this may not work for everyone, but the best advice i’ve ever heard was something like “if you’re struggling with something, make it easier.” that sounds like bullshit, but it actually helps me a lot.

i struggled to brush my teeth for years. i still do! but i made it easier for myself by paying attention to my needs. what kept me from brushing? part of it was the sensory experience, so i switched to an electric one and it works much better for me. part of it was having to stand in the bathroom for two minutes, so i moved my brush and toothpaste into my bedroom, where i lay or sit in bed and look at my phone while i use them. this didn’t solve the entire problem for me, but it made things so much easier.

i can’t stand having a shirt collar, so i wear mostly tank tops, but for the shirts i really like, i usually just cut the neck part out. yeah it’s not super pretty, so i keep some of my shirts uncut if i really like them for their look, but it helps for my every day clothes. (my mom taught me this one.)

showering and doing dishes are two things that make me want to die from boredom(? i don’t really have a term for that crushing boredom/dread of executive dysfunction and trauma responses). now i have a speaker for my shower and headphones for chores, and i just listen to music or podcasts. it makes things easier, even if it isn’t enough every time.

just. look at what you’re struggling with and think about what specific part is bothering you most. if there’s an easy fix, take it. even if it only makes things slightly more manageable, you deserve that. you deserve an easier way to do things that you struggle with. even if the solution seems silly or weird, is it hurting anyone? is it making anything worse? is it better to brush your teeth in bed or not at all?

fic recs let's gooo

these some of my personal favourite long-form/multi-chap fics

***please mind the tags! the horror fics are kinda fucked up and i know that isn't for everyone so just make sure you know what you're about to read ps i might make a separate list for other horror fics?***

under the cut because there are so many sorry and i added comments because i can't shut up apparently.

so, in alphabetical order....

The Cheapest Room In The House by biggaybenny [E | 89k]

what if instead of a very sincere and earnest love confession dean just found out cas was gay? no confession, no god-jack endgame. just post-s15 stupidity. just dean being deranged. the dean downloads grindr for cas fic

you know it, you love it. thee chaotic boy besties fic with parts that will also rip you open

Fenario by ftmsteverogers (@/sodomitecastiel) [E | 47k]

“We did good, Dean,” Sam says. “We got him back.” Dean huffs a hollow laugh, because yeah, that’s always what it’s about, isn’t it? Cas or Sam or Dean getting themselves lost or dead, and then taking turns dragging each other back from the brink. He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We got him back, yeah,” he says. Sam nods, watching him. “So now what?”

once again you know it and you love it. THEE lake house fix it fic. also love that they are jewish and you can tell how much of the author's heart clearly went into this. one of those fics where it will ususpectingly knock you to your knees with a single sentence

Linden by fleeceframe (@/tasteslikevelvet) [E | 67k]

Castiel’s heart stumbles before he can stop it, before he can think about how pathetic that is. To think that every interaction the Swans have proceeds them, that everyone is just waiting to get a glimpse of one of them to fuel their gossip circles for the next three days. Even the invisible shy flutter in his stomach at the thought of the Swans (not the Swans, just one of them, just one single man, but is that any better?) makes Castiel feel like he’s participating in the blatant objectification that he’s uncomfortable just witnessing. The Swans are only people. This is something that Castiel holds onto. Just people who happen to have a generational curse in their bloodline. And when he interacts with Sam Winchester or Eileen Leahy at his stall, it’s easy. He says hello, they say hello back. The Swans are just people. And yet, Dean Winchester remains unfathomable.

ohhhh this fic feels like springtime and sunlight through the trees and everything that is good. i devoured this fic, it is so sweet and captivating and wonderfully poetic. a comfort read fr

The Lord of The Lake by rhinestoneangels (almondrose) (@pinknatural) [T | 29k]

The lakehouse is haunted.

this fic is so special to me. there's emma. there's a cat. they're a FAMILY. there's ACE DEAN!?? it's thee ace!dean fic for me and steph did such a wonderful job exploring that

Muder Ballads (Red Right Hand) by Duckyboos [E | 85k+]

It all starts with the mysterious note left on Dean’s chair. It all ends with Dean coming to terms not only with what he’s capable of, but how much that knowledge doesn’t bother him.

hehe this is one of the ones you need to make sure you're comfortable with before you read it... it's yeah.. it's real dark. the storytelling is so compelling and i could NOT put this down. sometimes you gotta read something kinda fucked up. especially when it is so well written. also if you do like this then i recommend everything duckyboos has written hehe

Put Up Your Dukes by saltyfeathers [E | 38k]

Dean can't sleep. Cas offers to tire him out.

i mean *i* have always considered this a classic. honestly it's so fun and funny and just ugh i just love it, so read it pls

Revelation 13 by fullvoid [E | 44k]

It’s Dean’s day off, and he’d like to spend it how he always does—by kicking his feet up with a cold one and watching soap operas—not by discovering an enormous, creepy hole in his bathroom wall that definitely wasn’t there when he went to bed last night. But it’s no big deal. He can just patch it up and still devote plenty of time to Dr. Sexy afterward. There is only one problem. He can’t leave his apartment, and there’s a message on his front door written in…is that blood? And why is it signed by someone named “Cas”? Things can only get better from here, right?

hehe i know nothing about silent hill but i DO know that this is an amazing horror fic!! read it in one sitting and would do it again!

Russian to the Altar by MalMuses [E | 144k]

“I need you to marry Castiel.” They weren’t the words Dean expected to hear from his business partner’s mouth before their bakery-slash-chocolate shop opened for the day. He’d been quite happy being single—and who the fuck was Castiel, anyway? It turned out that Castiel was a Russian erotic novelist in need of a ticket to America, and Dean… well, Dean was a last resort.

i LOVE a romcom fic and this one is soooo fantastic (it's a classic, right?) it has bdsm. it has destiel being idiots in love. it's also incredibly sweet. what more could you want?

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston [E | 33k]

Dean and Cas, a long stretch of highway, and 36 questions empirically designed to make two people fall in love. As if they weren't already.

CANONVERSE ROMCOM? YEAH.

The Shawnee Trail by emmbrancsxx0 (@/valleydean) [E | 166k]

In 1887, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak lead a peaceful life in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean and Sam are stagecoach messengers for Wells, Fargo and Castiel is the town doctor. When Castiel's patient, Kelly Kline, knocks on their door one night about to give birth, she asks for the Winchesters and Castiel's help in protecting her son against one of the west's most notorious outlaws. To fulfill that promise, the men set out on a journey full of shootouts, trouble with the law, gambling, and an important discovery: Dean and Castiel really need to define the nature of their relationship.

WESTERN AU. also to quote myself: "fics that make you pace around your room at midnight while sobbing". also once again i can't believe this isn't a piece of classic literature it's just that damn good.

So Says The Sword by komodobits [E | 85k]

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’ Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

we all agree this is canon, right? a classic. it completely shook me up the first time i read it, and honestly it change my perspective of the entire show, for the better of course.

Vagabonds by chevrolangels [E | 89k]

Dean is a sheriff in a tiny town in Colorado, restless and unsatisfied with his life. It's not like what he's read about in the dime novels since he was little, capturing dangerous outlaws and being the last word of the law. More like tossing the town drunk in a cell to sober up when they get a little too rowdy. But Dean's chance comes when a thief rolls through their town. He pursues the thief, which puts him right into the path of Emmanuel, a notorious outlaw. When he is captured by the outlaw and his gang to be held for ransom, Dean starts off on a journey he could have never envisioned, and learns that perhaps there's more to Emmanuel than meets the eye.

another western au!! this list would not be complete without this fic. one of my very faves. it's my ultimate comfort fic. i get so sad whenever i finish it because i never want it to end. i can't praise it enough i don't have the words

What Baking Can Do by cowlovely (@dollhousemary) [T | 63k]

She lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” she says, not even bothering to look up as Dean comes to sit on the counter beside her. “You guys did well yesterday, huh?” Dean shrugs. “I guess. Wednesdays get a lot of foot traffic. Dunno why.” Jo gives him a sidelong look. “It’s because on Wednesdays, we have your ‘Strawberry Heaven Pie’ or whatever the hell you call it.” “Strawberry Chocolate Oasis Pie,” he corrects. “And there’s absolutely no way to prove that. People probably just like to get some sorta treat in the middle of the week or whatever.” “I absolutely can prove that, when was the last time any of that pie was left at the end of the day—hell, at the end of the morning shift?” “Okay, that’s definitely an exaggeration,” he retorts. “It’s never sold out before lunch.” “Can you stop being a bitch and accept that people like your pie?”

i have no idea what waitress is and it literally doesn't matter because ivy makes this its whole own world... if you want something insanely sweet, with amazing character depth and that feels like a warm hug, look no further. this is one of my comfort fics and i have read it multiple times and will read it again!!!!!

Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (@saintedcastiel) [M | 49k]

Finally free from Chuck's machinations, Dean flees the bunker to make a home for himself away from the hunting world. He settles into his new life but can't quite shake the feeling that he's not alone. There's a ghost haunting him, tied to the last thing on Earth that Castiel touched. As the spirit gets angrier and more dangerous to the people around him, will Dean be able to bring himself to let him go?

if you're reading this the day i post this you might have seen me losing my mind on the dash. read it one sitting because it pulled me in instantly and would not let me go. so beautifully written and it's... it's the ending we deserved. i think this needs to be the next fandom classic i am Not joking. one of the few fics that made me sob my eyes out i don't even know what to say anymore just read it please trust me it's WONDERFUL.

static // pressure

the final fic in the post-inversion wolfpack trifecta. this will have two parts, as I love this idea (although it could easily get longer - as I love the current storyline!

redacted asmr: milo x sweetheart. rated teen, spoilers for aftershock.

READ ON AO3

It has been a month since the events of Inversion. Milo deals with the aftermath.

Sweetheart suggests they try something new. Something that might help.

AKA the bridging fic.

–

Sweetheart is watching him, their eyes soft, everything about them soft, half-lit by the setting sun filtering in through their bedroom window. They’re beautiful like this, and god, he’s so fucking lucky.

With them - everything’s easier. Even this.

--

Part one: fractures

“Go- go easy, sweetheart.”

They’re seated together in their shared apartment, the late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the double windows casting long shadows of their figures against the far wall, and they’re asking him to trust him.

He does. Of course he does. It’s just - it’s a lot, for him to address this. To remove himself from the mess of paperwork and field reports that his mate had snuck out the Department archives for him, and actually face the fear that has been lurking, ever present, at the edges of his thoughts.

He hasn’t been able to shift for over a month.

The last time he’d tried had been just under two weeks ago, and the exhaustion from it had put him out of commission for over a day and a half, barely strong enough to stumble back to their bed, sweetheart’s arm around him, their bright eyes alight with worry.

The issue isn’t the magic. The magic is there, simmering in his core - he can feel it, feel the aspects of the wolf itself within him, in his mannerisms, his underlying instincts. His core is still a bit unstable, sure, but that’s to be expected after what he put himself through. He knows that.

The issue is control, and synchronisation. Shifting is a complex magic by itself, even when you don’t factor in burning up all his circuits with a crazy stunt that may or may not work.

(But it did. And that’s all that mattered.)

He can summon enough magic to perform small tricks, light a candle, move an object. He’s always been a bit of a jack of all trades, even if it can exhaust him - and he’s been pushing himself hard lately, harder than he ever has before.

Still, he doesn’t expect the fallout. He hadn’t expected the magic to rip through him, burning him up from the inside out all over again, until he felt as if he was nothing but fire.

Sweetheart’s healing magic had helped, even if it couldn’t fix the core of it.

(He’s been starting to wonder if anything can.)

Still. David knows now, at least. Not that Milo had been eager to tell him – it had been a confluence of circumstances that had led to the revelation: a surprise visit, following Milo's discussion with Asher about a potential lead on the cult, coupled with unfortunate timing.

When his mate had informed his alpha that Milo was out of commission, David had demanded to know the reason why. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Milo gets it, really, after everything that’s happened.

(And he’d be the first to admit that he didn't have the best track record with vigilante shit. It was pack knowledge by now, the circumstances in which he and his mate met. Asher had a way of working it out of you, one way or another.)

David had kept quiet while he’d explained it all, his body a mess, propped up against the headboard with half a dozen pillows surrounding him, feeling far weaker than he would have preferred him to see. David was a good listener, always had been, even when they were younger. Maybe a bit too serious, as a kid, but it had served him well as he matured, growing into his role as leader of the pack.

“Thank you,” is what he says, when Milo finishes, his mouth dry and his throat tight as he stares down at his hands. His words hang in the air between them, an acknowledgement of the damage he'd dealt himself - his loss. “For saving all of our lives.”

He takes a breath, his brow lowering, and shit, it’s with a sinking feeling that Milo realises he knows that look. “But if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have to discipline you. As your alpha.”

He holds his gaze for a long moment, and they’re bright with an intensity that he’s only ever seen from the Shaws. “And don’t think I won’t tell your mother.”

His pack alpha leaves a little while after that, on the proviso that his mate give him regular updates on his status - ‘use my cell, don’t text’ - and Milo had been able to breathe a little easier after that, knowing that his little secret was out.

“Milo.”

He blinks, pulling his focus back to the present. They’re seated on top of their bed, pillows surrounding them. Sweetheart is watching him, their eyes soft, everything about them soft, half-lit by the setting sun filtering in through the bedroom window. They’re beautiful like this, and god, he’s so fucking lucky.

With them - everything’s easier. Even this.

“Can I take your hand?”

He looks down at their outstretched palm, their fingers wiggling invitingly. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Shifting to face them more fully on the bed, he places his hand in theirs, watching as they raise it, placing it against their chest, over their heart. He can feel the shiver of their heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

“Have you ever tried this before?”

“Not… really.” Nothing like this, if he’s being honest. “I’ve felt the auras of others before. My ma - Marie. When she does her healing.”

He glances up away from his hands then, the corner of his mouth tugging up as he catches their gaze. “Yours too, sweetheart. Although maybe in a different context.”

They grin at that, a brilliant flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes, and it eases the tension that’s been winding, slowly but steadily, within his core. “I remember.”

Adjusting their weight, they shift a little closer on the bed, their free hand finding his chest again, warm palm settling over his heart.

“This is a bit different, though. It’s… more.” They pause, their lower lip slipping between their teeth as they think about it, before letting out a thoughtful hum. “You’ll see.”

“Are you ready?” He takes a breath, settling himself, and yeah. He is. He thinks he is.

At his slight nod, they smile again, soft and gentle in the late afternoon light and filled with so much care it makes his heart squeeze, before their bright eyes slip shut.

“Breathe with me.”

𝟏 ༒ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔢

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete bnha m.list

katsuki bakugo — worship kink

wc: 1.9k

cw: oral (cunni), seems like dubcon at first but it’s not at all, this is pretty tame for me tbh ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

“Try me.”

They had been fighting words, spoken to provoke a reaction and nothing else. Katsuki was so sure of his strength, so utterly convinced that your quirk would have no effect on him. It didn’t matter that he’d seen it in action, watched as mountainous men and women were reduced to rubbles of their former selves. The Number Two Hero was tougher than a rookie’s feminine wiles, had to be.

And he was—at first.

The practice match had gone on like countless others, Katsuki deflecting every kick or stab thrown his way, shooting off small explosions that only roughly missed their mark. He’d been taking it easy on you, dragging on the fight until your inevitable forfeit. He’s unsure why he even bothers asking you to partake in these private spars when you never bother with your quirk; Katsuki always wins.

It wasn’t until that first rush of blood, the unmistakable tightness of his uniform, that he realized his mistake.

“Seems you’ve got a,” your brow quirks as you glance downwards, “small problem.” The taunt is thrown his way with a cackle—high-pitched and nasty—sending a cold sweat down Katsuki’s back. The mere sound of your voice spurs him to anger, clouds his vision and urges him to prove you dreadfully wrong. The dig at his size doesn’t go by unnoticed either.

Heat blooms and crests within his chest, tides rising and falling. One moment he’s ablaze, unable to breathe, much less think, as he struggles to fight through it. Seconds later, the fire is quelled, replaced by a rose-colored twinge that fogs the corners of his vision and renders him helpless against his rising concern for your safety.

With every one of your throwing knives flung his way, a rude laugh or jeer is quick to follow, and yet, your voice is soft around the edges, sinfully sweet notes prickling at Katsuki’s ears and settling deep in his gut.

Try as he might to focus on the battle at hand, Katsuki realizes he’s unable to suppress the ever-growing bulge in his pants. The nagging feeling isn’t one of the superiority complex Katsu’s grown accustomed to, isn’t the need to put someone in their place purely to assert his dominance. There’s an enticement to it, a longing to prove himself to you, to show you he’s worthy of your gaze. His punches and kicks lose their gall and– fuck, did he just take a hit on purpose?

Of course he did; he doesn’t want to hurt you, wouldn’t risk harming such a precious, ethereal being.

He goes on like this for a while, in waves of disoriented, amateur mistakes and reprieves of chastisements. He knows better than this—is better than this. But it seems the harder he struggles, the tighter your grip on him becomes.

And it isn’t just his mind. Katsuki can’t slow his heart when he glances at your pillowy thighs, bare and dripping with beads of hard-earned sweat. He can’t stop his cock from twitching when he notices the quick rise and fall of your chest, scantily-clad and practically begging to be touched.

From the edges of your fingers to the steel-tipped toes of your boots, everything about you drips seduction, compelling Katsuki to drink from the poisoned glass. Desire grips him by the throat, parches him, and burns harder and brighter than any explosion he could ever attempt to spark.

“Lust,” he finally finds the strength to choke out, calling out to you as he drops to his knees, “enough.”

The use of your hero name—as opposed to the colorful assortment of insults he usually calls you—must be enough to spark concern, because you immediately discard your throwing knives and crouch at his side. He doesn’t immediately notice you, his gut still heavy and pulsing with need.

Despite the pain, he isn’t quite sure whether he wants you to turn off the damn quirk or keep it on long enough to fix the mess you’ve gotten him into.

“Bakugo?” There’s no hint of triumph in your tone, no gloating or celebration of your ambitious victory. It’s sympathy, braided through your scrunched brows and stamped into your tooth-torn bottom lip.

It makes him furious.

In seconds, he flips you beneath him, back hitting the mat with a soft thud. “Bakugo?” You repeat, seemingly stunned by his sudden change, mouth agape as he removes his gloves. “What are you—”

And then, his lips are on you, slick with sweat and spit, the kiss all tongue and teeth as he attempts to quench the insatiable thirst you caused. He doesn’t know what to expect, but when your hands wrap through his matted locks to pull him closer, he’s satisfied; he’s worthy. If the drink is poisoned, so be it.

Katsuki allows his hands to roam as they yearned to earlier, running rough fingertips down the sticky skin of your neck. They travel further to trace circles against your heart and further still, until he grazes at pebbled nipples.

“Mmph.” Your mewl is muffled against him as you tap at his shoulder, most likely asking for a second to breathe. How long has it been since he came up for air? Katsuki’s unable to shake the fuzz clouding his brain, hand-spun sugar on your tongue keeping him placid.

When he finally lifts his head from yours, he’s unable to tear his gaze from the string of spit connecting you, even going as far as running a digit across your swollen lips. Your chest still shakes, your eyes glazed over. Bliss. Does your power affect you as well, or is he not giving himself as much credit as he should?

He’ll be damned if he allows you to upstage him yet again.

“Turn it off,” he grunts, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. You don’t quite answer, just offer a tilt your head and a sickly sweet, ‘hm?’ that has the blonde itching to leave you breathless again. “Shut off your damned quirk.”

At that, you let out a soft chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his face towards you once more. Your lips ghost the shell of his ear, sucking at it until he lets out a weary breath. Chills travel Katsuki’s body when your sultry voice whispers,

“Baby,” another twitch of his cock, another chill at the pet name, “I stopped using it ages ago.”

It’s all he needs to hear to pounce.

In seconds, his lips are all over you again—drinking that sweet, sweet nectar as his tongue slides against yours. It’s dizzying, mind-numbing, far more intoxicating than the charm of any quirk; even more so when he peppers kisses down your jaw and neck, the sweat-soaked skin offering the perfect balance.

The rough blonde sucks lower, and lower still, peeling off your bodysuit as he travels your hills and valleys. When you’re finally bare, he pauses to stare, a poor sinner basking in the divine for the very first time. And you? You simply relish in his attention, don’t rush him along or cover yourself from his prying eyes.

“Fuck,” he sighs, brushing a digit lazily across your waist. Your body pebbles at the contact, shivering lightly beneath him. “All for me.” He nudges your legs apart, crouching low so he’s eye to eye with your pretty cunt. “And this,” he runs a finger against your slit, watches as it glistens over with your slick, “this is all because of me.”

“Ah– Katsuki.” He smirks when your hips jerk, silently searching for more. “Please.”

Who’d allow a deity to ask twice?

He tongues you with fervor, taking his sweet time to savor every part of you. It begins with your thighs, bruised a pretty purple in the shape of Katsuki’s mouth, closer and closer to where you need him most. No matter how much you gripe and whine, threading your fingers through his wiry hair to nudge him towards your cunt, he doesn’t let up. You’re not getting off that easily—and besides, a proper oblation requires precious time and patience.

A long stripe up your slit, slow and steady, his tongue flattened against you to sop up every bit of you. He wants to be soaked, wants you to see him covered and gleaming in your essence, to know how long he’s longed for this moment. When he suckles at your clit, sparks prickle his own body, reveling in the low mewls of his name—the littles ‘ah’s and ‘oh god’s that spill from your mouth like a mantra.

Of course, Katsuki can’t quell the throbbing of his cockhead beneath his pants. He’s always been a taker, and the desire is relentless, every slight shift of his body causing him to groan, every lap at your slit making him scrunch his brows together and sigh against your bundle of nerves. But he simply settles for rutting against the mat, unable to sacrifice your pleasure—the obscene parting of your lips, the glazed over look in your eyes as you stare down at him—for his own.

“M’so—,” you whimper, panting, “so close.” Your legs tremble, thighs pressed tight against either side of his face, smothering him so that everything sounds a bit muffled. “Keep, ah- fuck, keep fucking going.”

Something about the vulgarities slipping from your lips only makes Katsuki hungrier, urging him to lap harder at you—and hump faster against the mat. At this point, the two of you are a true mess, drenched in slick and sweat and too much heat, but the sloppiness leaves him light-headed, aching for more.

“Wanna see you,” his voice is gruff and sharp as he rubs circles into your clit with the pad of his thumb, “cum all over me, princess.”

Maybe it’s the pet name, or perhaps the pressure in your gut has finally come to a head, but his wish is your command. Within seconds, you’re gushing on his tongue, crying out a long, repeated string of ‘fuck,’ and ‘oh god, yes.’

Katsuki fucks you through it, feeling the coil in his own gut pulled taut and ready to snap. The entire time, he doesn’t stop rutting against the mat, disregarding how needy he must look to you. When he cums, he does so with a loud groan, lips pressed around your clit even as you tug him away with shaky hands. The taste of you, the flash of white that sears through him, could keep him going forever.

“I can’t.” Your heels dig into his back, pushing him closer even as you surrender, “N-need a second.”

The plea seems to snap him out of his haze, glancing up at you to see tears streaking your cheeks and a soft, fucked out smile plastered across your face. “Oh God,” you mumble, hands moving to cover your eyes, “your face.”

Katsuki only raises a brow and grins wolfishly, swiping the back of his hand at his chin and his tongue across his lips to lap up what you left behind. “My face is fine. Prefer it this way, actually.”

Then he’s moving again, rising to pick you up into his arms even as you slap at his shoulder and squeal,

“Where the hell are we going?”

“The showers,” he responds cooly, smirk still glued to his face, “Need to test the limits of your quirk.”

Maybe he’ll power through it, maybe you’ll overpower him once again; he wins either way.

Cuddle Buddies | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re touch-starved, Peter’s your best friend, and there’s a whole lot of unresolved romantic tension between you; friends to lovers.

word count ↠ 3.4k

warnings ↠ uh oh.... there’s only one bed..? additionally maybe two swear words? also copious amounts of fluff lmao

a/n ↠ so apparently I really wanna cuddle Peter Parker. wbk. this is very cute and made me so soft when I wrote it. I hope you enjoy it! please let me know if you have any thoughts :D

“God damn, MJ, I think I’m actually going to die if I don’t get a hug soon.”

You’re rambling, your voice full of heavy frustration. Your hair is unkempt and messy from all the times you’ve run your fingers through it, and you stare at Michelle with a wild look in your eyes that makes her press a hand to her hips and laugh lightly.

“Has anyone told you that you’re really good at being dramatic, Y/N?” She replies casually, causing you to mock an outraged gasp. You sit down at the lunch table together, setting down your trays in front of you.

You manage a glare at your friend. “You’re so mean to me,” you whine. “You don’t understand how desperate I am.”

MJ narrows her eyes. “I don’t think it’s possible to die from lack of human contact,” she chimes.

“Who’s dying?”

You startle as a third, familiar voice joins the conversation, and crane your neck to see Peter slipping into the open seat beside you. He gives you an easy smile that stretches all the way to his soft, lovely brown eyes, and you feel your heart ache.

“No one’s dying,” Michelle replies. When Peter shoots her an inquisitive look, she adds, “Y/N thinks she’s going to perish if she doesn’t find someone to hug.”

You scowl at MJ, biting the inside of your cheek as you try not to let the embarrassment show on your face. It’s one thing to have this conversation with MJ - your close friend and number one confidant - but Peter? It’s an entirely different story. He may be your best friend, but your feelings are far more than simply platonic when it comes to him.

“Oh…” Peter looks at you curiously, his eager eyes darting over your face. He leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands, looking utterly adorable with his face pulled into a cute smile. His grin widens as you meet his gaze, and he nods knowingly. “Hugs are nice.”

You nod in appreciative agreement. “Exactly!”

MJ just rolls her eyes. “You guys are so weird.”

Ned joins the table and begins talking to MJ about a chemistry project, and Peter turns to you properly.

“Hey, so, are we still on for that study session later?” He asks you, his teeth briefly gliding across his lower lip. You try not to focus too much on the curve of his mouth, but it’s very difficult.

“Um, yeah,” you squeak, feeling your cheeks heat up a little as you remember the arrangement you’d made with Peter earlier in the week. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours?” Peter suggests.

“Okay. My parents are still away on business, so it’ll just be us. Is that okay?”

Your friend nods his head, his fluffy brown curls shifting around his face. “Sounds great.” Peter gives you a nervous smile, and it sets your heart racing. “I can’t wait.”

-----

Peter turns up a little after 7pm, a box of pizza in his hands. You spend a while chatting and watching Star Wars, and then eventually pull yourselves around to studying. You opt for your bedroom, with its very comfortable fluffy carpet, and you spread out all of your notebooks and pens around you before lying on your stomach and lazily flicking through your notes. But you can’t quite focus because something is amiss.

Peter is acting very oddly tonight. And he’s normally a little hyperactive, but it’s as if he’s on another level entirely. He keeps glancing up to you, then looking away the moment you bring your eyes up to meet his, and he hasn’t stopped drumming his fingers over the front of his maths textbook all night. You’re already nervous enough being around him, alone and within such close proximity to him, and his antics aren’t helping you at all.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on Peter Parker. Possibly. But you’d never tell him that.

“Pete,” you say, reaching breaking point when you catch him staring at your face for the fifth time in one minute. You sit up and turn to look at him, meeting his guilty, rose-tinted face. “What’s going on? You seem so unsettled. Are you okay?”

Peter opens and closes his mouth a few times, his eyes meeting yours nervously. His voice is more a squeak than anything else as he says, suddenly, “Do you want to cuddle me?”

You blink, totally blindsided by the change in topic.

“Uh, cuddle you?”

“Um, I mean, sorry, that’s such a weird thing to just come out and say, I- I just remembered earlier, with MJ, what she was saying, and I was wondering if you’d want to hug me, if you- if you want a hug so badly.” Peter breaks off, a disgruntled groan coming up his throat as he buries his flushed face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Y/N, shit, that was such a weird thing to ask. Can we just pretend I never said anything?”

You chuckle, your lips pulling into a wide smile. “You would let me hug you?” You ask gently. Peter parts his fingers and looks at you through the gaps, nodding slightly. “I’d like that, Peter.”

He looks so shocked by your statement that it brings another quiet laugh from your mouth. “O-Okay.” Peter clumsily opens his arms. “Um, here?”

It’s painfully awkward at first. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed, his back resting up against the mattress, so you have to do a weird sort of crawl over to him, feeling his wide, anxious eyes pressing onto your figure the whole way. It doesn’t help that you’re practically shaking from nerves now.

You’ve known Peter since the start of high school, but you’ve not really hugged him before. The most you’ve shared is a brief celebratory high-five after acing a biology presentation together, and even that contact had lingered in your mind for days after. The concept of crawling up to and hugging your crush makes your palms sweaty and your mind a numb anxious mess, but you do it, because it’s Peter, and the opportunity to cuddle up next to him is so enticing you think you’d do anything just to feel his arms around your body.

The angle is difficult, but Peter spreads his legs out across the carpet and pats his thighs, and you realise he wants you to straddle his lap, so you clamber into his hold gently. He’s sturdy beneath you, with a pair of dark denim jeans stretched over his firm thighs, and he’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in. You let your hands find his sides, and then you settle into a very close, very intimate hug with your best friend.

It’s lovely.

He smells of soft bubbles and peppermint, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, partly because it’s comfortable, but mostly because you don’t want him to see the massive, embarrassing grin fixed to your mouth. Your heartbeat’s going crazy - you can feel it pressing against your ribs almost painfully, and it only doubles in speed as Peter’s hands move slowly across your back, rubbing large, soothing circles over your hoodie. You savour the moment, your eyes closed as you enjoy just being held by your best friend.

“Is this okay?” Peter asks, after a few moments.

You hum against his neck, squeezing his torso softly. He’s wearing one of Midtown’s navy hoodies, and it feels particularly soft against your forehead. “Thanks, Pete,” you mumble, enjoying the moment entirely too much. “You’re really good at hugs, you know that?”

“You’re also a very nice hugger,” Peter replies. You swallow deeply as you feel him tighten his grip on your sides and pull you even closer.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to be held,” you find yourself saying. You’re starting to feel really comfortable now, and find yourself relaxing and shifting further into him.

“Definitely.” His voice is still ringing at a higher pitch than you’re used to, but you put it down to the late evening hour. “Um, Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“If you, uh, ever need another hug, you can always text me.”

You’re so glad you have your face buried in Peter’s warm neck because the grin latched to your lips is so large you think you’d die from embarrassment if your friend could see how giddy his words make you feel.

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks, Pete.” You pause for a moment, and take stock of the way he seems to be clinging to you just as tightly as you are to him. “You can always text me too, if you ever want a hug. Or anything, really.” You manage to collapse your smile so it’s more of a weak grin, and you pull back to look at Peter. His hands fall down to loosely grasp at your hips, and you find him looking at you with warm, attentive eyes and a wide smile hanging from his pink lips.

He looks so cute, and relaxed, and perfect, and you really can’t believe your luck that you’re sitting holed up in his arms just now.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles shyly, eyes flittering across every part of your face. “You’re a great friend.”

You deserve an Oscar for maintaining the smile on your face, despite the way his words stab painfully at your heart.

“You too, Pete,” you mutter. “The best friend ever.”

The air between you holds just a little too much tension, so you shift and push your face back into his shoulder, hugging him again. Peter’s arms tighten around your waist, and you sigh softly, revelling in rare the feeling of him so close to you, even if it isn’t under the circumstances you crave. You’d take anything Peter could offer you, even if it makes your heart ache.

------

It easily becomes a habit.

Soon enough, it’s been three months, and you’re spending almost every evening with Peter. The more you meet up, the more natural folding into his arms becomes, and soon you find that your favourite parts of the day are the moments you share curled up together.

Sharing affection with Peter is easy, but it comes at a cost - it ties your heart up in knots to spend so much time pressed up against his chest, acting so intimately with him, but then to pull back and go back about your day like nothing really happened. Every second you spend hugging him hurts you because your heart yearns so deeply to have more, but you just can’t bring yourself to tell him how you feel. You value your friendship with Peter too much to risk ruining it all because of a stupid crush, and you’re not ready to stop your evening shenanigans, so you decide to just put up with it and suffer in silence.

A few months into your arrangement, you find yourself at Peter’s when the power across the city goes out in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, shivering as you glance outside and see a flash of sharp lightning cut across the city. The rain pelts down against the pavements so loudly that you can hear it through the gap in the window. You turn and look at Peter, wide-eyed. “Bet you’re glad the Stark internship let you leave earlier than usual today. I’m not looking forward to walking back in that later.”

“Y/N, you can’t go home in the middle of a thunderstorm, especially if the power is out,” Peter tells you firmly, his arms crossing over his chest. He looks so cute with his eyebrows scrunched into a caring scowl that you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Stay here tonight. May’s out of town, but I can sleep on the sofa. I don’t want you to go across the city by yourself at the moment.”

You bite your lower lip, eyeing the slants of rain that pour over Queens. “It does look pretty horrible out there,” you admit. Your expression shifts into guilt as you eye Peter closely. “You can’t sleep on the sofa, though. I will.”

“No, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Peter, it’s your apartment, I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

“Then join me.”

“In your bed? With you?”

“Yes.” Peter’s face is a bright red as he flusters, “Um, only if you’re comfortable with that though, Y/N. You don’t have to. I just thought that- because, y’know, we’re kinda… close now, you might want to. But you don’t-”

“I want to,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can think them through properly. You’re rendered utterly incapable of sensible thought, because Peter’s looking at you so intently that it whips the breath straight out of your lungs. “Really, Pete, that would be nice, if you’re sure you don’t mind..?”

“No! I want to,” he replies. Peter runs his delicate fingers through his brown waves, pushing his strands away from his face easily. His smile is gentle, and it grows as you return it shyly. “I’ll go get you some clothes.”

You make light conversation as you both get ready for bed together. Peter even finds you a spare toothbrush in the cabinet beneath the sink, and you pull faces at him in the mirror as you brush your teeth together side by side. It feels so domestic, but also incredibly comfortable and normal, and you decide that you feel more at home by Peter’s side than you do anywhere else in the world. You realise that maybe you’d just been deluding yourself each time you’d dismissed your feelings for him as simply a crush. Maybe, your feelings run a lot deeper for your friend - far deeper than you’d ever intended for them to grow. Because you realise, as Peter laughs loudly when you pull a face at him in the mirror, that your feelings for the boy have taken firm root in your heart, and you’re absolutely fucking in love with him.

“So, um, I normally sleep on the left side, but I can swap if you want that side,” Peter tells you. The power has finally come back on and the weather has cleared up, but neither of you comment on it as he closes his bedroom door behind you and gestures at his nice, gingham-patterned bedspread.

“I can go on the right side,” you offer.

Peter turns off the light and you both shuffle to your respective sides of his bed. You’ve been in his room a thousand times before, but you’ve never ventured beneath his lovely soft covers, and you find yourself sighing slightly as you shuffle beneath the duvet. His pillows are light and feathery, and your head sinks into them easily.

He seems intent to stay as far away from you as possible, and he clings to the far edge of the mattress. It brings a frown to your mouth, but you let him be; if that’s where he has to be in order to feel comfortable, then you’ll let him stay there. Just because you feel something else fluttering about in your heart for him, does not mean he feels the same way - even if you were sure he’d been hugging you a little closer, recently, and staring at your lips more than he used to. But maybe that was all in your head.

“Do you need anything?” Peter asks slowly. You stare up at his ceiling, your eyes taking in the dark curves of his smooth roof.

“No,” you reply. “Your bed is very comfortable.”

You hear the sheets ruffle as Peter slowly turns over. You fold over onto your side and find yourself facing him, his bright eyes twinkling slightly beneath the light that streams in from the city outside. He looks very cute, with the duvet bunched up beneath his chin and his fluffy hair all messy and waved out across his forehead, and it makes you happy to see him so relaxed and free. Sometimes it feels as though Peter carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you’d give anything to see him gentle and carefree like this. It makes you feel a surge of pride to know you can give him just a little bit of peace.

“Yeah, I dunno where May got the mattress but it’s amazing.” Peter breaks off, shifting around a little, and you freeze up when you feel his hand brush against yours beneath the covers. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he mutters, immediately jerking his hand back. You can just about make out the dark flush of his cheeks.

“‘S okay,” you murmur, biting your lower lip. A beat passes, and then you add, “We hug all the time, Peter. You can touch me, y’know.”

He takes it as an invitation, and he tenderly reaches out. His warm hand finds the curve of your waist, and you stay remarkably still as he slowly shuffles a little closer.

“Is this okay?” Peter whispers into the air.

“Yeah.”

Finally you unstick, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You shift towards him, as if magnetised, and your hand goes up to rest on his side, too. His t-shirt feels soft beneath your hold, and you find your mind reeling as you take in his warmth, his scent, his touch.

Peter’s face is very near you now. Your legs are tangled together. Your head shifts onto his pillow, and suddenly he’s holding you flush against him, your noses almost touching.

“Y/N,” he says slowly. His eyes are wide and nervous, and they keep dipping down to settle on the curve of your lips.

“Pete,” you respond, your voice fragile. You can hardly keep still, for how nervous you’re feeling now. He’s pulled you right against him, and for the first time, you question whether your feelings are actually one sided. His warm fingers burn against your side, tracing delicate circles over the material of your borrowed shirt. “You’re really close.”

“Do you want me to move?” You’ve never heard him like this before: all warm, and gentle, and inviting. It ignites a whirlwind of butterflies inside your chest, and you really can’t stop yourself from saying, quietly,

“I want you to kiss me.”

Peter’s lips are on yours before you know it. Soft, at first, and a little bit bumpy and awkward. But he loosens up as you reach up and wrap your fingers around his hair, and you kiss him back with all that you have. Peter pulls you closer as you kiss him deeply, savouring the feeling of his warm, pillowy lips and enjoying the way your heart blooms in your chest as your best friend kisses you back. He releases a small noise of enjoyment into your mouth as you nibble over his bottom lip, and then he’s pushing his tongue into your mouth, and you’re making out, your figures lazily intertwined.

It feels so right to be kissing Peter that you briefly wonder why you’ve never tried this out before.

“I, um, I really like you, Y/N,” Peter whispers against you, when you finally pull back. Your lips tingle as you giggle into the air, your fingertips trailing through the soft strands of his chestnut hair. “In fact, I… I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Your mouth runs dry, and all you can really do to stop the tears of relief from slipping out of your eyes is lean in and kiss him again, hard. You kiss him like you’ve been dreaming about for months: slowly, passionately and lovingly - growing in tempo as you fervently try to convey everything you’ve kept hidden away inside your heart.

When you break away, you keep your lips nuzzled against his and breathe out a deep, “I love you too, Peter.”

You giggle together, and you feel so overcome with adoration for the boy that you simply have to kiss him again.

“D’you want to go on a date with me?” Peter asks gently, between gaps in your soft kisses. You finally move away from his lips and settle nearer, your forehead finding his chest as his arms encircle your waist and he holds you close in a warm, consuming cuddle.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Peter,” you mumble against his front. You smile softly as you feel his lips trail across your forehead, and your heart stirs happily in your chest.

“Okay,” he says, sounding immediately relieved. “I’m excited.”

You hum sleepily into his chest, your fingers curling around his strong back. “Me too,” you mumble.

“Night night, Y/N,” he says, his voice already being carried away as you drift further into dreamland. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Pete,” you reply. You know nothing else will compare to the feeling of being holed up in your best friends arms, with his lips scattering a dusting of kisses across your forehead, and you try to cling desperately to every single moment and sensation. “Sweet dreams.”

Peter leaves a final kiss on your forehead, and then you drift off to sleep with him, your figures entangled, and, for the first time, your hearts beating together as one.

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

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Recap: Pleasantview Round 5 (Summer)

The romance of Spring certainly went to a few heads in Pleasantview - the suburb is in the midst of quite the baby boom. But now Summer is here, and school is out! Parents are scrambling to sort out childcare, teenagers are reveling in their freedom, and with the sun shining, the mood in the neighbourhood is pretty great.

But are the families as happy as they seem? Or are some on the brink of collapse? What secrets lurk in their hearts?

The round began with newcomers Tiffany Sampson and Kevin Beare getting settled in. They adopted a puppy, got new jobs, and got to know the neighbours.

Then as Tiffany finished her first day of work in the Education career, she learned she was already pregnant!

They had a quick, slightly rushed wedding before the baby arrived.

Baby Harvey was born, but it already looks like she might be expecting again.

The round ended on a happy note, with the couple already nicely established as a family in town with a few friends!

The Dreamer family started out just as well, but things quickly started to deteriorate.

Due to a combination of bad mental health, recurring nightmares and possible haunting, Brandi Broke isn’t in a good place. Her relationship with Darren suffers for it, too.

Meanwhile Cassandra’s marriage with Don is falling apart, and Darren can’t help being sympathetic. Perhaps a little too much so.

Mia Broke, obsessed with the paranormal, gets herself abducted by aliens, much to her mom’s dismay.

She’s also eager to discuss her theories about the spooky sounds in their yard, but Brandi shuts it down.

Mia goes on a date with Benedick Monty, but it’s kind of a mixed bag.

Back home, Mia and Darren eventually talk about the possible hauntings at home. He admits to her seeing Darleen’s ghost, from time to time.

Brandi also opens up to Mia about her father, Skip.

And Mia is vindicated to finally some ghosts herself!

I played the Lotharios next since I was interested in what was going on with Cassandra.

Cassandra and Don’s relationship has had its ups and downs - neither of them has been 100% faithful, but they’re dealing with it. Maybe? Between raising the twins and focusing on their careers there hasn’t been a ton of time for marriage counselling.

Don’s been feeling a bit isolated, recently. Outside of his family and his coworkers, he doesn’t really have a lot of friends. That’s been deliberate, to an extent. The fewer people around him, the fewer temptations to stray outside of the marriage.

For the most part, it’s been working. But a chance meeting with Nina Caliente has him feeling… confused.

The kids are doing fine, the parents not so much.

She’s always in low aspiration, lately, ever since her Dad passed away. It’s been hard getting on her feet since then, and Don going on about needing “me time” doesn’t help. She needs his support right now more than ever! Why doesn’t he get that?

They don’t talk about it, but both of them are feeling very alone, and starting to lose faith in each other...

Meanwhile, the boys age up. Bernado’s a popularity sim and Cassimiro’s knowledge.

Eventually, things in the marriage finally explode and Cassandra tells Don about Darren, trying to get a rise out of him.

Don immediately retaliates by woohooing with Sharon Wirth on a grocery-run.

After a cool-off day, they agree to break things off, and Don moves out.

He moves in, temporarily, with Bella. Who is insistant that he and Cassie try and patch things up!

He’s more interested in exploring new options, though.

Bella is devestated to lose her job as a party guest.

Meanwhile Oliver Goth (Dina and Mortimer’s son) gets his first kiss with Ariel Capp! Later he goes on a date with Tommy Ottomas, too.

At one of Bella’s parties, Cassandra and Don keep things civil, but Cassandra evidently isn’t doing well.

Bella goes on a date with Gilbert Jacquet. It’s not really all that serious between them, and Bella still misses Mortimer dreadfully, but Gilbert is charming and handsome enough to take her mind of her worries.

Things with Bella and Don also seem to be getting a little heavy, and Don concludes he needs to move out before things cross a line. Bella reluctantly agrees, it’s obvious her plan to get him and Cassie back together hasn’t worked

Don moves to Strangetown!

Next up are the Ramaswami family, a nice breath of fresh air after all the drama.

Priya befriends some of the other mothers in town, becoming especially close to Kaylynn.

And baby Ravi gows into maybe the coolest toddler ever?

Sanjay survives a near death experience.

And Priya finds out she’s expecting again!

Divorced once and with the girls having just graduated college, Daniel Pleasant didn’t expect to be engaged again with a kid on the way as he approached retirement age, doing it all over again. He’s far from unhappy about it, though. Mary Sue always had an independent streak, but Kaylynn adores him. Maybe it’s a bit selfish, but it feels so good to be needed.

Kaylynn knows some people in the neighbourhood look down on her, think her naive, call her a homewrecker… that’s fine. If they worked as a cleaner for years and years maybe they’d consider packing it in and settling into an easy life, too. What’s wrong with wanting to be taken care of?

Notably (and much to my horror) during the Pleasant round, Brandi and John start up their affair again.

Kaylynn finally gives birth, to a baby boy they call Jeffery Pleasant, after Daniel’s father. Daniel’s really pleased!

Jennifer’s eager to meet her new nephew. She and Kaylynn get off to a rocky start, but eventually start to bond.

She’s closest friends with Brandi Broke, though. The two have become inseperable, with Brandi visiting all the time.

Daniel invites both of the girls over to meet their little brother, but Angela is the only twin who shows. Whether that’s because they have a better relationship, or because Lilith was just busy is anyone’s guess.

Then it turns out Kaylynn’s pregnant again already?

Kaylynn and Daniel tie the knot!

Nina and Don also reconcile at the wedding.

Kaylynn gives birth to another baby boy, Luke!

And Jeff ages upp!

Daniel ages up, too. It’s finally time for him to retire, soon...

Daniel’s definitely a bit of a dirty old man, but Kaylynn doesn’t seem entirely oblivious to that side of him, and figures as long as she keeps his needs met they should be fine. We’ll see if that holds up.

Then it was time to catch up with the Shoreharts, who moved here form Widespot for a fresh start.

A retired chef, Sandy’s enjoying her retirement a lot more than she ever enjoyed being a stay at home mom. Granted, all this free time has her a little restless, but it’s nothing a bit of time outdoors and excercise can’t fix. She hopes.

They were honestly pretty chill! Rhett’s taken to the whole marriage thing suprisingly well, for a romance sim. Turns out, as long as he’s getting lovin’ on a regular basis he doesn’t really care if it’s with one woman or several. It’s never boring with Sandy, and he intends to keep her as happy as he can for the rest of her days. That’ll show her shit-heel of an ex-husband.

Mostly they just spend a lot of time with family.

Sandy’s very generious with the backrubs, but nothing goes too far.

Mimi is definitely at least a little anxious about her parents’ marriage though, because she spends some of the round reading up on Couple’s Councelling.

Then it’s time for her to age up! She grows into a rather cute romance sim.

Then at the party the house of cards starts to crumble, as Sandy gives her ex-husband Hamilton a kiss, right in front of Mimi and Rocky.

Mimi agrees not to tell her Dad, but isn’t happy. She spends a lot of time out of the house.

With Sandy keeping her indescretion quiet, I’m not sure what they have in store in the future!

Regardless, next are the Ramirez family.

Tessa’s spent a lot of time looking afte rthe baby and she’s sick of it! So she spends some time Downtown with friends.

She later takes Bernardo on a date, although he’s not sure if he likes her as more than a friend. Bernardo likes the idea of falling in love with Tessa, who he’s always admired! But he’s a little hesitant at the same time, especially with his parents’ divorce still being so recent.

Checo has a bit of a wandering eye, but mostly he keeps himself in check.

Checo might be a bit of a flirt, but at least he’s not a hypocrite. When Lisa was dancing with Skye he didn’t even bat an eye. Or maybe he just doesn’t see an old man as much of a threat…

Ugh, God, I forgot this happened

Baby Sofia grew up super cute!

Anyway, that’s all from them!

The Oldies weren’t too eventful, mostly just focused on hobbies!

They did finally meet Mary’Sue’s new partner, which went... poorly.

But they did have a nice meeting with their grandaughter later, and a fun night out!

Then it was the Burbs! John’s recent indescretions with Brandi aside, things seemed to be going well.

At least, until he made out with Coral Oldie :/

Oblivious to thins, Jennifer was starting to trust John again.

They had dinner with Jen’s brother Dan and his new wife...

And Jennifer discovered she was pregnant again!

Lucy headed away for college...

And baby James grew up, leaving the Burb round complete and Pleasantview all done & dusted!

For Suptober21, Day 5: Nostalgia

Doing this thing (@winchester-reload​)

Moodboard by me (@fanfics-fix (Main Blog)).

All pics taken from Pinterest.

Quotes ("Death is eternal, is it not?" & "And yet I live. Because you found me, anchored me, even in Hell.") by me.

Accompanied ficlet also by me. Will also be posted later on AO3. Read on AO3. 

Title: Pain Bleeds Into Hope

Tags: Post Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Guilty Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 957 words

Summary:  Dean wonders about something from his past.

--- READ BELOW ---

It's a little morbid, how they met. Heat and fire and pain, is what comes to mind when Dean thinks about it—that first utterance of his name while he was lost in the screams of his own torture, unable to move in the endless space provided for him. He doesn't even really remember someone saying his name, but Cas says he had called out Dean's name, and Cas can say the sun is blue and he'll believe it.

He'll always believe him. It's been an uphill battle, since the whole crazy Cas thing a few years ago, to be able to come to this moment, but Dean's always been a fighter or so everyone says.

"Dean?" He turns around at the voice; the familiar way Cas says his name, with a gentle care to it like he's still unsure of his grasp on English, with a love that comes crashing, bolting at Dean, always makes him smile, and he does so now. Smiles at Cas as his angel smiles back, tilts his head at the newspaper in Dean's hands. "Sam said there's nothing of note in it,"

"There isn't," he agrees. There's nothing of note on this particular piece of paper, but Dean has latched onto the part where it talks about a birthday bash gone awry—just another shitty day in the world—and it's been a revelation to realize that he hasn't once asked Castiel if he wants one. A birthday. It's not that he can actually have one, but the celebration of a new life entering the world—even if in this case it's about Cas entering the human world, his world—is something Dean wants Cas to have.

He isn't really sure what day that would be, though. And hence the trip down memory lane; it's not easy, to think about then. It brings back memories he'd rather forget, a slew of wrongdoings that itch at him, make his heart pound and limbs sweat with the intensity of his guilt. Pain is a constant in his life, he's accepted it. There would be guilt, too, and there is; he isn't a hero, not when he has cost too many lives over easily dismissed 'mistakes' or 'you did your best', but the guilt of that time is different—it is more in the way that Dean meant to harm them, the others.

It's too much for him, but he's braved worse things just to see another day.

He blinks, focuses on the warmth seeping on the small of his back from Cas' hands, even through the t-shirt he's wearing.

"Cas, do you-do you remember?"

Cas' voice is curious, "I might,"

"When you saved me. Gripped me tight and raised me from perdition and all that jazz,"

There's a silence. Curiosity has turned into confusion, and Dean chuckles at Cas' predictable patterns of human emotions.

He turns, lets the newspaper drop on the table, and looks in those blue eyes that have been his oasis in the chaos of his life for way too long, yet not long enough. Lets his hands rest on Cas' hips, pulls him close, their faces so close that each breath they pull in can be felt on the other's face.

"I was wondering, I don't even know why but. Just humor me." He says when Cas simply raises an eyebrow at him. Dean doesn't wonder about things a lot, and if he does it is rare that he shares them—without prompting at least.

"Always," Cas says solemnly, like it's a promise, and Dean knows that it is.

It makes his heart flutter in ways no middle-aged man's should. But Cas has always made him do things that shouldn't be possible; the fact that he is alive right now is just one of the many examples.

He tells Cas about his thought process—how Cas should have a birthday, how Dean wants to give him one, and how it made him go down the memory lane.

"So, I just, you know. Started thinking how the way we met is kinda morbid, but also really cool. You literally saved me from Hell,"

Cas gives him a quick smile. "Dean, we just went to see Rowena last weekend. In Hell,"

Dean throws his hands up, laughing, and Cas grins. "Who would have thought? Our life is crazy, man,"

They sober up then, and Cas pulls Dean close again, because he'd wound up a bit away in his hysterical excitement over the life he leads.

"The way we met," Cas starts, and Dean moves one of his hands from Cas' hips to his hands, intertwines their fingers together. "That could be seen as morbid, a bad memory, but that's not how I see it."

"Then how do you?" Dean can guess. And he is right.

"Like it's the best day of my existence. Dean, that day, I met you. Granted, the circumstances were not ideal, but it happened and we can't change it. But I like it anyways."

Dean kisses Cas, and when he pulls away, Cas trying to chase his lips, says, "You're such a sap,"

"Is it such a bad thing?"

"Nope, definitely not," Dean says, and he means it.

The whole thing might have been traumatic as- well, hell, but in the end he is here, with Cas in his arms. What more he could he hope for?

Maybe to be together even after death. But when they met because he was dead, that particular wish actually sounds less like a wish and more like any other in the week.

Not to mention the fact that his son is the literal God now.

Yeah. He isn't going to be anywhere but at Cas' side for all of eternity.

Return of the Jedi [Max Lord x gn!Reader]

Summary: You and Alistair are heartbroken when you find out opening week tickets for Return of the Jedi have sold out. So Maxwell calls an old friend and organises a special surprise for his little family.

Warnings: food mention

Word count: 2000>

Author’s note: I received a request to write a Maxwell Lord x neurodivergent!Reader from @smoldjarin . They provided me with so much information in regards to autism, stimming, hyperfixations and more. I had so much joy writing this and I hope you find joy in reading it too. I couldn’t have done this without Melissa. I just hope I done it justice. (PS— I wanted to include Melissa’s love for Star Wars in this. I think we all, as Pedro stans, love Star Wars).

Maxwell wanted to pull his hair out. He had no idea what you and Alistair were yapping on about, but, evidently, it was something you both felt very passionate about. He’d seen you enthusiastic like this before, sure, but this was the first time he’d ever seen Alistair so hyped up. His brown eyes were gleaming as he hopped up and down.

“He literally said ‘I am your father!’ you laughed and Alistair let out a long groan.

“Yeah but he’s the bad guy! And the bad guys always lie,” Alistair explained — and that statement alone was enough to make Maxwell frown. ‘The bad guys always lie’ ... Ironic, to say the least. But, Alistair did make an excellent point. “I don’t trust him.”

You giggled and pulled Alistair into your lap. You’d never found it easy, touching people and being so close to them, but Alistair has grown to be an exception. He was like a son to you.

“Well, I suppose all will be revealed next week.” you told the ebony haired boy, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You and Alistair got along really well, and Maxwell couldn’t be more grateful, but it was the moments when you both babbled on about Star Wars that had him feeling the most clueless. Granted, he hadn’t found the chance to sit through the movies, but he wanted to because he knew how much it meant to you and his son.

He was also made blissfully aware that the third and final instalment of the trilogy was being released next week, because you and Ali couldn’t stop talking about it. Even in the moments when Alistair wasn’t there, you expressed your excitement to Maxwell. He found it endearing though. He loved it when you talked about your interests and current hyper-fixations. Which is why his heart broke when you read the Friday morning paper and found out all the tickets for opening week were sold out.

Max, despite having no interest in Star Wars, was devastated when he saw the look on your face. He especially didn’t want to be the person who had to break the bad news to Alistair.

“I was really looking forward to it.” You mumbled sadly, your eyes fixated on your cereal. You only had a little left to eat, but truthfully, you’d lost all appetite. These movies and this franchise meant the absolute world to you, and now no doubt you’d have the final movie spoiled for you at work or by the television.

“Oh darling,” Maxwell hummed, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you tight. You relished in his warmth and found yourself getting lost in the comforting scent of his sweet musk cologne. “I know. And I’m sorry,” the silence between you both broke his heart. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll fix this.”

You weren’t sure how he could possibly fix this. There were simply no more seats available in the movie theatres. He couldn’t just spawn in more seats. What Maxwell Lord did have though, was power, influence and money— and when he put his mind to something, he was sure to get it done. You had never met anyone more determined than him.

He didn’t want to leave you that morning, but duty called and he had to go to work. You tried your hardest to push through the day, ignoring this morning’s revelation. You opted to meet up with a friend at the park, and got ice cream. But when you’re friend told you they’d got tickets, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. You deserved these tickets. It just wasn’t fair.

Maxwell was struggling to focus on his work too. He was running out of bright ideas, but he didn’t just want his statement from this morning to be another empty promise. He actually wanted to fix this. He’d do anything to make you and Alistair happy.

Then it struck him. If his life was a kids cartoon, an illuminated lightbulb would’ve popped above his head. He buzzed his assistant, Raquel, into his office.

“Mr. Lord?” she smiled, walking towards his pine wood desk. Maxwell combed his fingers through his golden locks of hair and looked up at the blonde girl.

“Do I know anyone who is in the uh— the new Star Wars movie?” He inquired.

Raquel was expecting some question about the latest oil numbers, or a request for more supplements — so to say she was taking aback by her boss’ query was an understatement.

She thought for a moment. “Well, Harrison Ford has been a long time investor for Black Gold. He attended last year’s charity gala. Do you remember?”

Of course Maxwell remembered. How could one forget about being in the presence of Hollywood A-Lister Harrison Ford? “Harrison’s in Star Wars?” Maxwell quizzed, trying to hide his piqued curiosity. “Bring me his number. I have to make a call.”

———

Maxwell was so excited to get home and share the good news with you and Alistair. You greeted him just as you normally did, with a loving embrace and a gentle kiss.

“How was your day sweetheart?” your boyfriend asked, smoothing out your hair.

You shrugged. “Fine I s’pose,” you told him. “How was work?”

Maxwell’s grin only grew. “Bring Alistair in.” he beamed.

You called for the boy who had been playing with his action figures in his bedroom. His mom had dropped him off about an hour before Maxwell got home. You and Ali snuggled into each other on the crushed velveteen sofa as Maxwell paced backwards and forwards. It wasn’t nervous pacing though, he was bubbling with anticipation.

“I hope you’re all excited for tomorrow night,” Maxwell began, before flashing three pristine Return of the Jedi tickets before yours and Alistair’s eyes. “Because I met with my good friend Han Solo for lunch and he has given us access to a private screening on Sunday night. So we get to see the movie before the rest of the world.”

You felt like you were in a dream. He’d done it. He’d actually fixed it. You didn’t know how and you knew better than to question him, but it didn’t matter because he somehow managed to fix this and it was all to you and Alistair. You’d found it so hard to find someone who loved you for you, who didn’t mind your stims and who encouraged your hyperfixations. But Maxwell was that man and you couldn’t believe how lucky you had gotten.

Alistair bounced up and jumped on his dad, almost knocking him over in the process. Maxwell wrapped his arms around the six year old and picked him up.

“Daddy! Thank you thank you thank you!” he squealed, unable to contain his ecstatic grin. “I had no idea you were friends with Han Solo!”

Maxwell smiled. “Oh yeah, me and Han go way back. I used to co pilot with him on the—“ Maxwell paused for a second as he tried to recall what Harrison told him. He had to get this right. “—Millennium Falcon?”

Both yours and Alistair’s jaw dropped. Gods, he was good at this. Maxwell may have been a brilliant businessman but he was an even better father.

“Does that mean you know Luke and Leia too?” Alistair asked.

“Oh yes.” Maxwell nodded, despite having no idea who Luke and Leia were.

“And Chewbacca?”

Chewbacca? Maxwell thought. What kind of name was that? Never the less he smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”

“And Artoo and Threepio?”

Maxwell blinked. “Yep.” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Wow daddy,” Alistair hummed, snuggling into his dad’s chest. “I’m so excited.”

Maxwell dropped Alistair the ground and kneeled to his level. “You should put on your jammies and have an early night. That way, tomorrow will come around quicker.”

“Okay!” Alistair agreed enthusiastically before running back into his bedroom.

“And remember Ali!” Maxwell called. He cleared his throat and pointed his finger. “I am your father.”

That was it. That was the last straw. You’d tried your hardest to hold back your laughter as Max humoured his son, but seeing your boyfriend do a Darth Vader impression was something else.

Max sighed and sat down next to you, pulling your body into his lap. “I love you so much, my dear.”

You grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you too. I can’t believe you did all of this.” you revealed.

“I always keep my promises.” he replied with the most genuine smile.

———

The movie was a success, and even Maxwell enjoyed it, which was very unexpected.

“I can’t believe Darth Vader was telling the truth,” Alistair sighed, exasperated. It had been a long day for sure, and his cheeks were still rosy with excitement. “I’m so glad Darth Vader isn’t my dad.”

Maxwell tutted.

“But he turned good in the end,” You smiled, taking Ali’s hand. “He saw what truly mattered. He had to save his son.”

Yeah, the parallels between Vader and Luke and Maxwell and Alistair were interesting to say the least.

“Daddy, who was your favourite character?” Alistair asked.

Maxwell thought for a moment. “I liked that guy in the green armour, he was cool. He sorta reminds me of, well, me.”

“Boba Fett?” Alistair quirked an eyebrow. “Oh daddy, no one is as cool as Boba Fett.”

Maxwell feigned a gasp. “Not even your old

man?”

Alistair giggled and rolled his eyes. “I liked the Ewok!” he announced and then tugged on your hand. “Who did you like?”

“I like Leia,” you beamed. “She’s strong and beautiful...”

“Just like you.” Maxwell whispered, brushing his

lips against yours.

The night came to an end and you couldn’t have been happier. As you lay in bed, you thanked Maxwell for all he had done. He was truly the best boyfriend in the world. He loved you so much, and he swore in that moment, as you fell asleep in his arms, that the next promise he’d make would be a promise to himself.

He was going to marry you.

———

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what it’s like falling in love with her🦋🥺❤️

(Venus !!)❤️❤️ I did this fast so I apologize for grammar spelling mistakes xox

(I’m doing this by thinking of my friends and their methods or way of acting in romantic relationships however I will make another one doing in love with him and will touch on men with all the venuses that I’ve personally been in love with to add an even more personal touch xox)

Aries- Kisses that are short but kill you in the 5 seconds they last. Gives you forever in a minute. Always leaves you wanting more and that breaks you but fills you simultaneously. She knows that. She’s aware of her presence and that it feels like burning in all the right places. She seems naive and pure at soul, but shes well aware of the danger she holds in her hands and she uses it to her advantage. She loves the wanting, the chasing. She lives for the thrill, the game. She will run away before you can dispose of her heart and she might not let you see those broken parts but might just show a side that’s much funner, when it gets serious she may just become a runner. Sometimes, she is nothing but a machine running on fumes of lust expelling and leaving without a trace whenever she must. Some day she may realize that love might just be worth it, and that she really deserves it. But it still must consist of passion, fireworks, and all, if you plan on keeping her for the long haul.

Taurus Venus- she doesn’t want you to know she is soft, as she’s shown that side before, to many people she has lost. She’s not ready for change so her walls are built high, not even broken open by heavy ocean tides. Deep down she is melting, she is all love at the core. Filled with romance and god, so much more. She wants someone to truly share this with, but forever is all she ever asked for. If you cannot give her that she’ll retreat, become stubborn unable to make two ends meet. she might be slow at first to show her passion, she may show it through a touch that inhibits so much love. there’s nothing better than the comfort of her hug. She will heal all of you through a softness that you didnt think exists. She’s the definition of wife material, someone you’ll forever miss.

Gemini Venus- they describe her as flakey and that’s not always the case. There’s so many sides to her like differing tulips in a vase. I think she likes love but can find it in so many places, I think she can find love amongst so many faces. Maybe it’ll take a while for her to find her forever, but I do think deep down she does want forever. She won’t show all this meaning right off the jump. She’ll show something more innocent, naive and young. She is cute and pure, that, we are sure. She hides such greatness behind that coy smile, and the right person has to detect that, to truly find that. Maybe that’ll take a while. but that person will come that realizes shes more than just fun, she is the moon, just as much as she is the sun. She is eccentric and wildly funny. Her love feels like flying which is freeing but, a little terrifying, honey! It sometimes feels like, at any moment, she might let go, leaving one freezing in the December snow. Once it is true love, she is just as comforting as she is adventurous, she’ll give the whole world and expect nothing in return. Her love comes in teachings and there’s something we all can learn, from the glimmer in her eyes to her childlike hope. if she is truly in love, you will know.

Cancer Venus- her love feels just like home. The mom or dad you never had, and to play that role, she’s probably glad. every touch is enveloped with so much care. You can still smell the sea within her hair. She might be the mother or the baby or maybe even both, she always did help you unfold. When you think of her, you think of making out in your childhood bedroom, you think of the clinginess she exuded, maybe the eternal doom. The moods were never your favourite but you learned to savour it. You accepted every side of her maybe even the annoying parts too. She was your special seashell in the deep ocean blue, her love was nothing but true.

Leo Venus- Golden shimmers from above, a dramatic flair when it came to love. It was always, all show, all beauty, nothing below. Sometimes that was beautiful, sometimes you hated it. There was no in between, she served melodrama for breakfast lunch and dinner and you ate it up, there was no room for desert. Her love was like light shows and the strips of Las Vegas, entrancing but maybe too much at times. there was some innate programming she had that made her feel like she was never enough, but that she was, that she was. She was the big romantic gesture, love was extravagant and so was she. She wanted a love as she saw on the screens, the one that filled her childhood dreams. It was hard to live up to her firey passions, but it was worth it because she’d give you so much in return. She would love you till her flicker would burn out and she was all just heavy smoke and she’d continue loving you in the darkness. They called her the lion for a reason, her loyalty was fierce but her wrath was even fiercer. Her love was so lush, yet, the anger would defeat her.

Virgo Venus- Pure and awkward. The angel that was too good for you, the one that made you dream of laying and praying beside her feet. Not because her flirting skills were smooth and effortless, not because of lusty bedroom eyes, but because of the sweetness that filled her tired sighs. You could see that she wanted something real and that, pursuing maybe wasn’t her strong point, but you would do that for her. Once you got to know her, you unpeeled every layer and found more and more gold underneath, it scared her to show it, but her love grew fonder and she did it more confidently as time went on. Time is what grew our love and our passion, and it was as real as it could ever be. It was divination, it was serving a higher purpose. It was husband and wife, Adam and Eve, something so religious, something so prestiged. It may have seemed regular classic or boring. But to us it felt like our own little story. You got to know a bit more everyday and the excitement of that never did go away. I thank you for fixing all my brokenness even if it was slowly and surely, I thank you for helping me change. You are the only god to which I would pray to, the only holy ness that made the sadness go away.

Libra Venus- She’ll scare the hell out of you with her words. They’ll fall out of her mouth effortlessly, soft flower buds, blooming. She knows just what to say and she holds so much power in that. Her charm and her brilliance got you down on your knees, just a sentence, is all that it takes. Kisses sweet like strawberry shakes. But before you know it she doesn’t love you anymore, it was just a fantasy she had, merely a mirage. It wasn’t real but to you it was and it’s confusing and it’s making you insane. She didn’t mean to cause any pain, she is a fairy in the garden bouncing from tree to tree ever so lightly, taking what she can get and moving on to what’s meant for her. And maybe that wasn’t you. Maybe that’s ok. Because she’ll find someone who makes her heart beat from their touch and their words, someone that doesn’t make her want to create an imaginary world. Someone who just is pure beauty to her, someone who is nothing but real true love. Something more down to earth and better than the heavens up above. She will find it. And she will never let go.

Scorpio Venus- the tension that she holds. “Are we angry at eachother or are we so in love we can’t breathe?”She always made you feel both. Sometimes you thrived off of it, sometimes it made you seasick. She bit your lip and made it bleed as she pulled you in for your final kiss. She cried a little as she left. There was softness in her dark facade there was something light and airy. You only could touch it for a second before it slipped back underneath the oily meSs. The chaos was exciting and her loyalty was meaningful. Her jealously could kill and that you’ve seen. You smelled danger from a mile away on her shirt and you gravitated towards it for some reason. She’ll make her scar and the slice will hurt your skin, but you’ll forever want to bleed. She is what you need.

Sagittarius Venus- with her, love wasn’t hard. No, she made you think it was easy. It was giggles and being best friends. It was passionate make outs and spontaneous adventures. Love is all well and fun. Love is the horizon, a new dawn, abeautiful beginning. But sometimes it had to end. Sometimes she would run free and realize “this isn’t for me.” And sometimes she would come back as if nothing happened. It seemed like dissapearjng but to her it was just living out her honest truth. She wouldn’t wanna stay if what you felt for her wasn’t the same as what she felt for you. when it’s good it’s all passion, it’s perhaps not romantic but casual and fun. it’s two love birds on the run. Don’t know where they are going but they’re together and isn’t that what matters? They don’t know that eventually both their hearts might shatter. She loves the unpredictable and will revel in it with you, images of soaking your hands in waterfalls and late night rendezvous.

Capricorn- Her love is timid and perhaps bitter, but once she falls in love she’ll be unsure what hit her. She may laugh at romance till she is in the dream herself, she’ll then learn to fall in love with love itself. It takes a lot to serenade this girl, and she wants nothing less than what is perfect and no one can deny that she deserves it. She showed true commitment and loyalty and someone treated her like a joke and left her broken without a glint of hope. She is now careful in love and can you really blame her? But once you tear those walls down it’s impossible to tame her. She’ll want kisses in public and cuddles by the fire, she’ll believe that you are more than worthwhile. Yes it may take a while to break down the stones that she’s pilled in front of her heart, she will be more like concrete, but a soft touch and a smile that means well might just turn her into fragile glass, into running water. If you bash those walls down with steely swords and fight the dragons that protect her pretty soul than she might just believe in you, you might just help her believe in love again, and ultimately, she might believe in herself.

Aquarius- She will confuse you as she shape shifts into whatever he pleases. Sometimes, she is one full of romance and love and she gives you summer heat and sweet icecream. But sometimes the sunshine is fleeting, she is cold and detached and wants to be nothing more than friends. She is full of surprises and contradictions. She loves in a way that is strange but captivates you, you always want to know more. She is a good and loyal friend, funny and filled with adventures and a good wit. She is awkward and unsure of how to pursue true love though she does want it. deep inside she’ll never admit it, no, those feelings she hides. She’ll pull you in, and there you are falling in her wishing well, unable to climb back out and sometimes you can surround yourself in her water and drown in feelings but sometimes it’s empty and vacant, depressing, sometimes she is an endless drought. She’ll make you love her so much it terrifies you but she’s like electricity in your veins, absolutely addicting.

Pisces- She is the girl with eyes full of stars staring at you across the crowded room with a shy smile. She will not approach you but instead let herself escape to a dream in which you are the main role, she will be able to taste your lips, to smell your cologne even as she is not near you, even when she’s lying in bed at home. She will wish for you to come and save her from herself and she wishes you are as good as her heart makes you up to be, she wishes when you finally come and love her that you will never leave, because when she is abandoned, she is still left with those empty dreams. And the fantasies do haunt her, the memory of your soft kiss will taunt her. I hope for your sake you live up to what she dreamt you to be, otherwise she may be surprised, heartbroken, and she will not hesitate to leave. To chase some perfect crystallized image that dances in her head, she’ll cry and scream when people tell her Prince Charming simply does not exist, but she still believes all her past lovers were simply frogs she had to kiss and that she still awaits her soulmate. All this love and lust is only fictious for she is just the girl with eyes full of stars staring at you across the crowded room with a shy smile. Do approach her.

Guarded and Uncharted (2/3)

A/N: Hello my sweets! I didn’t proofread this bad boy so thread lightly - the comma and semi-colon make a frequent and often incorrect appearance. Nonetheless, I hope you like it! 

_____________________________________________

At first, you were trying to ice him out; keep absolute quiet about your work, thoughts, or feelings for fear that he’d take your words back to the King and Queen. However, as the days turned to weeks, it dawned on you that the man might just be as miserable with this arrangement as you were.

You’d learned all about him through pub stories and bard songs, and there was no way someone of his caliber, of his legendary status, felt happy or fulfilled babysitting some pathetic princess. Sir Geralt of Rivia was a man of great lore and gore, and if you learned anything about men of note, it was that they craved purpose. Your kingdom had no real political power, much to your parent’s dismay, and you really only had one town and two villages under your reign. There was nothing here for a Witcher. So, if your mother wasn’t going to call this boar off your back, then you’d simply have to remind him of the banality of your situation.

With that, you started talking. Not really with him, more, to him. Geralt never gave you more than an eye roll or a raised brow, but you knew your endless chatter would get to him eventually. What you didn’t see coming though, was how much you needed to talk to someone.

Prattling on incessantly was easy. You didn’t need to dig too deep in order to bring out as many uncomfortable topics as possible: how sad it made you to see dead animals by the side of the road, how you wished you could rescue and love every mangy stray that ran up to you when you took out food, how aggrieved you were at the rain for ruining your hair, and so on. As time went on though, your calculated chatter turned into actual venting.

Your parents never listened and you never wanted to burden the castle staff with your problems, so you just bottled it up. Two decades of trauma and self-doubt, finally found a worthy sounding board in this gruff man, and you let yourself enjoy his company.

So now, as you were about an hour into an impassioned monologue about the injustices that the farthermost villagers faced, it caught you off guard when Geralt finally snapped.

“Gods, will you ever shut up?!” he yelled, turning to fix you with a cold glare.  

“Ah-HA!” you exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air in celebration, “So it isn’t true after all! Witchers do have feelings.”

“What?” he huffed, his nostrils flaring.

“Anger, frustration, being annoyed, those are feelings my gruff little turtledove,” you tsked, riding up next to him so you could look him in the eyes. “Therefore, witchers can feel. I wonder what else they’ve exaggerated about?” you mused, casting a less-than-subtle glance at his crotch before giggling freely.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” he fumed, shaking his head, “you are truly insufferable, you know that?”

“Oh yes, I do,” you beamed, shooting him a cocky smile, “but if you ca”n’t handle me, you can always just quit. And no need to tell their royal high-asses, right? Keep your coin, piss off to find some peace, it’s a win-win.”

“’high-asses’?” he snorts, “I thought you were meant to be clever.”

“My, what a bite, Sir Geralt! There’s the wolf I heard so much about.” You sneer, a teasing glint to your eye.

“Don’t play me for a fool, Y/N, I know what you’re doing.” He said flatly, keeping his catlike eyes on you, his voice lowering to a growl. “I know what you’ve done.”

Any upper hand you thought you had was torn away from you in a flash, your stomach dropping to your heels. Your heartbeat was deafening in your ears and you had to readjust your grip on your reins to hide the way your palms had clammed up.

“Ha!” you breathed hollowly, praying he couldn’t sense your panic. “I know you’re bored,” you attempted another laugh but it came out more like strangled grunt, “but there’s no need to posture. I haven’t done anything of note, I’m sure my parents could attest to that.”

Geralt hummed knowingly but kept quiet, his cold stare never straying from your face. You quirked your brow challengingly, thinking you could win this stare-down. You were wrong.

“The villages out in the fringes of your little kingdom are doing quite well aren’t they, Y/N?”

“Wh-”

“It’s remarkable, really,” he continued, a smirk playing on his lips while his eyes remained stern, “so little trade and yet no paupers to be found.”

Your face faltered ever so slightly and you thought you might be sick.

“Cat got your tongue, your highness?” he sneered, narrowing his eyes at you cockily.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t know. If he knew then your parents knew; why else would they hire him?! You could feel your breath growing shallow and you had to really dig your thighs into your mounts sides to steady yourself.

“Hm.” You heard him hum in satisfaction, clearly revelling in the fact that he got you to shut up in mere moments.

You turned to face him but he had already turned away, gaze now resting steadily on the trail ahead of you.

Letting your own gaze fall to your hands, you let yourself fall back, working hard on your breathing; on keeping yourself calm.

You remained quiet for the rest of your trip. You said nothing when he pulled off to a clearing to set up camp. Stayed quiet as you ate, as you got your makeshift bed in order. For the first time in months, you didn’t say goodnight before turning away from him.

For the first time in months, you were afraid to fall asleep.

Itadakimasu!! | Part 8: Stick to What You’re Good At (Written Chapter)

word count: 3.9k - I’m so sorry

Eggplant and Kabocha Miso Gratin?

No. That's a little too much.

Maybe a Cream stew?

No, that's too easy. 

"Just make a curry. It's chilly today. I'm sure he'll appreciate the warmth." Kuguri's voice broke through the silence in the small kitchen. You pulled your head up from the depths of the recipe box to look at him, your eyes gleaming at the idea.

"You're a genius, you know that?" A ghost of a smile fluttered onto his face and Kuguri exhaled a mix between a sigh and a laugh as he stopped at the threshold of the kitchen. You watched as his eyes travelled across the kitchen, landing on a seemingly inconspicuous vase placed in the corner, where a few stems of peach blossoms drank in the sun that beamed through the kitchen window. He stared a little too long, you noted, and a grin stretched across your face. 

“They’re from Kita.” The pink tint to the tips of Kuguri's ears didn't go unnoticed by you, and you couldn't suppress the giggle that bubbled up and slipped past your lips. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the small vase, walking toward the fridge and pulling out a drink. Tearing open the cap, he took a large gulp and finally snuck a look over at you, your knowing smile making the blush creep up his neck at an alarming pace. 

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," you teased as your eyes quickly left his figure and went back to the recipe box to rifle through them, this time in search for Baachan’s curry recipe. "There was a note, by the way."  Kuguri walked over to the folded card that stood in front of the simple arrangement. He delicately grabbed it and flipped the cardstock open, brows furrowing at the text. 

“‘Fascinating’. What do you suppose that means?” You shrugged, fingers dancing across the dozens of small, ivory cards with various family secret recipes from generations before etched in a delicate scrawl onto the face. 

“He finds you fascinating, I guess? aha,” a victorious gasp left you as you found the correct recipe, plucking it from it’s home inside the ornate wooden box. A satisfied smirk settled onto your lips as you made a mental note of the ingredients you had, the ones you didn’t, and how much time you had. 

“Or you, they could have been for you,” he said. You scoffed.

“I can’t think of a single conversation with Kita that hasn’t ended up about you. They’re not for me, dork.” Kuguri cleared his throat again, slightly more aggressively this time, and took another generous gulp of his aloe drink. 

“Changing the topic - Miya is coming over today.” You eyed Kuguri, suspicion evident on your face. 

“...Yes, he is.” 

“And you’re cooking for him.” That faint smile was back, this time accompanied with a, what, coy? no. Mischievous, expression. “Sound’s like a date.” 

He chuckled when you made an exaggerated gag, your finger pointed to the back of your throat. “Absolutely not. He’s just coming to fix the stove. He told me not to pay him so instead I’m feeding him,” you explained, fussing with the recipe box and placing it off to the side. “Can you believe he insinuated I was gonna give him food poisoning? The nerve.” 

Kuguri sat across from you and rested his chin onto his palm. “So that’s why you’re obsessing over what to make.” Another scoff left you as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I’m not obsessing.” 

“You’ve been hunched over your ‘super special, super secret’ family recipe box for the better part of-” He checks his watch. “-Two hours.”

Your cheeks flushed as you confirmed the time on your phone. Okay, so maybe you had been obsessing a little, but it was only because you wanted to make sure that whatever you make tonight is so good that it slaps the condescending grin off his face and he has no choice but to bow at your superiority. The thought alone made your lips curl into a devilish grin.

"I just wanna make sure that whatever I make tonight is so good he actually shuts up for once." That made Kuguri laugh, and Kuguri's laugh was always so pretty - it was light, a little breathy, and made your heart feel a thousand times bigger than it was. It directly contradicted your own loud, boisterous sound that resonated across any room. Your eyes crinkled and you giggled along with him as you finished the food list you scribbled on the back of a spam letter and grabbed your keys.

"I'm heading to the market, text me if you need anything, ok?" He nodded and you took that as your queue to leave, his echoes of 'drive safe' fading behind you as you descended the stairwell and out of the shop.

Osamu stood at your shop’s side entrance for what seemed like hours. It was like clockwork: every few seconds, he’d raise his fist to announce his arrival, pause right as his knuckles were millimeters away from making contact with the weathered door, stand there frozen for approximately fourteen and a half seconds, groan internally and let his fist fall limply at his side, only to repeat the action in about ten more seconds.

Was he supposed to knock? Walk in unannounced? You were expecting him any minute now, and he began to feel the beads of sweat on the back of his neck. Walking in without warning seemed rude, but it was going to be a bakery soon, so would it seem weirder for him to knock when its technically a public establishment? Maybe he should just go around the front instead so it would seem less rude to just walk in. No no, that’s stupid, just knock, you dumbass. Osamu raised his fist and brought it down to rap on the bright, Robin’s Egg blue wood when it suddenly opened, revealing you in all your frazzled glory. Unfortunately, his brain didn’t catch up with him and he continued to bring his arm forward, making contact with your forehead instead of the door. 

You yelped, more out of surprise than real pain, and reeled back, your hand finding its way onto the crown of your head. He also took a step back in shock, noting the way your mood instantly soured once you recognized him. An uncomfortable silence fell between you and he took the opportunity to take in your appearance; your hair had been thrown up haphazardly and your apron was an absolute battlefield of food stains. The sweatpants you had on had been rolled up, the left one being significantly higher than the right one. He cracked a smile at the flour that was smeared across your cheek and sprinkled in your hair.

Cute.

“What?” Osamu blinked. Did he say something?

“Is there something on my face?” Your hand moved from from your head to your cheek, the wrong cheek, and he had to bring his hand up to his mouth and clear his throat to cover the smile that wanted to make itself known. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” he lied. His eyes travelled to the trash bag you had been holding onto, noting the way your grasp had been strained by the weight of it. “I can take that for ya,” he said, and reached out to relieve the task from you. You were having none of it, however, and you pulled it out of his reach.

“I can do things for myself, thank you.” His brows shot up and he shot you an amused grin. 

“And yet ya can’t fix a stove.” You grumbled something about him being a smartass, and he laughed as he moved to the side, opening a path to the dumpster. He could see the effort you were making in trying to look like you weren’t struggling with the weight of the bag, but the slight tremor in your arm and unsteadiness to your legs gave you away. 

“Are ya sure you’re gonna be able to pick that up over the dumpster?” He couldn’t see your face, but he didn’t need to - he could feel the scowl radiating off you like a force field. As if to prove him wrong, you said nothing, and instead hauled the bag over the side of the dumpster with a small grunt, the clang of the bag hitting the bottom of the bin echoing through the small alleyway. You dusted your hands off, shooting a smug grin his way. 

“Told you I got it, now let me through - I’ll show you where the stove is.”

It wasn’t until he stepped into the bakery that he noticed just how good the food you were making smelled. His steps faltered behind you as he took a slow, steady inhale, reveling in the warmth the scent alone was giving him. He knew you were making curry, that kind of dish always had such a distinct essence to it, plus the fresh stains on your apron had been another dead giveaway. Osamu would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to be able to try some, though the excitement came with a slight bitter aftertaste.

“Here she is, in all her glory.” You gestured toward the ornate stove sitting along the far wall, the gold trim against the iron making it a clear statement piece for the kitchen. Osamu let out an impressed whistle as he bent down and gingerly ran hands across the door to the oven. 

“I can see why ya wanna restore.” His eyes met yours and he swore your eyes sparkled when you stared at the antique.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” He hummed in agreement and shifted so he could pull the oven a little farther from the wall to take a peak. “Ah, I have a tool kit, lemme grab it for you.” You scurried off to the opposite corner of the shop, returning moments later with the aforementioned object in hand. He muttered a small thank you, and the smile you gave in return was so cute he had to look away. 

“I should be good down here. You should probably check on your curry, might burn.” He heard you scoff in protest, but after a moment of silence, you rushed up the stairs and he couldn’t stop the smirk that crept up his face. Osamu turned his attention back to the stove as he flipped open the tool box. 

“Alright Pretty, let’s see what ya got for me.”

“Kuguri, have I ever told you that I’m a fucking god?” You were (sort of) joking, but you couldn’t help the tiny snort that escaped you at the sheer exhaustion on Kuguri’s face when he met your gaze. He sighed and walked over the pot of curry that you had been towering over for the last three hours. 

“I take it the curry was successful?” You gestured for him to try it and took a step back. You clasped your hands together in front of your chest as you watch on with bright eyes and an even brighter grin. 

There was genuinely nothing more satisfying than seeing someone enjoy the food that you made. The way Kuguri sighed into the bite as his eyes fell shut had you swelling with pride, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement as you waited for him to say something. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, before finally, he put down the spoon and turned to you with an unreadable expression. 

“You said you wanted to shut him up?” You nodded, your eyes flitting between him and the pot. “After this, he’ll never be able to speak again.” You cackled in victory and shooed Kuguri out of the kitchen.

“Thank you, thank you, I know I’m a culinary genius. Now shoo, I have to plate everything. You mind letting him know?”

“Sure thing. Oh,” Kuguri whirled back around to look at you “I forgot to mention, I won’t be eating with you guys, I have a meeting with one of the contractors. Save me a plate?” A groan left you and you reached up to clutch his arm, a desperate plea written across your face.

“You’re leaving me here? with him? Alone? Don’t you love me at all?” Kuguri chuckled and waved you off, shooting you a look. 

“You’re a grown woman, I think you can manage one meal with Miya alone.”

“Fine, but if it gets ugly, you have to help me dispose of the body.” He sighed, but you spotted the smile he tried to cover up by wiping a hand down his face. You waved goodbye as you turned your attention back to the food to plate the curry and rice. Hands worked diligently, and as you heard the muffled voices beneath you followed by the shop door closing and footsteps ascending the stairs, you swallowed the bundle of nerves that had worked its way into your system. 

Your grandmother’s food is always well received; It was the star of every function, holiday, and bake sale from way back when you were growing up in Miyagi to now, with you carrying on her legacy. You had never met anyone who didn’t love something from the recipe box, so you weren’t sure why you seemed especially desperate to garner Osamu Miya of all people’s approval.

You were satisfied with the excuse that it was because you didn’t want to give him any more fuel to act like a condescending shit lord to you. 

When the door to the apartment opened, you had just finished placing the prepped plates onto the dinner table. The effort it took in avoiding eye contact was beginning to weigh down on you, and finally, you gave up, looking up from the spoon you were meticulously situating to meet his cocked eyebrow. 

“I think that spoon’s still a little off-center,” he joked. You crossed your arms over the front of you and shot him a glare. 

“Har Har. How did it go with the stove?”

“I got it workin’. Actually wasn’t too bad of a fix. Just a little finicky,” he said. His voice was slightly drowned out by the sound of the kitchen sink running. Your eyes remained trained on his figure, absentmindedly staring as his shoulders moved along with his hands as he washed them. The sound of the faucet turning off pulled you back and you shook your head, turning toward the table with a grimace. 

“Thank you again, I seriously didn’t want to have to gamble any more of the renovation funds,” you said, hoping he didn’t see you staring at him like he was the most interesting being in existence. He sat down across from you and sent a polite smile your way.

“Not a problem.” The two of you stewed in the awkward silence and you noticed that neither of you had reached for the food yet. Did he even like curry? You mentally slapped yourself for forgetting to ask.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you liked curry. I just assumed,” you admitted, and he shook his head. 

“Oh no, that’s not it, I just, uh..” Osamu’s voice faltered, and his brows came together with a frown. “I have a feeling I’m gonna like it.” 

The grin that flew onto your face oozed with superiority. The fact that the mere thought of enjoying your food upset him only made your impending victory taste that much sweeter to you. You watched him like a hawk and thrived on how uncomfortable he looked across from you, painstakingly taking his first bite. 

As stated before, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing someone enjoy your food, and you thought Osamu would be no exception, but this stingy little asshole maintained an entirely unreadable expression as he closed his mouth around the spoon, popped it out, chewed, and swallowed. You fidgeted in your seat as you waited for him to say literally anything about it, but he remained lost in thought, looking anywhere but at you as he reached for a second bite. 

“Well?” Your voiced must have snapped him from whatever he was daydreaming about because he looked almost startled when his eyes finally met your own. 

“Oh, sorry...” He trailed off, eyes fluttering back down toward the curry. “It’s good.” 

“Just good?” 

“Its really good?” He offered, and you scoffed, grumbling something about ‘it should be the best damn curry you’ve ever had,’ as you dug into your own plate, melting as soon as the spices touched your tongue. The beef had become so tender that you swore it would fall apart if you so much as looked at it a little too long, and the vegetables had just the right kind of consistency and complimented the beef perfectly. The ginger and curry were so warm together it reminded you of a time during winter break, snuggled with your Grandmother by the old brick fireplace, the vibrant orange glow of the flame illuminating her frail figure as she regaled you with exaggerated stories of her youth. She always made sure to end each tale with a lesson, and a challenge: to never settle until you could say with confidence that you were irrevocably happy. 

Osamu cleared his throat, effectively bringing you back to the current moment. Your eyes flickered over to his plate and you noticed it was empty. He took the napkin and quickly wiped at his mouth, but you still caught a glimpse of the pout that he was clearly trying so hard to hide. A smug grin stretched out across your face and you tilted back down to take another bite. 

“You can get more, if you’d like.” He grunted in response, but got up nonetheless, helping himself to a second plate as he pointedly ignored the pride that oozed off of you. 

“It’s okay, you can say it, the curry is amazing, stupendous, out of this world-”

“It’s delicious.”

You blinked. To be honest, you weren’t expecting him to admit it right off the bat, especially since he made a point to say it was just “good” earlier. Whatever snippy reply you had stored died immediately in your throat, and you found your pride shrinking as a new bashfulness took over instead.

“Oh. Thank you.” Osamu nodded in response, and suddenly it was like a gateway opened - for the first time, you guys conversed with relative ease. It was hardly anything more than history and business, but the fact that you weren’t considering stuffing his body into a trash bag was certainly saying something. It was...nice, being able to talk to him like this, and you had to admit you’d take this over the usual pissing match any day.

Osamu mentioned how Kita was a rice farmer and was his supplier as well as business partner. He spoke about how they were old teammates who decided to go on similar lifepaths which led to them working together once Osamu opened up his shop in Osaka. You learned that they originated from Hyogo, and that Kita still lives there and makes the hour long commute to the shop a few times a week just to help Osamu out with the shop. 

You told him about how you managed the volleyball club back in high school. (He joked about showing you a few moves, and you joked back that you bet you could destroy him since the Wakatoshi Ushijima taught you well enough that you can hold your own in a match any day of the week.) You talked about moving to Tokyo with Tendou after graduating, and how you guys decided to open up the bakery together as business partners. You gushed about the hopes you had for Paradis, the dreams that had spent so much time buried in your notebook finally getting a chance to come to life with this new location. Your eyes sparkled as you babbled on about all the plans you had for Paradis. 

“I just...I always intended for Paradis to be more than just a bakery.” Both of your plates had been long finished and were set off to the side. You sat cross legged on the dining chair, your hands fiddling with each other in your lap. Osamu had his chin resting on his hand and he listened so intently it sometimes made you feel a little too seen. 

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I’d love to expand the menu,” you explained, and you saw his face fall with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Why would ya expand the menu?” There was a sharpness to his voice, and you were taken aback. You shrunk back in your seat as you chose your next words carefully.

“I want people to enjoy all of my food, not just the sweets...why?” His face hardened, eyes trained anywhere but your face as he stood up abruptly. He reached for both dishes and made his way to the kitchen wordlessly. 

The two of you had a habit of having this uncomfortable silence fall between you, and you hated it, because the tension was always so thick it felt like you were suffocating. You wondered if he hated it too, or if he thrived in it, like some sort of deranged villain reveling in the suffering of his underlings. You found yourself glaring at his back as he washed your dishes, drying them and putting them off to the side without saying a word. 

Eventually, he turned around, and the frown that had been evident on his face deepened once he made your irritated gaze. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? What the hell did I do to piss you off?”

“There’s no reason why you should expand the menu.” 

“I just gave you a reason. Plus, you seemed to like my food enough to have two helpings, it’s not like I can’t cook. Why shouldn’t I?” 

“The curry was fine, it wasn’t anythin’ to write home about. I was just starving because I missed lunch.” You scoffed.

“That’s a load of bullshit. You know you loved it.” 

“I told ya it was better than it was because ya would’ve had a hissy fit otherwise.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Miya. I can’t believe I was actually beginning to enjoy your company for once.” He rolled his eyes and made his way to your apartment entrance. He paused at the threshold of the open door, looking straight ahead and most definitely not at you. 

“Don’t bother expanding. Stick to what you’re good at if ya want any chance of success here.” With that last remark, he ushered down the stairs and back home, leaving you frozen in the kitchen consumed with rage, shock, confusion - and you didn’t move until Kuguri came through the door and gasped in surprise at the sight of you still in the kitchen.

“Jesus, y/n, you scared the hell out of me. What’s going on? Are you okay?” The frustration bubbled up inside you and you felt hot tears tickle the back of your eyes. The shock of Osamu’s sudden animosity toward you settled into your bones, leaving behind a residue of white hot anger. You willed the tears away and looked over at the curry, then at Kuguri. 

“I hate him, Kuguri.”

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Fun Facts -

no fun facts today, My brain is fried lol. Might add later!

A/N: Long boi today, I’m so sorry for the long wait for this chapter!! I hope you guys enjoyed the holiday if you celebrated and I hope you enjoy the chapter - I feel like I should have definitely split this up into two parts, let me know if you’d prefer smaller chapters or if this is more preferable lmao thank you ok bye

Taglist (shoot me an ask if you’d like to be added!) -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros​ @halesandy​ @k3nma-fairy​ @jewlmin​ @tabipleats​ @kaleidoscopekai​ @confusedturtle​ @vintagexparker​ @hoeevern​ @syaziahvg​ @hallothankmas​ @lilith412426​

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer decides to return to a previous tryst. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom!Spencer, handcuffs, hair pulling, oral, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex Word Count: 9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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It was a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. My roommate had gone home for the weekend and all my other friends were at bars. I could've joined them, but it just didn't seem worth it. The last time had been so perfect, I just couldn't imagine that anything else could compare.

I'd tried going back to the same area a few times, but I never saw him again. Then again, seeing me back there might just piss him off. Then again, that would've been okay, too. He was pretty cute when he was mad.

But I wasn't looking at a cute boy that night. No, I was just sitting in my apartment, staring at the textbook that I wasn't even interested in reading. Wishing that something could save me from the boring limbo I had found myself in.

Then, like magic, my phone stirred to life beside me.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

I looked down at the LED, fully expecting it to just be someone tagging me in a picture of a cat. But it wasn't. The number was one I had saved in my phone, hoping that I would see it pop up again one day.

It had been almost a month. I didn't think it would ever happen. But there it was; a text message from Dr. Reid himself.

"Hey (y/n)."

When I slid the message open, I saw he was still typing.

"Long time no talk," was his second message.

That was an understatement.

"Hey yourself."

It was a cursory response. I wanted him to sweat a bit. He'd made me wait, so now he had to deal with the consequences. But then I changed my mind and immediately followed with a second text of, "Texting isn't talking you know."

"You never called. Why should I?" His response was so quick I swore he'd planned this all out in his head. He was playing me like a chess board. Bet he was good at that, too.

"It takes two to tango, Dr. Reid," I jokingly replied.

He read the message, but he didn't answer.

Getting nervous that he was losing interest, I continued typing.

"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after I made you late. Are those marks still there?"

I smiled at the memory, because I knew he wasn't there to call me out for it. By the time he'd finally made it down to his ride, I had covered his neck in petechiae and his back was equally marked with scratches.

I'd wanted him to remember me.

It'd worked, too.

He'd been typing for a while and I was getting anxious. It had been a bold message to send, and I didn't really think it through.

Was he trying to let me down easy? No, that didn't make any sense. Who the fuck texts a one night stand at 10:30 PM on a Saturday after not speaking for a month just to end things?

He responded.

"Sadly, no. And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I don't want to see you because of that... Revenge is a powerful motivator."

That was the cheeky bastard I wanted to see. I could be cheeky, too.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Where are you tonight?"

His answers were starting to make my heart race. I had to get ready, because he was definitely about to ask me to be his booty call and I was definitely going to do it. Closing my textbook, I shot back another teasing reply.

"Not a club. I'm being a good girl tonight. All by my lonesome."

Thank god my roommate wasn't here and I had somehow been bored enough to clean today. I pulled out my make up and turned the light on my mirror on. As I started to apply it, I got a message that immediately solidified my answer to his inevitable proposition.

"Do you want to change that?"

'God, yes, I do.'

I waited another minute, wanting to be able to finish at least the bare minimum before he saw me. I knew he wasn't a superficial guy, but the last time he'd seen me I had gone full out.

"Which part?" I responded, already knowing his answer.

"Both."

So unpredictable in the most satisfying way.

I took a deep breath and a pause, tapping back a confident reply.

"Are you trying to entrap me, Agent?"

His reply was within seconds, and I was immediately reminded of how incredibly clever this man was. He knew exactly what to say to make me melt.

"Is that what you want?"

I wanted to pick up the phone, dial, and scream yes. But I didn't, opting instead for a calm and composed, "That would certainly be exciting."

My application grew significantly quicker, and I was already eyeing the special drawer I had for these exact situations. My mind was running through my collection of sheer fabrics and lace details, trying to decide what would work best.

Then he said the magic words:

"Send me your address."

Spencer was coming over, and it wasn't a dream. I was going to have that strange, brilliant, beautiful man back in my arms and I wasn't going to fuck it up. With shaking hands, I thumbed out my address with no other commentary. In a few seconds, I would know how long I had until Spencer Reid was in my apartment.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Thank god. It was time enough to prepare.

—————————————————

Spencer Reid was going to be at my door at any minute, and I was suddenly terrified that he'd be disappointed. Convinced that I'd done everything wrong.

We'd had a good time before, right? I'd played over and over again in my head ever since it happened. I was reminded of the soft way he'd touched me in the morning, the childish laughs we'd shared, and the smell of his cologne on the sheets.

God, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.

Knock Knock Knock.

When I heard the sound, I immediately tried to fix my appearance in the mirror despite having spent the last 20 minutes doing whatever I could given the time. I had opted for one of my easier-to-remove loungewear pieces. A simple white lace negligee. He seemed like he'd like simple. The little hint of purity, however silly, would also probably appeal to him.

Slowly exhaling, I composed myself before opening the door.

"Hello, Dr. Reid."

He looked as handsome as ever, although I did have the distinct impression that it had been awhile since he had a full nights sleep. I wondered why, but decided not to dwell on it. 

"Hello yourself," he responded, his eyes ravaging my figure the very moment I stepped out from behind the door. He waited for me to take a step back and fully open the door before he walked in, and I watched the way he scanned my apartment.

I wondered what he saw.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

It was a tease, and based the look on his face when he finally turned to me, it took him a moment to figure it out. He was too much in his work brain. I could feel it. I'd never seen him at work, but I could tell.

"You seem tense," I spoke coyly, stepping closer and running my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders.

He didn't speak; instead his gaze bored into me, like he was going to lose his composure any second. But he held himself back. 

"Can I help you with that?"

That dark shine in his eyes was getting stronger.

"That depends."

As he spoke the words, he finally touched me, a sneaky hand finding its way to my hip. I gasped at the sensation and my eyes fluttered shut. He always had this immediate intoxicating effect on me that I just couldn't explain. I didn't care to, either. I just wanted to keep feeling it.

"Hmm... On what?" I murmured.

I tried to keep track of his hand as it sneaked to my lower back before pulling me closer. I tilted my head to look up at him as I opened my eyes. I just wanted to see that look again. That starved, possessive stare that made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Although he appeared stoic, I knew there was something brewing. I knew that he was reveling in the effect he had on me.

Such a quiet, peculiar mind.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, and I recognized the question as something deeper.

He was asking me for my limits. He wanted me to tell him what he was allowed to do. I didn't know how to tell him that I would do anything for him.

How could he not already know my answer? Perhaps it was just his attempt at being a gentleman. But I didn't need him to do all of that tonight. I'd much rather see something more... feral.

"Whatever you need," I answered as sweetly as I could. 

I heard his soft chuckle. It brought a smile to both of our lips, and he used his free hand to stroke the side of my face. I quickly leaned into his touch, trying to prolong the contact for as long as I could. 

"Is that so?"

Yes, I thought before saying, "Anything."

His thumb glided over my cheek and to my lips, gently separating them as he stared at me with a morbid curiosity. He was wondering how far he could actually push me. So was I.

In lieu of an answer, I slipped his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue up it before closing around it. The gentle sucking was mixed with soft rotations of my tongue. His breathing rate increased as he stepped forward and pressed his body flush against mine.

"And if you change your mind?"

What a gentleman.

I wouldn't change my mind, but I chose to indulge him with the proper form. I released his thumb and held my mouth open for a second before biting down on my bottom lip.

"Hmmm," I hummed as I thought about what I might be able to say to set him off.

I needed a safe word that would drive him wild. The thing was, I only knew a few of his interests. But I did know enough.

"Starship," I giggled, a little nod to the enterprise we'd already bonded over.

The effect the word had on him was immediate. His hand shifted to hold my chin. He used that grip to push me against the wall to the side of us, and our mouths connected just as harshly.

What a ridiculously sexy nerd.

The impact of my back against the wall was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. My hands scrambled to grab onto his belt buckle, already trying to unwrap the present meant just for me tonight.

Once I'd gotten the metal separated, I smiled into the sloppy, heated kiss. He stopped, pulling away just enough to look down at my satisfied grin. He didn't say anything.

"What's that look for?" I said with half-veiled bashfulness.

Had he noticed something strange that I hadn't intended to display? Was I going too fast?

"Nothing. It's just..."

'Please don't be something I did wrong.'

"You're so cute when you think you're in charge."

I couldn't control the way my hips rolled against the front of him as he spoke, and I licked my lips before concluding, "I am in charge."

I don't know how Spencer was so fast, but he was. Within seconds, he had both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind me. Just as quickly, he shifted so he could hold them both up with one hand, the other lifting the side of negligee so he could touch the skin of my hip. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Adorable," he whispered to me.

Naturally, my body reacted by trying to regain control, to touch him more somehow. He knew this, which is why he took a step back, letting go of my wrists and watching them fall back to my control.

"Are you challenging me, Dr. Reid?"

He gave a content, sarcastic smile before shrugging.

"No, I'm not, actually. It's not a challenge if I already know I'm going to win."

I could barely notice the way I puffed out my own chest in response, ready to give him the challenge he was so clearly begging for.

"Fine."

I put my hands in the air in surrender, turning and strutting my fine ass down the hallway in front of him. I didn't turn around, and I didn't tell him to follow. He would. I was confident in that.

I took a seat on the side of my bed, crossing my legs over the other and looking down at my nails with a bored expression. Before I knew it, he was crossing the threshold into my room. He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets and a voice filled with too much confidence.

"I know what you're doing."

He had something up his sleeve. I could feel it.

"What am I doing, Dr. Reid?"

The way he approached me reminded me of a hunt. The cautious, quiet strides toward me were purposeful. He stopped just in front of me, with my foot resting against his shin.

"I thought I already warned you what would happen if you did this."

"Do what?" I feigned innocence, raising my hand to my neck before perching my chin on it and leaning forward.

"Tease me."

That time when his hand made contact, it was on the top of my head. He ran a gentle hand over my hand, and the feather light touches almost tricked me. I'd almost thought he just wanted to appease me. To end my temper tantrum. But shortly after he had gripped the back of my hair in his hand and used the new grip to roughly tilt my head back to him.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good girl tonight?"

I bit down harshly on my lip to stifle my giggle as he tightened his grip.

"Oops," I said with a smile.

Suppressing my laughs enough to string together a sentence, I pressed my hands against his chest while he maintained his grip on my hair.

"I guess if you really want me to be a good girl, Dr. Reid... You'll have to make me."

That instruction was what I needed to break the man in front of me. It was the command he'd been waiting for; the bait for him to finally take what he came for.

Before I knew it, he had spun me around. He abruptly yanked my arms behind me at the same time he bent me over the side of the bed. An unfamiliar, harsh, and fucking freezing material on my wrists told me all I needed to know. The clanking of the short chain when he released my hands was music to my ears.

That beautiful son of a bitch actually brought his handcuffs.

"At least one of us follows orders," I joked, happily remaining on display for the man behind me.

I'm sure he noticed earlier that there wasn't anything blocking him from taking what he wanted underneath the negligee. But he didn't take it. Instead, he pulled me up by the chain, letting me teeter onto my feet before he twirled me back to face him.

"Get ready to learn."

Spencer slowly began removing his tie from his neck while he watched me squirm. His threat raised the tension in the room, but he gave me no clue as to what he was about to make me do.

I couldn't wait.

Once he had removed his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt. It was infuriating not being able to touch him, and I was quickly becoming impatient. It was shocking that it somehow wasn't awkward. I guess I just liked him that much. My thighs were pressed together, and the friction from rubbing them back and forth was the only stimulation I could find right now.

He raised his eyebrows as he noticed, shooting me a warning glance that I knew meant to stop. I did, but only because I was worried he would make me wait even longer if I didn't.

"Get on your knees."

I swayed back and forth, prying my hands apart to shake the chain holding my hands back.

"I can't," I said with a pout.

Spencer seemed to be entertained, and for a moment I thought he might give in.

He leaned over, a quiet breath in my ear as he gave a few words of caution.

"Get on your knees or I will bend you over mine."

My legs shook at the way his breath felt on my ear, and the words made me want to melt. As always, he knew exactly how to get me to do what he wanted.

Deciding that I didn't want to be a full on brat right off the bat, I gradually lowered down to my knees and threw him yet another pout from my new position.

"I want to touch you," I whined before tugging at the chain again.

He must have known it was a test. I had been so open to the hand cuffs being on before, and I still was. I just wanted to see how much power my pout had. Judging from his response, my puppy dog eyes didn't have very much power at all.

"You don't need your hands for that."

In a twisted sort of way, I was glad. I wanted him to do whatever he needed. I wanted to be what he needed. I would be the fight he could always win.

So, when he finally pulled his pants down and let them fall to the ground in front of me, I leaned forward to reach him.

I was quickly stopped by stern hand fisting my hair once more, leaving me hanging in front of him with nothing fun to show for it. He didn't say anything, just watching me as I returned soft whines and rubbing my legs together again.

"For a brat, you're very eager. You don't even realize you're challenging my authority, do you?"

Per usual, he was right. Even on my knees and handcuffed before him, I was trying to take back my control. He at least offered me the control over my neck again, though. He released my hair, smoothing it over the top of my head as he licked his lips. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let you beg."

I bounced on my knees, trying to express what I wanted without resorting to outright begging. Not yet.

"I'll listen to you, I promise." 

"Good," he acknowledged. "Open your mouth."

I obeyed, as I'd just said I would, opening my mouth wide with my tongue forward to receive him. As he pushed into my mouth, he would only give me a couple inches before retreating. He continued this pattern until he had gotten over half of it into my mouth.

That time, he paused, granting me a pleased groan as he let his head fall back. I responded in earnest, continuing to move forward as my tongue swiped over whatever it could reach. When I pulled back, I barely released any of him before going even further forward. I looked up at his face to see if he was impressed.

He was.

Shortly after, I choked as he hit the back of my throat. I receded enough to take a deep breath through my nose. I wished I could use my hands, but I appreciated the novelty of the cuffs for at least this one time.

I swore he heard my thoughts. Because after I finished my breath, his hands found the back of my head and pulled me even further onto him. If my hands were busy, he would just use his own.

That time as I choked, I swallowed. I could feel him slip further down my throat, blocking the air supply just for a second. When he pulled me back, I knew this was just the beginning.

Once he knew what I was capable of, he was ready to take control for good.

Sure enough, he set a moderate pace of thrusting into my throat, keeping direct eye contact with me as he did so. I paid all my attention on making sure I timed my breath, feeling tears prick the inside of my eyes as I let him take over.

He was so beautiful like this. I thought about what it must be like for him at his job, that I was the first thing he came to. I decided right then, that he would never feel powerless with me. I would be anything he needed.

Suddenly, his pace slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He slipped himself out of my mouth, and the strings of spit snapped onto my chin. I couldn't do anything to stop the running make up or saliva with both of my hands behind my back.

I was certain I looked like an absolute mess. My knees were weak from the position, and Spencer had never looked so pleased. Bending over, he grabbed me under my arms and helped haul me  up onto the bed.

His hands casually wiped the tears from my cheeks, and he used the back of his hand to clean the area around my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he uttered.

'Oh my god, I think I might love him.'

"You're not bad yourself," I croaked, my voice hoarse from what we'd just done.

"Tell me what you want," he dared me, his hand dropping from my hand down to my lap.

"Whatever you want."

It was the answer I had already promised him. I'd meant it before, and I'd meant it then.

He had still maintained eye contact, staring directly into my soul as he slipped his hand between my thighs. The lack of underwear made his job so much simpler, and I was thanking myself for not putting another barrier between the two of us.

Because as much as I wanted to be patient for him, I was growing desperate. Which is why when he finally touched me, his finger slid into my heat with ease. The slickness that had pooled was more than even I expected from the complete lack of stimulation I had received.

His finger wasn't there for long. He briskly removed it and held it up to my face before rubbing them together. He smiled as I struggled to breathe through the teasing.

"I've barely touched you... And yet..." he taunted, causing me to roll my hips, trying to get to something wholly out of my reach.

I was ready to start begging.

"Please, Spencer."

"Please what? Use your words."

He was loving it. He knew damn well that I had absolutely no control over what I wanted. I couldn't grab him, and I couldn't touch myself. All I could do was beg.

"Fuck me. Please."

It was as straightforward as I could possibly be.

"Still so impatient... so needy," he laughed, his hand returning to its place between my thighs.

I wailed as he began thumbing my clit. It was mind-numbing. He knew that I desperately wanted to be filled, and he was doing the exact opposite.

"Yes," I panted. "I need you. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Spencer didn't stop, continuing to stroke the bundle of nerves with quick, repetitive motions.

"Not yet, little girl," he growled in my ear.

It didn't take long for my cries to pick up, my hips rocking furiously as he drove me into my first orgasm. A steady flow of pants and cries were mixed with mangled attempts to call his name. He still didn't stop, refusing to touch me anywhere but the one spot until I finally ceased shaking.

I almost fell backwards, but he caught me with an arm around the waist. I could barely see straight, and ever such a gentleman, he held my delirious body upright for a moment. I could tell he was wondering if I was alright.

The concern mixed with overwhelming desire was too much. Even as he tortured me with pleasure, I could see what an incredibly kind man he was.

That was the only way this would work, I thought. I had to trust him. And I did. I trusted him with my life.

"Tell me what you want," he uttered, offering me a guilt-free retreat that I would not take.

"You," I purred. "I want you, Spencer."

Finally allowing himself to give in to both of our desires, Spencer turned me onto my stomach one more time. When I heard the crumpling noise of foil as he tore the condom wrapper open, I raised my hips into the air. I stood on my tip toes and rested my head and chest against the bed.

He didn't say anything else, lazily rubbing the head against my sex. A trembling, relieved sigh escaped my lips as I felt him breach my opening. He took his time inching into me, savoring the way I clenched around him as he stretched me open. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I could barely keep my eyes open as the rapture overtook me.

Once he was fully in me, he paused, grabbing hold of my locked wrists as yet another reminder that he was the one in charge. I

wasn't going to fight him if he kept it up, that was for sure.

Almost pulling himself entirely out, he jerked me back at the same time that he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out inside me. I yelled out at the sensation, which clearly urged him on. His pace went from composed to frenetic in a matter of seconds, and each time he would slam into me, I couldn't stop the loud moans and cries from spilling out of my mouth.

He didn't let them dissuade him. I was pretty sure that he very much enjoyed the fact that I couldn't control myself. That he was the one doing that to me. But, in typical, sympathetic Spencer fashion, he leaned over me from behind and wrapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noises.

Didn't want to alert anyone of what was happening behind closed doors, after all.

I could barely breathe as he fucked me into the bed, my feet lifting off the ground from the sheer force he used in each thrust. I let him take out all his pent up frustration on me, enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped against mine.

I wasn't going to last much longer. We both knew that we were riding dangerously close to the edge. As much as I didn't want it to end, I was ready to fall off that cliff with him.

His thrusts became jagged and stunted, and my thighs tensed tightly together. I chanted his name into his hand, unable to control myself as I felt my muscles flutter around his cock, urging him to finish with me. He happily obliged, pulling me roughly back to him one more time. Our hips violently collided and he held me down as far as he could onto him before emptying himself into the latex.

I could feel the soft twitching of his cock, and I started to wonder things you're not supposed to wonder about a booty call. I'd come back to that later.

A booty call. A one-night-stand.

Were we still just that? I wasn't going to ask... yet.

It felt so cold when he peeled himself off my back and slowly removed all of himself from me. I whined at the friction following the overstimulation. My legs shook terribly as my feet scrambled to touch the floor.

I couldn't see him, but I heard him throwing the condom in the trash before going through his clothes. Soon after, his hands were gingerly repositioning mine, granting him access to remove the cuffs. Once he'd slipped them off, I realized just how numb my arms had gone. They flopped uselessly to my sides, and I struggled to move my fingers.

Spencer's arms were around me before I knew what was going on. Delicately, he turned me onto my back despite my protesting groans. His touch was so gentle in a way I can't explain. He was acting like I would shatter at his fingertips.

"Wait here," he spoke in a hushed voice, placing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I would wait anywhere for him.

While I did just that, I moved just enough that my entire body was on the bed. I inched up to the pillows and waited to regain my strength. My wrists were irritated and dented, but I couldn't really care. If anything, it would serve as proof that this night wasn't just a wild fever dream.

I saw Spencer out of the corner of my eyes, carrying an assortment of items that I couldn't help but laugh at.

"I come bearing gifts," he snickered before gracelessly dropping two bottles of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, and lotion onto my bed.

"My hero," I spoke through the daze as I watched him pull his underwear back on. Understanding that the Advil was to stop my wrists from hurting, I took a couple quickly before I couldn't help but snicker at the sight before me.

"Awwe. I like the way you look without them, though," I teased, motioning to bottom half. "You have a cute butt."

He just chuckled, sitting down next to me and pumping lotion into a hand before motioning for me to give him my wrist.

I turned onto my side and presented him with my hand. Once he started to work the tired, abused muscles, I watched his face. The way he carefully admired the muscles while he worked, like he was trying to rebuild my wrist to the way he found it. He was so careful.

After a few moments, he held out his hand to switch, to which I also obliged.

I muttered a soft, "Thank you."

He only gave me a fleeting glance before returning to our hands.

"It's the least I can do. After what you let me do."

It was a bit of a joke, but also very genuine. He didn't call it aftercare, but that's what this was. I was familiar with it.

He was good at it.

Once he was satisfied that my wrists were going to be okay, he turned to his side to look at me. I looked up at him and wondered if he noticed that I saw the world in his eyes. I wondered if he could sense the overwhelming joy that flowed between us. I wondered if it was just in my mind that it was going both ways.

"I hope you know that I really do appreciate you," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.

My heart fluttered in my chest in a very inappropriate manner.

"Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

Yes, I wanted to answer. Everything.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn't.

This doesn't mean anything, I reminded myself. He was just doing what he had to.

"No," I lied, instead. 

I think he knew I was lying. Of course he knew. Nonetheless, he draped an arm over me and scooted closer to me until my head rested against his arm. He gave my forehead a chaste kiss, and moved his fingers unhurriedly against the bare skin of my back.

I could've fallen asleep just like that, but I didn't want to. I wanted to feel that close to him forever. The freedom and happiness flowing through me was so intoxicating that I'd started to think about my previous thoughts I had during sex.

He was about that age men started to want kids and...

"Do you want kids, Spencer?"

'Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?'

He looked as surprised as me to hear the question, and for a moment his hands stopped clean in their tracks.

'Oh no.'

"Uhh," He cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do. Wh-Why do you ask?"

Although he continued to drag his fingers across my back, it was different now. He was suddenly much more distant. Because seriously, why the hell would he not? We barely knew each other, and I definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"I was just wondering. You're good at taking care of people."

It was true. If he noticed I was covering my ass, he didn't say anything about it. Thank god.

"I'm not actually too sure about that. Right now you just think I'm good at it because your body is coursing with endorphins and adrenaline. The chemical process of love is extremely finicky and easily mimicked. Especially post-orgasm. Once that goes away, you might find you feel differently about me."

I doubted it.

Still, I shifted away from him, backing up so I could see his face again.

He continued, "You know, almost half of women surveyed said they felt anxiety and overwhelming sadness after sex. They even coined a term for it, aside from the typical sub-drop discussed in communities of more extreme sex. 'Post-coital dysphoria.' It's a shame really, that the idea of reassurance after sex isn't more mainstream."

Sometimes it was easy for me to forget he was some kind of genius. I always saw him at his most confident, which happened to also be his most quiet. As he taught me about things that I definitely should have been taught in high school sex education (but was not), I was not filled with anxiety or sadness.

In fact, I was happy.

I didn't really know him that well yet, but I wanted to.

"I can see why people mistake sex for love sometimes, then," I mumbled, not realizing the weight behind my words. It seemed obvious to me in the moment that he wouldn't think I was talking about us.

But then he pulled his hand back, running it through his hair and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah," he agreed, nonetheless, "It's pretty common."

I took a deep breath, panicking on how to pull him back to me. I lightly stretched, shifting to sit up and put some literal distance between us before the figurative distance was too far.

"Well, no worries here, Dr. Reid. I can confidently say I am not in love with you."

I could feel his eyes following me. I said I was confident, because I was. I was not in love with him.

Was I falling in love with him? It was a different question. I didn't know the answer to that one.

I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and freak out in isolation. I could not believe I was somehow incapable of controlling my words around him. He just had this face that made you want to spill your heart out to him.

Did he know that? Whatever. It was easier to blame him for being so damn cute.

When I made it back to the bed, he was already half-asleep. He looked so peaceful and unassuming compared to the dominating personality I had seen not even ten minutes ago. As quietly as I could, I sneaked into my side of the bed. He began to stir, so I came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

"You know, they say it's dangerous to stay the night after a one-night-stand," I whispered, resting my face on his shoulder. "People might get attached."

"Technically this would be a two night-stand, so I don't think the same rules apply," he grumbled before placing his hand over mine on his stomach.

"Well, if you really  want to get technical, we are a one-night-stand plus a booty call," I corrected, earning a playful scoff from the man beside me.

"Pretty sure those are mutually exclusive."

I tried to repeat to myself that he was just trying to be nice. He was doing what all people are supposed  to do after sex. It didn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself.

It didn't mean anything.

"You're right."

I still tried to convince myself. It still wasn't working.

Fuck it.

"We could be something more. If you want to," I suggested. I'd sounded absolutely bored by the idea on purpose, but it still hadn't been enough to convince him that I wasn't out here proposing marriage to a fucking bootycall. 

His entire body tensed under my touch, like my words had inflicted pain. From my position half on top of him I felt his chest stop moving as he held his breath.

I shouldn't have said it. It was easy to say that in hindsight. But the truth was, I wasn't the only one blaring sirens of my growing attached to the kindhearted man who'd just massaged my wrists. Spencer had always been the one to be blatantly affectionate with me. It was him who had wanted to make this a recurring habit in the first place.

He was the one that always chose to stay the night. He was the one who initiated it. It wasn't just me who wanted something more, but he had to be a stupid, proud man like the rest of them.

"(Y/n) I—"

I knew that tone. I'd heard it before. He was going to tell me he couldn't be with me. We couldn't 'date,' or whatever he'd convinced himself the mature version was of the juvenile phrase.

But I already knew that. He was a fucking FBI agent and he was 10 years older than me. I barely knew anything about him. Had he ever even had a girlfriend? Did he have one now? I didn't even know, and that wasn't what I'd asked. 

Still, he was struggling to come up with a way to let me down easy, and I didn't want to hear it. It was going to be a lie, anyway. So, I covered his mouth with my hand and stopped him before he ended things for good.

"Friends, Spencer. I meant we can be friends."

Suddenly, we could both breathe again.

"I'd like that."

The tension melted from the room, but only so much. There was still a wall between us. I wasn't sure if it'd ever go away, but that was a problem for another day. 

"Me too," I lied.

I didn't want to be friends. I was scared what 'friends' meant. I was nervous that what I'd done was give him an out to never talk to me again. I was petrified that he'd lose the ability to see me as anything more than a collection of mistakes he'd made.

I didn't tell him any of that. If he noticed, which I'm positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. I was sure he wouldn't. Because even though he was about to shut me down, I knew part of him was craving the intimacy I was willing to offer him. I figured I'd just have to do it quietly for the time being. Wouldn't be the first time a woman took responsibility for a man's feelings.

At least the sex was worth it.

I tried to pretend like that's all it was. After a minute of listening to his heart beating rhythmically underneath me, though, he rolled over once more. Unable to leave him behind just yet, I joined him. I turned so he could pull me as close to him as he wanted.

There was never a barrier between us when the words were removed. My body fit next to his like it had been molded for that purpose. I curled into the warmth and I savored the quiet moments that I was convinced could never come often enough.

As I drifted off into sleep in his arms, our legs tangled together like we were part of the same two headed beast.

My last thought of the night was the one I'd been trying to avoid.

I don't want to be friends, because friends don't do this.

—————————————————  

Waking up next to Spencer in my bed that morning was somehow even more ethereal than before. Although I'd shifted several times in my sleep, he'd found me in the darkness each time so that he could cling to me again.

I didn't want to move. I was worried I would wake him and we'd return to our previous lives like this had never happened. I thought back to how tired he had looked when he first got here. I still wasn't totally certain what a profiler is, but the haunted look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles told me it wasn't easy.

I ghosted my fingers over his hand splayed out on my stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull me closer to him.

He was like a child with his favorite toy, desperately seeking out the comfort only I could provide him. I continued to run my hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. I didn't want him to wake up, but I also didn't want him to be awoken with another notice that he had to leave.

I wondered what the morning would be like without a time limit.

When Spencer began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between my shoulder and neck. I giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

It was my favorite way to say good morning.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said through the laughter. 

He didn't speak, just humming back contentedly as his kisses became more involved.

"Now who's the needy one?" I teased, tilting my head to grant him more access.

"Still you," he sighed against my skin.

"You know what I really need?" I began, starting the impossible task of turning onto my back while he refused to let go of his hold on me. "Coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh at the playful groan he released in response. He clearly agreed, and even followed the joyful sound with, "And they say the perfect woman doesn't exist."

It didn't mean anything, I warned my heart as it began to race. It was just a joke.

"Well, I didn't for the first ten years of your life. But don't worry, Dr. Reid. You have me now."

The brag, paired with the reminder of our age gap, earned me my release from his embrace. I was sad to lose it, but I'd also been scared of the effect it had on me.

"Your humility is my favorite part," he said in jest as he watched me squirm out from under his arm.

I stuck out my tongue, and he spoke again.

"Wait, never mind. I forgot about that part. That's my favorite part."

My face burned as I sucked it back in before pouting and climbing out of the bed. Grateful that I still had on my negligee, I stopped to pick up his clothes and tossed them onto the bed.

"Come on, lazy bones. I don't know how you like your coffee."

He just smiled, that gentle yet goofy look that told me he was enjoying himself. I didn't stay to watch him get dressed, deciding he deserved his privacy, despite the fact that I had shoved his dick down my throat the night before.

When he got to the kitchen, the pot was already on. I was leaning forward against the counter, half asleep on my propped up hand. He didn't take a seat at the table. He positioned himself directly behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest.

The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I wasn't complaining.

He slipped a hand beneath the front of my negligee, becoming more daring as he gently kneaded my breast and his mouth continued to mark my neck.

"What did I do to deserve all this attention now, Dr. Reid?"

It was a serious question. I had literally just been standing there. I had just woken up. I hadn't even cleaned my face.

"Nothing. You just exist."

I both chuckled and scoffed at the answer. So much for not wanting things to be emotional. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I focused on the way his tongue devilishly drew different sounds from me.

He suckled gently on the side of my neck, and his fingers began to tweak my nipple. A moan was ripped from the back of my throat as I jutted my hips backwards against him.

"God, when you react like that I can't help but think you want me to fuck you over this counter."

He was right. I did. Men weren't the only ones who had to deal with illicit thoughts in the morning. I figured he knew as much.

"Please," I begged, moving my arms so I could brace myself against the ceramic.

"Only because you asked nicely."

He withdrew from my neck. I heard as he drew familiar, crinkly foil from his pocket and I giggled at the anticipation. At the knowledge that he'd clearly pulled one from his wallet before he ever left the bedroom.

Soon enough, his fingers were trailing up my inner thighs, quickly encountering my very wet center that was still affected by the night before. Upon realizing I didn't need any preparation, he skipped it entirely. Slowly and with purpose, he slipped inside of me. I let out another loud moan as he filled my sore heat.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter under his breath.

I loved to know he couldn't entirely control himself with me. I wanted to know how I made him feel. It wasn't like the other times. There was no battle for dominance; I submitted to him immediately and freely. He was not rushed or driven by high emotions. His thrusts were slow, deep, and intimate. One of his hands returned to my chest, paying special attention to the breast that had been ignored before.

I leaned forward into his hand, my back arching to provide him with whatever relief he was looking for inside me. I panted out his name as my own version of a Sunday morning prayer.

It went on like that for a while. He took his time with me, like he was memorizing each nook and crevice he could reach. My legs were beginning to shake from his intrusion and also from my impending orgasm.

"Spencer..." I whispered his name differently this time, and his hands withdrew. I whimpered at the loss. But my disappointment was short lived, as his hand found its way down to where our bodies met. I gasped at the contact.

"What, (y/n)?" he asked with the utmost concern, beginning to make soft circles around my clit while he continued to fuck me from behind.

"I-I'm going to..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, collapsing forward as the stimulation became too much to bare. As it usually did, his other hand grabbed hold of my hair, clutching it tightly to pull me back up to him.

"Then do it."

His statement was a demand, but also its own beg. He wanted to feel me finish before him. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. The way he commanded control of my body was a force that could not be ignored. The ever tightening coil inside of me snapped, causing twitches and spasms to rack my body.  My mouth tried to call his name, but my voice didn't come out.

I tried to grip the ceramic when he began to pick up his pace, fucking me harder as my orgasm went on. I knew how much he loved to feel me come undone from the inside. But he held on, continuing his brutal pace until even after I had devolved into a panting, dripping mess underneath him.

My soft mewls from the sensation of being fucked through peaked bliss were still not enough.

"What do you want, little girl?" he growled in my ear as he leaned forward, somehow thrusting harder. Another moan was bubbling up my throat as my feet left the ground with each impact.

"I want... I want you to cum. Inside me."

It was a beg laced with pants and high pitched whines. It was what he wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of my hands, guiding it to my lower abdomen and holding it there. I didn't realize why until the next thrust, when I felt a bump form as he moved within me. I hadn't even considered how deep within me he was. He was showing me how much of me belonged to him.

I'd already known, but the reminder was nice. 

With a few more rough, deep thrusts, he had buried himself inside of me, and I could feel it against my hand. From within me I could feel him spilling into the condom.

I remembered my question about children. I remembered his answer.

That beautiful, sneaky bastard was imagining what it would be like to make me pregnant, whether or not he would admit it. I had put the thought in his mind. I just wasn't expecting it to have that profound of effect on him. I was more turned on by that than I'd like to admit.

I had said that I'd do anything for him.

He didn't say anything else. He released my hair and pulled out of me. He left me to prop myself up on the counter the best I could while my body trembled from the loss. 

At some point, the coffee pot had finished. I figured there were worse ways to pass the time.

Spencer was gone when I turned around. I figured he had gone to the bathroom to clean up, and I tried not to think anything of it. I poured two cups of coffee and pulled out the cream and sugar.

When he came back, he'd come with his phone. He sat down at the table and silently read through messages from the past hours he spent with me. I watched him prepare his drink, immediately downing some of the contents despite its temperature.

"Good lord, do you even have feeling in your throat?" I asked, laughing as I continued to stir my cup.

"Interesting you would be the one to ask me that. After last night, I wondered the same about you."

Touché.

"Did you get any interesting messages? Is the ever-so-busy Special Agent Dr. Reid going to be whisked away from me without a proper goodbye again?"

The words were laced with only a little bit of bitterness. He ignored it.

"I don't know if I would classify our goodbye last time as improper. At least, not in the sense you're using the term."

He was avoiding an answer. I figured he had to go. Or, well, he wanted to.

That's fine, I told myself. He can go. Even though I didn't want him to.

I watched him, the way he continued to nurse his drink with one hand and look at his phone with the other. I tried to suppress the hearts forming in my eyes.

"When will I get to see you again?" I asked, my tone full of trepidation.

"I'm not sure," was his honest answer, given without ever looking up at me.

"We should do something fun."

That made him look up, with a sly grin forming on his face.

"Not like that, you perverted old man," I laughed.

He raised his eyebrows, choosing not to reply outright to my taunt just yet.

"As much fun as we have in bedrooms, I don't know much about you. I'd like to change that," I explained. 

He watched me carefully, his eyes shifting away as he began to overthink it. I could see the cogs of paranoia turning in his mind. I think even he knew he was being sort of ridiculous.

"As friends, Spencer," I reminded with a gentle smile. "Let's do something fun. As friends."

The reserved half smile he gave would be good enough for me.

"Sure," he conceded, which filled me with a bubbly happiness I tried (and failed) to conceal. "I do have to go now, though. If for no other reason than wanting to change."

An understandable concern. I was fine with him leaving if I knew I would see him again this time. But still, something about him leaving so soon hurt a deeper part of me. I wondered if it was that dysphoria he was talking about, but decided not to question it, lest he tell me it was something more worrisome. Something like infatuation. 

I nodded, leaving my coffee on the table as I took his already empty cup. He stood up, waiting for me to return before the both of us walked over to the door. Something about his hesitation resonated in me. My puppy dog eyes were out in full force as I stared up at him.

I wasn't able to smile as he left.

"I'll see you again soon. As soon as I can," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but I hated that I didn't know when that would be.

He reached a hand down, brushing loose hairs from my face and commanding my attention that I so readily gave. 

"Don't look so sad," he instructed. "It makes it hard to leave."

My chest swelled with anxiety and adoration. I wasn't sure how to combat it. I hugged myself with one arm, and Spencer shook his head with a laugh.

"Still not following directions."

He didn't seem to mind all that much, though. He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hand. Our lips pressed against each other with a tenderness that made my head spin. We kissed each other in a way that was carelessly romantic.

When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a second too long. And when he waved goodbye and walked out of my door, I couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

Friends don't do this.

—————————————————  

| Part 4 |

kings and queens

a smutty rowaelin halloween oneshot

(if smut isn’t your thing you can still read, just finish when Aelin says ‘you’)

my masterlist

------ 

The clear gems on her crown shone in the dim, evening light. She had found the crown a week ago in a thrift store and the moment Aelin had seen it she knew it was perfect. It rose up from her golden waves to reach three peaks, the middle slightly taller than the two either side, and they were each topped with shimmering imitation diamonds. A far better find than any useless piece of trash she could have found in a costume store.

Aelin didn’t do costumes by half. The dress she wore was a deep red velvet, with a corset style top that helped to give her chest a boost and a gold lace trim that she knew would draw the eye. It had a short but flowing skirt that hit mid-thigh, showing a peek of the border of her thigh high stockings. She had painted her lips a bold red to match the dress and her eyes were lined with heavy black.

Dressing up as a queen for Halloween didn’t mean she had to be a maiden.

Aelin always went all out for Halloween, but her costumes were never gimmicky. She could find a way to make the dorkiest of ideas sexy to make sure she felt good and more importantly, looked hot.

“You ready?” She heard her roommate and best friend Lysandra call. “Aedion just texted asking where we are.”

Aelin grabbed her small shoulder bag off her bed, her only out of character item for the evening, and left her room to meet Lysandra in the hallway between their rooms. They shared a small two bedroom apartment off campus, it was far from luxury, but it was their space and she loved it. Since meeting Lysandra in her first year of college she hadn’t lived with anyone else.

Lysandra was leaning against the wall, fully dressed in her own costume. She wore a dress with a tight green bodice and a short but full skirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun and her make-up was peachy and subtle. Tinkerbell.

Aedion had invited them to the party he was hosting in his own house off campus that he shared with a few roommates. Aelin had spent most of her first and second years at college tucked away in that house spending time with her cousin and his friends, she loved his friend Fenrys who shared her appreciation for all things devilish and she had been close with his other housemate Dorian. She and Dorian had shared a mutual attraction but had quickly moved past it to become as thick as thieves and he had been one of her best friends.

The time she spent there had plummeted in her third year when Dorian moved out after his graduation and Rowan Whitethorn moved in, filling the spare room. Aelin hated Rowan Whitethorn with a burning passion. He was arrogant, hot-headed and spiteful, all traits she despised.

The first time they had met she had thought they could have been friends, he got along well with Aedion as did she, but he had opened his mouth to let her know his thoughts on the opinions she had shared in a political theory class she hadn’t even known he was in, and that had been it.

Since that day she noted his presence in the same class, and they would share verbal barbs and taunts every week. She knew it made the other attendees of the class uncomfortable and even the professor leading the sessions seemed at a loss with the sparring students. Aelin couldn’t even understand why they would argue, no matter whether or not she agreed with his point the sound of his voice, the rich and swirling Wendlyn accent would set her off.

Aedion had tried to bridge the gap somewhat, playing moderator to their fights whenever they crossed paths, but ultimately even her easy-going cousin couldn’t fight the fire Rowan made her burn.

She knew he would be there tonight, but she wouldn’t let him ruin what was predicted to turn into a great night, especially not on Halloween when she looked so good. Aedion’s teammates from the football team would likely be there, and it wouldn’t take her long to find someone to distract her from Rowan’s presence.

------

The music at the party could be heard from down the road, and as they walked up the path she took in the decorations in the front yard. Someone had strung spider webs through the branches of the twisting tree in the corner and there were fluorescent lights shining orange and green in all directions. There were people in all kinds of costumes spilling into the street as she and Lysandra battled their way into the front door.

They edged their way into the kitchen, pushing past groups of already intoxicated revellers to fix themselves a drink.

Once in the kitchen a loud cry caught their attention.

“Ladies!” Fenrys shouted to them, his voice booming over the music. He reached them and tugged them each under an arm, pulling them into an extravagantly painted but otherwise bare chest.

“What are you?” She yelled.

“I’m your dreams come true,” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she and Lysandra both rolled their eyes at his proclamation. Fenrys was an ass but they loved him for it.

“Have you seen Aedion?” Lysandra yelled in his ear as she twisted to search for a cup and a drink.

“So desperate to leave me when you’ve only just arrived?” He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense but released them and turned to find them each a drink.

“The vision of you is burning my eyes so bad I’m desperate to get away,” Lysandra told him as they accepted the drinks he handed to them. Fenrys only stuck his tongue out at her, seemingly too drunk to bother trying to come up with a better response.

“I think he was in the main room with Rowan and Lorcan.” He told them before saluting them and venturing back into the throng of moving bodies.

Aelin raised her glass in a toast to Lysandra before taking her first sip and tugging Lysandra to find her cousin.

It only took a minute to spot her cousin, his golden hair spilling out of a small brown cap tucked onto the top of his head. She took in the green tights and tunic before sending a sharp glance at Lysandra. She hadn’t known they had planned a couple’s costume, but one look at Aedion told her he was clearly the Peter Pan to Lysandra’s Tinkerbell.

She took in the two males stood next to her cousin, opposites in their exterior, light and dark, Rowan and Lorcan. Lorcan had made the safe choice, a black mask pushed up onto his forehead the only part of his Batman costume that was out of place.

The sight of Rowan Whitethorn had her blood boiling. He wore a deep green velvet cape and a glowing golden crown atop his silver locks. She was going to kill him, how dare he come as a King to the same party she was dressed as a Queen.

She was vaguely aware of Lysandra slipping up to Aedion and Lorcan’s brief greeting and dismissal as he sought out his crush, Elide, before she was marching up to Whitethorn and hissing in his face.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was tight.

“Hello to you too, Princess,” He drawled, tipping his chin down to look her directly in the eye.

“I’m not a princess,” She snapped, feeling her anger bubble in her throat. “I’m a Queen.”

“You look like a princess to me,” His voice was as smug as the smirk that spread across his face, showing rows of straight white teeth, canines flashing in the light. He reached a hand up to poke at her crown. “Especially with your little tiara.”

She slapped his hand away. “It is a crown!”

“Sure it is, Princess.” He was making her blood pound in her ears, the sounds of the party fading into the background and she stepped closer to him again, trying to crowd into his space, no matter the fact that he towered over her. She took a deep breath in, readying herself for the barrage of insults she could throw at him when a voice behind her pulled her out of the spell.

“Aelin, hi!”

Aelin turned her head to the side and spotted the source of the voice. Feyre Archeron. She and Aelin had shared an art class in the previous year and Feyre had been a natural, painting with smooth strokes of her brush where Aelin was all pointed jabs.

Failure in her artistic endeavour aside, Aelin liked Feyre, and she knew Aedion ran in the same circles as her boyfriend Rhys.

“Oh hey,” She smiled at Feyre with a small wave. Feyre seemed to take a moment before approaching, glancing between Rowan and Aelin.

It was then that Aelin noticed their proximity. Her body was fully pressed against the length of Rowan’s where she had managed to back him against the wall. The hard planes of his body sending an aura of warmth into her. Their faces were close enough to share a breath as she leaned up and he down. An outsider could easily assume they were lovers, and to Aelin’s horror it seemed an outsider did.

“I didn’t know you guys were together!” Feyre exclaimed and Aelin’s mouth dropped open. “And a King and Queen costume? Gods, such a great idea, I’ll have to tell Rhys for next year.”

Aelin couldn’t find the words. Her and Rowan? Her eyes flicked to his face and he seemed in a similar state of shock, pink lips slightly parted as he stared at Feyre.

When neither of them spoke Feyre blushed and before Aelin could find words she had disappeared into the crown. Aelin immediately took a step back, putting space between herself and Rowan, trying to ignore the way her body moaned at the lack of contact. It was Rowan rutting Whitethorn for Gods’ sake.

He seemed in a similar state to herself, arms frozen where they hovered at his sides, and she glanced around desperately seeking Lysandra but her and Aedion were gone.

“Fuck you,” She spat at Rowan and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd, putting some much needed space between them and ignoring the way she desperately wanted to turn back.

------

She spent most of the party slipping between groups of people she knew, refilling her drink each time her cup emptied. She didn’t see Rowan again and spent at least an hour catching up with Yrene Towers and Manon Blackbeak in a toilet.

She shook her head, laughing at the unusual combinations alcohol and loud music could bring out in people. She was still yet to see Lysandra and Aedion again, poking her head into each room and looking for her best friend.

Once back at the kitchen, having searched each room she resolved to take a look outside, musing that as long as she spoke before she arrived she’d be unlikely to stumble upon anything she wished she wouldn’t have to witness between her cousin and best friend.

“Lysandra?” She called, wrapping her arms around her body as the chilled October air bit at her skin.

There was no response from her best friend, but a male voice reached her as she tucked the door shut behind herself.

“Unlucky for you, Princess, I’m the only one out here.”

Just her rutting luck. Rowan Whitethorn leaned back against the wall of the house, the butt of a mostly burned cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He threw it to the side as she took a step closer to him.

“Stop calling me princess,” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her chest, lingering a second before dragging themselves back up to her face.

“Why would I do that,” He pushed off from the wall taking a single step closer to her, “When it suits you so well?”

She rolled her eyes. “Suits me how?”

“Well, I think most people would probably describe princesses as spoiled and entitled.”

Despite his close proximity she unwrapped her arms from her chest and flashed him her middle finger. His own hand came up as fast as a flash of lightening, to grab her hand and wrap her fingers up in his own as he tugged slightly, knocking her off balance and she stumbled into him slightly.

“I’m not spoiled or entitled.” She mumbled, unable to draw her eyes away from his lips, now close enough that his warm breaths washed across her face.

“I’d beg to differ, Princess. Seems to me like you always get what you want.”

Her breathing had quickened, coming in short pants and gasps where he had her pressed against the cold wall of the house. His hand still wrapped around her own, burning her skin where he touched.

“I don’t always get what I want.” She whispered as he leant into her even further, bracing his free hand against the wall by her head. He cocked his head at her words.

“What could you possibly want that you haven’t got?” His voice was a seductive caress against her neck where he tilted his head down.

She didn’t let herself break eye-contact, her unyielding gaze staring him down.

“What I want,” She began, voice weak.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, the sound sending vibrations through her own chest.

“What I want is for you to take that damned costume off. I’m the Queen.”

He laughed; a dark sound filled with promise.

“Princess,” He drawled. “If you wanted me to take my clothes off you only had to ask. Don’t pretend it’s about some dumb costume.”

She gasped, frustrated to no end that he always managed to rile her so. Always left her speechless, her mind swimming with rage. Her body drowning in arousal at his closeness. Fuck.

She stared him down, his body now pressed along every inch of her own as he blocked her into the wall. His eyes flashed to her lips and she couldn’t hold herself back from doing the same. He seemed to be warring with himself, his expression pained as he stared into her eyes.

She took a breath, begging herself to do something, anything, but she was frozen.

A beat passed, and then he crashed his lips to hers.

He kissed her as furiously as he argued, his hand grasping her face hard and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and twisted her fingers into his hair in response, holding his face to her own, and she registered the clunk of his crown hitting the floor. Good.  

A fire spread through her veins as he kissed her, taking control and owning her completely. She allowed him, opening her mouth to him greedily as he nipped at her lips. She knew they would already be swollen.

He kissed her as if she was a prize to be won, as if he needed to or he would shatter. The desperation spreading through his hands as they roamed her body, slipping down her sides and back up to lightly brush the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and back down again to tug her hips against his own.

He slid a thigh between her legs, and she writhed against the pressure, letting out a small cry as the sensation sent a jolt through her entire body, finishing with a flood of heat below her bellybutton.

He drew back with a gasp, panting. He only got as far as she let him, her fingers still twisted through his silver strands as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Fuck.” He growled, tucking his chin to bury his face in her neck. She tugged at his hair, begging for him to do more than just press his lips gently against the soft skin of her throat. “What is it that you want, Princess?” He asked again.

She tugged his face back to meet her gaze, vaguely aware of her crown slipping from her head as she looked up at him.

“You.”

------

Back at her apartment he crowded her against the door, his heat behind her and a delightful pressure against her lower back had her fumbling with her keys in the lock. She had managed to shoot Lysandra a quick text letting her know she was leaving, knowing her best friend would be safe with Aedion when Aelin left.

When Aelin left with Rowan Whitethorn. Shit.

He had been a storm she hadn’t seen coming, kissing her with a passion that burned all the way to the soles of her feet. He pressed her back against the door once they were inside, leaning down to kiss her hard and fast. His tongue lavishing sweeping strokes that lit a fire inside of her.

He pressed his knee between her legs and this time she didn’t hold herself back from rocking against it, letting out a breathy moan as she pulled back, tilting her head back until it hit the door with a thud.

He pressed hot and wet kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck, nipping and sucking his way down. The sensation sent her wild, drawing short gasps from her lips with every press of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.

His hands burned a path down her side, not stopping with a brush against her chest this time, instead wrapping her breast in one of his large hands and squeezing sharply. She bucked her hips against his thigh as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Rowan let out a dark rumble of laughter at her reaction and did it again, timing it perfectly with a swipe of his tongue up the side of her neck.

He bent down slightly, sliding a hand down her thigh until he reached the crook of her knee and straightened, wrapping her leg around his waist and pressing his hips firmly into the gap he had created.

She let out a moan, slamming her head into the door again as he pressed his lips to hers again. The pressure of his hips was firm, burning against her core, and his lips were relentless as he licked into her mouth aggressively as she fisted her hand in his cape.

She pulled back, panting.

“You need to take this off.” She yanked even harder on the cape and he grinned, hands leaving her leg and chest to loosen the clasp at his neck. He didn’t stop there, reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off his body in one sharp motion.

Her mouth went dry at the expanse of tanned skin now exposed. His chest was covered in firm muscle and down his left arm swept a swirling and intricate tattoo. She traced a line across his shoulder with a finger, transfixed by the beauty of his body.

His hand flashed out to grab her by the chin, tilting her face up to look at him.

“You too, Princess.”

His fingers left her chin, trailing a torturously slow path down her neck and across her chest to rest at the knot at the top of her corset top. The sheer possession in his touch had her grinding her hips against him, desperate for any kind of relief.

Undeterred, he slowly wound one of the laces around a finger and bit his lip as he took in her heaving chest.  Her skin was flushed as her heart pounded beneath.

Torturously slow he pulled the string, unravelling the only closure of her top. His deft fingers loosened the ties as the red fabric slid away to reveal her heaving chest and full breasts. His dark eyes devoured the exposed skin and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

His head ducked down as he slowly wrapped his lips around a peaked nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Her head fell back to the door again as she moaned and her hand flew behind her, trying to find any purchase on the flat surface.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down to her core. His thumb found her other breast, flicking her nipple hard. She groaned, pressing her hips into his own, becoming desperate.

She laced her hands through his hair as he looked up at her, lips still around her, and she groaned pulling his head up.

“Bedroom, now,” She said breathlessly as she pushed him away from herself and pressed away from the door, dropping the rest of her dress to pool around her feet. Rowan was silent as he took her in, his eyes trailing a burning path from her face to the tips of her toes.

At the sight she trailed a feather-light touch across the front of his trousers where they strained against his hardness. He groaned at the touch, his head tipping back and the vein in the side of his neck straining.

“Bedroom,” He growled and grabbed her by the waist.

------

Rowan laid her down on her bed, having lost his trousers along the way. She lay bare for him, only a thin pair of black panties prevented her from being exposed entirely.

His head tilted as his predatory stare assessed her.

“You look so good like this Princess,” his voice was raw as he crawled up the bed between her legs, resting his weight against her body and pressing her into the mattress. “We really should find you that tiara again.”

She rolled her eyes but tugged his face to hers. Pressing her lips against his firmly, his short stubble scratching against her cheeks in the most delicious way. He braced a hand by her head, supporting his weight, and the other brushed down her body, starting at the base of her throat until his index finger pressed gently against her centre.

He let out a moan at the dampness of the dark fabric and he swiped a long stroke over the line of her folds. Aelin bit her lip, trying to hold in the moan that his electric touch elicited. Her hips shifted at his teasing, raising them to try and press further into his touch, but he only laughed against her lips.

He nipped her lower lip, the pressure almost painful, but it sent another wave of arousal through her.

Slowly he slid his finger beneath the fabric, pressing a finger into her and the heavy pressure had her fisting her hands in the sheets. His tongue swept into her mouth again as he pumped his finger inside her, slipping a second in a moment later. His thumb came up to press against the apex of her thighs, the friction sending sparks through her entire body as he swirled his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She broke away from the kiss to moan, twisting her face to the side, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was creating. The delightful pleasure his fingers were creating as his mouth pressed hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

“Please,” She gasped, and she felt his lips against her neck curve into a smile.

“Please what?” His voice was playful as he teased her, pulling his hand back leaving her clenching around air.

“You know what. Dick.” She snapped, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Now, now, princess,” He carded his fingers through her hair, twisting them into the strands at the base of her head before pulling hard. “Remember to use your manners.”

She gasped again, back arching off the bed to press her body against his. He ground his hips against her own, the hard length of him catching against the spot she needed most.

He nipped at the skin on her neck before pulling back, tugging her panties down her legs, wasting no time before shucking off his own briefs revealing the full length of him to her. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

He tucked himself back between her legs, pressing the tip lightly at her entrance. Her hips bucked up as he grabbed a hold of her chin.

“Condom?” He asked, his voice low.

“I’m on the pill.” She breathed, rolling her hips, urging him to hurry.

He groaned, lining himself up and pressing into her as he crashed his lips to hers.

Her mind cleared at the sensation, thinking only of where he filled and stretched her. The brief flash of pain sinking into a burning pleasure. He paused his hips, allowing her to adjust, but still pressed his lips to hers. His togue sweeping into her mouth.

She sank her nails into the skin of his broad shoulders, urging him to move and he eagerly obliged, snapping his hips into hers with a force so strong the bed crashed against the wall, rhythmic thuds in time with his thrusts.

Her skin was on fire as he pounded into her, drawing breathy moans from her throat as she clung to him in desperation. Rowan’s hands tightened on her hips, owning her with his touch as he moaned low in her ear and nipped her lobe with his teeth.

Rowan tugged one of her legs up to tuck it over his hip, changing the pace and thrusting into her wildly. Aelin clung to him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his shoulders as his hands dug into the flesh of her thighs.

His pace became frantic as he brought one hand around between their bodies, swirling his thumb over her clit. Her breath hitched in her throat as he growled.

“Come on, Princess.”

His words sent her over the edge, shattering around him with a cry. She felt him increase his pace and he bit sharply into her shoulder as he came sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He ghosted his lips over hers a final time as he pulled out gently before lying next to her on the bed and pulling her into his side, wrapping a broad arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face to his chest, hiding her satisfied smile.

“I still think you’re a dick,” She muttered eventually, interrupting the easy silence.

His laughter rumbled through her, shaking the bed they lay on.

“That’s okay,” He said squeezing her hip. “I still think you’re a princess.”

On the Edge of an Avalanche

Summary: Graduation was upon them and Eddie Kaspbrak was eager to leave Derry behind. His one last hurrah would be the senior ski trip, earning him an escape from his mother and the looming stress of college admissions. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, until he got slated to look after resident pain-in-everyone’s-ass, Richie Tozier. Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: E Chapter: 4/5 Read Chapter 3 Here  /  Read on AO3

Richie’s room was nicer than Eddie’s, way nicer. It’s not that Eddie’s room was bad, in fact he’d spent a good amount of time admiring it earlier, it’s just that Eddie’s room was like the discount version, and Richie’s was designer. Where Eddie’s room had gotten tall windows, half of Richie’s wall was taken up by a fireplace. Eddie supposed it was a trade, someone who preferred a nicer view might say Eddie’s room was the winner, but there was something undeniably romantic about your own fireplace. Richie’s room also seemed to have a newer TV, mounted on the wall across from their bed. The TV in Eddie’s room was older and hid behind two panels of wood in a cabinet. Simply put, Eddie was very glad Richie had decided to bring them here. Richie flopped on the bed immediately, overdramatizing how exhausted he was just from limping his way down the hall. Eddie hid a knowing smile and joined him. “Thank you for saving me, I was about five minutes away from dying of boredom.” Richie drawled. “Well, I can’t promise you’ll have any more fun here, but you’re welcome. ”Richie let his head loll to the side, regarding Eddie closely before speaking again. “No, I’ll definitely have more fun here. ”The insinuation was brash, Richie didn’t even bother trying to hide it behind a joke. It made Eddie’s gut clench in unusual ways. He brought his thumb up to his mouth, the habit of gnawing at his fingernails a hard one to kick, but was interrupted by his own gasp as his hand came into view. His knuckles were starting to bruise, tender to flex and even more tender to touch. He hadn’t noticed any pain earlier, too caught up in Richie to even think about anything else, but now that he was staring at his fist the ache began to echo under his skin. “You just notice that?” Richie asked gently, noting the horror in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie could only nod, his gaze fixed on the evidence of his breakdown. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at his hand, but when Richie’s entered the frame Eddie startled. He’d gotten a hand towel from the bathroom and wrapped some ice in it, which Eddie could only guess was provided in their minifridge. Richie guided Eddie’s hand down to his lap, placing the ice pack atop his knuckles gently and murmuring an apology when Eddie hissed at the sudden coldness. They stayed silent for a few minutes, simply sitting in each other’s presence as the ice dampened the cloth atop Eddie’s hand. Eddie was the first to speak, keeping his eyes downcast as he admitted his guilt aloud. “I’m not a violent person, you know.” He could feel Richie’s eyes on his face but didn’t give in to the lure. “Yeah, I know.” Richie reassured. “But Bowers is an exception-”“No, he’s not.” Eddie snapped. “If I sink to his level, I’m just like him.” Eddie wasn’t sure if Richie would get it. They had both been targets of Henry’s attacks, but Eddie never wanted anyone to feel the way he’d felt, not even Henry himself. Eddie’s mind was constantly replaying all the times he'd had his face shoved into the dirt, the way the gravel would stick to his wounds, the shouts he’d receive from his mother upon getting home. Henry was a god-awful human, but that didn’t mean he deserved to feel that same pain and sorrow. That wasn’t going to change anything; you can’t break the cycle with the same bullshit that fueled it. “I didn’t mean to do it.” Eddie whispered. “I just snapped.” Richie immediately scooted closer, an action Eddie wasn’t expecting or prepared for. He looked up and met bright blue eyes, tender and open and completely void of judgement. “You’re nothing like him; you didn’t want to hurt him. Bowers wants to hurt people. ”Eddie looked back down at his hand, flexing his fingers and watching as the makeshift ice pack slid off and landed on the sheets. “You know…” Eddie began thinking out loud. “I’ve felt the brunt of a lot of people’s insecurities. I don’t usually mind being projected on, it’s easy to see through the words and figure out what’s actually going on behind them. I’ve even gotten good at doing it with Henry, though he’s a bit of a different breed… But there was something about the things he said today... they felt more personal.” Richie listened intently, allowing Eddie to spill out into the space between them, his vulnerability a tender wound. “Whatever, it’s stupid.” Eddie was quick to dismiss his own feelings, covering them up with a shrug of his shoulders that attempted to pass as indifference. “It’s not stupid.” Richie insisted. Eddie stared down at his uninjured hand as it picked at a thread on the blanket beneath them. “Listen, I don't know what Henry said, but you're not suddenly a super villain for fighting back one time. The first time I was called a fag, I threw a mug at the dude’s head.” Richie admitted aloud with a chuckle. “We were in a coffee shop and I was on my first date with a guy. I ended up having to pay for the broken mug and my backtalk. ”Eddie perked up like Richie had just given him a straight shot of smelling salts. All other sound in the room fell away as Eddie homed in on Richie’s voice, trying to discern if he was dreaming or not. “Safe to say it was not a very good first impression.” Richie laughed lightly, completely unaware of the way he was flipping Eddie’s world upside down. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is you’re not the only one who’s lost their cool before. You’re human, you’re allowed to get upset when people treat you less than.” Eddie was sure Richie was making a good point, was sure what he was saying held some wisdom that could potentially help, but he was guilty to say he hadn’t processed a word of it. He was too caught up on the fact that Richie had dated guys before. Stan’s words echoed in his brain ‘You might want to consider the possibility that this isn’t their first time eating a hot dog’, fucking Stan was always right, even with that stupid metaphor. Richie had begun talking again, but Eddie didn’t hesitate to interrupt him, this new revelation too significant to pass by. “You like boys?” Eddie blurted out, all grace and subtlety left behind with his spiraling thoughts. Richie froze in place, his hands up in a gesture Eddie was sure had something to do with what he’d been talking about, but now looked comically out of place. Slowly, Richie lowered his hands to his lap and regarded Eddie with a new look, one that held enough cockiness to knock the wind out of Eddie. “Grinding my dick on you didn’t send the message?” Richie teased, raising one eyebrow and swiping his tongue across his teeth. Eddie suppressed a full body shiver, averting his eyes from Richie’s intensity. “I thought you were maybe, like, I don’t know-” “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.” Richie said with a twang that went straight to Eddie’s pants. He blamed Brokeback Mountain. “Well, it isn’t mine either.” Eddie defended instinctively. He watched as Richie’s eyes flicked down to his mouth and back up again, quick like a hummingbird and with all the same charm. “So, then what’s the issue?” Richie’s voice had lowered, taking on something much more intimate and sultry. It made Eddie’s heart rate spike. “I guess there isn’t one.” He breathed. “Good, because I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” Eddie barely had a moment to breathe before Richie captured his lips in a hungry kiss, his hand burying itself in the hair at Eddie’s nape to pull him in closer. The gesture almost made Eddie go limp, as if he were a cat being held by its scruff, submissive by instinct. He opened his mouth pliantly, allowing Richie in with a welcome of his own tongue. Eddie couldn’t believe that this was happening. Just a couple hours ago he was fisting his own cock, fantasizing about the way Richie tasted. Now he knew. Richie was a cold fire, stoking Eddie’s lungs with mint and cinnamon spice. He tasted like the frost outside, and the embers that kept you warm. It was comforting, enveloping in a way Eddie couldn’t describe. Eddie pushed against Richie, guiding him to lay down on his back so Eddie could climb atop his lap, resuming the same position they’d been in the night before. This time, however, there was clear determination between them. There were no longer hesitant touches or swallowed moans, every move was purposeful, made with intent. Eddie wasn’t shy to shed his sweater, wanting to move things along as quickly as possible now that they were finally happening. “Your body, god, do you know how long I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you?” Richie grabbed Eddie’s bare waist in near disbelief, awe shining in his eyes. “Less than 24 hours?” Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes and his hips in tandem. Richie groaned and tightened his grip, stilling Eddie forcefully. “Try years. You think I didn’t notice you until Mrs. Harrow forced us to sit together?” Eddie flushed even hotter, his skin reddening to match the fire that Richie was stoking. Richie grinned at Eddie’s speechlessness, pushing forward. “I noticed you for the first time in sophomore year. You were trying out for the track team at the same time as Mike and we were in the bleachers cheering him on. I was gone the second you walked out onto that grass. I tried to be respectful, but I couldn’t stop imagining myself squeezed between those thighs that your tight little track shorts did a great job of highlighting.” Eddie tried to recall that moment, tried to visualize Richie in the bleachers with his floppy hair and lopsided glasses, but all he could remember was the adrenaline he’d felt going behind his mother’s back, too busy to notice anything else. “I never stopped noticing you after that, in fact I’m surprised you never caught me looking your way during class…” Richie moved his hands to begin trailing up Eddie’s thighs. “But the second time I really noticed you, was at the end of that school year. We had a heat wave and the AC broke, d’you remember that? The school had no idea how to deal with it, so they just chucked us outside and gave us popsicles from the freezer in the cafeteria, probably because they were going to melt anyway. But you sat there in the middle of the field sucking on your popsicle like it was the best fucking thing you’d ever tasted. You might have been miserable like the rest of us, but you were too focused on your treat to pay any mind to the weather.” Eddie’s throat was going dry, his head beginning to feel light and airy as he listened to Richie talk. “That night I dreamt you were sucking my cock, that same euphoric look on your face as if it were that damn popsicle.” Richie’s hands reached Eddie’s hips and traced the curve around to his ass, causing Eddie to stutter a breath as his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones. “I’ve thought about fucking you for years, Eds, to see you cum on my cock and hear you cry my name. I would do just about anything you asked me to, just as long as I can make you feel good.” Eddie had never been this aroused in his life. Every single nerve in his body was buzzing like a live wire, his toes already curling just from Richie’s words alone. “What if I asked you to take your clothes off?” Eddie braved, his voice shaky. Richie sat up, bringing them chest to chest. “Anything. You. Asked.” Richie punctuated each word with a featherlight kiss to Eddie’s lips. The butterflies in Eddie’s stomach went wild as he watched Richie begin to strip off his shirt. He did it slowly, keeping his eyes on Eddie as Eddie’s own raked down the newly exposed skin. Richie's skin was pale enough to rival the snow outside, spattered with fewer freckles than Eddie’s, but enough to break up the milky complexion. He was thin but still held definition, especially as Eddie’s eyes reached the ‘v’ of his hips that dipped into his waistband. Eddie swallowed thickly and nodded towards the spot where Richie’s hands were already hovering over his waistband. Eddie had to swing his leg off Richie and move to the side to let him shimmy his pants down his legs, every new inch equally as mesmerizing. “Like what you see?” Richie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Not sure yet, I think I need to see more.” Eddie whispered back, tension thick between them. Eddie could see where Richie was straining against the fabric of his boxers, tenting them to an intimidating level. The way his mouth watered at the sight made Eddie feel absolutely depraved, lewd in a way that only added to his arousal, made him want to spread his legs wide and offer himself up whole. The moment that stretched between them as Richie pulled his boxers down felt like an eternity. Eddie lived, died, and got reborn all in the span of that second. Richie’s cock was heavy, springing free for only a moment before falling back against his stomach. Eddie could see Richie moving in his peripheral, getting comfortable back against the duvet after throwing his boxers to the floor, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off his dick. He felt fingers carding through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and finally Eddie tore his gaze away from the challenge that sat before him. Richie’s smile was smug, but his eyes seemed vulnerable. Eddie realized he was waiting for his next command, unsure how they’d fallen into that pattern but not opposed to continuing it. Eddie felt powerful as he raised on his haunches and moved to where Richie’s legs were spread. He watched Richie’s face, noted the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his fingers twitched as he tried not to move. Eddie lowered his head so it was level with Richie’s cock, pausing just a few inches away so his breath grazed against it as he spoke. “Fuck my mouth.” Eddie directed, lust overwriting his usual nerves and replacing them with boldness. Richie’s breath shook as he let it out slowly. “Jesus fuck, Eddie…”Richie’s hands travelled back into Eddie’s hair, gentle at first and then gripping at the base. He guided Eddie’s head the rest of the way down and shuttered when Eddie finally took the head in his mouth. Eddie instantly felt intoxicated, like Richie was the strongest absinthe man had ever made. He greedily gulped it down, laving at the underside of Richie’s cock as it glided into his throat. Drool was already pooling at the corners of his mouth, but Eddie paid it no mind, his only focus on drinking in as much of Richie as he could. He knew right away there was no reality in which he could take all of Richie at once, at least not without a lot of practice, so he committed his mouth to the top half and his hand to the bottom. His fingers barely met as they wrapped around Richie’s shaft and gave an experimental pump. Richie groaned, and Eddie took it as a good sign. He repeated the motion with a twist of his wrist, tonguing the slit of his cock where precum was leaking out greedily. Eddie could feel Richie’s legs tensing where he had his free hand splayed across his thigh. Every time he teased the underside of Richie’s head that muscle would jump, and it almost became a game to see how quickly Eddie could make that muscle twitch, his tongue moving faster and faster against that sensitive spot and causing Richie's legs to vibrate. “Oh my god- fuck, ahhhh-h-how are you so good at this…” Richie’s voice was wrecked, raspy and low and breathy all at once. Eddie just hummed in acknowledgement, sending vibrations up Richie’s shaft that made him hump up into Eddie’s mouth. The action caused Eddie to gag and he reveled in it, moaning like a whore in heat. He was so far gone he barely noticed when Richie pulled him off suddenly. “Okay you’re too good at that.” Richie panted, his chest heaving. Eddie’s head was cloudy, the only conscious thought chanting ‘more, more, more’. He blinked a few times, trying to shift the room back into place. “Why did we stop?” Eddie asked dumbly, his words a bit slurred. “I didn’t want to cum yet. I sort of thought… maybe, if you wanted to, we could-” “Finger me.” Eddie blurted out, his senses coming back to him but not all gracefully. “I mean…” He cleared his throat, face beginning to flush. “…please." Richie looked liked he’d just won the lottery and been slapped across the face at the same time, a dopey kind of smile accompanying his features. “You don’t have to be polite about it, Eds. I’m kinda digging this whole dictator thing you’ve got going on, actually.” Eddie giggled adoringly, calmed by the way Richie was able to dissolve his nerves so quickly with such a disastrously dumb joke, even at a time like this. “Gimme a sec.” Richie leaned forward, catching Eddie’s lips in a chaste kiss before he was springing off the bed. “I know that bastard has lube somewhere.” Eddie watched as Richie began searching through what he assumed to be Bill’s suitcase, throwing things to the side in a frenzy. He finally came across a toiletry bag and ripped it open, rifling around for only a moment more and emerging with a small bottle of clear liquid. “Will Bill mind if we use it?” Eddie worried his lip between his teeth, not so much caring about the answer but asking anyway out of respect for his new friend. “Nah, he’ll just be happy I’m getting laid.” Richie winked and those damn butterflies acted up again. Richie crawled back onto the bed, setting the lube to the side temporarily. He returned his attention to Eddie, a renewed twinkle in his lust blown eyes. He crowded Eddie’s space, towering above him but lowering his head so their lips grazed against each other. “Let’s get these off, hmm?” Richie’s fingers stroked lightly at the waistband of Eddie’s sweatpants. “I thought I was the one giving orders.” Eddie teased back, voice barely above a whisper. Richie hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled, letting it snap back against Eddie’s stomach as he released it with a shuttering breath. “Alright Kaspbrak.” Richie let his body fall backwards, bouncing lighting as it hit the mattress. He brought his hands up behind his head and made a show of getting comfortable. “I am at your mercy.” That same emboldened feeling consumed him once again, a confidence only Richie seemed to instill in him. It was intoxicating, much like everything else about Richie. With a smirk, Eddie backed up off the bed and stood in the middle of the room. Eddie kept his eyes focused on Richie as he began to pull his sweatpants down, going painstakingly slow just to see Richie’s reaction. He saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed back his desire, a nearly imperceptible twitch making his cock jump in intrigue. Eddie kicked his pants to the side where they joined his long since discarded sweater, and then all his focus diverted to his neglected cock. All earlier thoughts of whether Richie would like his body were gone, he knew Richie liked his body, and he was planning on milking that for all it was worth. Eddie palmed himself over his underwear, letting his head fall back and his mouth drop open as he finally offered himself the stimulation he needed. He looked down and noted that the white fabric had gone translucent where his cock had been leaking against it, giving Richie a peek of the pink head underneath. He heard Richie whimper from the bed but paid him no mind, indulging in his own senses for a moment. He continued to tease himself through the thin cloth until he couldn’t take any more, finally allowing his hands to wander to the waistband and pull the underwear down his thighs. Richie was silent, watching so attentively that a pin could be heard dropping in the room. Eddie kicked the last piece of clothing off to the side and immediately let his hand wander back to his own cock, tugging it a few times and allowing himself to moan at the sensation. He heard the bed squeak and opened his eyes to see Richie crawling towards him. Gone was Richie’s passiveness and submission, replaced with a new hunger that made Eddie’s legs quiver. Richie reached his arms out and pulled Eddie in until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Even with Eddie standing and Richie kneeling on the bed, he was still a good few inches taller than him, and he used that to his advantage while crowding into Eddie’s space. “You can’t tease me like that.” Richie whispered into the shell of his ear, kissing right under it and beginning a path down his neck. “I didn’t mean to.” Eddie answered honestly, succumbing to the warmth of Richie’s lips and letting his head tip back once again. “Just felt so good…” “I can make you feel even better.” Richie promised, ghosting his hand down Eddie’s torso and just barely grazing his cock. Eddie moaned, arching into the faint touch and whimpering as it left. “Please…” Eddie’s jaw was slack, the word falling out without a thought. Richie continued making his way down Eddie’s body, sucking marks against tan skin as he passed. He paused at Eddie’s nipples to give them special attention and Eddie keened, grabbing at Richie’s hair in sudden desperation. Richie swirled his tongue around one bud, allowing his hand to pluck the other until he switched. He nipped lightly enough to cause Eddie to shutter and then sucked to soothe the reddening skin. He continued his trail downwards, licking along Eddie’s hip bones and kissing the juncture between his thighs and his pelvis, avoiding Eddie’s cock purposefully. Pleas were falling from Eddie’s mouth steadily now; his hands tugging weakly on Richie’s hair to try and guide him towards pleasure. Richie swiftly gathered Eddie in his arms, catching him off guard in his haze of lust. He moved back up the mattress and laid against the bed board, situating Eddie so he was laying across his body. “I bet your pretty little hole is just begging to be touched.” Richie murmured, reaching for the bottle of lube and hastily pouring a generous amount on his digits. Eddie moaned at the lewdness of the comment, his hips moving against Richie’s and causing their cocks to grind against each other. He could feel a wetness smearing against their bellies, similar to the wetness Richie was spreading between his fingers. He watched as Richie’s hand disappeared behind him and then he felt the warm press of a finger at his entrance. The feeling was somewhat familiar; Eddie had fingered himself countless times before, he wasn’t new to pleasuring his prostate. But this was the first time anyone else had ever touched him there. It was difficult not to focus in on every small sensation, to not grind up against Richie like a virgin being touched for the first time. Richie teased the pad of his finger around his rim and unsurprisingly, Eddie fluttered in response. He could hear Richie’s laugh reverberating in his chest where Eddie laid his head. He closed his eyes and spread his legs a bit wider, silently ushering Richie to continue. The first slip inside was uncomfortable. It always is, no matter how turned on you are, but it was also euphoric in a way Eddie was never able to make it for himself. Richie’s fingers were thinner than Eddie’s, but significantly longer, and soon enough Richie was already in to his knuckle. Eddie breathed steadily, allowing his body to get used to the intrusion. Richie followed his queue, stilling for a moment until Eddie nodded minutely against him, signaling him to continue. The next finger wasn’t too much harder than the first, and soon the discomfort ebbed away to make room for pleasure. Richie worked his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch Eddie open as much as possible before a third was added. It felt way better than Eddie had ever imagined it would. Richie’s fingers weren’t clumsy or unsure like Eddie would have thought, they were precise with their pressure and quick to find the spots that made Eddie melt. He went at the perfect pace, allowing Eddie his time to adjust but not waiting too long to lose their momentum. Arousal bubbled hot in Eddie’s stomach, searing his skin at every spot where they were connected. His breathing had become labored, and his hips had begun their own little rotation where he ground himself down into Richie. Every time he did, he felt Richie’s cock twitching against his, eager to escape the slot between them and burry itself inside Eddie. And in that moment, Eddie wanted that more than anything. “Fuck me, now.” Eddie demanded breathily, holding no more space for patience. “You sure you’re ready?” Richie checked, his own breath seeming to stutter. Eddie whined indignantly, raising himself up on shaky knees and grabbing both of Richie’s wrists. He pulled them away, deft fingers slipping out of him easily and falling to the pillow beside Richie’s head where Eddie pinned them. “Now.” Eddie repeated, grinding his ass against Richie’s cock and coating it with lube. “I’m gonna die here and it’s gonna be the happiest day of my life.” Richie rushed out, eyes squeezed shut and face flushed a blotchy red. Eddie removed one hand and reached down to grasp Richie’s cock, marveling once again at its size. He was sure he was going to feel a stretch, but he craved it at this point. With determination and just a little too much arousal for rational thought, Eddie lined himself up and began sinking down. The stretch was… a lot. Eddie let out a pained whimper as Richie’s head breached his rim, and suddenly there were hands all over him, cradling his face, petting his hair, steadying his hips. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Richie rushed to comfort him, kissing the spot between Eddie’s eyebrows where he hadn’t realized he’d furrowed them. “We can stop at any point. You want to stop?” Eddie was stubborn, he knew this about himself. He was aware that his stubbornness had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had also earned him some of the best moments of his life. He didn’t want to end this prematurely and look back on his first time with remorse, but he also didn’t exactly want to rip his asshole open on a high school ski trip. Eddie decided he just needed a minute, so he shook his head and told Richie as much. Richie continued to rub his back, his hair, anywhere his nervous hands could settle. He seemed on such high alert Eddie wasn't sure how his dick wasn't flagging. Eddie winced as Richie inched down the bed carefully, lying himself flatter and pulling Eddie back down to his chest. Eddie closed his eyes and focused on Richie’s heartbeat, feeling Richie moving above him but paying it no mind. He jumped in surprise when Richie’s hand joined his dick, but his body relaxed instantaneously as he felt those soft fingers begin to massage extra lube around his rim. As the seconds passed Eddie could feel himself opening up under Richie’s touch, his muscles relaxing and his temperature rising. Richie was clearly feeling the heat himself, as he’d started to rock his hips gently beneath Eddie’s. The action was gentle, inching him further into Eddie in torturously small increments but not pushing him past his limits. It was beginning to drive Eddie crazy as his craving for more became overpowering, all the pain from before having subsided. Without warning, Eddie pushed himself back on Richie’s cock, feeling his fingers flutter around his hole at the sudden movement. He was quick to use his hand to steady himself at the base of his cock, holding it still for Eddie to fuck back on. Richie let out an elongated breath, swearing profusely at the end of it. It made Eddie blush and move faster, his hips taking on a rhythm of their own. Eddie was on cloud fucking nine. His body lit up like a live wire, electrifying him with every move he made. Richie appeared to be just as affected, his mouth stuck open in an orgasmic ‘o’, his eyes practically rolled back into his skull. Richie had been quick to match Eddie’s pace, thrusting up into him feverously, hands clamped on to Eddie's hip as tightly as Eddie was clamping around his cock. "You're so fucking huge." Eddie moaned, the statement coming out honestly despite sounding like a script from a bad porno. "Holy shit, you can't say stuff like that or I'm gonna blow my load." Richie responded, chest heaving. "I'm serious, it feels like I'm being split open, god Rich." "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble." Richie's thrusts were speeding up, becoming more erratic. Eddie almost felt like he was riding a bull, clenching his thighs in a desperate attempt not to be bucked off. "Then shut me up." The response was instantaneous. Richie flipped them over, pressing Eddie into the mattress as he pounded into him mercilessly. He brought one hand up to Eddie's mouth and shoved two fingers against his tongue, forcing Eddie to suck on the digits. Eddie gagged on them like he would Richie's cock, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth and mixing with the tears that had escaped without notice. He was completely fucked out, his brain unable to process anything besides Richie. "I'm gonna cum." Richie warned, his orgasm approaching rapidly after being so on edge for so long. Eddie didn't mind, his own release not far behind. "Cum inside me, please, want to feel you." Eddie begged, unaware of his desire until it was suspended right in front of him. "Fuck, unnnf- god, Eddie." Richie said his name like a prayer, bringing his hand up to stroke Eddie's neglected cock. The sensation was downright sinful, the best thing Eddie thinks he's ever felt in his entire life. It caused his toes to curl, most of the muscles in his body seizing up at the pleasure. Richie's hips stuttered a few times and then he was overwhelmed with a warmth deep inside him, Richie's cock pushing through it to press diligently into his prostate. Eddie came with blinding lights in his eyes, his body convulsing as waves upon waves of euphoria flooded his senses. He's pretty sure he screams, but he could have been completely silent and it would have sounded the same to his deaf ears. Eddie's not sure how long he lays there in fucked out bliss, his mind completely separate from his body, but when he finally tunes back into the world around him he's alone in the bed. He looks around to find Richie and spots him crouched on the ground by the fireplace, tinkering with the button to light it up. Electric flames suddenly burst alive behind Richie's silhouette, highlighting his long legs as he stretches back up and turns to regard Eddie. "Hey." His voice is gentle, not quite a whisper but close enough to one that the greeting still felt secretive. "Hi." Eddie matches his tone, his throat appreciating the low register after being abused not too long ago. "I thought I lost you there for a minute." Richie crawled back into bed, pulling the thick duvet over them. "I think you did." Eddie admitted sheepishly. "That was fucking... wow." Richie laughed at the advanced vocabulary Eddie was able to implement at that moment. "Wow is right." Richie agreed, welcoming Eddie as he crowded into his space. The silence fell upon them naturally, their bodies and minds too exhausted to bother with much else. It was a long while until Eddie pipped back up. “Was that your first time?” Eddie asked quietly, his eyes having drifted closed from the comfort of being satiated in such a new way. “Mm-mm.” Richie answered carding his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “First time was with Ally Mae Espin. It was a mess.” Eddie hummed for Richie to continue, too content to respond vocally. “It was in Bill’s garage in 8th grade. It lasted exactly two minutes and neither of us finished. I had blue balls for the rest of the night, but honestly, I didn’t even care. I’d realized as soon as we’d kissed that I wasn’t into her the way she was into me. I don’t regret it, but as far as first times it’s pretty anticlimactic. Literally.” Eddie giggled, nuzzling closer into Richie’s warmth. He felt fuzzy all over, invincible to the evils of the outside world. He thinks he could probably survive an avalanche right now, completely safe inside Richie’s arms. “What about you? How was your first time porking the hog?” Eddie scrunched his nose in disgust, peering up at Richie judgingly. “First of all, ew. Don’t ever call it that again. And also… this was my first time.” Richie’s eyes widened a fraction, an unreadable but unmistakable softness within them. “Shit, Eds. I wish you’d have told me, I would have at least tried to perform better.” Predictably, Richie was trying to hide his vulnerability with humor. Also predictably, Eddie could see right through it. “It was perfect. You were perfect.” Richie seemed to gnaw on the inside of his cheek, so Eddie continued. “Ten out of ten, would pork again.” That earned a surprised laugh from Richie, and Eddie considered his mission accomplished. He could work on Richie’s insecurities more later, but for now, at least he knew Eddie didn’t regret what had happened. They fell back into another stretch of silence, the crackle of the fireplace background noise to their steady breathing. Eddie had almost fallen asleep when Richie spoke again. “Did you always know you wanted to be a mechanic when you were younger?” It took a moment for Eddie to fully re-inhabit his body, wondering why his slumber had been interrupted for such a random question. “Huh?” “You know, kids are so indecisive. One minute it's 'I'm gonna be a doctor' the next it's 'I'm gonna be an alien superstar princess'. Did little Eddie have lots of dream jobs or was it always a mechanic?” Eddie took a moment to think, having to dig through all of the expectations and responsibilities that had piled on top of him over time, shielding his passions and replacing them with pragmatic plans for the future. "I always wanted to be a mechanic. Actually, I even wanted to open my own garage when I grew up." Richie listened intently, allowing Eddie to continue. "My dad was a mechanic. I learned a lot just from watching him, and then when he passed away I continued learning under a guy named Isaac, until mom decided it was too messy and too dangerous for me to be in the shop. I always believed I would grow up, open my own place where my mom couldn't ban me from being, and name it after my dad." Richie's face fell at the mention of Eddie's dad's death and he cursed himself for bringing it up. People always felt uncomfortable at the mention of death, and even though Eddie had long since accepted that his dad was gone, he always had to suffer through people’s weird grief reactions that, more often than not, made him feel worse. However a few moments passed and Richie still hadn't said anything, so Eddie braved a look upwards. "What's your favorite car?" Eddie was taken aback, already in the process of mentally preparing himself to field the same old questions he'd long since memorized his answers to. He blinked a few times, a smile creeping up on him without his permission. Richie continued to surprise him at every turn, and Eddie was absolutely giddy about it. "You're gonna make fun of me." Eddie sighed, infinitely grateful for Richie somehow always knowing exactly what to say and when not to say. "I absolutely will." Richie nodded. "1966 Volkswagen Type 2." Richie seemed to contemplate it, nodding slowly before bursting into a side splitting smile and letting a little laugh go. "You’re right, that's hilarious." Eddie laughed along, but still slapped his chest playfully to at least act offended. He snuggled in closer, settling his head on Richie’s chest. "It's just that the hippie lifestyle doesn't exactly match the Eddie Kaspbrak I've grown to know and lo-" Richie cut himself off just as Eddie's heart skipped, both of them falling silent for a moment before Richie cleared his throat and marched onwards, his own heart beating rapidly in Eddie's ear. "I'd have guessed you were a smart car kinda guy." "Why? Cause I'm small?" Eddie challenged, trying (and failing) to return his heart rate back to normal. "Yeah. Small, compact, can fit a surprising amount in its backseat." Richie moved his hand down from where he'd been rubbing circles into Eddie's lower back and tapped one of his cheeks. "Careful! I'm still tender." Eddie pouted, unknowingly looking far too cute for Richie's fragile sanity. Richie kissed the top of Eddie's head and Eddie kissed him back between his collarbones, absolutely smitten with the way Richie handled him. "I like the freedom of it." Eddie admitted, picking the conversation back up. "I've always felt trapped in this town, it's comforting to think of owning something that can take me anywhere." “Technically anything with two wheels can accomplish that.” Richie pointed out. “Yeah, but with a van I don’t have to worry about where I’m gonna sleep. I can live out of it for as long as it takes me to get to my destination.” “Where is your destination?” “New York.” Eddie answered automatically, surprising the both of them. Richie’s arms tightened around Eddie, erratic laughter falling from his lips. “EDDIE!!!” “WHAT!?” Eddie was being jostled now, Richie’s happiness contagious even though Eddie had no idea what was happening. “NEW YORK IS MY DREAM!” Eddie finally connected the dots, realizing a little late what that meant. If Eddie wanted to move to New York, and Richie wanted to move to New York, then they could theoretically move to New York together. The notion made Eddie’s belly do flips. “Oh, yeah, I guess that is kind of perfect huh?” Eddie answered, far more bashful than he'd expected himself to sound. “We can get a little apartment downtown where you can open your own garage and I can work at whatever coffee shop will hire me while I practice my standup routine on the weekends! We'll be a dynamic duo, running the streets of New York together. It’s FATE!” Eddie couldn’t deny that it did feel like something cosmic was at play. Richie was this boisterous, loud, chaotic puzzle piece that somehow fit perfectly into the slot on Eddie’s board. He pushed Eddie’s boundaries, encouraged him to challenge his world and rethink the ways he’d been taught to live. Being around him was invigorating, but it also felt like home. Eddie realized with terrifying clarity that he didn’t want to spend another day without Richie in his life. He couldn’t fathom how he’d done so before; looking back felt like watching a black and white film in contrast to the technicolor movie magic he was living in now. Richie had lit up a spot in Eddie’s life that he hadn’t even realized had been dark before. Eddie trailed his hand up Richie’s chest and found the back of his neck, tilting his head down to face Eddie. He moved slow, bringing their faces close together so their lips barely touched. Richie’s skin was soft, his lips plump and inviting as they trembled beneath Eddie’s. They breathed each other in as Eddie nosed at Richie, watching as his eyes fluttered closed and his brain took a backseat. Eddie hummed a nearly imperceptible laugh and finally slotted their lips together, lingering in place for just a second before parting. It was teasing, but not in the sense of arousal. Eddie left Richie with a million thoughts on his mind and nothing but big brown eyes as answers. “I think I passed out for a second there.” Richie breathed shakily, effected in exactly the way Eddie’d intended. “You’re going to take me to New York one day.” Eddie decided aloud. Richie was all shy smiles, dipping his head low to try and hide his blush. “I sure fucking hope so.” Richie responded quietly, looking back up at Eddie through inky curls. Eddie pushed his hair to the side, tucking it behind Richie’s ear and letting his hand fall back down to his chest. “You will.” They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms with thoughts of the future fueling their dreams. Eddie knew that nothing was guaranteed. Two days can’t rewrite your whole life, and once they left the resort and re-entered Derry, he was sure that all the expectations and pressure he’d superseded were going to come back full force. But somehow, he felt more prepared to face them. They didn’t hold the same weight as they once had, because now Eddie knew he had a whole world outside of the one his mother had built for him to exist within. That world might just be Richie Tozier, but it was a thousand times bigger and brighter than the solitude he’d lived in before. For once, Eddie was excited to live.

Part 2 of Welcome Home.

He’s staring at her with a goofy smile on. He can’t help himself as his eyes rove over her and he knows she’s aware of his eyes, the corners of her lips curled in amusement. She’s all too used to his burning gaze on her but it never ceases to have an affect on her whether it’s turning her into mush or filling her will suppressed mirth. 

In this particular case, it seemed to be a combination of both even as she tries to ask him about everyone back home. 

“How’s Samuel doing? I spoke with him over the weekend and he seems good but I feel like he tries to spare me from the heavy stuff.”

He smiles softly at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about and it was true he had refrained from telling Nadia about some of his troubles lest he worry her but this time he was pleased he could honestly reassure her.

“He’s really fine actually. That trip we took to parliament was really good for him, I think. It was the first time he made moves toward his future instead of worrying so much about his family. It was nice to see actually.”

Nadia looks content with that response. “That’s good.  I understand familial obligations and it's why I never said anything, but I think they were too much of a distraction for him. He was the kid and the youngest one too, yet somehow with the most responsibilities.”

Guzman is intrigued by that and tilts his head to the side. “And it’s unfair, isn’t it? That burden shouldn’t fall on the child, should it?”

“No, not like that.”

He narrows his eyes at her, waiting for her to make the connection. “Sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

She looks at him confused for a moment before realization settles in. “What? No, it’s not the same.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Guzman smirks.

“No, because Samuel’s mom didn’t care that he was working more than he was studying…”

Guzman lifts a brow. He was sure Nadia’s mother wasn’t apathetic about how much Nadia spent at the shop per se, but she at least didn’t do much about it either. 

Nadia continues on anyway, pivoting. “Ok well, Samuel has an older brother that could help.”

Guzman remains silent.

“At least my brother didn’t deal drugs…” She trails off as the realization finally settles in. She and Samuel dealt with a lot of the same issues. “Huh, wow...I guess it makes sense how we ended up friends.”

“Mm-hmm,” Guzman nods. “It’s easy for you to see Samuel’s hardship and judge his family for it, but you don’t realize that your own family has done the same to you. And that’s not fair either.”

Nadia looks stunned for a moment and he can see her tell-tale pondering face as she considers his words. 

“I...But-I…” Nadia stammers looking genuinely befuddled and it endears Guzman. He knew her relationship with her parents had gotten better but he couldn't help feeling protective over her and ensuring that she was always treated with the respect she deserved. It was only an afterthought that she and Samuel shared similar experiences and perhaps that was how he came to be friends with Samuel after getting over his biases.

But Guzman wasn’t particularly interested in a teachable moment just then. He missed Nadia too much to spend the first few hours talking about Samuel. No offense to his best friend.

“You know, I actually don’t really want to talk about Samuel right now.”

Her eyes are full of mirth as her body shakes with quiet laughter. She was so happy and it thrilled him that it was largely because of him.

“No?” she asks.

“No.”

And before she can get another word in, he’s pushing her against the wall, his lips gentle but urgent against hers. It starts off slow as they savor the moment, reveling in each other’s touch. The familiar warmth, her soft lip soothing against his own slightly chapped ones. Somehow he’s already breathless, the sheer nearness to her knocking the breath out of him, but he can’t stop tasting her. His hands slide firmly from her hips up to her ribs and lifts her up against the wall so her feet are barely touching the ground but her mouth is more aligned with his. Nadia wraps her arms around his shoulders tighter and lets out a muffled sigh.

Just like that, the languid pace of their kiss turns into desperate gasps, wet lips pressing and sliding against each other firmly. Guzman forgets himself for a moment and hikes one of her legs around his hip, pressing their pelvises closer—but still not close enough for his liking—while his other hand untucks her blouse from her pants. His fingers immediately seek out her smooth, warm skin and he feels so deprived from the glorious sensation that he can’t help the groan that escapes him.

God, how he had missed her.

His hot hand against her heated skin set him ablaze and he needed more, needed to feel her skin, taste more of her flavor, smell more of her essence...he just needed more. He keeps their body melded together as he drags his lips across her neck and sucks the skin at the base of her throat. 

She lets out a breathless whimper, arching her neck against the pressure of his mouth and tongue. “Guzman…”

He’d have to be wrenched away from her at this point, her heavy breaths, her familiar sounds when he would touch her, spurred him on. His fingers made quick work on the buttons of her blouse, his mouth following behind with every new patch of skin that was revealed. He traces the edges of her bra with his tongue before she yanks his head back up to hers, pulling him into a desperate kiss. Her hands drag through his hair, pulling slightly, not enough to draw pain but enough to make him thrust his hips instinctively against hers.

“Nadia, Nadia, Nadia…” he chants in between kisses. “I need you.”

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, jostling them enough to break apart with a wet smack. Guzman keeps his grip firmly on Nadia as he looks toward the door, his chest heaving. He has to blink several times to ease back to reality and realize they had apparently stopped on their floor. 

Nadia comes back to reality sooner, scrambling to button her shirt again while keeping the door open. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we just did that. What if someone caught us, or worse, my super? So stupid of us.” 

Nadia presses a hand to her flushed cheek while the other reaches for his suitcase. That gets him moving and he steps away from her, taking the handle from her. 

“It’s ok, we weren’t doing anything bad.” 

Guzman wasn’t bothered by the circumstances but he knows public displays of amorous affections were a sore spot for Nadia because of the locker room incident. A part of him will always feel resentful toward Valerio and Lu for their part but he knows that Nadia frets about it enough for the both of them so he tries to ease her worries. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, following behind her at a respectable distance so that if anyone were to glance over, they’d be none the wiser of their elevator activities. “I didn’t mean to get carried away—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nadia says with a slight smile. She seems a lot more composed. She takes his hand and he feels relieved. “I got carried away too. Can’t blame either of us for doing so, but let’s stick to the safety of our home next time.”

Home. Once again, the word causes a flutter in his chest and elation to fill his body. It was enough to cool down his heated and excited body momentarily. 

He beams at her. “Home sounds perfect. In more ways than one.”

They stop in front of an apartment door with the number 207 on it and Nadia begins to fuss with her clothes once more. 

“I don’t look like a mess, do I? It’s not obvious what we were up to?”

Before he can get a word in, Nadia reaches over and fixes the collar of his shirt and straightens his hair a little.

Guzman shakes his head. “You look great. Besides, we’re heading inside anyway.”

Nadia nods, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Here we are.”

Before Guzman can process the sight before him, he blinks against the flash of Nadia’s polaroid camera. She pulled it from her eyes with a shy smile. “I wanted to get a picture of your reaction. I knew it would be too good to pass up.”

He looks at her in awe, stepping further into the apartment with his suitcase. He vaguely registers the door slamming shut behind his but he’s too transfixed and filled with emotions bubbling inside him. 

Hung up across the living room was a huge banner that said “Welcome Home” and underneath it, in glittering capital letters, his name was spelled out. On either side of the banner were streamers and balloons and sitting on the dining table to his right sat a huge chocolate cake, his favorite. He continues to take in the apartment, his new home, and sees there are fairy lights lining the top edges of the wall, more streamers and balloons in the kitchen and off to the side, making the place look festive and cozy. 

“I know it’s probably overboard but we were just too excited and couldn’t help ourselves,” Nadia says. 

He looks at her and her face softens. It’s only then he realizes his eyes have started watering again. She rushes to him and pulls him into a tight hug, pulling back just enough to look at his face. 

“We wanted you to feel at home here. It’s going to be an adjustment but we stocked up the place with all your favorite things from back home.”

He pulls her into a soft kiss, holding her in place just to savor her taste. There’s a lump in his throat and he feels so overwhelmed but he holds onto Nadia to tether him, holding onto her as his safe haven. 

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely when he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers. 

“Of course. Plus, it was a group effort.”

Guzman looks over at the cake before turning back to Nadia with a quirked brow. 

“Ok, well that was me,” Nadia amends. “You know Lu wouldn’t ever be caught dead with a whisk.”

He lets out a burst of laughter and Nadia strokes the corner of his eyes where he’s sure they are red-rimmed with unshed tears. 

“Well, since that’s the case, what do you say we dive in?”

Nadia helps him shed his and places it next to hers on the coat rack by the door. She leads him over to the table in front of the cake where it too says “Welcome Home, Guzman!” There’s also even a heart drawn on there and he knows it was Nadia’s. 

“You made my favorite,” he murmurs to her, his mouth already salivating at the thought of digging into what he knew were three layers of moist chocolate cake with layers of dark chocolate ganache and coffee mousse in between. This was just one of the things he had missed about her while she had been gone. 

“Of course.” She pecks him against his temple and hands him a knife. 

As they settle in with a large piece of cake to share, Guzman realizes this is just one of the many quiet moments they’ll get to have. This was the start of their lives together and he was so at peace, finally home. 

Home with Nadia.

Finish That Sentence (M)

When he opened his mouth again, you could taste the anger dripping past those sinful lips. 

“No.”

 “Yes.” 

“Kitten, when I say ‘No’… it isn’t a suggestion.” 

“Good, I didn’t ask for one.”

➵ Warnings: 18+, Yandere Jimin, Smut, Fingering, Oral (m and f receiving), Edging, Penetrative Sex, Daddy kink (oop), Jimin calls you kitten a lot, Slight Degradation

➵ Word Count: 4K

➵ Masterlist

“I’m sorry, what did you just say, kitten?” 

You swallowed hard, willing your hands to remain steady as you clenched them by your sides. Don’t give in, you told yourself, stifling the urge to just surrender and beg for mercy. You’re in the right.

“I-I said,” You stammered, flushing when he smirked at your undeniable nerves. You cleared your throat and made another attempt, hoping in the brief time passed since you last opened your mouth you had somehow grown a backbone. 

“I said… I want to go out tonight.” 

“Oh. Well, of course, kitten.” Jimin replied smoothly, and you knew it had been too easy, you couldn’t relax just yet. “Where do you want me to take you?” 

“Actually, um…” You hesitated, and your boyfriend raised a mocking brow. 

“Go on, baby, I’m waiting.” 

You took a fortifying breath, before letting it all cascade out of you. 

“I want to go to a friend’s party and it’s at a club and I don’t want you to come.”

Your breath ran dry. Jimin’s jaw muscles jumped under smooth skin. He rose from where he was reclined on the couch, standing up so that the two of you were eye to eye. 

You could see every ounce of restraint weighing down his muscles, slowing his arm to a glacial pace as he tucked his index finger under your chin. But, in those eyes, there was a rage swirling in the depths which you often glimpsed but never submerged yourself in. You wondered if this was the night where you would finally get the chance to drown. 

When he opened his mouth again, you could taste the anger dripping past those sinful lips.

 “No.” 

In that one word were a thousand utterances, a thousand missed opportunities to have fun with your friends who you missed so much, and all because of him. You had rolled over and played dead so many times, but you have had enough. 

“Yes.” You snapped, and his eyes widened, in danger of revealing the roiling currents of fury underneath the placid surface.

“Kitten, when I say No… it isn’t a suggestion.” 

“Good, I didn’t ask for one.”

Your back ached as Jimin slammed you against the wall. His hand — which had slipped behind to cradle your head, preventing injury — came down to encircle your throat, while his other busied itself restraining your wrists above your head. You had no choice but to arch into him in discomfort. He pressed his body against yours, revelling in your small whimpers. 

“Kitten thinks she calls the shots, huh?” Jimin asked patronisingly, before grinding against you. You thrashed in his hold defiantly, even as a part of you went molten beneath his body heat. “You think you can speak like that? To me?”  

“You say worse things to me every- oh!” Your breath hitched as his teeth dug into that sensitive spot below your ear. You felt him smirk against your heated skin, a huff of laughter at your choked moan as he rolled his hips against you once more. 

“That’s because I’m in charge, kitten. You’re mine. You have to show me some respect.” 

That comment drove you over the edge. 

“I’m- you- get off of me!” You shoved him away, making no effort to help him as he stumbled back, eyes hooded and lips swollen from the effort to carve his ownership into the bruises on your neck. Surprisingly, he didn’t attempt to plaster himself on you again. He merely watched as you tugged your shirt back into place, smoothing your hair down with a trembling hand. 

“I am not your property.” You stated, annoyance flaring as Jimin chuckled. “I can… I can do what I want. I’m an adult. You can’t just tell me what to do or I swear to god I’ll-” 

I’ll break up with you. 

The threat had been on the tip of your tongue when his eyes met yours. And there it withered, died, and blew away on the wind. You had been right. Tonight would be the night you drowned in Park Jimin. 

His rage was no longer on a leash. It sunk itself into his muscles as he prowled towards you, step by step, until you were voluntarily pressing yourself against the wall in an effort to evade him. He paused a hairsbreadth away from you, close enough to feel the tension of each coiled muscle, pulled taut and waiting to pounce. 

“Or you’ll what?” He breathed, and you flinched. The corner of his lips tugged upwards, and a finger trailed delicately along your cheekbone. Soothing the lamb before the slaughter. “C’mon kitten, what’re you gonna do, hmm?” 

“I-I… uhm-”

“Go on, finish that sentence.” 

His finger tensed, the nail cutting into your skin. 

“I…” You hesitated, before closing your eyes and swallowing your pride in one rancid gulp. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. You were right.” 

His gaze flickered with satisfaction, but it was not enough to temper the overwhelming wrath which swum in the depths of his dark eyes. 

“That’s not what you were going to say, is it, kitten?” He leaned in to run his nose along the column of your throat, making you whimper slightly as he put pressure on the capillaries he had burst with his possessive kisses. “Say what you want to say, like I told you to. It’s okay, I won’t get mad.”

You’re already mad, you would’ve said if his teeth weren’t so close to your jugular. 

“I was going to say… that I would… b-break up with you.” You whispered, and his entire body tensed. “B-But I didn’t mean it!” You hastened to add, reaching for his hands and clutching them desperately, “I wouldn’t really break up with you! It was a lie! I’m sorry!”  

“Good girls don’t lie.” Jimin replied eventually, his voice devoid of all emotion even as his eyes screamed bloody murder. “You must be mistaken. Good girls don’t lie and I know you’re my good girl.” 

“I am your good girl.” You responded frantically, gripping his unresponsive hands as if you could force your sincerity in through skin contact, “I’m your good girl and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was just being stupid!” 

“Well at least you didn’t lie about that.” Jimin looked up at you, eyes twinkling with sardonic satisfaction. “You are stupid if you ever think you could leave me and get away with it.” 

The world tilted on its axis and it took you a few moments to realise Jimin had tossed you over his shoulder. You went limp, resigning yourself to the punishments you were bound to endure. Whatever it was, you just had to take it, it would be easier for you that way. 

It was difficult to navigate your apartment upside down. It was also unnecessary. You knew where Jimin was taking you. Sure enough, after a few moments of breathless disorientation, Jimin flung you down on your shared bed, remaining at the foot, watching with dark eyes as you tried to rearrange yourself into some semblance of dignity. 

“You lied about wanting to leave me.” Jimin’s voice was cutting, like it always was when he found a reason to punish you. And, inexorably, you had to submit to him. 

“Yes.” 

“But we already know that good girls don’t lie. What does that make you, kitten?” 

Your mouth went dry. You knew what he wanted. 

“I-I’m a bad girl, Jimin.” 

“Jimin?” He repeated, and you belatedly realised your mistake as he strode around the bed and wound a hand in your hair, yanking it back ruthlessly.

“Daddy! I’m sorry, daddy!”

“What are you, kitten?” He asked again, and you held back a sob. You liked it so much better when he was kind to you. 

“I’m a bad girl, daddy.” 

“And what do bad girls deserve?”

“…Bad girls deserve to be punished, daddy.” 

He leaned down, bringing his face closer to yours until the tips of your noses almost brushed. If you had been good, Jimin would have maybe kissed the tip of your nose, making you both giggle. But you hadn’t been good. You had been bad, and now you were being forced to reap what you had sown. 

“Do you think you deserve a punishment, kitten?” 

No! All you had wanted to do was go out and meet your friends, there was nothing wrong with-

Jimin yanked your hair again and you gasped, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. 

“Y-Yes, I deserve a punishment, daddy.”

“Use your manners, kitten, c’mon. Ask nicely.” He hissed, and you nodded obediently, as much as you could with his grip still painfully tight in your hair.

“Please, daddy, punish me. I’ve been a bad girl. I deserve it. Please.” 

“Well done, kitten.” 

You resented the fact that you blushed at his praise, something which made him snicker, trailing a hand down your reddened cheeks. 

“So eager,” He murmured, cupping your jaw for a second before he shoved you away. 

“Hands up,” He commanded, and you slipped into the familiar motions, raising your crossed wrists to the headboard where you knew a pair of restraints were affixed. Jimin made quick work of your hands, electing not to bind your ankles, arranging your body as he wished. 

After five minutes, your clothes had been removed whilst Jimin remained fully dressed, gazing at you with dark eyes. He had positioned you sat up against the headboard — to which you were tied — with legs spread wide open for his convenience. 

Your cheeks burned as he climbed onto the bed, unable to stop the instinctual clenching of your legs together. He gripped your ankles and ruthlessly tugged them apart again, laughing cruelly as you squirmed. 

“Now, now, kitten, don’t move. You look so pretty like this.” He breathed, eyes fixed firmly on your core which, to your embarrassment, was practically dripping on the bedsheets. 

“Sorry, daddy.” You whined, twisting your wrists against their ties restlessly, appreciating the slight burn which kept you rooted in reality.

“So polite, baby, aren’t you?” Jimin smirked, still making no move to touch you, “Where were these manners earlier, hmm? Or, is this what you wanted all along?”

“Yes,” You whispered, trying to wrap your legs around Jimin’s waist and tug him closer, to his amusement, “Daddy, please, touch-”

“Oh, baby wants me to touch her?” He laughed at your insistent nod, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, please,” You babbled, sinking fully into the headspace, “I’ll do anything, daddy, I want to such your cock, I want you to fuck me, please, anything-”

Your speech melted into a high-pitched whine as Jimin shoved a finger in you without warning. Though his digits weren’t very long, they were thick, and you could feel each knuckle as his finger sunk into you, stretching you out crudely. 

“You’re so wet,” Jimin chuckled, crooking his finger in a way that made you see stars, “God, I could just fuck you right now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, please dadd- ah!” You moaned as Jimin added another finger, scissoring them within you and making you feel so deliciously full. 

It must have made quite a sight. Jimin, in slacks and a black button down with the forearms rolled up, viciously pumping his fingers into your naked writhing form, already starting to glisten with sweat.

By the time he added a third finger, you were gone. He kept rubbing insistently over the bundle of nerves within you, and each time his fingers were buried to the hilt, he would roll his thumb on your clit, making you clench tight on him over and over again. 

“Jimin, I’m going to- oh please, ah, let me come, daddy, please?” 

Jimin hummed, sitting back on his heels as he seemed to mull over the question, all the while pumping his fingers viciously into your tight hole. You tried to roll your hips onto his hand, meeting his thrusts, but he braced his other hand over your hips, pinning you down so you were forced to just lie there helplessly and take whatever he gave you. 

“Daddy, I’m-” You started to convulse as you felt the familiar tug at your belly button, the pleasure building within you and about to overflow, and Jimin yanked his fingers out of you abruptly. 

You whined as you felt the cool air brush against your empty hole, close to tears as the blinding pleasure of the orgasm dissipated, leaving behind an uncomfortable sensitivity. 

“Daddy,” You moaned, kicking your legs petulantly, “I was about to come.”

“Only good girls get to come, kitten.” Jimin stated, and you felt like you were about to cry.

“I am a good girl!” 

“Oh, really?” He asked, eyebrow cocked at your pathetic form, lying prone on the bed. 

“Yes, I promise, daddy, I’m good.” 

“Okay, then.” Jimin murmured, unconvinced, bringing his fingers covered with your slick up to your mouth. “Suck.” 

You took them into your mouth obediently, bobbing your head up and down, letting your tongue dart out to lick at his knuckles. He shoved them into your mouth suddenly, and you gagged, but didn’t pull off. He cooed at you as tears began to brim at your eyes. 

“Oh, kitten. You’re such a greedy little slut, aren’t you? So eager to have something in your mouth, poor baby.” Jimin cooed, and you whined pitifully around his fingers. “I’m going to untie your wrists now. Is that okay, baby girl?”

You nodded obediently, leaning back as he fiddled with the restraints. He captured your mouth in a filthy kiss as he did so, jamming his tongue into your mouth and twisting it sinuously around yours as if he was trying to taste the arousal you had licked off his fingers. 

You let out a groan of relief as your wrists were finally free and Jimin snickered, eyes shining with satisfaction as you rubbed the red marks. He sat back against the headboard, directing you into a position lying on your front between his legs. 

“Take my trousers off, baby.” He commanded, and you obeyed quickly, unzipping the slacks and tugging them down. Through his briefs, you could see the bulge of his erection, thick and hard, a slight wet spot where his precome had pressed against the fabric. You flushed with pride at the thought that just fingering you had made him so aroused. 

“You have to take off my briefs now, kitten.” Jimin said, almost amused since you had just been staring at his cock for the last minute, trailing your hand up and down his muscular thigh distractedly. At his command, you nodded hurriedly and pulled them off, finally allowing his erection to spring free. 

You licked your lips, and Jimin laughed. 

“So fucking desperate, aren’t you kitten? What a dirty slut my baby is.”

“Yes,” You mindlessly agreed, “Your baby.” 

Jimin took himself into his hand, hissing slightly at the contact, and slapped his cock against your face. You whined, trying to chase it with your mouth, and he finally gave in. 

“Okay, open up baby.” He murmured — unnecessary since your mouth was already wide open — taking hold of your jaw with one hand and using the other to feed you his cock.

Immediately, you took him in down to the base, nose brushing against the spare hair as your throat contracted around him frantically, trying to swallow. His fingers wound into your hair tightly, and he began guiding you up and down his length, using your throat as a cocksleeve. 

“God, so fucking-” Jimin grunted, dropping his head back as you gagged around him, “So fucking perfect, kitten. My perfect baby slut. Take me so- ungh - so well.”

You moaned around his length, both at the praise and the feel of him, heavy on your tongue. 

The knowledge that you were being used to chase Jimin’s selfish release made you slip even further into headspace, where everything was a hazy mess of overwhelming pleasure and stinging pain. You could feel the urge to come, which had cruelly receded as fast as it arrived, slowly flowing back into you. 

Jimin braced both legs against the bed bracketing your head, giving no warning before he began thrusting harshly into your throat. He held your head steady as his hips pistoned into you, groaning as you whimpered and spluttered around him, tears running down your flushed face like a river.

You had no chance to breathe, and when you were light-headed enough that you truly thought you were about to faint, Jimin yanked himself out of you. You weren’t allowed to slump against his thigh like you would’ve liked, as Jimin held your face in place as he came, strokes of white decorating your tongue, cheeks and even your forehead. 

You stayed there, eyes closed, until Jimin released you and you collapsed against his leg with a gasp. His fingers stroked through your hair distractedly as your and his pants mingled in the heady air. 

“So good, baby.” He praised you softly, and you whimpered. “Do you want daddy to take care of you?” 

“Yes, please, daddy.” You begged, excitement starting to reenergise you as Jimin tugged you up the bed.

“Such a polite little girl,” He mused, smiling as he watched you shuffle into place, lazily unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside. 

“You’re my baby girl, right, kitten?” Jimin purred, and you echoed back mindlessly.

“Yours, daddy, your good girl.” 

Jimin swiped a finger through the still-wet come on your face, lifting it again to your swollen lips. 

“Suck, but don’t swallow.” He instructed you firmly, and you nodded, eagerly taking the finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the familiar bitter taste. 

Once Jimin had fed you all the come that had lingered on your face, he leaned in for a filthy kiss. His tongue explored your mouth, collecting all the come he had made you keep like some sort of pet. As soon as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, he shot you a cocky smirk — even with his mouth full — and lurched down to your core. 

He fucked you with his tongue, spearing the muscle with sharp motions, drawing out a truly unholy sound as he spat back his own come into you. The feel of it, wet and filthy and degrading, made you clench around thin air. Though, Jimin soon remedied that. He plunged two fingers back into you down to the last knuckle, leaning up slightly to suck your clit. 

“Ah, fuck, daddy!” You cried, back arching as Jimin added another finger just as he laved his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. “P-Please, oh, fuck me, please.” 

“You like that?” Jimin purred, his lips glazed with your slick and come, “You like being daddy’s little cumslut? My own personal fuckdoll?” 

At his crude words, Jimin shoved another finger into you, meaning he was pumping almost his whole hand into your tight hole as you moaned and cried. Tears were running down your face from the stimulation, but Jimin just didn’t let up. 

“Yes, I’m- ah, I’m your fuckdoll! Daddy, please, m’gonna, oh, m’gonna come.”

Jimin pulled his mouth away from you to give your core a sharp spank. You jerked away from him, but couldn’t put up much resistance when he tugged you back. 

“You aren’t going to come unless it’s on my cock, understand, kitten?” 

You whimpered pitifully, and his voice softened. 

“Does my angel want to be fucked now?” 

“Yes,’ You sobbed, clutching at him desperately, trying to pull him up, “Please, daddy, I’m- m’your angel, please.”

“Okay, kitten.” He smiled at you benevolently, wiping his slick-covered face on the bedsheet before pushing himself up on his forearms and crawling up the bed to you. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as soon as you could, tugging him close until your rapidly rising chests were touching. He captured you in a kiss, slanting his mouth against yours in a way that made your toes curl, swiping his tongue into you possessively. You gave into him with ease. 

When you felt his head nudge at your entrance, you whimpered against his mouth, but instead of rejoining your lips like you had expected, Jimin pulled away completely. Ignoring your protests, he sat himself up on his knees, lifting your hips until they rested on the top of his thighs. 

He gripped you firmly, stopping you from any attempt to roll your hips, so his cock was infuriatingly just out of reach, though every so often he would shift and the forehead would brush your clit, making you moan pathetically. 

“Daddy,” You whimpered, so close to release and yet so far, “Please, fuck me. Please.”

“You’ll never say anything like that again, right baby?” Though his voice was soft, his eyes were merciless as they watched you writhe in desperation. 

“Say what? Daddy, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re… just- please-”

“You’ll never disobey me.” He stated, and you shook your head fervently.

“Never, I promise!”

“You’ll never ask to go to a club without me.”

“I won’t! I don’t want to go anywhere without you daddy, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll never…” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly as he repeated, “You’ll never threaten to break up with me.” 

You gasped, the arousal building in you becoming more painful by the second. 

“I won’t! I won’t! I’m yours, daddy, only yours!”  

Jimin smiled. 

“There’s my good girl.” 

When he rolled his hips into you, you saw stars. 

He was so thick, filling you so completely. He picked up your hips and started pounding into you right away, thigh muscles bunching as he shoved himself into your tight heat over and over again. 

“Feel so good around my cock, baby.” He grunted, hands painfully tight on your hips. You hoped he left bruises, “So perfect, you were made for me. Made to take my come, like a good little slut.” 

“M’your slut,” You babbled, mouth hanging open as Jimin fucked you brutally, “Please, daddy, touch-”

“Of course, baby.” Jimin murmured, moving his thumb inwards slightly to press against your clit as his cock stretched you out. 

“I’m- daddy, can I- oh, can I please come?” Your eyes rolled back in your head as Jimin angled your hips slightly different and began a volley of thrusts that battered directly against that spot that made red-hot pleasure coil in your gut, “Please, I wanna come on your cock, wanna be yours, daddy please.”

“Such a good girl,” Jimin groaned, falling onto his forearms and grinding his cock into you, “Yes, go on, baby, come. Come on daddy’s cock.” 

At his permission, you let yourself go, writhing on him as your vision blanked out. He rode through your orgasm, pressing his cock into you in slow, maddening circles before letting his own come spill into you as well. 

The two of you collapsed against the bed, uncaring of how sweaty and gross you were, simply panting to get your breath back. 

“Jimin?” You managed to get out, and he propped his chin up on your chest, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face. 

“I- You know I didn’t mean it, right?” 

“The break up thing?” He questioned, as if it could be anything else, and you nodded. A little huff of laughter brushed your chin. 

“Well, that’s good to hear, baby, but I know you didn’t. And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter.” 

“It wouldn’t?” You asked, and a devilish smirk painted itself across his features. 

“No matter what you say or try to do, I’ll never let you get away from me.”