’s caused him within the space of a few days). Aziraphale forgives him pretty quickly, because Crowley unknowingly repairs things and Aziraphale is so full of love that it will take more than this one transgression to break their bond.

What it does mean though is that Aziraphale has just had a reminder of the demonic nature of demons shoved in his face. Crowley has just hurt him in several different ways in the space of a very short time. I doubt he consciously sees this as demonic because by this point I don’t think he really even thinks of Crowley as a demon on a day to day basis, but I do think he is responding to that hurt in a very human way.

Look, if your partner left you in a sticky situation and told you they would be back immediately and then didn’t turn back up for hours wouldn’t you be pissed off? Even if nothing happened (if Maggie had never let the demons in for example) you’d still have a few things to say about your partner’s hours of absence – yes, even if they had just unveiled a huge clue about why the whole situation was happening in the first place. That wouldn’t undo all your thoughts about how they let you down really badly and left you on your own in a terrible situation.

Another issue is Shax’s demonic nature – specifically how Shax has hurt him during the attack on the bookshop. If Crowley had been there there’s no way Shax would have had even half a second to get in her jibes to Aziraphale, but he’s not there and Shax gets her chance. What she does is play on Aziraphale’s fears about Crowley’s feelings for him (right at a time when Crowley is letting him down) and also remind Aziraphale of some of the ways in which he is a less-than-stella angel (as a side note I find it really interesting that Shax seems to have this ability to look at people and see their worst fears about themselves – do all demons have that or does every demon have a slightly different ‘power’?) So now Aziraphale has been let down by Crowley, which has directly led to Shax hurting him, and had his worst fears about his own nature brought to the forefront of his mind.

He’s been let down, mocked and emotionally wounded, and he goes into the conversation with the Metatron carrying that hurt, only to hear the Metatron singing his praises and telling him he’s, “the perfect angel for the job”. The Metatron deliberately soothes Aziraphale’s worst fears about himself in order to manipulate him. I’m not saying Aziraphale doesn’t see through it or that he is completely taken in by it or that this is his motivation for accepting the job, I think there’s more to it than that, but well… something to think about?

Mainly though, Crowley acts in a bit of a daft way here. His jaunt to heaven is funny and useful for moving the mystery along, but in terms of his relationship with Aziraphale it's an absolute disaster of a move. I'd want the "I was wrong" dance as an apology for that one if it was me. Just saying.

#good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #good omens #final 15 #aziraphale #crowley

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yuzurins · 11 months

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# circles

in which: sae’s tired of running around in circles with an undefined relationship, so he decides to take his chance when he can to make you his.

warnings: kind of unorganized, mentions of alcohol, intoxicated reader, insecure reader, mutual pining, just a bunch of comfort and fluff, honestly strayed from the original prompt t-t

reblogs and interactions are appreciated!

itoshi sae is a busy man.

being the most sought for japanese football player and as well as a regular on the real matrid team meant he was always doing something football related. practices, games, events, you name it.

his schedule is packed with plans set months before they happen. companies and teams always request to see him sooner, but he makes no exceptions for anyone, not even his own family.

well, that goes for anyone but you.

itoshi sae has found himself breaking his own ideals without any hesitation. he‘s standing in front of your apartment, 5 hours, 27 minutes and 54 seconds before his flight back to spain, after an obviously drunk text you sent him 10 minutes ago.

1:22AM

y/n: saweewea

y/n: did u knwo a broken heart hurts REAL bad😍

sae: what

y/n: i think i’m goign to crush my cat with my body weight

y/n: u fg hhh hj jgjjgjhhhrkdoforjfof

sae: where are you rn

y/n: ogm r ru gonna come visit me 😎😜🥺

y/n: i’m soooerirjf lonely

sae: .

sae: be there in 5

sae doesn’t know whether to ring the doorbell or call you to let you know he’s here. heck, he’s not even sure whether you’re at home or not, but he does know that it’s not often you go out to drink. as he’s hesitating, you hastily open the door, almost like you could sense him there.

“sae!” you slur, just barely avoiding stumbling over yourself as you straighten up. “i didn’t expect you to actually come visit me.”

“neither did i.” he scoffs as he takes in your current state: graphic anime tee (which he gave you last christmas), sweatpants, messy tangled bun and your face is entirely red. you reek of soju and he knows better than anyone you’re a lightweight, so sae mentally prepares once more for what he’s about to get himself into.

the response from the magenta haired in front of you causes a pout to form on your face. he’s not quite sure if it’s just his imagination or not, but it looks like you’re more down, more tired than usual.

“are you okay?” he asks, and this prompts you to stretch your arms out, almost habitually, and wrap them around the taller male’s torso.

sae flinches ever so slightly at your touch. he gently pushes you back into the apartment as he closes the door, all while having one arm wrapped around your waist.

it’s obvious you’re not in the right mind space, but as everyone says, drunk words are sober thoughts, though sae doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. you getting blackout drunk as a result of academic stress has become a monthly occurrence now, and it always ends up with sae coming over to babysit you. he’s more than aware of the fact that you’re taking his presence for granted, yet despite that, he’s still always there for you.

you’re obviously more than just friends, so why does sae feel like the line separating friendship and relationship just keeps getting thicker?

you latch onto him like a koala as he shuffles over to your couch. he doesn’t force anything out of you, doesn’t show any impatience, and just waits for you to talk.

the two of you quietly bask in the comfort of each other’s arms for a long time. just as sae begins to loosen his hold on you believing you’ve drifted off, you cling onto him even tighter, refusing to let go of his warmth.

“don’t go.” you mumble into his hoodie, voice quivering, and sae wonders if it really is school stress that’s made you this way.

humming in response, he pats your back lightly as if he’s caring for a baby, trailing his hand up to your head to play with your hair.

sae doesn’t want to pry, but there’s something he really needs to confirm before it eats his thoughts up even more.

“i won’t leave,” he reassures. “did anything happen?”

a sound comes out of your mouth in response, barely louder than a whisper. sae turns his head to look at you and you take it as a request for you to repeat your words. you try again, and this time, you’re still mumbling, but it’s enough for him to make out what you want to convey.

“i’m sorry.” and a tear falls from your eyes, “i’m sorry, sae.”

now sae’s been in this position for countless times, always coming to be your personal therapist at unearthly hours in the night, but this is the first time he’s ever seen you act so vulnerable. he can feel your body trembling against him and his heart aches just seeing you so dejected.

but he’s not dense enough to not realize what you’re apologizing for, because it’s the same reason as to why he decided to ask in the first place. he gently removes his arms off your waist, turns you to face him and moves his hand up to wipe the tears streaming down your cheek.

this tender, silent exchange between the two of you is more than any amount of words that express. sae’s usually indifferent eyes are laced with affection, and you just can’t help but feel so guilty because of that.

“i know you’re really busy,” you avert your eyes, biting on your bottom lip to stop yourself from breaking again. “you’re always doing so much for me, and i feel so terrible because i don’t deserve any of it.”

sae doesn’t say anything, letting you finish your thoughts before stating his.

“i was watching one of your games earlier, and i was reminded of the fact that your world and mine are so far apart.” you’re still looking away, but a soft nudge from sae’s hand pushes you back to look at him. “i just—i feel like i’m not enough for you, sae.”

through watered eyes, you can catch the expression of the male in front of you waver, and with years of knowing him, you’ve mastered the ability to be able to tell what emotions are going off in his mind.

“i know it sounds silly—“

“it’s not silly.” he interrupts, despite being patient all this time, but struggles to find the right words to continue. “is this what you’ve been feeling since back then?”

you shake your head, and lean forward to rest it on his shoulder. “the internet is scary.”

sae lets out a soft chuckle at your unintentional joke, and moves his head to rest it on the side of yours. “but what only matters is that i’m here in front of you right now, yeah?”

“it’s true that i’m busy, but i’ll always be your anchor of support whenever you need it, seriously.” his fingers find their way to intertwine with yours, and your heart flutters at how romantic he’s being. “so don’t cry sweetheart, because you’re breaking my heart as well.”

the use of the pet name makes you giggle, it being so out of character for sae, yet that’s how you know he really means it, from the bottom of his heart. hearing the sound of your laughter allows sae to relax his shoulder from all the tension he unknowingly had been feeling, and he cups your cheek with his palm, bringing you face-to-face with the taller male.

his eyes study your features, taking in your beauty, before going back to make eye contact with you. though you notice how they flicker down to your lips and hover there for a split second longer than anything else, your heart thumping loudly at the realization of what he’s asking of you.

you flash him a small smile in response as approval, and sae wastes no time closing the distance between you two. his touch is soft, almost like he’s afraid of breaking you, and easily washes away all the worries clouding your mind.

sae droops his arms over your shoulders and rests his forehead against yours. “you were always and will be more than enough for me, y/n.”

his sweet words bring a red flush to your face (not from alcohol this time) and you purse your lips in embarrassment as sae’s grin only gets bigger.

“so just hurry up and be mine already.”

BONUS: the morning after

you wake up with a pounding headache, and immediately try to get up to get a drink of water, but your body doesn’t budge at all.

as your eyes begin to adjust, you look down to find sae and his arms locked around you, causing a scoff to come out of your mouth.

of course you couldn’t move when a whole professional football player (incredibly fit btw😍) has a death grip on you.

“sae, wake up.” you nudge him and he only whines in response. “didn’t you have a flight to catch this morning?”

“mm, shush.” he takes one of his arms and lightly pushes you back down into his embrace. “who cares about that, been waiting for this for far too long.”

you laugh and decide to give in, slowly drifting back to sleep.

meanwhile, sae’s nonstop vibrating phone on your nightstand is totally unnoticed, the cause being hundreds of messages and calls from his manager wondering where he is.

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eideticmemory · 7 months

Text

ALONE TOGETHER | SPENCER REID

A chance meeting on a dating app spirals into an odd type of…friendship? Relationship? Who knows, but it means a lot to you.

Word Count: 8.6k

Warning/Includes: Excessive smut, fluff, 7 year age gap.

You are so sick of crying. You are nauseated from lying in bed, staring at a ceiling fan that does nothing but spin. You’re angry. You’re restless. You’re impulsive. And it is this impulse that takes you on Bumble, but more specifically, makes you set you preferred range between the ages of exactly twenty-eight and forty. You think, I just need someone to pay attention to me. You think, I need someone to make this go away because I just can’t.

Old men are gross, but they like you. They just can’t get enough of you. You’re flooded with hundreds of admirers, but you rarely match with any of them. You swipe. You swipe again. Again and again and it is with the teeniest, tiniest little bit of hope that you wish for someone to take your breath away. You wish for a man with a pretty face and kind eyes and a name that sounds nice when you say it with a moan.

And there he is.

Spencer. Age 30. 5 miles away.

You actually gasp.

You swipe right and it is a match!

You gasp!

It’s up to you to make the first move. There’s prompts you could send, questions you could ask, and just down the street, Spencer, who has just landed back home recieves a message only saying -

Hey :)

He immediately covers the notification on his phone as he exits the jet. When he swiped on your profile, truthfully, he didn’t expect a match. Let alone a message. So in less than three seconds, he becomes anxious and flustered and cannot stop shaking his hands because he can’t feel his fingertips.

He waits until he’s alone to message you back. He has no idea what to say, no idea if you’re even still interested, but down the street, you are lying on your belly and kicking your feet and you get a reply -

Hi, [y/n] :) How are you?

It’s not a lot but Spencer feels like he’s going to pass out.

You squeal, cover your mouth and type: Good! How are you?

And Spencer doesn’t even know how to answer the question. It’s not a hard question, it’s not a trick question, but he can’t figure out what to say so he stays objective.

I’m okay. I’m leaving work now.

You furrow your eyebrows, A little late, isn’t it?

He chuckles under his breath, Kind of early for me, actually.

Here, is where you decided to get bold. You make the decision before you even figure out what to say. How to say it.

I’m sure you’re worn out from a long day. Was hoping I could see you tonight. If not, maybe another time?

And aside from the millions of things that rush through his head, that are always rushing through his head, the first thing he thinks is: Oh, god, I wish Morgan were here. Although Spencer’s a little mad at him at the moment, he knows Morgan would tell him what to say. But no one’s here. It’s just him, pacing the empty halls of the bureau, a satchel with tums in it, and a pretty girl trapped inside his phone that wants to see him in person.

He types and he goes back, he types and he goes back, and then he asks, Do you like coffee?

You smile as you type, I love coffee.

So he has you meet him at this coffee shop in town. You stand outside, cradled in a cozy jacket, your hands stuffed in your pockets. Spencer sees you before you see him. And anyone with common sense would’ve walked up to you right away. Except, Spencer doesn’t really have common sense. He’s worried that you’ll figure that out. Still, he walks over to you and you’re only alerted by the sound of his timid footsteps. You turn to him with a grand smile and he immediately forgets how to breathe.

“Hi,” you greet him, holding your hand out. “Spencer?”

He looks down at your hand and then back at you and then back at the floor and your brain goes: ???

“Are you…not Spencer?”

“No, no, I am. Me…Spencer, yes. I just…I don’t like to shake hands.”

“Oh,” you retract, hold your hands behind your back.

“I mean not that there’s anything wrong about your particular hands. They’re just dirty- Not! Not-you’re not dirty, I know, you smell really good. I…” he stops, takes a breath, “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering, it’s actually, uh, safer to kiss.”

You tilt your head at him for two reasons. One, because you cannot believe he just used the word pathogens in casual conversation. And two, because you take his fun fact as a challenge that is readily accepted. You step towards him, slowly, because with the way his eyes go wide, it looks like he might run away. He grips onto the strap on his satchel so hard that his knuckles turn paper white. He goes cross eyed trying to look at your face as you lean in. And with a tiny smirk on your face, you press your lips to his.

It’s kinda, awkward. Spencer stays frozen in place and you mush your face into his and he doesn’t start to lean into you until the last second.

His face has gone bright red and you smile and say, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice t-to meet you,” he stutters.

You look around, “What is this place?”

“Oh, um, it’s, uh, it’s a coffee shop. It’s also a library. It’s, uh, it’s open late and I come here a lot when I can’t sleep.”

“It’s cute,” you smile.

He holds the door open for you and buys you a latte and you two sit at a table by the window. You sit in silence for a minute, neither of you really sure what to say and then when you do go to speak, you do it at the same time. It cuts the tension and you both laugh.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“I, uh, I was just going to ask if you’re from here?”

“Oh, oh no, I just moved here for med school. I’m in my first year at Georgetown.”

“Oh! Nice. That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s alright so far. We’ll see how I’m doing in the spring.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

You smile, “What do you do? What has you getting off work so late?”

“I’m, um, I’m a profiler…for the FBI. I, uh…”

“Analyze criminal behavior,” you nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard of that. I love forensic sciences.”

He can’t help but smile at you, “Yeah. It’s tiring but I like it,” he shrugs.

The conversation goes dead again and you sip on your latte, “Should we…should we just keep asking each other questions?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, I asked the last question so it’s your turn.”

“Um…” he ponders. “What’s your favorite color?”

You snicker and he instantly puts his face in his hands out of embarrassment. You giggle, “My favorite color? Seriously?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” he shakes his head, smiling, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Blue. You?”

“Purple.”

“Ooh, that’s a fun one.”

“I like it. Okay, your turn.”

“Okay, um, what’s your biggest fear?”

He raises his eyebrows at you.

“What? We got the favorite colors out of the way.”

He nods, agreeing, “Having nothing to show for my life.”

You nod, “Same. Your turn.”

“Why do you want to be a doctor?”

“Oh. You got me with that one. Um…because I’m not squeamish and I’m good under pressure and I want…to make a difference. Y’know, actually do something with all this ambition. Aaaand, I’m good with anatomy. I’m good with people. I like medicine.”

“Did you say all of that in your interview?”

“That’s two questions…” you grin.

He chuckles, “You can ask me two.”

“No…I told them what they wanted to hear. And admissions doesn’t wanna hear that you’re doing this for yourself. They wanna hear that you’re selfless, Mother Theresa, Princess Diana selfless.”

“And you’re not selfless?”

“That’s three!”

“Okay, okay, your turn,” he laughs.

“How’d you get into the FBI?”

“Um, about 8 years, 11 months and 3 days ago, I attended a lecture on criminology hosted by some members of the BAU. I…became fixated. I wanted to join. I wanted to make a difference-“

“Oh now you’re just copying me.”

He chuckles, “I applied and, uh, yeah.”

“That’s so cool,” you tell him. “So you’ve been working there since you were…22?”

“Yes.”

“How did you become a profiler at 22? It takes forever, I thought?”

“That’s three!” he laughs.

“Oh, c’mon! You can’t leave me on a cliffhanger here.”

“I, um, I graduated college when I was 16. Had my Phd at 20. I’m…not the fittest guy so I skipped a lot of physical assessments.”

“16?” you gasp.

“That’s four!”

“20?” you shout. Emphasis on the ???

“That’s five!”

“Oh, no, nuh-uh, forget that, you’re filling me in on this.”

And so, he does. He tells you everything. About the eidetic memory and the IQ of 187 and you just sit there in awe. You fire questions at him and the last one is, “What’s…” you type in your calculator. “34 times 106?”

“That is a different genre of question.”

“But what’s the answer?”

He sighs and shakes his head, “3,604.”

You look at the calculator and he’s right and you gasp, “You’re a fucking genius.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Are your parents geniuses?” you ask.

“My dad is a…” he pauses. “I guess the colloquial term is deadbeat?”

You burst into laughter but quickly cover your mouth. That’s not funny. But Spencer is smiling.

“And…my mom is…smart. Yeah, she’s a genius.”

“Is she…dead?”

“What?”

“You just got, like, super sad there.”

“She’s not dead. She, uh, she has schizophrenia.”

“Oh. I’m an asshole.”

“A little bit,” he chuckles. “But, I’m-I’m not sad…she’s been that way my whole life.”

You can see on his face that it’s a sore subject, so you say, “Okay. Your turn. Ask me a question.”

And he wants to ask something that will get you talking. Something he can poke around like you have at his brain.

“Who is…” he starts. “Your very best friend?”

He asks this as you’re taking a sip of your latte and you very suddenly slam your cup down on the table.

“Whoa,” he says.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m…I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I haven’t spoken to her since I moved. Any of them. I…we…we had a disagreement.”

Spencer studies your face, “How many friends are we talking about here?”

“Three,” you spit out. “Three. I’ve had the same three friends since I was twelve and I’m not talking to any of them.” Your hands shake around your mug and you clear your throat, avoid eye contact.

Spencer feels so bad for dulling your light that he doesn’t even know what to say. He knows it’s an illogical guilt, but a strong and pulsating guilt nonetheless.

He watches you take an anxious sip of your drink and he sighs, “Today’s my birthday.”

You almost spit out your latte, your hand flying to your mouth, all of your own thoughts and worries dissipating as you look him in the eye, “You’re…you’re kidding?”

“No.”

“You’re joking. You’re just saying that to distract me. A psychology trick.”

“As of…” he checks his watch. “Twenty-three hours and ten minutes ago, I’m thirty,” he can hardly say it. “Thirty years old.”

You sit for a moment. You realize your mouth is wide open so you close it. You realize your eyes are wide so you shrink them. You stutter, “You’re…not kidding?”

“No. I’m thirty, and I…worked a case for days straight and…and it was awful and we were too late and…I’m scared I’ll sound self-centered…”

“And…” you encourage him.

“And…it wasn’t enough. The case. The chaos. It wasn’t enough. I hoped…I hoped it would help. That I would…that I would get so lost in the rush that…that I’d forget I’m having an emotional crisis. I don’t know how to be thirty. I don’t know how to be an adult. I’m a child progidy…I’m a child prodigy and now I’m thirty so, what does that make me? What am I now?”

The question hangs in the air because you cannot answer it. You just reach across the table, put your hand over his, and trace his knuckles.

He releases a long sigh, “I’m having an emotional crisis and I’m thirty and my-my team…my friends…my family, the closest thing I have to a family…they, um, they forgot. And it was…it was a really bad case, it was a really tough case and it was enough for them to forget. But not me. It wasn’t enough for me.”

He lets you take his hand in yours, your pathogen ridden hand, and he can hardly look you in the eye.

“Hey…” you whisper.

His eyes flicker up to you and he looks so sad.

You give him a small grin, “Let’s get out of here.”

He lets you drag him outside into the cold air and the two of you stand under the soft light.

“Do you drink?” you ask him.

“Um. No. No, I used to do drugs so I’m scared if I drink, I’ll forget to…not do drugs.”

“Oh!” you raise your eyebrows. “Okay, fair enough. So, no weed then?”

“I…” he laughs. “You do know I’m a federal agent?”

“Ah! So scary!”

He cackles, “No marijuana.”

“Marijuana,” you roll your eyes, “Okay…okay…” you look around and the city is asleep. It’s cold. Another block over, there are clubs and people fighting the weather for a chance to party. Spencer does not want to party. “Okay, my place?”

He looks at you, “What are we going to do there?”

“Have a birthday party!”

“I don’t want a party…”

You pout, look around, “Do you want a donut?”

He nods.

You grab a couple donuts from a late night bakery down the road and you drive him back to your place. He grips onto the door as you whip your car into another lane, his breath trembling.

“Dude, chill out,” you tell him. “I’m a good driver.”

“Good…in the way that tsunamis are good waves.”

You look over at him and your eyes lock and he smirks at you. It has you so flustered that you’re quiet for the rest of the drive.

You let him inside your apartment and close the door as you two step into the entryway.

“Okay, wait here,” you tell him, quickly taking the donuts and taking off into the kitchen.

“What? Why?”

“Just wait!”

He can hear you banging around, drawers opening and slamming shut. Things falling to the floor. You muttering, “Shit!” under your breath. You rush by him and into the living, so quickly that his brain can hardly process it.

“Okay!” you call. “Come in!”

He slowly steps inside, a bit anxious at first, but then he sees you and his shoulders relax.

You finish lighting the last candle and look up at him, throw your hands in the air, “Happy birthday!”

His face breaks out in this great, big smile and he can’t help but laugh. It’s not much. One single glazed donut with chocolate, sprinkles and candles on top.

“Three candles?” he questions, stepping over to the coffee table.

You stand beside him as he sits on the couch, “Well, yeah, three because three and then none because zero. Three zero. Thirty!”

He furrows his brows, “Actually-“

“Hush,” you cut him off, putting your hands on his shoulders, “You gotta blow out your candles.”

So he goes to blow them out and you shout, “Wait!” and his heart stops for a second. “I have to sing the song?”

“Oh, no, really, I don’t need the-“

“Haaaaappy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

He covers his face to blush and laughs into his hands.

“Happy birthday, dear Spencer, happy birthday to you! Mwah,” you kiss his cheek. “Now make a wish!”

“Okay, I wish-“

“Whoa, stop! What are you doing? You can’t say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

“Well, actually-“

“The candles are melting.”

“Yep, right,” he nods. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, makes a wish and blows out all three candles.

You cheer and clap your hands. You go to remove the candles from his donut and stop, “Oh. Should I? Can I?”

“You’ve already touched it. I think, uh, that ship has sailed.”

You take out the candles and sit down beside him, “Should I have picked it up with my mouth?”

He giggles and picks up his donut, holds it out to you, “Cheers,” he smiles.

You pick yours up from the table and touch it to his, grinning, “Cheers.”

As you eat your donuts together, you can’t help but watch him. “I hope this made your birthday a little better.”

He shoves the last of his donut in his mouth and the corner of his lips is covered in chocolate, “It did,” he says with a full mouth.

You chuckle and lean in, wiping the chocolate from his lip with your finger and sticking it in your mouth.

He watches you, chewing slowly until he swallows and clears his throat, “Is this…is this weird to do with someone you just met on bumble? Genuine question because I have no frame of reference.”

Your mouth turns up in a small smile. And you nod. Slowly, quietly, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s a little weird. But I’m having fun.”

“Me, too.”

You look around, awkwardly rolling your next words around your head until you can say them out loud, “Do you…wanna do something that’s…not weird with someone you met on bumble?

His raises his eyebrows at you, “What’s that?”

You take a sip of water, eyeing him in your peripheral and set down your bottle. You lean your body into his and this time, Spencer is ready. You catch his mouth on yours and he kisses you back, even though his heart is racing under your palm. Your hand travels down his chest, over his tummy, and to the hem of his pants.

His breath catches in his throat as you kiss his neck, “What…what are you doing?”

You pull away and undo his pants, taking his cock in your hand. He whimpers and his body goes limp and you furrow your eyebrows at him, “It’s your birthday?” you explain. And then you kiss him again.

His neck. Down to his chest. Down to his tummy. And Spencer watches you drop down to your knees in front of him and he goes, “Oh, my god,” and he only says it once but his brain keeps going: oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god.

“Is…is this okay?” you ask.

But he can’t talk! He can hardly breathe! You’ve got his dick in your hand and he’s looking at you with these wide eyes and you look perfect and he’s just worried that he’ll bust all over you before you get a chance to do anything. So, he nods. He nods and nods and nods and leans his head back.

You smile and with a few pumps of your hand, his whole body tenses up. He grips onto the couch and struggles to breathe. Then your mouth is on him and he goes limp. Dead weight, not a feeling in his arms or legs or chest, just the warmth of your mouth around his cock, taking it all the way to the back of your throat. His nails scratch at the fabric of the couch and as undignified as it feels, Spencer gets noisey.

You bob your head, up and down, in slow and sticky motions, swirling your tongue over his tip and a loud moan burst from the back of his throat.

“Oh…oh, my god,” he pants.

You move your mouth on him and run your hand up his tummy, feel it heaving up and down in your palm. He nearly breaks a nail on the couch so he grabs onto your hand, squeezes it really tight and groans. The sounds he’s making are so whiny and breathless and sexy that you have to squeeze your thighs together before you go leaking down your legs.

His other hand takes hold of your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his palm a bit but you keep your pace, letting him hit the back of your throat, feeling him twitch between your lips. You look up at him and all you can see is the veins on his neck, his jaw clenched tight. His fingers slip through your hair, over your scalp and you hum, but just quietly.

The soft touch encourages you to speed up just a bit. His whole body trembles as you take the base of his cock in your hand and jerk him in unison with your mouth. It overstimulates him immediately and he yells out, gives your hand another tight, tight squeeze.

“Oh-oh, my god, [y/n],” he moans, and you squeeze your thighs tighter.

He doesn’t ever want this to end. And so he fights the fire burning in his belly with everything he’s got, but he knows it’s useless. You’re too good. You’re so good.

He lifts his head and looks down at you, his face red all over and his eyes locked on yours. He holds your hand against his chest, caresses your face softly and lets out these soft, desperate whimpers. His body tenses up, leans towards you a bit and his jaw hangs wide open with very little sound coming out. He gives you this look, maybe a little warning, and then he’s gripping onto your hair and hunched over your body, filling up your mouth and whining into the air.

You put your hands on his waist and keep him in your mouth until he rides it out, falls back onto the couch.

You tower over him, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and put your hands on his shoulders, “Good?”

“Yes. Wow,” he pants. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome,” you smile.

He huffs and he puffs, yet he can’t seem to catch his breath. “You know…” he breathes out. “That entire time…I actually forgot I was thirty.”

You burst into laughter and put your forehead to his, your giggles mirroring one another’s.

Spencer fixes his pants and huffs, “Will you…will you lay with me for a second?”

Your heart melts a little. You climb onto the couch, taking a seat beside him and swinging your legs over his lap.

And you sit like that. For hours. Talking until it’s no longer Spencer’s birthday and he’s just…thirty. You try your best to convince him to stay the night. He declines. And he declines and he declines.

Then he falls asleep in your arms.

In the morning, he wakes up alone and for a one whole minute, he forgets where he is. Then he remembers you and he goes looking for you and finds you in the kitchen.

“Oh,” you smile, “Hi, you. Breakfast?” you hold out the box of cereal that you’re eating out of.

He glances at the box and then back at you and he stares.

“What?” you ask.

“I…” he trails off. “I thought…I thought I dreamt you. For a moment, I thought it all was a dream.”

You tilt your head at him, “I’m very real.”

He chuckles, scratches the back of his head, “And…and the…the…”

“Blowjob?” you laugh. “Yeah, that was real, too.”

“The donuts?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “All of it.”

He continues to stare at you, this soft smile on his face and you hold out the cereal again. Shake it around.

“I’m okay,” he chuckles, stepping over to you. “I should…I should probably get going.”

“Oh, but why?” you whine.

“Because I…need a shower,” he laughs. “And to brush my teeth and lay in bed until I get called in again.”

“Yeah, I should probably start preparing for my lectures this week, too.”

You stare into his pretty, pretty eyes and you set the cereal down, hold his face, “You’re not gonna ghost me are you?”

He furrows his eyebrows, “Ghost you? What does that mean?”

“Oh, I forgot you’re old,” you laugh.

“Stooop,” he whines. “Stooop.”

“Ghost me. You’re not gonna go radio silent? You’re not…not gonna act like this never happened? Like I don’t exist?”

And Spencer instantly thinks: I don’t think I’m ever going to leave you alone. But instead of vocalizing it, he strokes your waist and he says, “No. Of course not.”

And he really meant that.

The next time he got called out on a case, he let you know that he’d be gone for a while but he’d be back. And he’d really, really like to see you when he’s home. He tries his best not to text while working, but when he’s laying in a hotel bed, unable to stop thinking about you and what you’re doing, he opts for a phone call.

“Hey, Sherlock,” you greet him. “Crack the case yet?”

He chuckles, “No. Almost. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were home in a few days.”

“And then you’ll come see me?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I’ll come see you.”

“Good.”

“What about you? How’s your journey to being a selfless doctor going?”

“Terrible. I missed like half of my lecture this morning because I blew a tire on the way.”

“Oh, no, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just hit a pot hole and swerve a little bit but it’s not my first time.”

“Oh?” he nods. “That’s…not good,” he laughs.

“I survived. I’m tough.”

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” you can hear the little grin in his voice.

You bite down on your lip, “Okay, tell me what’s going on there. Serial killer? Kidnapping?”

“Confidential.”

“Booooo!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Um, a couple days ago a body washed up on the beach and…”

You talked until you both were nearly asleep. In the morning, Spencer rolls out of bed and the lack of sleep hits him like a truck, but he thinks about you and your sleepy, soft voice and he smiles. He smiles out the door and down the hall and Morgan strides up beside him.

“Morning, kid,” he says.

“Morning!” Spencer replies and Derek eyes him because it was just sooo cheerful.

Derek bites his tongue for a moment, but is incapable of doing it for any longer so he asks, “Who were you on the phone with last night?”

Spencer trips over his feet at the question and stutters, “O-oh, me? Me? I wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“Mmhmmm,” Derek hums.

“No. N-nope, just the voices in my head.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Spencer comes back home on a Thursday and immediately hops on foot, on a train, to get to your apartment. You open the door for him and pull him inside, taking him in a big hug.

“Hi, you,” you whisper in his ear.

“Hi,” he snuggles into you.

“I made dinner. Pasta. It’s the only thing I know how to make, but there’s plenty. You hungry?”

“Yes,” he nods, pulls out of the hug. “Thank you.”

He goes to walk into the kitchen, but you grab his hand, “Hey, wait,” and you throw yourself into his arms and take him in a long kiss. He grips onto your shirt and goes weak in the knees, smushing his face into yours.

You step back, “Okay, now we can eat.”

He mumbles something incoherent and walks into the wall and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to guide him into the kitchen.

The entire time that you two are hanging out on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, you can feel him looking at you. The one time that you catch his eyes, you lean in for a kiss and he is much more forward when it comes to kissing you back. He pushes his body into yours and a soft moan empties from your lips. It gives him enough courage to drop to his knees in front of you.

“Whoa,” you exclaim. “What are you doing?”

“I…well, I…I wanted to do this for you and I’m ready, I researched it.”

“You…researched how to eat me out?”

“I just want to return the favor.”

“But it’s not my birthday?”

“Is that a…requirement, or?”

“No,” you laugh, cover your face, “Okay. Okay, show me what you learned.”

And so Spencer disappears under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your thighs and grabbing onto the thin straps of your underwear. He pulls them off your legs and you chuckle as they fly off. His face flushes bright red and he gives you a soft smile, taking a deep breath before he leans in and kisses your thighs. You hum under your breath, spread your legs for him out of instinct.

He’s very timid at first. Peppering gentle kisses on your hips, teasing his tongue on your clit. Then your back arches, his face falls into you and all the notes and research just fall right out of his mind. He wraps his arms around your hips and moves his tongue in this rhythmic up and down motion that he can tell you love so he keeps at it. And at it and at it, stepping off with a sharp suck that makes you yelp.

You rest your head on the couch, licking your lips because they’re so dry from your gasping, your constant moaning. You grip onto his hair and moan his name, only twice because you’re losing your breath. His fingertips press into your skin, spread your pussy open so he can bury his face in you.

Your body starts to twitch and tremble, your toes curling into themselves so tightly that it cuts off circulation. Your voice is high and whiny, growing louder by the second. Spencer feels your thighs tighten around his face and he knows now is not the time to let up. He swirls his tongue over your clit and you tighten your grip on his hair, straining your throat from moaning so loudly. You try to say his name, one last time, but then your back is arching off the couch and your orgasm washes over your entire body. From the tip of your head to the tip of your toes.

Spencer wipes his mouth off with your inner thigh and stands up looking so, very proud.

“Fuck,” you laugh. “What did you read?”

He cackles and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek and then the lips. Immediately after, you push him down and suck him off and as he holds you afterwards, he breathes off, “Remind me to return the favor again.”

“Oh,” you giggle. “Believe me, I will.”

The next few days, you two are inseperable. He spends two consecutive nights at your place, bitching and complaining and listening to each rant for hours at a time. He helps your study for your next exam. It’s not until he gets called out again that real life creeps in. It’s the first time goodbye is really hard.

You joke over the next month that he should just move in. This constant pattern of fly out, fly in, visit and repeat is a lot of run around.

“You’d get sick of me,” he replies.

And you hold him real tight and shake your head, “Never.”

When he’s on his next trip and calls in the middle of your lecture, you only step out and answer because a feeling in your gut tells you something is very wrong. Spencer never calls in the middle of the day. He’d never want to inconvenience you. But, today, it has to be you.

“Hello?” you answer.

“[y/n]? Hey…” he huffs.

He sounds distraught, like his chest is tight as he speaks and you take a seat on the floor, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I think I’m having a panic attack. I think…I think I’m dying.”

“What? What happened? Honey…”

“Just tell me something to calm me down, anything. Anything. Please.”

“Um, um, um, uh,” you sutter. “I think we should have sex.” As you say it, someone walks by giving you a dirty look and you shake it off, wait for Spencer’s response.

His breath has slowed, but just a little, “Oh…that works.”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “You know, I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot, aaand yeah, when you get back, I-I think we should do that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“When I see you,” he says. “I know you’re busy and I should get back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Glad I could help,” you laugh. “Call me back tonight, okay?”

“I will. I miss you.”

You smile to yourself, “I miss you, too.”

When you hang up, you’re happy and giddy, grinning to yourself like a fool. Then you look up to find the same person from before, whispering with their friend as they watch you.

You roll your eyes and shout, “What the fuck are you looking at?” and you walk back into the lecture hall.

The day Spencer tells you they’re flying back, you start preparing. Shaving, showering, spraying on some nice perfume. You walk around your apartment in a silky, short nightgown, lighting candles in the hall and all over your bedroom. When you’re content with the atmosphere, the only thing left to do is wait.

And wait.

You check your phone several times and when there is still nothing hours later, you think it’s time to blow out the candles, lay in bed and cry. For a moment, you feel so stupid and confused and angry that you almost throw a lamp at the wall. Then there’s a knock on the door.

Spencer stands there, immediately saying, “Don’t be mad.”

“Too late, I’m mad,” you snip, turning away from him.

He lets himself in and grabs your hand, stutters when he finally notices your nightgown, the candles, “Oh. Wow. You did all this?”

“Spencer!” you whine, crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I bought you a donut,” he holds the bag up to you. “Your favorite. I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad. Not tonight. Any other night but tonight, please?”

Maybe if he wasn’t so good at the kicked puppy eyes, you could’ve held out a little longer. But you’re happy he’s here and your horny and this is happening no matter what time it is. You snatch the bag from his hand and just as quickly as you drop it, you pull his body into your, gripping his waist, your mouth open on his.

He trips over your feet as you pull him down the hall and into your bedroom, the two of you tangled up so tight that you collapse on the bed in one big sweep. He falls on top of you, between your legs, kissing you hungrily.

“Wait,” he huffs, breaking the kiss. “Wait.”

You stare up at him, his face only visible due to the candles, “What is it? Did you…already?”

“What? What? No,” he laughs. “I just…uh…um…I’m not an expert at this. I…I don’t…I’m not experienced in this area and I will do everything I can to make it good for you. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Aw,” you whisper, caressing his face. “Take your clothes off.”

“Huh?”

“Spencer. I’ve been thinking about having sex with you since I first saw your picture on bumble. Now it’s happening and you were late so we gotta catch up.”

You pull him back in for a kiss and reach between your bodies, undoing his pants so you can grab his cock. He gasps and moans into your mouth.

“Don’t overthink it,” you mumble, staring in his eyes, “Just do whatever you want to me.”

He moves his hips forward, stroking himself with your palm and whimpering against your cheek. He starts to kiss your neck, gripping onto your waist, bunching up your nightgown in his hands. You push his shirt up his waist and he quickly pulls it over his head, catching you in a kiss as soon as he can.

“Can I take this off?” he pants, pinching the hem of your clothes. And you sit up, allowing him to pull it right over your head.

His eyes rake down your body, lingering on your breasts, “Can I…?”

“Oh, god, yes, please,” you nod and lay back on the bed, holding your hands above your head.

Spencer chuckles and leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth ever so gently, swirling his tongue around the hard bud. You purr, grab a fistful of his hair, and lick your lips. He presses his body weight onto you, holding your other breast in his hand and sucking on your skin.

“F-fuck,” you moan. “Spencer…”

And he moves to the other side of your chest, now more confident, now unstoppable, flicking his tongue on you so fast that it makes your body twitch. He kisses down your tummy, looks up at you as he slides your panties off, kisses on your thighs. He knows how to do this. He’s good at this, per your review and when he puts his mouth on you, the most broken, whiny little noise falls from your lips.

He hums between your thighs, holding your hips tight and flush against his face. With your moans rattling around his skull, he loses all inhibition. He works his tongue on you slow, methodical, in all the right places. You give his hair a soft tug and he grunts, his hand trailing up your waist. You brace your hands on his biceps, squeezing them between your fingers, sighing out his name.

You hook your legs over his shoulders, tightening your thighs around his face, moving your hips up and down to feel his tongue gliding. Wet and sticky like he’s drowning inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you moan. “Yes, Spencer, yes, yes.”

He moans under his breath, quickening his tongue, clamping his hands down on your thighs. You pull at his hair as your back arches off the bed and your legs tremble around his head. He gives your clit a sharp suck and you cry out, gripping onto his hair at the scalp. And when your voice gets so high and whiny that it could break glass, he knows you’re close and he spreads your pussy open, works his tongue on your clit and doesn’t stop.

Your body tenses up and you hold him tight, tight, tight, crying out his name, your breath catching in your throat. And when you come, you collapse with a long and drawn out groan, shoving your fingers in your mouth to catch your breath.

You instantly reach over to the nightstand and grab the condom that’s been waiting all night to be used. Spencer brings his face back to yours and you kiss him instantly, grinning when you feel him pushing his pants down his legs. He lets you roll the condom onto his hard, leaky cock and asks, “Do-do you wanna be on top?”

“No,” you shake your head, wrap your arms tight around his waist. “Stay on top of me,” you say against his lips, “I like it.”

“Okay,” he nods into a kiss with you and settles between your legs. You help him align, you kiss his neck and hold him close as he pushes his cock into you. The both of you gasp, your noses smushed together. “God…” Spencer moans. “You okay?”

You nod, “Mhm. Are you?”

“Mm…” he hums. “Trying not to explode.”

You two chuckle, catching each other in yet another hungry kiss as Spencer starts to move in and out of you slowly. His breathing in low and jagged, hot against your face. He’s so gentle with you, pushing into you with little pressure and caressing your face.

“H-harder…” you pant. “You’re not gonna break me, I promise.”

So he plunges into you a bit harder, a bit deeper and you gasp, “Harder.”

He obeys and angles himself above you, watching your face as he pushes into you with the right amount of force. You moan, your eyes rolling back and your head along with it, “Oh, fuck, yes. Like that.”

“Yeah?” he repeats the movement, his moan blending in with yours.

“Yes,” you nod. “Yes. Yes. Just,” you reach down and start rubbing your clit. “Fuck, keep going.”

And he does. He focuses on keeping his rhythm, slow, but intense, the bed squeaking everytime he moves his hips into yours. You gasp against his lips, wrap your arm around his waist, your hooded eyes focused on his. He runs his hand over your hair, whimpering to you, melting into you, and taking short breaks to keep himself from finishing too soon.

Your fingers get cramped and soaked from the incessant rubbing on your clit but it’s like you can’t stop. Spencer leans in to kiss your neck, his hand absentmindedly running up your ribs and gripping your breast. You hold onto his hair and groan into his ear, his low and breathy moans vibrating against your skin.

“F-fuck!” you cry out as he slams into you. “I’m gonna come, don’t stop. Fuck, please don’t stop.”

But he does, only for a moment because the dirty combination of your voice and your hand tugging his hair and your pussy tightening around him, he’s dangerously close to bringing this entire thing to a premature end. So, he pauses. He takes a breath and he pounds into you. Even slower, over and over and over, watching your face closely, watching you fall apart.

“Oh,” you whine, your fingers quickening on your clit. “God, Spencer,” you moan and then body trembles, tensing up underneath him as you come so hard that you lose your voice. He grunts, falling into a sloppy kiss with you and following right behind you, his body suddenly going weak as he comes, his entire weight placed upon you.

Spencer collapses beside you and instantly pulls you into his chest, squeezing you in his arms and peppering your forehead with kisses. “How was that?” he asks, looking down at you. “Was that good for you?”

You touch your fingertip to his chin and smile, nodding, “Oh, yes.”

“Good,” he hugs you. “Good, good, good. For me, too.”

You smile into a long kiss with him and giggle against his lips. Lying there, your breathing falls in sync and you trace the center of his tummy, sink into the bliss.

“They, uh…” Spencer starts. “They remembered my birthday today. That’s why I was late, they threw me a party.”

You glance up at him, but only for a moment and then you put your head back on his chest. “Oh.”

“It was nice,” he shrugs. “It was fun, but the whole time, I just…thought about you. I thought about how angry I was that they’d forgotten at all and how…how you just made everything so much better,” and he tilts your head up to say this next part directly to you, “You always make everything so much better.”

And as you stare into his eyes, the corners of your mouth turned up ever so sightly, your eyes start to water and your lip starts to quiver.

“Oh,” he softens. “Oh, no. Nooo. Are you crying?”

“No,” you shake your head. Then you put your face in your hands and nod, suddenly sobbing.

“Oh, no, no, [y/n], no, I’m sorry. Did I say something?”

You shake your head.

“What is it? What-what just happened?”

“I-I-I-“ you stutter. Lifting your head from your hands, you cry, “I-I just wish I could tell my friends about you.”

He frowns and takes you into a tight hug, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers to you. “Oh, [y/n], I’m so sorry.”

And because he’s never really seen you cry before, his only thought is to ask, “Do you-do you want me to go down on you again?”

You look up at him, your lip poked out in a dramatic pout and you nod.

“Okay,” he says, climbing on top of you and wiping the tears from your face. “I can do that for you.”

It works. It leads to more sex. The two of you don’t go to bed until the sun has nearly risen and don’t get up until well in the afternoon. Spencer thinks you’re using his dick as a distraction and you fear there’s no respectful way to say: I just can’t get enough. He gives you a few days and nights worth of it and still, it’s not enough.

He’s actively trying to get inside of you when he gets called into work. He’s on top of you, between your legs, pushing his tongue into your mouth when his phone goes off. He pulls away to check it and you whine, “Nooo, noooo, don’t goooo.”

“I have to. People are dying,” and as he speaks, you kiss his neck, touch your tongue to his jaw and he moans, “Oh, god,” before he can stop himself. “[y/n]….”

“Just-stay. Stay. They can save one day without you, can’t they?”

“Actually, I don’t think they can.”

“Ugh. You and your big, useful brain. I’m sick of it.”

“I’ll be back,” he gives you a kiss.

“Nooo, stay,” you hold him tight so he can’t move and he busts out laughing.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

So he showers and gets dressed and you sit on the bed pouting the entire time. He comes out of the bathroom and frowns, matching your pissy and childish expression.

“I will be back,” he tells you as he takes a seat on the bed. “I always come back.”

“I know, I know, I’m just being dramatic. Let me be dramatic.”

“Okay,” he chuckles and gives you a kiss. Nuzzling his nose against yours, he whispers, “You should call your friends.”

You instantly recoil and he puts his hands on your shoulders, “Okay, okay, I know. I know. But I think it’s time. You need them. They need you. You’re an easy girl to miss.”

You roll your eyes and he sighs, kisses your forehead and squeezes you in a hug. “Call them,” he says and then he leaves.

You sit there for a moment, ponder on his words. Ponder on the entirety of the past few days, past few months. You pick up your phone. You stare at it in your palm. You dial your friend’s number and though you don’t expect an answer, she picks up with a, “Hello?”

You take a deep breath, “Hey…”

When Spencer arrives at work, he finds himself heading up the elevator with Morgan who is so completely and totally normal that Spencer thinks he can smell the sex on him. He watches Derek from the corner of his eyes, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel and shuffling on his feet.

Suddenly, Derek smashes the emergency button on the elevator and brings it to a halt. Spencer falls back and grabs onto the wall.

“Why-why-why did you do that?” Spencer stutters, his pulse starting to rise. “Why did you do that? You remember what happened the last time you messed around with the elevator? Turn it back on.”

“Not until,” Derek says, turning to him. “You tell me whatever it is that you’re dying to tell me.”

“I’m…I’m not dying to tell you anything. I’m just scared of dying.”

“Pretty boy. I step in the elevator, you start sweating. I act like I don’t notice, you’re giving me the side eye up four floors. What’s up?”

Spencer closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he stands up straight. Then he falls back again.

“Kid?”

“I’m…” Spencer starts. But he can’t finish. “I’m…” He thinks he doesn’t know what to say. Key word: thinks. But there’s only one sentence swirling around his brain and he has to say it, but he doesn’t want to say it and so he bites his tongue. He shakes his head and then looks up at Derek, “I’m having sex!”

And he says it with such a whiny voice that Derek can’t help but laugh. Visibily.

“I knew it,” Derek says. “You’re shaking in your converse to tell me that?”

“What? What do you mean you knew it?” The response sobers Spencer up a bit, his anxiety weakens just enough so he can figure out why Derek is laughing.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you walkin’ on in here everyday with a lil’ extra pep in ya step,” Derek chuckles. “You’re not that sneaky, kid. I knew there had to be someone.”

Spencer sighs, lets his shoulders relax. “It’s-it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just…sex…lots of sex. Lots of really, really good sex. I think. I think it’s good. It…feels good, seems good. I don’t have much to compare it to but, um…yeah…”

“My man,” Derek laughs and Spencer breaks a smile. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer smiles wider, “[y/n]. She’s gorgeous and smells good and makes me laugh and I…don’t feel weird around her she makes me feel so unbelievably not weird and y-yeah, she’s a little bit younger but I hardly ever notice.”

Derek puts the elevator back in motion, “How young are we talkin’ here?”

“Um, she’s twenty-two.”

Derek replies with nothing more than a whistle and Spencer rolls his eyes, “Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said plenty.”

The elevator dings and they step off, Derek swinging his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get you back to your lady soon.”

And Spencer laughs it off but in his head, he’s thinking: yes, please.

It’s the first week out of town that Derek is suspicious every time Spencer checks his phone. When the case starts to get heavier and harder, Spencer missing a few of his nightly phone calls, you worry. You can’t help it. He texts you when he lands and it’s stupid how wide you smile.

Library? he texts.

Y: Literally on my way.

You approach each other at the front doors, and from far away, you can see the bags under his eyes and the hunch in his shoulders.

“Hey, you,” you cradle his face in your palm. “Tough week?”

He leans into your touch, nodding and closing his eyes to take a moment and reset. When he opens them to find your face, illuminated by the light, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You giggle against his lips and your leg lifts behind you, almost uncontrollably.

You smile at each other and Spencer asks, “Do you like coffee?”

You cackle, “I love coffee.”

He holds the door open for you, asking, “Hey, what do you think about meeting some friends of mine?”

You smile, turn to him, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #Spotify

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montygatorshusband · 11 months

Text

Glamrocks X Reader Headcanons

This includes Bonnie and Foxy!

No one requested this I just really wanted to do this :>

Also so sorry this took a while :< I’ll be sure to do more faster 🩵

General Information

“Sleep mode” is basically like a human sleeping, and their new charging system.

They can do stuff like eat, sleep, drink, shower etc.

🧸Glamrock Freddy🎙️

We all know he’s a big sweetheart himbo.

I feel like he doesn’t like PDA, but does enjoy being around you. He just feels it’s very unprofessional!

But if you're upset, he’ll make an exception.

Oh, but if you're alone with him and his friends? He’ll probably just give you silent affection. Just stand behind you and nuzzle you.

When he’s on full battery, he’s a busy bee and often checks up on you before going back to work. If he’s on low battery though, he generally gets kind of sluggish and gets really tired. During those times, he just wants to cuddle you and is quite needy and clingy.

Loves it when you wear any Pizza Plex merch. Whether it be of his friends or himself.

He finds stars and space in general absolutely fascinating. Despite his wishes to not break rules… he’ll put that aside to go out to see the stars with you.

I feel like he loves retro games. Mario and Sonic and stuff. He finds newer ones a bit complicated, and his big hands make his gameplay clunky, but he’ll happily play any you sneak in.

If your having trouble sleeping or just had a bad day, he’ll sing you My Little Sunshine until you fall asleep… probably even afterwards.

He loves singing for you, and loves it even more when you sing with him. He finds your voice hypnotic and even if you think you're bad, he’s not shy to let you know how much he loves your voice.

Plant daddy. Change my mind.

Loves it when you get along with Gregory.

Giant bear boobies. Touch em.

CHUBBY. GLAMROCK. FREDDY. SUPREMACY!!

Loves baking with you. If you don’t know how, he’s happy to teach you!

One of his all time favorite activities to do with you is just cuddling and relaxing after a looong day… watching TV or YouTube or a Movie or whatever. He loves it.

Calls you honey bear.

If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Envy. (Listen, I know it doesn’t fit. Like, at all. But, the way the rest of the Deady Sins fit with the other Glamrocks is perfect.)

🐊Montgomery Gator⛳️

He’s a complete blockhead. I love him, but he’s dumb. He’s a little stupid. A bit of a fool. Has a small amount of brain cells. Smooth brain. A himbo. A dumb jock. A-

He does have anger issues and destroys his room… but I see it as him being mad at Fazbear Entertainment. Bonnie promised him that when Monty finally got his part on stage, he and Bonnie would play together. Not replacing him. And now everyone sees him as a fame obsessed maniac who wants to dismantle Freddy. Sure, he’s very popular with people, probably one of the most popular, but… does that matter when the person you care about most is gone..?

He’s still a bit sad when Bonnie comes back, since he’s not up on stage with Monty.

Ok angst and stuff aside.

I am completely aware animatronics working out makes no sense but I really don’t care. Like I said, Monty is a Dumb Jock. (Don’t worry, he won’t bully you like the others. In fact he’ll beat ‘em up >:(

Yeah once Bonnie comes back his passion for pranks gets even worse.

A big prankster. Bonnie is his main target.

Flirty. And he’s not good at it.

When he’s confused or focusing really hard on something his tongue slips out of his snout. You got a picture of it and he threw a HISSY FIT. But he reluctantly let you keep it.

Oh dear Lordy. The way he gets oh so embarrassed when he sees you wearing his glasses…

He’s dragged you into the pools of Gator Golf on countless occasions. But after your initial shock, he likes just floating around in there with you.

He’ll happily teach you to swim and play golf. I mean, he’ll always beat you in golf, but the least he can do is give you a chance.

Y'know how people say Roxy is so sure of herself as a coping mechanism? Yeah Monty is like that except he’s just that confident. He thinks he’s the best, and while he doesn’t show off to the point of Roxy, he does crave praise and often boasts about himself to you, trying to impress you. Especially flexing for you.

MONTGOMERY GATOR STOP GETTING HIGH OFF MONTY MIX!

If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Wrath.

🐓Glamrock Chica🍕

CHUBBY CHICA SUPREMACY!

Yes I’m completely aware her attraction is based around Fitness. I feel like part of her job is to teach kids being a bit more chubby than others is a-ok and comforts those who don’t feel confident for that reason.

So yeah if you're chubby she definitely comforts you if you're insecure about it better than anyone else.

She actually has some anxiety. But you generally make it better!

You're gonna have lots of lipstick on your face. She gets all pouty when you wipe it off.

Listen, if a guest is giving you a hard time, she WILL enter Mother Hen mode.

An absolute pop diva. She’s just swag like that. (Can we bring back swag? No? Oh. Ok :(

While she doesn’t have many songs where she sings, she has an absolutely beautiful voice.

I hope you can handle lots of affection, cause she’s a real affectionate chick!

Watching Soap Operas or Dramas while eating pizza and cuddling you is literally the best thing she’s ever been introduced to.

I hope you’ve got an appetite, cause she makes food that will make you want to gorge yourself! Believe it or not, she will be more than happy to share!

Eating is her coping mechanism, and when she’s very upset and doesn’t want to cook, she resorts to eating garbage. You have to be firm with her about it, but she appreciates you not letting her go to those extremes.

Your personal lil cheerleader.

Man, she soooooo wishes she could have social media! Too bad the higher ups are such party poopers…

Such a giggly lil thing.

If she was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, she’d be Gluttony.

🐺Roxanne Wolf🛞

She’s gotten used to praise for the smallest things, and just because she loves you doesn’t mean you're an exception!

Despite that she’s probably taller than you. (Buff Woman make my knees wobble 🫢)

Y’know those tight outfits race car drivers wear? Yeah, imagine Roxy in that.

Despite being the most popular, only behind Freddy, she has so many self esteem issues and doubts in herself. Many nights are spent consoling her as she cries and yells before wearing herself out and finally settling down and letting you hold her, brushing her hair and tail, cleaning any runny mascara and makeup.

Reluctantly lets you put ribbons on her tail. Might even keep them on.

I feel like Roxy doesn’t use that many nicknames. But, she might call you something every once and a while.

That anxiety of hers means she’s got comfort items, fidget toys, food, drinks, music etc in her room. She’ll add any stuff that helps you, regardless if you have anxiety or not.

Y’know how she compliments herself? Oh good GRIEF I hope you can handle compliments towards you. She CONSTANTLY praises you. But… it’s more so you don’t end up like her. An anxiety-depression ridden MESS. If you're already there though, she’ll help you the best she can. Which luckily, she is the best at!

Whether you be playing racing games, or be in Roxy Raceway, she WILL go all out. Yeah, Rip you.

Despite what you may think, she’s VERY open and VERY proud about her relationship with you. Carrying you around, your neck covered in bite marks and purple lipstick doesn’t leave much to the imagination…

She obsessively reads fan mail in the evening. Even the… ahem, weirder, mail doesn’t bother her. Well, as much as comments from people during the day do at least.

Just… don’t play Monopoly or UNO with her… or Monty. Or Chica. Yeah, just don’t play with anyone really.

If she was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, she’d be Pride.

☀️Sundrop🖍️

He’s a little hyperactive. Ok I lied he’s the most hyperactive.

So if you're quite a lazy person he’ll just be trying to encourage you to play with him and the kids. He genuinely does not realize if you're tired unless you tell him, or it’s SUPER obvious.

I feel like he strictly follows rules, yes, but he also likes pranks. Nothing that will make you upset, maybe just a lil annoyed.

Let’s you, and other kids, draw on him. Just know if you do, A. You have to clean it off and B. He’s not a still canvas. Will be moving the entire time.

Not really a romantic headcanon, but I feel like he and Chica are real good friends.

Wraps his arms around you several times over to hug you.

He hugs you. A lot.

He obviously loves cartoons.

🌑Moondrop💤

I dunno why people see him as a little feral touch starved gremlin. I see him as a constantly sleepy boi that loves cuddling. I mean, I’m sure he cuddles plenty of kids to sleep every day!

In other ways, SOFT MOONDROP SUPREMACY!!!!

Yes, I am aware of how he acts in SB, but I see that more of a side effect of the Glitchtrap Virus rather than his general personality.

He doesn’t enjoy not having a movable mouth. He wishes he could eat candy before bed…

If they were one of the Seven Deadly Sins, they’d be Sloth. (Moondrop more so, but I can see Sun being Sloth after a long day.)

Sorry Sun and Moon don’t have a lot, I don’t really know what to say about them.

🐰Glamrock Bonnie🎳

An absolute DILF of a bunny with that ever loving Aussie accent.

He generally has that energy where anyone will do anything he says. Intimidating and quite good at manipulation (ONLY for your best interests. And his.) (Inspired by : @theodorevg923, who generally also gives me inspiration for all of this, alongside many other Tumblrs :)

He couldn’t care less about not being in the band anymore. He comes out at night and hangs out with everyone. As far as he’s concerned, the stress is taken off of him and he gets more time teaching kids bowling.

Flirty. He’s really good at it.

Loves himself some P to the D to the A.

If someone tries making fun of you for him giving you those public displays of affection, he will tell them to F out of his bowling alley. In a bit of an… angrier way.

Loooves Ice Cream. His favorite way to relax is to eat Ice Cream and go bowling with you. He pretty much has a sweet tooth in general. The public will never find out though. He’s got too much of a public image.

But… kids melt that image. He’s got a real sweet spot for the little rascals.

Monty definitely had and still has a crush on him.

He calls you Clover. I know I know, how original.

If you put on a bit more of a… ahem, reavealing outfit, he will stutter and blush like a mess before going back to his usual calm and relaxed self.

And if you pet his ears? He will absolutely melt. You usually don’t see Soft Bonnie, so take your chance!

If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Lust.

🦊Glamrock Foxy🏴‍☠️

He’s a small grumpy old man. Ok, I’m exaggerating but I see him as the oldest, and shortest, animatronic in the Pizza Plex (Not including general animatronics like S.T.A.F.F. Bots or the Robot Wet Floor Signs. And Chica, who between you and me, doesn’t realize she’s short.)

But he’s real sweet when he’s not a salty sea dog.

He’s got worse anger issues than Monty, but he doesn’t show it. You can still tell though. His nose and eye twitch. Don’t call him short either, that will get them WAY worse.

Oh yeah, the eyepatch isn't just for display. He only has one eye.

Has a taste for alcohol, specifically rum. Obviously, he can’t get drunk, but he’ll drink with ya, if you're of age and he will cut you off at your limit.

A Bloody Irish Pirate. I will hear nothing else.

He has to rest a lot. Don’t get me wrong, he’s fast, but after he runs or something he has to rest up a little.

Unlike Bonnie, he doesn’t know his place now he’s been shafted from the band. He doesn’t even know why he’s not in the band anymore… but considering you found him pretty much erased from history aside from the odd poster, no recollection of any animatronic even being a fox… he fears the worst.

Yeah you pretty much had to throw a FIT before Fazbear Entertainment fixed Foxy up. An even bigger fit was needed to reintroduce him to the public. An even BIGGER one for him to have his hook during work hours.

Man loves gold and money. He is a pirate.

And if you give him other gifts, he’ll cherish them just as equally.

He’s very jealous. A lonely pirate needs to keep his greatest treasure after all~

Nicknames : Sailor, Captain (Only when you’ve earned it. And only in private.), Sea Star, Pup

If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Greed.

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT TIME TO WORK ON ACTUAL REQUESTS!

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Hi lovely!! How are you? I completely understand if you aren’t comfy writing this but I was wondering if you could write something with Sirius x reader where she enjoys sex but bc of how she was raised she feels guilty for enjoying it/wanting it if that makes sense? Just him reassuring her that it’s okay to want it and it doesn’t make her dirty or wrong.

Again, I completely get if you aren’t okay writing it, I love your stories so much. Thank you!!

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: smut, mdni, reader has negative associations with sex and "impurity"

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius’ breath is hot on your ear, moving the baby hairs there slightly. You think dizzily that it’s almost like having a hair dryer pointed at you. Except a hair dryer would never say the things he’s telling you.

“There y’go.” He kisses the skin just shy of your ear, a tiny reward. “Just like—fuck, just like that. Good fucking girl.”

The high you get from the praise comes with a bite of shame. You try to ignore the latter, fisting your hands in the covers as Sirius quickens his pace and the feeling in your core builds and builds, your cunt gripping his cock for dear life. Sirius’s hands are at your chest, still confined in the corset top you’d worn out tonight. He squeezes your boob through the fabric, and you have to bite your lip to suppress the moan that rises from the back of your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans when you tighten on him again. “You like that?”

You nod, too self-conscious and delirious with pleasure to attempt speech.

Sirius kisses you, working your bottom lip free of your teeth as he grips your boob more intentionally. It comes readily out of your top and into his palm, where Sirius kneads at it diligently. You’re making sounds into his mouth now, but so is he, and when his thumb pushes over your nipple at the same time as he drives into you, you finish only a few seconds before he does.

“Damn,” Sirius says when he can speak again. He’s panting, pulling out of you slowly to lie on the bed beside you. “That top is something else. I didn’t know you even had clothes like that, you sneak.”

When you blush, it’s from more than just his teasing tone. “Only this one,” you say, as though that’s some kind of excuse. You usually would never wear a top like the one Sirius has half torn off you tonight, but you’ve admired the way he and his friends dress ever since you met them. You want to be that bold, that unafraid. And when you’d seen the corset top in a thrift store a couple months back, it had struck you instantly as something the person you wanted to be might wear. Someone more daring than you truly were. It had taken you until tonight to work up the gall to actually wear it outside of your bedroom, but Sirius had not let its debut go by unappreciated.

“Well, if you feel like buying more,” Sirius says against your shoulder, kissing at your hot skin with casual reverence, “you won’t catch me complaining. You look hot in it.” He nibbles at your clavicle. “Although I guess that’s true of everything you wear.��

Your face burns. “Thanks.”

Sirius must hear something of your hesitation in your voice, because he picks his head up, gray eyes narrowing at you. “You don’t agree?” he asks, and he’s still trying to play, one eyebrow arching dramatically.

You laugh. It’s so obviously forced that Sirius drops the act instantly, pushing up on his elbows to see you more clearly. He unsticks a strand of hair from your sweaty cheek, running it between his fingers. “Something the matter, pretty girl?”

Something is the matter. You feel like you always do after sex, but worse because of the showy top that had provoked Sirius’ advances in the first place. You feel guilty, dirty, the stickiness between your thighs more like grime now than pleasure. You feel like you might be a “good girl” the way Sirius means, but you’re miles off from the sort of good you were raised to be.

“Sweetheart,” Sirius croons, and he’s wheedling, “I think I know what you’re thinking, and if I’m right, you know it’ll make you feel better to talk about it.”

You sigh. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s as good as an admittance. “I don’t mean to take all the fun out of it.”

“Hey.” He sweeps the piece of hair behind your ear, giving you a look nearly as stern as it is fond. “I’m not having any fun if you’re not, got it? And I wouldn’t want to.” Your gaze drops, and Sirius moves his hand to your face, angling it gently to face him. “We should both be able to enjoy ourselves,” he says.

“I know.” You sigh again. You can’t seem to stop; it’s as if all the air wants to flee your body as badly as you do. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy it…it’s that I don’t enjoy enjoying it.” You try to crack a joke, and Sirius gives you a small smile, pecking you on the cheek for your efforts. “It’s hard to reprogram myself to think of sex as something that I’m allowed to like, you know?”

Sirius’ grin fades as he nods, eyebrows drawn together pensively. “I think so,” he says. “When I first figured out I liked boys too, it took me a long time to feel like I wasn’t doing something wrong, even though I knew everyone I actually cared about would be fine with it. It’s…like, you have to convince yourself every time that you’re not going to get in trouble, and that even if you do, anyone who could be upset with you is on the wrong side of things.”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished. “Exactly,” you say, fighting the urge to draw your knees to your chest, to make yourself small. “It’s hard to put out the voices saying otherwise, though.”

Sirius hums. “Well,” he says softly, lowering himself over you to press a kiss to your jaw, “suppose you just listen to my voice instead.” He moves downward, to your neck, your chest. The warmth in your core flares up anew. “Whaddya think, my sweet girl?” When he gets to your navel, he slides off the end of the bed. “Wanna try convincing yourself it’s alright while I convince you too?”

You draw breath to answer, but it turns to a gasp when Sirius hooks his hands under your knees without warning, yanking you to the end of the bed. He waits there patiently, breath warming your inner thighs. You can’t find your voice, but you nod. Sirius grins.

“Alright. That’ll do for now, baby, but soon I wanna hear you enjoying yourself. Gonna show those voices who’s really in charge.”

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uplatterme · 10 months

Text

love bites ♡

—cannibalism, s&m dynamics, bondage, blindfold, ball gag, double penetration, toys | dom!reader/sub!aether, s!reader/m!aether, reader is not gender-specified but does penetrate, aether's genitals are referred to with both cunt and cock (it is mentioned he has two holes + a cervix, but i didn't intend for him to be afab/intersex i just wrote ig?) —this is short. it's been in my drafts because i wanted to add more but i think this is fine tbh.

The ground below Aether is entirely soaked with his fluids. Both of his holes are filled, being controlled by the remote in your hand. It’s currently at a steady rhythm, but that doesn’t stop him from whining.

Aether’s head tilts back, a muffled groan erupting from his throat as another hit from your whip laid against his bare skin.

His steps staggered on the floor, only able to stand up with the tip of his toes as his wrists were tied too high to the ceiling, his short stature being barely even able to touch the ground with his feet.

It’s only been a couple of minutes or so, maybe an hour? He couldn’t tell accurately with the gag and blindfold numbing most of his senses so that he’d only focus on the pain you were giving to his rear.

The room was quiet except for the occasional screams and hitting, or the liquid that squirts onto the floor as Aether moans loudly onto the ball gag.

It was never easy whenever your jealousy took over you…but it was definitely fun. Especially for the immortal star whose skin was starting to bruise.

“They don’t deserve you.” Your voice rings in his ears.

“You don’t need to think of them, just focus on me.”

You take off the gag, dropping it mindlessly as it clatters on the ground. Next followed the blindfold, and though his eyes were stained, that didn’t take away from their shine.

With ease, you pull out the vibrator in his front. His wetness leaves a trail as you easily pull it out with how wet his insides are.

Aether flinches at the way he’s suddenly left feeling empty.

Although that doesn’t last long as that’s when he feels you stretching his hole, filling him tightly until he’s squirming onto nothing, unable to hold himself or even crawl away.

“If I can’t keep you in here, I suppose I’ll just leave enough marks so everyone knows who you belong to.”

Aether whines at the prospect. He knows it’s a useless threat, especially with how he heals much faster than humans. Stil, he did appreciate the—Oh.

A loud scream leaves the outlander’s throat dry.

“Hnnghh—Aahh…Haah!”

His entire body shakes from the pain, his movements causing you to go deeper into him. A cry leaving him from feeling everything all at once.

He did not expect you to do that.

“S-So mean…” He breathes out, watching the blood from his shoulder drip down his body. Yet there’s a matching red blush on his face, as if what you did was something all normal couples do.

“You taste good.” You compliment, the torn flesh going down smoothly as you swallow.

Aether’s face leans towards you as if asking for you to share what his own body tastes like. Your lips close together, his tongue grasping the remains from you biting a part of his collar. He’s never tasted himself before, though that thought was always something he was curious about, the only problem was that he was too much of a coward to do it.

You two continue kissing, you pressing deep into his cervix, the pain coursing through him as he matches your rhythm.

“You’re so cheesy…” He states after he finally pulls back.

“What else am I supposed to do if you keep healing through all the marks I make? Hopefully, this one lasts more than a week.”

“It will…Maybe, you can just bite me again to be sure…” He suggests.

“This is supposed to be your punishment, you know?” You remind him, though it’s difficult to stay mad with the kind of faces that he pulls against you.

“It’s not my fault you get jealous easily.” He refutes.

“I don’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Aether says, smiling as he snickers a laugh which quickly gets cut off when you continue thrusting into him again.

“You speak when I tell you to.”

He doesn’t get to argue this time, his mind too focused on the way he’s getting penetrated so deeply. He’s forced to take each pounding, each inch that rubs against his walls sending him closer to another orgasm. His choked-up sounds continue to leak out with the thought of you being so possessive of him.

Your hands reach his cunt, his swollen cock begging to be touched. And so you fulfill that wish, earning another whimper when you slap his cock.

He’s so out of it. He loves how his body feels so much of a wreck, his sweat mixing with blood, and eventually with his cum.

He pants, his hands still tied up. His entire body trembles, the feeling of you pulling out is so agonizing itself. He wants to keep you in, he needs it. He has to take advantage of you as he doesn’t know how long until he can experience this high again.

So with a shaky voice, he asks.

“More?”

#plattered writings #sub aether #aether x reader #genshin aether x reader #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #genshin impact smut #genshin smut

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avocadoguru · 8 months

Text

He was staring at her in a way no one had in her entire life. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes - not surprise, not fear, not malicious intent - nothing. (wolfrry, werewolf!harry, alpha!harry, ranger!y/n)

Lupus Noctis- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

Chapter 11 / alternatively, read on wattpad

Chapter 12 (word count: 9k) -updated September 6

“So… did you figure it out, yet?”

Harry didn’t even have time to find it funny, “Why wouldn’t you have said anything to me? This is… What do I do? Does she know? She wouldn’t know yet, would she? I don’t think she knows… Niall, I don’t know how to handle something like this!”

Harry’s emotions were high. And for good reason. What he’d just seen had him shaken. And it also meant that she’d been turned against her will by a psychopath. He was glad he’d murdered James but this would always be a reminder of what had happened and who had done it.

He had been curious about a few little things. The first was obviously the speed at which she’d recovered and then there was her sudden spunk. Her heightened sense of smell was peculiar when she picked out that he was to be making eggs benedict, which should have tipped him off right away. How had she guessed? The sauce wasn’t something that most humans could pick out from a small leak in a jar in a bag full of other more fragrant groceries.

“What happened that made you realize?”

“I saw her eyes turn golden. Just wish you’d said something.”

Niall had a hunch about her sudden natural reparative abilities, but he couldn’t be 100% sure at the time.“Harry, you have to understand, man. I didn’t say anything because it was either I was wrong or I was right and you’d figure it out anyway. It was better not to say anything if by chance she was just recovering in a way that doesn’t normally happen in humans. Sometimes things do happen that don’t make sense medically. I figured it was better to just wait and see.”

Harry paced, all the way to the furthermost corner of his expansive garden, outside of Y/N’s earshot. His towel tied tight around his waist as he ran his hands through his damp hair, “You could have at least given me a heads up. What do I do?”

Niall breathed out a laugh, “How should I know? I’m a medical doctor! I’m not cut out for emotional therapy. I’ve never dealt with anything like this. But you’ll figure it out.”

“I know. I just… how do I tell her?”

“Harry, again, I don’t know. We’re talking about a human that has been turned and I’m not familiar with all of this. It’s very unconventional. This kind of thing only happens in extremely rare cases and never in my life have I met a human that’s been turned. I’ve heard about it, just never known someone that it happened to. How has she been acting? What caused her eyes to change?”

Harry cleared his throat and looked up at his house, remembering to keep his voice down, “She’s been… very ready to do stuff. Awake. Wants to go for a swim. Is hungry. Um… a little bit bossy with me even.”

Niall hummed into the receiver, “Bossy… and what happened to have her eyes change?”

Harry could almost hear the cheek in his voice, “She was… I think maybe just excited. She’s been in a really good mood since I came back with groceries a bit ago.”

“Right… a good mood. Well, it’s doctor’s orders to take it easy on her. She might be… well… able to tolerate more, but… she’s still recovering. And so are you.”

A scoff fell from Harry’s lips, “Fine. No advice for me then?”

“Sorry, man. Never dealt with anything like this before. As you know, it’s exceptional that anyone would survive being bitten and getting turned. I just think that’s remarkable… The way you’ve been adamant she’s your mate, all this time. She really is your mate. Only your true mate could’ve survived turning for you.”

Y/N was onto Harry. She knew that he wasn’t running out to his car just to get something. Sure he ran out the front door but the way he reacted to her standing so close to him was a little out of character. Perhaps, she decided, that he was trying to “behave” and not push her into anything intimate. That made sense. She was still recovering from what she was told were deadly injuries. But that in itself was a mystery to her. She felt fine for the most part.

She’d unpacked the groceries and left out the ingredients to make the eggs benedict when Harry was in the shower. But getting interrupted by the way he had groaned and then, the thing that had started to become a big question at the front of her mind, was his scent. It was his natural musk but she could smell him from all the way downstairs in the kitchen while he was in the shower. It was his groan, however, that had her feet carrying her upstairs to check on him. Just to see.

She didn’t know why he’d suddenly become so timid with her. Why he was shying away from her. It was subtle but she noticed it.

When he came back inside, dawning only the towel he tucked around his waist he slowed his movements as he saw her standing there with a knowing look on her face.

“What happened?”

Harry tilted his chin up to feign more confidence than he was feeling in her presence suddenly. It was as if he was looking at her with new eyes. She was like him now and her senses would pick apart the subtlest changes, “I thought I’d left the butter in the car. Wouldn’t have wanted it to melt.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him as he walked past her into the kitchen, “But you didn’t go to your car.”

Harry clenched his jaw and stopped in his tracks. It was going to be difficult to pretend he didn’t know what was going on but he wanted to wait a little longer before telling her in hopes of her figuring it out herself. Or, in any case, he needed to figure out a way to ease her into this. He didn’t want her to freak out, or be by herself when she did figure it out. But he needed time to process it himself; all he knew was that he couldn’t just blurt it out to her out of nowhere.

He hated to have to go right back to keeping secrets from her again, especially such a huge one, and especially something that affected her directly. By some miracle he didn’t lose her, she was still there with him by choice, he just couldn’t handle losing her for good if she took to the news badly. Which she had every right to… just as much as she’d had every right to be as upset with him as she’d been just a little while back. He thought back then that he’d lost her for good. And now he had to prepare himself for the possibility of having his heart broken all over again.

The way he handled this was crucial. A wrong move and he could fuck it all up forever. He needed to tread carefully.

He looked at her with squinted eyes, “How do you know I didn’t check the car?”

Y/N paused. She had been feeling like her senses were somehow heightened. Her hearing, her sense of smell… She pondered his question as he continued walking into the kitchen. Looking at his broad shoulders and his back had her wishing he hadn’t run off when he did.

“It’s kind of weird, you know… I’ve been, like, experiencing these weird things. I can hear so clearly and my sense of smell is…” she thought back to the panties she found but decided to keep that bit of information until the time was right, for later, “and I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s all in my head? I feel like maybe I should call Niall…”

Harry watched her carefully as she mulled over everything and he pulled out two eggs from the carton before she continued, “So when I couldn’t hear the car door, I guess I just assumed…” She scoffed, hearing herself out loud. She sounded like a nutcase. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hear the car door all the way from upstairs. “Sorry. I’m being weird. But… right now I’m actually starving so if that butter made it alive let’s eat.”

Harry had Y/N heat the hollandaise while he prepared the rest of the ingredients. But she was clearly still mulling over their interaction upstairs. He noticed her eyes dragging down his bare chest and stopping at his crotch repeatedly. And he could tell she was not only hungry for food but she also had a bit of an appetite for something carnal as well.

He cleared his throat when he turned to find her leaning on the island and watching him, “Gonna burn the sauce.”

Her grin was playful and Harry felt his blood heat up as she spoke, “Turned it off already. The lid will keep it warm.” She didn’t remove her gaze from him. She was making it very clear what she wanted and he wondered if she was aware of what she was doing or not.

As much as he’d have loved to have bent her over the kitchen island and take care of his girl the way she needed he couldn’t allow that. Not until they at least had a real conversation. About what she’d seen. About how she was feeling.

When she began to walk toward him she realized it was like something was just drawing her to him. She wanted to… what did she want? Breakfast was nearly ready and she was very hungry, and yeah, she wanted to eat but what she really wanted was to bite him. Just to nip his shoulder or his neck. His pecs. She didn’t know why her urge was so strong but the moment she was close enough to touch him Harry stood up straight and he looked away from her sultry gaze, “Uh, I’m just gonna go and get dressed and then we’ll eat.”

Breakfast was tasty. It was nourishing and filled her belly, mostly. She felt like she could eat more but Harry’s scent and his hands and his lips were distracting. And the way he kept keeping her at arm’s length had her feeling even more insatiable for him. She knew he was doing it because he was worried about hurting her but she was going to explode if he didn’t do something.

Turning to face his pretty girl he nearly gave in right then and there, seeing the ravenous look in her eyes. He could practically read her mind, that’s how loud she was thinking those dirty thoughts. And he wanted to give in, he wanted to kiss her, hold her, feel her body against his. Taste her… He shook his head as he got off the stool and pulled himself away reluctantly, grabbing their dirty dishes.“Let’s go for a swim. Like you wanted. I think I know a great place. Secluded. Not in the preserve.” Harry rinsed the dishes as he spoke. He could feel her eyes burning into his back but he needed to keep moving, keep his thoughts from wandering too far. Distract her if he could. He felt he could use a swim himself. Get out some of his pent-up emotions and energy.

“That sounds great, actually,” she grinned and lifted herself up to sit on the counter next to where he was washing the dishes, “I feel like I need to move and exert some energy. A little exercise would be good I think. A swim.”

The drive to the new spot wasn’t as quick as it would have been if they’d driven to the preserve and parked and hiked up to their special hidden oasis. But they both knew they couldn’t go back there. Maybe ever. Y/N stopped herself from initiating conversation the whole drive there, and she could tell Harry was holding back, too. She just wasn’t quite ready to address all of that; she at least wanted to go for this swim first. That would hopefully make her feel a bit better. She felt absolutely fine apart from the fact she felt she didn’t fit into her own skin. She was aching to move, burn some energy off, and she suspected it was due to the fact that she was sexually frustrated.

Y/N decided to google her symptoms to pass the time quicker on their drive to this new, secluded place Harry had suggested. She was not quite understanding the way she was able to smell everything so clearly. She typed in sudden heightened sense of smell into the search bar. Scrolling through the various results and webmd articles she landed on something that might explain the strange phenomenon.

Synesthesia could be the answer. It wasn’t uncommon for people that had gone through life-threatening injuries. She wasn’t 100% sure that was what was causing her to smell and hear things she would have never been able to before but at least it was some kind of answer. Something to ask Niall about when she did finally talk to him about all this.

Harry parked his car off the road and tucked away behind large pines and in the grass. It was miles from the preserve and in an area where the mountains were not protected or worked by the rangers. Some of it was privately owned land that hadn’t been touched in decades.

“The swimming cove is a spot I used to come to when I had time to waste and wanted to venture away from the preserve.” Harry spoke as he grabbed her bag from her, putting it over his shoulder and began walking toward the fence that clearly meant the area was off limits.

The overgrowth of vines and grass indicated that no one had been in these parts in a very long time. Which put Y/N at ease. She followed him, scaling the fence easily and trekking through the acreage close behind.

The upward hike was off trail and cumbersome but once they began making their way down into the valley from where they’d hiked Y/N saw the ridges of the mountain and a level area below with a ravine.

“Your sense of direction is astonishing,” she commented as they carefully trekked down toward where they could hear the water flowing, “But I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re a…” she stopped just before she could say the word. She still had to get used to that idea. That he was a werewolf. Part human, part beast.

Harry turned to look at her, stopping his pace suddenly as he raised his brows at her, “A werewolf? Is that what you were going to say?”

Nodding her head she shrugged, “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be called that. Or… I don’t know. Is it okay to say it?”

The gentle smile that took over his features told her it was, though he didn’t respond to her question with words.

Looking down to the sandy portion of the ravine Harry pointed, “Just there. It’s beautiful once you see it from the ground. Come on.”

Y/N was wearing her hiking boots while Harry was in his signature chelsea boots, making the descent to the cove look like child’s play. She was now hyper aware of why he was so good at hiking and trekking and staying steady even in such posh shoes. Everything that had suddenly come to light about what he really was had answered so many questions for her.

But the moment they were standing in the wet sand before the cove where the ravine led, all her thoughts about what Harry was had vanished. Another breathtaking spot with not a single human soul to be seen.

Harry placed their bags on the rocks to keep them dry and began to take his boots off as he watched Y/N curiously. He had been careful not to allow her to over exert herself but she was easily keeping up with him and she seemed fine. She was fine. Her heartbeat was steady and strong, her body had barely broken out in a sweat and she had a wide smile on her face as she looked around.

“Harry, this is… it’s perfect!” She was eager to move her limbs in the cool water. Feel the weightlessness take over and play around with Harry.

She looked over at him as he was undressing, taking his clothes off, his boots already on the rocks next to the bags. So she followed suit. Taking her own boots off and peeling her pants down her legs.

Harry was already jumping into the water by the time Y/N had stuffed her shirt onto the pile of clothes. Looking down over her body she did see the awful scar. The wound was healed but the remnants of what had happened was obvious. She hesitated to remove her bra as she brushed a hand over the raised skin.

“Everything okay?” Harry called to her. She looked out toward him, handsome with wet hair as he came in closer to her.

“Yeah. Just… saw this and…” she ran her fingers from the top of her clavicle downward over the scar to under her breast, “I guess I feel lucky to even be alive. Here with you.”

She kept her eyes on his as she unhooked the back of her bra and removed it.

Harry watched her as she bent down and took her panties off. He was already hard just seeing her bare body but the scar across her chest kept him in check. She was still recovering. Still figuring out what was going on.

The somber moment was suddenly over the minute she jumped into the water next to Harry and began to laugh. The water was frigid but it felt fantastic. Normally she would feel discomfort but right now her body was adjusting to it just fine, feeling invigorated and alive.

Stretching her limbs in the water she ducked her head under to swim closer to Harry and grasped his wrist.

Harry pulled her up and she tugged his arm around herself. Both grinning ear to ear with the closeness. He was just glad she was feeling playful. That she wasn’t upset or hurt by what had happened. At least in that moment she wasn’t. He knew she’d have lots of questions for him. Knew they needed to have a conversation but for now the light hearted moment was the only thing he could focus on. And her warm skin against his.

She was more than just playful though. She was horny and Harry knew it. Having her naked in the cool water of a private cove in the mountains was risky. Because he was turned on too. And he knew he was asking for trouble with this scenario. It evoked memories of their time together at the oasis in the preserve.

He could resist her for only so long. She was laying it on thick in his house during breakfast and now with his clothes off and his obvious erection it would be even harder to resist her.

Harry pulled his arm away and began to swim backwards, gliding through the water smoothly, putting some distance between himself and the girl.

“Where are you going?” She laughed and began to swim toward him slowly.

Harry shook his head and feigned innocence, “What do you mean? Just swimming is all,” he bit the inside of his cheek to tamper the playful grin on his face.

Instead of continuing after him she decided she’d lure him to her. She ducked under the water again, kicking her feet out and splashing as she maneuvered under the water before surfacing, bouncing out just enough that her breasts were visible to him.

She watched him closely as she pushed herself back and stretched her arms to float at the surface. The tranquility of having her ears tucked under the water, muffling all the sounds that surrounded them, and floating in the mountain chilled water on her back was just like being back at her oasis. She smiled to herself and peeked an eye at Harry. To her delight, he was already watching her closely.

His eyes were clearly taking in her soft breasts with tightened nipples perking above the water. She wouldn’t tease him too much but she wanted his hands on her. Wanted his attention. Wanted him to give in to her. She knew what he was doing. Knew he was trying to keep his distance because she needed to heal. But that just made her want him more. His gentlemanly and thoughtful attempts to keep her healthy and the way he was doing it because he cared for her. Denying himself something she knew he wanted as a way of protecting her.

Harry decided to peel his eyes from her body and float on his back too. He needed to straighten out his thoughts and get his mind out of the gutter. He closed his eyes and tried to train his dirty thoughts away. He knew his body was calling him to take care of his natural urges with his mate. And now that she was like him… she was very likely made exactly for him in every way.

But he couldn’t just act on his desires. He didn’t want to hurt her and he was sure if they did have sex she’d display even more evidence of being like him and that could scare her. If she somehow dropped her fangs in the middle of her orgasm or her claws came out while he was pounding into her – yeah, his thoughts weren’t helping. All of that sounded absolutely delightful and he’d love to feel her fangs puncture into his skin, or have her claw up his back and chest.

“Harry,” he heard her voice speak his name and he popped his eyes open, dropping the lower half of his body back into the water and letting his toes scrape along the rocky sand.

She saw the way his erection was bobbing just above the water every time his chest inhaled and he floated upward the tiniest bit. And then his eyes on hers were dark. She could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest, not unlike her own wildly pumping heart.

Something in her decided to cut the shit. She was feeling bold. Feeling like he wanted exactly what she wanted and as nice as it was to be cared for and protected by him she wanted him to fuck her. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and to give himself to her once and for all.

“Stop this,” she spoke matter-of-factly as she swam around his body. “I can see clearly how affected you are by me.”

Touching his shoulder she moved her finger down over his tattoos and to his pecs, thumbing at his nipple and watching his eyes, “I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to keep holding off and denying yourself, Harry.” She moved herself in front of him and draped her arms over his shoulders.

Without another thought, Harry’s hands moved down to her waist as he pulled her in closer to him, “I want you healthy is all. And I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Nodding her head she agreed. That was true. They needed to talk. But something inside of her needed something physical. She needed it to uncloud her brain and give her some kind of clarity. She couldn’t explain it, she just knew she needed it. More than a talk. As important as that was, she was sure she wouldn’t ever be able to focus on anything he told her if he didn’t fuck her first.

“Yes. We will talk. But I don’t know how to explain the way I feel in this moment, how much I need you.” She bit her lip and pushed her hips to his, his cock firm on her thigh, “It’s kind of painful actually.”

Harry could feel her warm against his prick as he looked down to see her breasts grazing against his chest. Painful? Yes, perhaps she was feeling that natural physical urge to release just like he was. That’s how it was for his kind, though he was used to it. Used to the pain of holding off and not allowing himself to indulge right away. She was not used to the way it felt. The ache that wasn’t just from being horny. It was something deep and raw. A biological and natural instinct his kind, their kind possessed.

He knew the pain well. Knew it could be pushed down and she’d be okay. But she was new to all this. And even with the water around them he could smell how intensely she needed him. Needed him to soothe her. And he was the only one that could provide that for her too. He knew that even if she masturbated she wouldn’t be fully comforted. It would pacify her for a bit. Maybe an hour but she wouldn’t be fulfilled. She wasn’t going to feel better until he took care of her. But he needed to be careful.

“I think you need to recover first, kitten.” Harry let the little nickname he’d given her so long ago slip out. Or maybe he’d done it on purpose. There was something about her that was feeding into his own urges. She was drawing them out of him with just her eyes. The change in her was so deep and it tangled with his own impulses and senses that he could barely think straight. He was more drawn to her than he’d ever been and he knew it was because of the change. Because she was like him now. His perfect match.

“Harry,” she spoke softly as she kept her eyes on his, a hand moving over his warm chest, “I trust you. I know you would never hurt me and I can tell you need it too. You need me just as much.”

She could just sense his need. And it wasn’t just the fact that he had an erection. She knew it before all that. She felt it back at his house. Something between them had shifted and it was as if she could anticipate his needs without him having to tell her or show her.

His teeth ached to kiss her and to bite her. A carnal and spiritual feeling overwhelmed him. His willpower was incredible but there was only so much he could take. He was as weak as any man and her wolf was luring his out to play. Perhaps he could be gentle. She needed him. She needed him.

He grasped the back of her head and his lips found her mouth. The kiss was hot and electric and wild. She lifted a thigh up to his hip and he used his free hand to keep it in place, pasting their hips together.

The whimper that fell from his mouth had her grinning and feeling powerful. She grasped onto his shoulders and let the weightlessness of the water aid her in lifting her other leg to wrap around his hips. Harry groaned and brought his other hand down to keep her thighs held up in place.

Their naked bodies were in sync as he began to walk her out of the water and to the small spot where the sand met the craggy rocks. He’d take care of her. Make love to her gently and soothe her ache. Soothe his own ache.

Their mouths never parted as he walked out of the water and carefully placed her down into the sand, his knees falling into the granules as he put himself between her thighs. With her legs open he could smell her in a way that was overwhelming. He groaned and licked into her mouth before parting from the kiss with a gasp.

The scar on her chest and over her neck had him filled with jealousy and hatred. He was glad he’d killed James for even placing a finger on his girl. His lips pressed over her scar just above her breast and she ran her fingers into his long hair as he pecked wet kisses along the skin that had been forever marred.

“I’m going to make it better,” he whispered between kisses, “Make you feel whole again. Give you everything you need. Show you what it means to be mine…”

She closed her eyes and threw her head back as his mouth worked upward slowly and over the skin on her neck. His tongue laved softly and his lips grazed over the sensitive spots that were still healing. She had never felt such need before in her life. Sure she’d been horny before and had never been more turned on by anyone the way she was with Harry. But this was different. Something else was at play and she didn’t have the mind to dwell on it. She only knew that she needed him.

“Please…” she breathed out her plea as his warm mouth soothed her flesh and his nose nudged at her jaw.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” He continued kissing every inch of her scar as he pushed her back down into the sand, “I’m the only one that can make it better.”

She knew it was true. Whatever was happening in her could only be quieted by him.

Nodding her head she spread her legs further, hoping he’d put her out of her misery and fuck her into oblivion, “Harry, please…”

He looked down over her soft body and the scars, and felt emotions rise in his heart. He hated James even in his death, but he was beyond grateful that she was still his. That she was alive. He would worry later about the guilt and the real issue at hand. His own urges and her excruciating need were beckoning to be dealt with immediately. He could practically feel the ache in her body. Her tummy was emanating heat and he felt bad that she was in such pain. She wasn’t used to this level of arousal and need yet. She would learn to deal with it eventually but for now he would give her relief.

Her cry of pleasure was loud, echoing off the rocks of the cove that surrounded them as he placed his mouth on her throbbing pussy, already pulsing and clenching and dripping.

The sting of her fingers pulling at his hair had him growling into her with delight. He could tell she was urging him in harder but he was going to resist doing anything hard or painful. That would come later. When he was certain she was ready for it.

His tongue was wide and flat as he tugged it up and down her slick cunt. She was so wet he was certain he couldn’t possibly lick it all up and the flavor was just like before but now it tasted truly nourishing to him. He held her thighs apart gently as he dove into her like she was a meal. Licking and sucking at her bits.

She writhed and moaned, her hips lifting off the sand and bucking into his face making him nearly lose his grip on her thighs. She was strong. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was still getting used to the notion that she was like him now.

“Fuck… yes…” she cooed loudly as his scalp was on fire from the way she was yanking his hair.

Harry didn’t lift his mouth to chuckle or respond and taunt her like he wanted. He needed to make her come so he kept his lips at work on her pussy.

When he began to kiss her clit and pull at it with the smallest nip she squealed and cried out his name as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He held her down but he didn’t want to hurt her so he moved his palms up to grip the underside of her knees to keep her legs pressed down.

She continued bucking as her muscles tensed and her moans grew louder. His nose and mouth and chin were shiny and sticky with her as he rubbed his nose into her clit and stuck his tongue into the opening and past her little muscle, the slick gushing noises the only background sound to her gasps and soft pants.

Harry was feeling his own cock leak and throb. Just tasting her and knowing how good he was making her feel was putting him on edge. He swallowed down her arousal and took a gasp of breath before putting his face back into her cunt for more.

She’d never felt it like this before. Something far more intense was happening in her body and she didn’t know if it was because it was her first orgasm since she nearly died or just knowing that Harry was a werewolf and he was probably enjoying the taste of her in a way she never realized before. That all those times he’d told her how much he liked her scent and her taste, he wasn’t just saying it to make her feel good, he actually meant it. Or just knowing that he was a werewolf in general… probably all of the above.

When her orgasm snapped over her body she tightened her grip on his hair he grunted into her pussy in pain, but it didn’t stop him from lapping at her and sucking her clit. She was shaking so hard and pulling at his hair so tight that he was having a hard time moving his mouth over her the way he wanted. Instead, she was moving his face over her soft crease and clit the way she wanted.

Her cries were loud. It almost sounded as if someone was hurting her. Like she was wailing in pain and anguish. Harry understood that this was because of her intense need to release. Her first release as a werewolf by the hands of her lover. Her mate. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head in ecstasy of his own. He’d not come but he could. His own cock was neglected and hot and if he allowed it, he’d come all over himself and the sand below. But he wanted to come inside of her. He wanted to feel her around him and he knew she was going to want it.

The part of him that wanted to wait and to talk first was already a distant memory left back in his kitchen. His instincts and his wolf had taken over at that moment.

He felt her release his hair as she sighed, wiggling underneath him.

Y/N grabbed at him, pulling him up and over her, “Want you inside me, right now. Do it while I’m still pulsing around nothing.”

Harry was beyond trying to fight this, eating her out had driven him over the edge. He was determined to give her everything she wanted and luckily for him, it was exactly what he wanted as well. The way she’d clawed at him to get him on top of her made him feral, he wondered if she was realizing the amount of force she’d just exerted in doing so, but he couldn’t dwell on it for too long, not when he looked down at her and she looked like she was going to howl with how much she wanted it.

She yanked him against her lips and devoured his mouth, licking her arousal off of him and humming profusely, and in turn, Harry didn’t waste a single moment longer before sinking himself into her juicy cunt. The cry she let out was akin to an injured wolf’s and he knew he wasn’t hurting her, she was just giving in to her natural instincts now. That of letting him dominate her completely.

He pulled back a bit to watch her and when she opened her eyes and her golden irises flashed at him he groaned loudly, allowing his own to take over. Her mouth fell agape and she reached to push his hair out of his face to take him all in better while he slowly but steadily fucked into her. “Harry… your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re exactly who and what you should be, I’m so damn lucky,” she rolled her eyes to the back of her head in ecstasy and Harry thought his heart was going to burst at the amount of love he felt for her.

He didn’t know how it was possible he now loved her even more than before, but being wanted and loved for exactly who he was turned out to be a lot more important to him than he’d thought it would be. He thought he could hide this side of him from her forever and be fine with it, and he’d have done it gladly to keep her. But having it all out into the open and her so accepting of it was something he’d never even allowed himself to hope for.

Well, almost everything out into the open. And god, was she beautiful too. She’d always been, of course, but now that she was like him it did things to him he couldn’t even explain. And it looked so right, so natural. Like she was always meant to be a werewolf. He couldn’t wait to watch her discover everything and come into her own completely. He only wished she’d accept it and embrace it fully.

He was snapped out of his reverie when she nipped at his neck and that only made him drive into her more urgently. Noting it had stung a bit too much, his eyes landed on her mouth and he could see her pointy canines pinching her plump lower lip, a bit of blood coating it.

The sight made him almost come then and there, making him moan and slow his pace a bit to regain focus. As much as he wanted to drag it out and go at it for hours, he needed to milk another orgasm from her and hopefully satiate her craving for a bit, because this was rapidly escalating and getting out of hand. She was completely giving into her natural instincts; and if she noticed any of the signs she was presenting she’d freak out and that was not the way he wanted her to find out.

He flipped her over as though she weighed nothing, not having to hide his natural strength from her anymore and began pounding into her in earnest. He was close, so close, and he knew she was too with how she moaned and whimpered and called out his name repeatedly. But he didn’t want to knot into her just yet, he first needed to explain that to her, plus this wasn’t really the setting for it, he wanted to be able to cuddle with her like that in his expensive bedding back at home, not on this rocky terrain that was sure to leave some bruises on her as it was. He knew she could take it now, he’d of course never have allowed it had she still been just human, but even so, she was recovering, and he didn’t want her feeling any discomfort.

“Please come inside me, Harry. I don’t care. I need it... I can’t explain how much–fuck, how much I need it.”

She needn’t have worried, she wasn’t in heat (yet), so it wasn’t risky like that, but of course she’d worry about getting pregnant. Yet another reason why he needed to find a way to tell her, to avoid all the unnecessary worry on her part. For now, though, he was going to enjoy spilling into her warm cunt, because he needed it just as much. His eyes caught glimpse of her hands she’d rested her smushed cheek against, and her sharp nails were on display. Her much sharper nails. He couldn’t wait for her to claw at his back using them soon, but right now he needed to make sure she didn’t notice them. He grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her back against him, holding her hands behind her back with one arm and snaking the other to her front, finding her clit as he kept thrusting into her from this new angle.

She was already on edge and it only took her a few moments to reach her peak, crying out and letting her head fall back against his shoulder. The sight of the mark on her neck that she probably didn’t even notice wasn’t lost on him though, that was something that would always taunt him, knowing it was someone else’s bite that marked her. But he could claim it as his now, because she was, she was his. It was his cock she was pulsing around, his arms she was falling back into, his name she was whimpering- and so he allowed himself to bite over her mark as he finally gave in to his most primal urge- that of claiming her completely, while he let go and finally filled her up to the brim.

She didn’t even feel the sting of it, she was that far gone; if anything, it was pleasurable for her- as it should be. And for Harry? It was the hardest he’d ever come in his life. His fangs deep into her delicate neck and his cock even deeper into her perfect pussy, she was made just for him, and now she was his in every sense of the word.

With breaths heaving and soft gasps, Harry kept her tight against his chest. He wanted to tell her everything. Wanted so much for her to know what he was thinking. What had just happened to her. What she could expect and that it would only get better and better. If she thought that was intense…

And it was. She didn’t know how to describe the ecstasy, the relief… But it was more than just physical. Everything in and around her felt lighter and more lovely. She was happier than she’d ever been, she felt. She had a sudden urge to run and play; something she hadn’t felt in many years. It was as if being with Harry, everything just made more sense.

With a laugh she wiggled out of his arms and ran back into the water, diving in and swimming out toward the middle, only emerging with a sharp inhale for breath when her lungs needed air.

Harry couldn’t help but look at her in awe. His heart throbbed in his chest with love for her.

“Come on! Get back in!” Y/N shouted and began to glide through the water.

Shaking his head with a laugh he walked back into the icy water and then dove under to meet her in the center of the small cove.

She kept her eyes on the water, waiting for him to emerge but she felt his hand on her ankle before she saw him. With a yelp, she laughed and ducked under to pull at him.

Harry wrapped his arms around her body and pushed them both upward to the surface together. The lighthearted moment suddenly halted as they kept their gazes locked. Y/N moved her arms over his shoulders and drew her face in close to his, brushing their noses together, “I’m so glad I’m here with you. I’m glad I’m alive. I’m glad you’re alive. I don’t know what I would have done. I thought I lost you and that’s the last thing I remember before…” she paused, feeling herself get emotional she swallowed her tears, “It just feels like… destiny to be here with you.”

He could feel and hear her heart beating in her chest and he knew she could feel his do the same. It was as if his whole life had all been leading him to this moment. He knew that this woman was his mate. He’d always known it. Maybe ever since the first night he laid eyes on her in the woods all that time ago. Despite the fact that she had a gun pointed at him, there was just something about her. Something that he knew was different. He belonged to her before he ever met her.

“I’m so glad you’re here too. That we’re here together,” he looked down at her beautiful face as he continued, “I was ready to kill everyone when I thought you weren’t going to make it. Niall said there was no hope. That it was… too late for you,” he inhaled a shaky breath remembering the state she was in just days ago.

“Tell me about what happened. Everything I don’t know about, before, and after the fight. I want to know what happened.”

Harry began to describe the day he was taken and how he’d been outnumbered. He told her why it’d come down to that, about James’ and Irina’s involvement, the way the elders didn’t listen to him having already made up their minds and weren’t going to give him a fair trial.

But with Y/N’s quick thinking and by her reaching out to Niall a chain of events was set off that actually helped matters.

“Lester is a pack leader too, as you know now. The Pack of the Western Plains. He has connections all over. He’s very well respected. So, with his resources he made it so that there was a trial at the very least.”

“And Eddie too? He was there.” She said, remembering the events of that day.

“Yes. He was finally able to shift back into his human form. Because of you,” Harry brought a hand up to her face and gently brushed his knuckles over her temple.“I expected that no matter how the trial ended there would be a fight to the death. And I was certain that no matter how many drugs they’d given me or that they’d left me without food and water that I would be able to do away with James rather easily. But I was weakened. Significantly. It’s the only reason he even had the chances he did. It’s why he got in a few good tears. Had I been in my normal shifted state he would have never been able to penetrate my skin and I would have killed him within the first thirty seconds. And he knew that. So did everyone else.”

“They all let you fight like that? Did your pack not respect you as their alpha?”

Harry sighed and nodded, “They never respected me. They were always very rigid in their beliefs. They preferred the old ways of doing things. Most packs nowadays are more open and lenient. There are still strict rules we have to follow but tolerance is practiced these days. Not my pack… my old pack.”

“Are you worried they’ll come back and try to hurt you?”

Putting his arms around her low back protectively he pressed his forehead to hers, “I am. I’m worried they’ll try to hurt you too.”

“Even though you’ve given up the pack? And you won the fight?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t put it past them. I’ll do anything I can to protect you,” Harry paused and leaned back to look at Y/N again, “Which is why I think it would be good for us to visit Lester and Alma at the farm for a while. Get away from here for a bit. Just until we can get our bearings and heal.”

The smile on her face gave Harry relief. He wasn’t sure she’d be up for it, but she’d been surprising him since she woke up from her coma.

“That sounds like a really good idea. I’d love to spend more time with Eddie too.”

His heart continued to lob in his chest wildly. She was more than perfect for him in every way. He couldn’t contain his joy to have her in his arms, “He’d love that. Edward is very fond of you. And he was there, at Niall’s practice. With all of us while you were in that bed. He was devastated.”

Y/N nodded and felt awful about putting anyone through such distress. She knew it wasn’t her fault but she could imagine what it would have been like to watch a friend or lover unconscious in bed and not know if they’d come out of it or not.

“... And you? How did you deal with me being in that bed?”

Harry shook his head and let his eye contact falter for a moment as he thought back to how completely ruined he felt, “Felt like I would die if you didn’t make it. Like I couldn’t breathe or eat. I talked to you all day. Kept myself close by your side and encouraged you to wake up. Made sure you were comfortable in the bed even though I knew you couldn’t really feel anything. I didn’t know what to do. Niall kept telling me it was impossible–” Harry inhaled a sharp breath and tried to calm his emotions but his eyes began to fill with tears with just the memory of how utterly hopeless everything felt.

“Hey,” Y/N moved her hands to cup Harry’s face, “I’m right here. And I’m very much alive. We both are. I’m not going anywhere. You saved me.”

Swallowing his tears he blinked and forced the smallest smile, “And you saved me. If it weren’t for you I would be dead right now.”

Y/N leaned in to kiss the gorgeous werewolf. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten so lucky to have him in her life. That he wanted her. She only felt more connected, in tune with him. It was as if the accident had altered something in her soul. She was changed. She figured it was love.

Harry pinched her hip softly and pulled away from the kiss. He couldn’t help it. He needed to be honest with her. He’d told her his truth when she was asleep but now that she was wide awake and in his arms he knew he had to say it that very moment or he’d suffocate, “I love you, Y/N.”

Her lips parted at his admission and she was suddenly aware of her body against his and the way his heart was rapidly throbbing in his chest at the same pace as her own. She felt as if she’d heard him say it to her before. That this wasn’t the first time.

She gripped his biceps tight and felt herself shiver at the intensity of his bright green eyes. He loved her. He truly did and she felt it deep in her spirit. Without a doubt, he loved her.

“Harry, I love you too. So much,” she gasped as he squeezed her tight to his chest and felt him purring against her own. The comfort that brought to her was consuming. She sighed and held him tight, her cheek smushed into his shoulder.

Everything around them was dizzy and soft. She was safe in his arms. She was safe with her lover.

When he pulled back a bit and let his head fall back, inhaling sharply and then howling loudly, Y/N gasped in excitement and couldn’t hold back her tears of joy. She smiled widely looking at Harry in his element, expressing happiness freely and it made her own heart flutter. He looked back at her, his wide smile matching her own, the echo of his wolfish howl still resounding in the cove, and she’d never seen him look happier.

She’d done that. Just by loving him.

The sudden vibrating in her own chest startled her. She looked up at Harry whose eyes were wide as he looked down at her.

“Harry– what…?” She looked down at her bare body, putting a small bit of distance between herself and Harry. The vibrating stopped suddenly as she put a hand up to her chest and looked into the crystal water surrounding them and reflecting the sky above and both their faces.

But then she stilled completely, the ripples on the surface cleared away and she focused on the features of her face, being mostly drawn to the bright golden irises staring back at her in the reflection of the water.

In stunned silence she looked up at Harry before looking back into the water again.

He knew it was only a matter of time. He just hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

A/N: (@fkinavocado and @gurugirl here) The long awaited update is here! Thank you for sticking with us!

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vienssunshine · 9 months

Text

You Taste Sweeter Than Revenge

pairing: Josh Washington x fem reader nsfw word count: 4.2k content warning: non-con elements (voyeurism) author's note: I think Josh having a love interest would get in the way of his "prank"

Finally, finally, you get a moment to yourself. You lean your head back against the wooden door of the guest room, basking in your long-awaited solitude.

The process of getting everyone up and settled at the Washingtons’ lodge was draining: Chris wouldn’t shut up about how he caught Sam snooping on his phone, Emily and Jess were at each other's throats over Mike, and Mike and Matt kept competing to be the alpha of the group.

And then there was Josh. Though not as much of a headache as the others, he stirred up some feelings in you that are…more intense than you expected.

Compared to the strong personalities of your friend group, Josh is someone you can relax around; he’s a little peculiar, but sweet and charming in his own way. You two have a strong friendship, however, due to his tendency to be a flirt, you sometimes question the nature of your bond. His teasing affects you more than you’re willing to admit, especially since you find him easy to look at. Thankfully, the comforting knowledge that he says that kind of stuff to everyone allows you to maintain the friendship and keep your attraction as low-key as possible.

Except, you’re having a difficult time with that right now. You can only blame yourself, you’ve been suppressing your feelings towards Josh for so long that it makes sense they’d bubble back up at some point. You just didn’t expect it to be tonight, or to be this bad—every cell in your body is pulsing with desire.

You make your way over to the bed, lying down on it and staring at the ceiling.

Fuck, how does he do this to you?

It started simple, totally harmless. Sam wanted hot water to take a bath, so Josh brought you down to the basement to help him out.

"Hey, it worked!" you exclaimed after hearing the low rumble of the boiler firing up.

“Attagirl,” Josh said, giving you a high-five.

His praise caused a shy smile to break out across your face before you could stop it, making you pray he didn't notice. He did.

"Seems like you're really into high-fives," Josh remarked, "Or, is it the person you're high-fiving?"

He's like this with everyone, you reminded yourself, any flirty banter was nothing special.

"Just love a good high-five," you said, avoiding his eyes by looking down to the basement’s cracked cement.

“Floor that interesting?” he teased, taking a step forward.

His movement prompted you to step back, but you stumbled when your heel hit the shelving unit full of boxes behind you.

Josh’s hands landed on your shoulders, steadying you, but even after you recovered, they stayed there, unmoving. With your eyes now adjusted to the dim basement light, you could note that he had moved much closer than what was necessary to help you. One small lean forward would press his chest to yours.

“Josh?” you said, searching for an explanation for the sudden but—though it makes you feel guilty thinking it—welcome closeness.

A mischievous grin lit up his face and he returned your question with one of his own: “Scared?”

You let your hand fall down onto his chest, fingers fiddling with a button on his flannel. “Not at all,” you responded. You attempted to make eye contact with him after answering, but it felt too intimate with him so close, so you turned your gaze away, yet no matter where you cast it, you’d still see him, his body was enveloping yours.

“Ah, I see, so you’re scared and a liar,” Josh retorts with a smirk. His hand came up to your jaw, holding your face still so you couldn’t avoid looking at him anymore, “What’re you so afraid of, little kitten?”

“Don’t call me that,” you deflected, rolling your eyes. Even though you were trying to come off as unaffected, little sparks flickered and fizzed in your body like summertime fireworks. Was this how a friend should make you feel?

“Oh? Is there something better I should call you instead?” Josh said, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “I can come up with something. Let’s see…honey?” He shook his head, “Nah, too marital. Hmmm, baby? That’s pretty basic, isn’t it?”

“You done yet?” you huffed, shifting your weight and continuing to pretend that hearing him call you pet names wasn’t making your stomach flip. He was being more persistent than usual, it made you wonder what was going on with him tonight.

“I guess I’m not good at this whole romantic nickname thing.” He released your jaw from his hold so his fingers could travel up and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “What if I just told you how pretty you are instead?”

Usually you could fend off his flirty comments by retorting with a somewhat decent response, but you were entirely at a loss for what to say. It didn’t help that your body was working against you, fully responding to Josh’s advances in a distractingly enthusiastic way. It’s hard to figure out why he’s being so aggressive with his flirting when your heart is thundering in your ears.

You try to move back, only to be reminded of the shelves of storage keeping you in place, sandwiching you between them and Josh’s large frame. Since retreat wasn’t an option, you tried to diffuse the situation as best you could.

“Slow down there,” you said with a nervous laugh, “A girl could get the wrong idea.”

With your palm on his chest, you felt his heart begin to pound. Josh’s hands moved down to your waist, traveling more hesitantly than his brusque teasing suggested they would. You forced yourself to keep your expression unchanging when they rested on the curve of your torso, sending scattered bolts of electricity up your sides. There was anxious authenticity in his tone as Josh said, “Maybe I’ve been wanting you to get that idea for some time now.”

You weren’t sure what to think, was he trying to say he was into you? But, that couldn’t be it, he flirts with everyone, not just you. A conversation he had with Chris that was particularly homoerotic came to mind. It was clear you weren’t special. However, there have been multiple times his attention towards you felt heavy-handed, though you tried to not overthink it, not wanting to be wrong about his intentions. Regardless, as he spoke to you, there was an undeniable charge in the air, the anticipation of what his possible confession meant buzzing around the two of you. If he was saying what you thought he was, this could be your chance to tell him how you’ve felt all this time.

His eyes flicked over your face and just as you opened your mouth to respond, a loud noise made both of you jump.

It was a metallic, dull sound filling the basement with its unsettlingly rhythmic beat. Both of you turned your heads to one of the hallways in the basement where the sound was coming from.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt this, but, and I really don’t want to, I think we should check that out,” you told Josh.

He blinked, reorienting himself, and then said, “Yeah, uh…sure, let’s go.”

You both began to walk deeper into the basement, closing in on the origin of the unnatural noise. It bellowed through the basement’s cement walls, consuming the hallway with its ominous tone. You followed a few paces behind Josh, but as you got further down the hall, you brought your hand forward and wrapped your fingers around his forearm. Being able to feel him made you feel safer. He paused for a second, but didn’t say anything, so you kept your hand on him as you advanced.

You were about to turn the corner and follow the noise further down into the basement when a shadowy figure jumped out at you. Your heart stopped beating for a second, only resuming its rapid pounding after you had turned and begun to run from the intruder.

Sprinting down the hallway, you yelled for Josh to run, the next and only thought in your brain being the escape that was the basement door. The masked figure followed in hot pursuit, just a few strides behind you.

You jumped up the basement stairs three at a time until you reached and nearly collided with the door, needing to step back before trying to pull it open. You yanked and you pulled, but the door was unyielding. You were screaming nonsense at Josh, and he was responding to you as best he could, telling you that everything was going to be okay. His arm hovered around you protectively, separating you from the approaching intruder.

The masked figure reached the top of the stairs and Josh stepped toward him, taking on a defensive stance. Then, the man draped in black held his arms up above his head and let out a ghostly wail that sounded…stupid.

Your eyebrows pressed together, and you choked out a “Huh?”, looking over to Josh, who had cracked a smile.

Your eyes darted between the two men, trying to work out what was going on. The intruder pulled off his mask, revealing Chris underneath, cracking up at the ingenious of his own prank.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you said, face burning up.

“Good one, Cochise,” Josh congratulated.

You punched Chris in the shoulder, huffing how his prank wasn’t as funny as he thought it was, which only made him laugh harder.

“Were you in on this?” You turned to Josh, trying to mask your feeling of betrayal.

“Nope,” Josh chuckled, patting Chris on the back, “But I wish I had been.”

“Whatever, you two,” you said, grabbing the basement’s key from Chris and storming out of there.

“Hey, wait up!” Josh called after you.

“Let her go, Josh,” Chris said, “C’mon, I finally found the Ouija board.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Josh responded, hurrying to follow you into the guest room hallway.

You had your hand on the doorknob of your room when you felt his fingers around your other wrist, tugging you back.

“Not in the mood, Josh,” you said, pulling your hand away. Though, you didn’t attempt to open the wooden door again, instead turning to face him.

“Hey, it was just a prank, right? You know Chris, he was just kidding around. No harm, no foul,” Josh said. If he were intending to make you feel better, it would be helpful if he said that like he fully believed it.

You sighed, exasperated. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I just-I probably looked so stupid.”

Josh stepped closer. “You were scared, I was too,” he said, his hand landing on the side of your arm, squeezing it, “No shame in that.” He let out a small chuckle, “I’m taking notes, Chris did a damn good job.”

“I guess,” you shrugged.

Josh stared back at you, puzzled, before breaking out into a small grin, “I know there was one part that I really liked.”

You looked away, appearing to find the sight of the doors lining the shadowy hall more interesting than him, but still took the bait, “And what part was that?”

Josh’s hand traveled down your arm, not once separating from it, to encircle your wrist. You shifted your gaze back to watch him place your hand on his forearm, the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel allowing direct contact with his warm skin. “I like that, when you’re scared, you hold onto me,” he confessed.

The air of indifference is hard to maintain now, but you still try. “I didn’t know you were so observant, Josh.”

He rested his hand on top of yours. “Just with you.”

You cursed yourself for how easy it was for him to win you over with a stupid, corny comment. Any embarrassment from the prank was superseded by the new tingly sensation in your stomach. Though, the adrenaline must have remained because you want to do something about the fact that, for all the time you’ve known Josh, you’ve never once tried flirting back.

Your fingers tightened around his forearm, noting the musculature present underneath his tan skin. You hadn’t realized how strong he had gotten. “Y’know, Josh,” you started.

“Yeah?” he breathed. He can feel your hand flex underneath his palm as you stroke your thumb along his arm with gentle swipes.

It was scary to even hint at how much you were feeling him right then, but you pushed through. “Maybe, I just like touching you,” you offered, “Scared or not.”

He exhaled unevenly, seemingly going to great lengths to keep himself still. It was new, to feel like your words had weight, for them to be the reason his gaze felt so heavy as he raked it over your body. The interaction felt dangerous but exciting; you didn’t want to shy away anymore.

“Josh!” Chris’ voice reverberated through the lodge.

“I really am gonna kill him,” you muttered. Josh let his arm drop back to its place by his side.

“Get in line,” he said, which earned a giggle from you.

Another call from Chris, “Where are you, bro? Ashley’s here. C’mon, it’s Ouija board time!”

Josh shook his head, “I…I should go, I can’t leave them hanging.”

“You sure you don't want to stay?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes. It’s funny, how you were just running away from him and were now trying to keep him from leaving.

He stiffened, seemingly weighing his options in his mind. His hesitation made you smile, you liked having an influence over him.

But it was not enough, because he relaxed into his typical playful energy, saying, “Unfortunately, I’m already tied up. I’ve got big plans for those two tonight.”

You frown, “Yeah, I bet the Ouija board madness will be one for the books.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied. Then he continued more earnestly, “But maybe we can hang out later? Finish our conversation?”

You pressed your lips together; you didn’t want to wait. However, it was probably for the better, if you were to have Josh, you would want it without interruptions.

“Okay, let’s talk later,” you agreed. He nodded, stepping back to go join Chris, but, before he could, you grabbed his shoulder and pushed yourself up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was quick and impulsive, but for some reason, you felt that if you hadn’t done it then, you wouldn’t get the chance in the future.

“Later, then,” he said, a soft smile spreading across his face. He turned and walked back to find Chris, leaving you standing all alone in the long hallway, longing for more.

So now you lie spread out on a quilt atop the guest room bed, head spinning as you relive your conversations with Josh. You should’ve invited him in; the want pulsing through the veins in your body wouldn’t be so hard to manage if you did. But to deal with Chris and the teasing that would have ensued from your ruthless friend group wouldn’t be much fun either.

Your arms wrap around your sides, hugging yourself as you think about being down in the basement with him, how his voice lowered when he spoke more seriously about his feelings, how you could feel the waves of heat radiating off his body despite the area’s chilled atmosphere. You’ve never had him that close to you before; the closest you’ve ever been was when he dared you to go on the Ferris wheel at a local fair with him, claiming you were too chicken to do it, and the small cart forced you to sit hip-to-hip as he laughed and you bit back your terror.

The memory makes you realize how long you’ve wanted this for. How long you’ve stifled your feelings, your attraction, your desire. Now that it’s happening, knowing that he feels the same way, it’s hard to hold back.

The cold winter storm outside does little to hinder the warmth dripping down your stomach like honey as, for the first time, you let yourself wonder what would have happened if it went further, wish it went further.

Your hands travel down to the waistband of your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. You’re aching right now; you just want to feel better.

Only, though you don’t know it, there’s a camera in your room. And through its lens, there’s someone who’s watching.

Josh removes his skull-like mask so he can get a better look at the footage in front of him. He had come down to his hide-out in the basement, intending to electronically lock the gates around the lodge so he can continue enacting his revenge, but something on one of the multiple television screens stacked atop his desk drew his attention.

Even if the recording is black and white and somewhat obscured by pixelation, there’s no doubt that it’s you, sprawled out over one of the guest beds, pulling off your pants and bringing your hands down between your thighs.

Josh looks behind him, feeling like he shouldn’t be seeing this, but returns his gaze to the screen anyway, eyes widening as you begin to touch yourself, running your fingertips atop the soaked gusset of your underwear. Your head falls back onto one of the pillows lined up along the bed’s wooden headboard, eyes shut in bliss at long-awaited contact.

Josh steps forward, locks whatever gate he no longer really cares for, and turns his full attention to the glowing screen. He had the strength to refuse you earlier, though not without difficulty, especially after you kissed him, but that resource has since been depleted as he’s unable tear himself away from the tv, completely entranced. He has other things he should be doing, things he’s been planning for a year now, but he just can’t.

Your eyebrows are pressed together and your mouth slightly ajar as you begin to enjoy the feeling of your fingers, falling into a sensual, pleasurable rhythm. A slight rush of air escapes Josh’s lips as his body heats up, reminiscent of when he was pushed up against you in the basement. He found it hard to focus on his words with the way your body felt so soft underneath his hands. He can only imagine what it would be like if he were with you now, feeling your hot skin against his. He wonders if you’re imagining the same, wonders if that’s what’s getting you off, the fantasy of it being his fingers stroking the wet fabric of your underwear, making you jolt and twitch under his touch.

Josh isn’t sure when he got hard, maybe he has been this whole time, but what he knows now is that his erection is starting to ache. His gaze doesn’t falter from your body and its movements as his gloved hand travels downwards so he can palm himself through his overalls, desperate to relieve even just a fraction of the desire thrumming through his body.

He groans when you tug off your underwear, exposing yourself fully. You bring your hands to your soaked folds, touch now unobstructed by cloth, and start to draw slow circles on your clit.

Oh, you really like that. Josh drinks in every detail, intent on knowing how you like to be touched so he can burn into his memory. It’s an intimate moment, that you and Josh are both pleasuring yourselves together, even if you don’t know you’re sharing it.

You twist and turn on the bed, your free hand gripping the sheets beneath you as your fingers pick up in speed, applying more pressure to your sensitive clit. Though, that hand only stays tangled in the sheets for a moment, finding a better use pressed against your open mouth in a half-hearted attempt to muffle your sweet pants and moans.

Josh wonders if you’re hoping he’ll hear you and come in to catch you in the act; the thought has his hips bucking into the surface of his gloved hand, finding just friction to be unsatisfactory.

Then you break him, because as you’re running your fingertips along your glistening folds, you mouth his name. Josh. It’s undeniable now, you’re touching yourself while thinking of him.

He should be focusing on the prank, his revenge, everything he’s worked so hard to do, but all he can feel is the urge to fuck his fist at the sight of you purring his name.

He peels off his overalls, letting them fall by his boots, and unzips his dark jeans so he can pull out his dick, wrapping his hand around it. It’s hot to the touch and leaking pre-cum, no doubt a product of the strenuous sexual tension underlying your conversations. He begins to run his hand along his length, the extent of his own arousal making him shudder from the movement.

His forearm is covered in veins that travel underneath his skin like lightning, and as he pumps his needy cock, they stretch and bulge with his movements. Not so long ago, your hand rested on the same forearm that flexes as Josh fucks himself. He can feel it now, phantom grazes of your delicate fingers tracing his veins as he drives his dick through the tight grasp of his hand. Oh, how he wants you to be there, for you to be the one touching him.

He crumples forward, a single arm pressed against the table’s edge as his only means of support. God, the desire is eating him alive.

He should have just taken you when you were down in the basement. Pulled you into him and pressed his lips to yours, creepy sound be damned.

You’d be flustered of course, and probably try to act like you didn’t know what happened, all despite the fact that he knows you’d kiss him back with equal passion. You try to act tough, but he can tell that his little comments get you hot. Josh knew you were going to crack at some point, and the way you’re writhing around on a bed in his lodge proves him right.

If only you weren’t so damn stubborn about hiding your feelings. It’s been so obvious that you’re into him, with your bashful smiles or secret glances you don’t think he catches, but, at every opportunity he’s tried to give you, you shy away.

He should teach you a lesson for your coy attitude, you need to learn that being direct with him is what’s best. He contemplates going to find you in the guest room and fucking your brains out, it would show you how much you’ve been missing by being shy.

Though, Josh likes the idea of punishing you more. He’d like to get his revenge on you for prolonging his frustrating and tortuous weeks of pining after you, trying to get it into your head how much he liked you.

If he were to have his way, he would edge you, get you so close that you’re whining his name, pleading for your release, and then watch your expression turn when he withholds it from you. Maybe he’d earn a cute pout, or even better, you’d beg for him to continue. Josh curls into himself, his movements faster and sloppier, desire running rampant through his body.

He watches you sink a finger into your soaked entrance, seeking to relieve the painful emptiness of your canal. Josh wonders if it’s enough. The desperate roll of your hips as you try to push your finger deeper tells him it’s not, that you need more—that you need him. He watches you pause for a second, a cute frown on your lips, as you come to the same realization he has: it’ll never be enough if it’s not him. Josh exhales sharply, exalted.

You still try your hardest, though you can’t be blamed for the fruitless effort with your head so dizzy from lust. You push your finger in and out of your wet vagina as your other hand stimulates your clit, though awkwardly. It would be so much easier—feel so much better—if he were with you.

Josh sees no need to punish you for the heartache you put him through anymore, you’re doing it yourself right now, working so hard despite the fact that you’re unable to get yourself over the edge. He likes that you’re probably longing for him right now, wishing he were there to make you feel good.

It might be his sadistic side, or the fact that he feels needed, that does it for him, but your struggle gets Josh to his limit, his hand gripping onto the side of the table as he bucks his hips into his dripping hand. With a sloppy pump, he comes, white ropes shooting out as he presses his eyes shut in utter bliss. He seriously considers that you could turn into an obsession of his, if you haven’t already.

Josh takes a deep breath, trying to calm his uneven breathing, and realizes you’ve given up on getting yourself off, redressing yourself while dissatisfaction mars your pretty face. He feels bad for a second, wanting to make you feel better, but his eyes flick to another screen to realize Chris is waking up from the sleeping gas, meaning Josh is short on time if he wants to fake his own death.

He cleans himself off, redresses, and after one last look at the screen, he leaves.

He’ll deal with you later.

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