#this system does not mind front-checking

[forrest-system-userboxes]

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

[pearynice]

Art by @firefly-party

It's not that Steve doesn't want to be here.

He does.

After everything, after the mindflayer and Vecna and then Vecna again, Steve has learned how to be grateful. He's learned to love what remains. He's learned to be thankful for air that doesn't smell like ash and a sun that shines bright and warm over their heads. He's learned to never take for granted the ability to see the people he loves.

And he does love them. He loves them enough that he was willing to die for them. He loves them enough that he still would.

It just hurts to be around them sometimes.

Dustin still walks with a limp. His gait is crooked when he runs and despite assurances that he thinks it's metal, Steve knows it bothers him. That whatever athleticism Dustin had previously possessed has only been dampened by the injury to his leg, and the guilt of that has buried itself like an insect in Steve's chest.

That insect wriggles when Robin takes his hand, the deep scar on her palm brushing against him. It beats its wings when Max reaches for her cane or when she blinks at him through her thick glasses. It digs its legs into his ribs when Nancy or Jon or the kids wince or flinch at their lingering pain or their scars that pull or their joints that pop and creak. It chews straight into the center of him, though, when none of that comes at all.

Because the worst is the gap that's left at Steve's side. The worst is the silence that now rests where dimpled smiles and bright laughs and loving words used to fill, a piece of himself lost that he doesn't think he'll ever get back; a part of himself given away that Steve hopes Eddie's still able to hold close, wherever he is, whatever happens after you die. It would make this pain worth it: knowing that piece of himself isn't missing, that Eddie's still just holding onto it. The way Steve wants him to.

The gap is so much wider when he knows he's somewhere Eddie would've loved to be. Because he would've loved to be here now. He would've loved to put on a record that Max's mom would've begged him to turn down. He would've loved to show Lucas the right way to shuffle cards, so it makes that fluttering noise when they all fall together. He would've loved to show them how to play euchre and poker and rummy. He would've loved to play it so he and Steve held the same hand, he would've told them that he and Steve are on the same team, he would've played it as an excuse to dip into Steve's space, to lean in so their fingers could brush, and it would've taken all of Steve not to kiss him for it.

It's not fair that it was them. It's not fair that it was them and now and the only thing they got from it was NDAs and a grave with no body underneath. It's not fair that Steve is here and whole while Eddie isn't.

He tries not to think about it like that, though. Robin gets mad at him when he does.

Steve trails after them, Dustin running funny all the way to his passenger side door, no match for Robin's hip check when she meets him there, sending him stumbling.

Dustin barks something at her, and Steve's gaze lingers, as it always does, on the trailer across the street.

In the year since it split and burned no one's come to clear it away. There's still tattered, yellow caution tape fluttering in the weak breeze and Steve has to swallow the lump in his throat as he walks down Max's front steps.

And then something moves.

It's subtle. He wouldn't have caught it if he wasn't already looking, but Steve sees the movement of the weeds and hears the rustling of the high grass and he stops dead with his keys still in his hands.

It's a cat. Or a raccoon. An opossum, maybe, but that alarm system in the back of his mind is ringing, and he ignores Robin's question of his name as he takes another several steps forward.

More rustling, and it's so hard to see in the dark but it's bigger than a cat. A dog, maybe, but even as the thought comes to him he dismisses it. It doesn't move like a dog. It moves like--like--

It leaps.

With a speed Steve isn't expecting black claws cut through the air, closing the distance between them and just barely missing his chest. Steve stumbles as it swipes, displaced air whooshing across his front as he regains his footing, the dark mass of the thing already retreating.

"Steve!"

"Stay back!" He orders, his arms spread wide like that would do anything to deter Dustin from charging forward.

The figure retreats further, its movements slower, like the swipe had cost it. It stays crouched within the faint glow of Max's front light, and as Steve blinks him into focus, he freezes in disbelief.

Golden, glowing eyes sparkle back at him. Long dark hair hangs in matted clumps around his face, the peaks of two inhuman ears just visible through the tangle of it. Blood, a crimson so dark it barely catches the light runs down the side of his achingly familiar face.

Steve's heart pounds. His head feels fuzzy as his breath goes wonky, and he barely manages to breathe out Eddie's name through lungs that can't quite expand right.

He has the same face, despite the eyes. The same nose. The same strong jaw and arched eyebrows and Steve's whole chest feels like it's not getting enough air as Eddie's eyes flick down to Steve's hands and back up.

"Steve," Robin murmurs, behind him, closer now, "that's not Eddie."

"Eddie?!" Dustin's voice, loud for the quiet of the night, cracks the stillness.

Eddie winces, his ear twitching, and Steve realizes with a wave of concern: that's where the blood is coming from. The tattered flesh of his ear twitches again, sending droplets of scarlet flying through the air.

"Quiet!" Steve hisses, as loud as he dares as he inches forward, blood now flowing more freely down Eddie's face.

"Steve," Robin begs, but even as she does she doesn't move to grab him, and Steve falls forward, onto his knees, desperation taking hold.

"Eddie?" He asks again, his voice cracking. Tears are pricking at his eyes and his nose is starting to burn because this is Eddie--

Behind him, the radio crackles. "Code red!" Dustin hisses, his whisper somehow just as loud, "we need manpower--"

But at the first crackle of the radio--Eddie convulses.

His eyes, golden and bottomless, roll until the white of his flesh appears, dark red veins stretching across the bottoms of his eyes, his back arching as he collapses backwards, his arms and legs spasming as his left ear, torn and bloodied, writhes.

"Eddie?!"

Steve can't help himself. His fear has his voice rising, pitchy and desperate, and he scrambles on his hands and knees so he's by Eddie's side, so he can hold Eddie's face in his hands and try to ease what he can't see.

There's a deep scar on Eddie's cheek. It's jagged and red like it never got the attention it deserved and his mouth is open in a silent scream that bares his unnaturally long canines. They glint in the weak light of the porch, red-tinted with blood. Eddie's hair is a matted mass, thick with gunk and debris, but, most worryingly of all, he's burning up.

Infection. Sepsis. Steve's been spending too much time with Robin because that's all that runs through his head as Eddie's blood coats his hands. Eddie needs antibiotics. He needs stitches and bandages and a hospital and panic claws at Steve's throat as he realizes that's the last place he can take him.

Because Eddie Munson is dead. Because Eddie Munson is a murderer and this Eddie Munson, in front of him, alive, is--

"--over," Dustin finishes.

Eddie collapses. His chest heaves as he goes limp in Steve's hands, his breath coming in horrible wet gasps, uneven and rattling.

Those golden eyes blink slowly up at him, Eddie's torn and bloodied ear giving one last twitch.

"Eddie," Steve repeats, low and pleading. He runs his thumbs over Eddie's cheekbones, curls his fingers into his tangled mess of hair.

But there's no hint of recognition in Eddie's gaze. He bares his teeth, fresh rivulets of blood now caked into the cracks between them, but his arms stay limp at his sides. He hisses, but it's weak, and foamy blood pools at the corners of his mouth.

The radio, behind them, crackles, and Eddie seizes.

Steve doesn't know what else to call it. His jaw clenches under Steve's palms as his back arches off the ground, his claw-like nails piercing into the grass below as blood flows from his shredded ear.

"Turn it off!" Steve tears his gaze from Eddie, to Dustin and Robin behind him, to Dustin speaking into the walkie talkie, to his thumb on the transmitter. Eddie spasms in his hands and Steve feels it against his palms as warm blood begins to trickle from his mouth.

"Dustin!" He pleads, "turn it off!"

Finally, Dustin does, and Eddie, mercifully, goes limp again.

Steve curls over him, cupping his pale face as Eddie's head lolls, his jaw slack like he's about to pass out.

Steve doesn't realize he's crying until the first tear lands on Eddie's cheek. It makes the line of blood there bloom, and Steve pulls Eddie closer, so his head pillowed on Steve's lap.

"Eddie," he pleads, "Eddie, baby--"

But Eddie's eyes are already rolling back, his consciousness slipping as Steve holds him.

"Robin!" He doesn't recognize his own voice, high and cracking and desperate. "Robin, help me!" But even as he pleads Eddie's head falls, the color drained from his pale cheeks.

Steve holds him tighter. He cradles Eddie's face in his hand and supports him with the other, blood staining his shirt.

Steve doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything because Eddie is here. He's alive. He's different and bloodied but even as Robin lands next to him, even as she tells him this looks really bad, Steve, Steve breathes his first full breath since 1986.

Eddie

Static rings, shredding, agonizing.

He can no longer see the boy. Cannot hear the man. Cannot feel the earth below him.

The static fills his blood. Rives through his chest. Contorts his lungs.

Breath escapes him. He tries to move. To cover his ears.

But he cannot feel anything. There is nothing beneath him. Nothing above.

He tries to scream. He can't feel his tongue.

It lasts for hours. Days. Seconds.

Until it evaporates.

He gasps.

His lungs stretch. His heart pounds.

He's lying on the ground.

In the new silence, his ears ring. His eyes water. Spots dot his vision. Blackness creeps along the edges.

The man is above him. He holds him in his lap, his hand on his face.

He tries to bare his teeth, to get away, but his legs are numb. His arms have lost feeling.

He wants home.

Prologue and Chapter 1 are now on AO3 here.

Once again, all of the art credit goes to @firefly-party, who is endlessly talented and consistently amazing. My only contribution is the words 🥰

All of my thanks to @hbyrde36 for her beta work 💗💗💗

Divider credit to @hitlikehammers

Folks who requested to be tagged: @sidekick-hero @thedragonsaunt @estrellami-1 @tinytalkingtina @queenie-ofthe-void

[kentosovertime]

𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔞 - (n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life; spiritual conversion

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box✨ ☽ nanami is desperate to win back his ex wife ☽ cw: explicit content, alcohol, jealousy

“Where do you think you’re going?” He questions, annoyed as you stalk around your walk-in closet for an outfit. His shirt lays open, only half buttoned since he stripped his tie off at the door.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Ken.” You sigh as you cock your head to the side, sliding an earring in before doing the other. “I didn’t invite you over.” 

“We both know I’m over here every night.” He tries to remind you, following you as you grab a dress off the hanger. 

“We’re divorced.” You point out the obvious as you jump into a skin tight black dress, smoothing it out over your curves. You rotate in front of the mirror, checking yourself from all angles. You decide it's more than passable. You had worn this on one of your first dates with him, and from the look he’s giving you he’s remembering it well… and how it ended up on the floor by the end of that night. “And it’s just a date. Though I’d appreciate it if you were gone by the time I get home.” 

You know he’s upset by the insinuation of what you would be doing after this date. If you were being honest, you didn’t see it going that far with the coworker who asked you out, but you never know. And you love how it makes Ken squirm as he pictures your night time activities without him. 

As you turn he crowds your space, backing you into the closet door with his proximity. 

“I don’t appreciate your disregard of-” he starts, his voice a low, gravelly growl. 

“Disregard of what?” Your eyes flare with anger as you push him away from you. “How does it feel to be the afterthought for once, Ken?” 

It had taken divorcing him to open his eyes. By the time he was ready to fight for you, to put work and promotions aside, you were already too far gone for him to reach. And you had let him go… in every way but physically. It was always the one area the two of you never had any issues in, and if anything it was even better now with the taste of desperation he brought to the interactions.

But you need more than sex. That was why you were finally ripping off the band-aid. 

“You’re… you’re not.” He stumbles, thrown off. Normally you’d let him pin you to the nearest surface and fuck you senseless. 

“I wish I believed you.” You push past him, making your way to the rack of shoes, picking a strappy pair of heels. 

“How can I prove that to you if you won’t let me?” He asks with a hint of desperation. You admit it pulls at your heartstrings, but that’s what has kept him hanging around for so long. 

You’ve stopped asking him to prove it a long time ago and you don’t know if you can’t ever get back to where you were at the beginning of your marriage. But at the thought of him stopping fighting for you, a pit forms in your stomach. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sigh and kick off your shoes, stumbling slightly from the alcohol bleeding through your system. The night had gone well. Well enough to have him ask you out to another date later this week… you however, were still on the fence. 

Why couldn’t you just move on? 

“Where’s lover boy?” You hear Ken’s voice slur from your living room. The lamp on the side table flicks on and he’s leaning there, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He swirls it absentmindedly before knocking the liquid back and staring at you. 

“I never said he was coming over, Ken.” You curse him silently, drunk again and it's because of you. The drinking had started after you presented him with the divorce papers. On the nights he came over like this it always ended with him having his way with you. “I told you not to be here when I got back.” 

You march into your apartment, setting your purse and the bouquet of roses on your kitchen island as you shed your jewelry, too lazy and fed up to make it to your bedroom. You knew what would happen if you unintentionally lured him into that space. 

“The hell are these?” He mutters, his body suddenly caging you against the counter. His large hands grasp around the flowers, lifting them with disgust evident on his handsome face. 

You snatch them out of his hands reflexively, setting them back on the counter until you can get a vase for them to live in on your dining room table. You turn, facing where he has you pinned anger written on your face. 

“Do you get off on-” Your angry words are cut off when his hands grasp your cheeks and pull you forward, laying a desperate kiss on your lips. When you try to push him away, his free hand snakes around your waist and hauls you close to him as kneads your hips in the way that makes you go boneless. 

“You want flowers?” He pulls away, taking deep breaths as he lays his forehead against yours. “I can do that.” 

“K-ken-” He doesn’t allow you to protest as he dives back in, fiery and slow to make you savor how he feels pressed against you. His tongue dances with yours and he swallows your needy whimpers, the kiss fueling a fire inside of you. 

“You want fancy dinners?” He pants, dipping down to lift you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I can give you that.” 

You hungrily meet his lips this time and he walks you towards your bedroom, gently laying you on the mattress. You haul him down, sighing as his weight settles on top of you. He slides closer, using his legs to spread your knees open. 

“You’re not wearing this for anyone else again.” He growls low, ripping your dress down the middle so he can kiss and suck down your neck. He makes his way down your body, crooning at you as he makes his way to his destination. 

You gasp and fist his hair, keeping him close to your body. Your dress hangs from your body as your chest heaves when he kisses you through your panties. 

“Let me make you feel good.” He hums, lapping at your cloth covered sex. “Let me be yours.” 

“Ken- We can’t-” Your whimpers cut you off and you hear a loud ripping sound as Kento throws your ruined thong over his shoulder before spreading you open by your thighs. His fingers dig into his curves, as if holding himself back. 

“We can.” He insists, testing the waters with a slow lick up your center, pulling a gasp from you. “You can let yourself want this.” 

He doesn’t let you respond as he sucks down on your clit. Slowly he presses his fingers into you and builds you up steadily, letting you feel the attention he’s promising to give you if you take him back. Your back arches, pressing your center into him as you try to ride his face. He wraps his free arm around you, pinning your hips to the mattress so he can control the pace. 

You find yourself breaking down, showered with all this affection. You can see yourself giving in to his demands, see him loving you again. Any protests you have die as you come apart on fingers and tongue. Your body spasms, shaking as he works you through your high, bringing you down gently until you're boneless and satisfied. 

You feel the bed rustle as he stands, taking the image of your sated form as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, dropping it to the ground with his pants and boxers. The bed dips again as he kneels on the surface. His form dips, gathering you by your hips to haul you towards the edge of the bed. 

“P-please.” You plead needily, your will broken, needing him to fill the void left inside of you by his absence. 

The head of his cock trails through your center and gently presses past your entrance as he shushes your whimpers. No matter how many times you had been with him, you never quite got used to his size. It leaves you limp, panting as the burn subsides. He takes pity on you this time, easing you into it as he rocks his length back and forth, making you feel the slide of every inch an and out of you. 

“Say it, sweetheart.” He coos, taking a hand and forcing you to keep eye contact as his hips roll into you, clapping in a steady rhythm. 

“N-need…” Your eyes flutter, watering at the tightening feeling in your stomach. “Need you, Ken- Please stay-” 

He moans at your words, seemingly letting them sink into his alcohol riddled mind. He leans in, kissing you roughly as his hands clasp both of yours, holding you as his thrust turn hard while keeping the same slow pace. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart. Cum for me.” He slides your hands up above your head, holding them down with one hand as he expertly circles your clit just the way you like it. 

White explodes in your vision and your legs lace around his waist, pulling him deep while you clench around him. He burrows his face into your neck, biting into your skin with a groan as your climax triggers his. You whimper and hold him close, your walls in ruins, your heart craving the love that only he can give you. 

“Please stay.” You murmur again against his skin, like you won’t change your mind in the morning, like you won’t do this song and dance again. 

“I’ll never leave you.”

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @silversslut @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @rafzaha @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @katgalle @honeyyjems @tsukikoxo @adequate-superstar @thytourturedpoet [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[piastappies]

𝜗𝜚 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. max verstappen x streamer!reader

⋆ summary. max wants to surprise you. little does he know, he just hard launched his relationship!

⋆ notes. a bit suggestive for a second lol, you’re responsible for the content u consume. not proofread 😝

YOU WERE BUNDLED UP IN A FLUFFY BLANKET that max got you on your first christmas together. it was a lazy evening, you weren’t even supposed to be streaming — you just wanted to play some games of valorant, though playing without talking to the people in your twitch chat, so… as you started the game, you also started a stream. your phone was charging in the other room, making discord the only way to communicate with you.

max didn’t know that — he was coming back from a few days up in milton keynes. you were still living separately, but you had keys to one another’s apartment as he rarely ever spent time without you during the breaks from racing. he didn’t think to text or call you, nor to check if you were streaming, it just kind of slipped his mind as you rarely streamed not in schedule. he was happy to be back, he missed you over the few days as you barely talked due to your merch launching soon and his workload at milton.

“thank you so much for the sub, oh my gosh!” you giggled, a smile creeping up on your face as you read the message from the viewer that just subscribed to your channel. you tried to read every donation, every sub so your viewers would feel included in the stream as much as possible.

it wasn’t always easy, especially when you streamed with a few of your friends that were a bit more famous, like max fewtrell, who you met through lando (who you met through your boyfriend). the donations, bits, and subscriptions would go crazy, but you loved the friends you made along the way, starting as a small streamer, casually playing valorant (or stardew valley on lazier days).

“guys, i can’t with this you die you drink a shot thing.” you laughed softly, running a hand down your face, your cheeks blushed due to the alcohol in your system. the chat was spammed with jokes and clips of your drunken self, but you didn’t really mind. drunk streams weren’t a common occurrence.

you started another game, as the last one was finished with — surprisingly — a win for your team. you squinted your eyes, pulling yourself on the chair closer to the screen, jokingly saying that it was a now-or-never game, after having fixed the position of your glasses on the bridge of your nose and locking in a character.

the soft tunes of a non-copyrighted song was playing in your headset as the game began, making you unable to hear the jiggling of keys as someone opened the front door to your house. it would’ve startled you if you heard it, especially in that state, but you didn’t, so when max came inside, no one could tell him that you were streaming and not just playing a game.

he’s grown accustomed to your silly antics, the screams, the rage, the laughter, and the stuff you were saying over the voice chat. he’s had your schedule memorised, he knew you weren’t supposed to stream tonight, so… he asumed you were either talking to yourself or just played a game.

dropping his carry-on bags in the living room, he moved to the kitchen to prepare something to eat, before surprising you with his presence. with all the information he’s had, the plan of a nice evening seemed flawless, he would make you something to eat, watch you play for a few minutes before giving you the best head of your life, it wasn’t really a point in his plan, but he wished it happen. his favorite place in the world was wherever, as long as his face was in between your legs.

he barged into your streaming room, thinking you were just playing a game. he went up to your setup, dropping his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head, freezing in one place as his eyes fell on one of the screen, seeing as your chat started going at an unholy speed.

fuck. “you’re streaming?” he asked, his voice quieter, so your mic wouldn’t pick up on him — it did, though. “you’re back?” you asked at the same time. the chat not quite understanding what has just happened, what was max verstappen doing in your room?

your thoughts, however, couldn’t be stopped from slipping from between your lips. “did you just hard launch us?” you said, slapping your hand over your mouth, causing max to chuckle a bit.

“i think you just did.” the dutch man grinned, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, his hand gently rubbing your arm as you pretended to not notice the shock on your second screen. you and max were supposed to publicise your relationship sooner or later, so you could easily support him during races.

you tipped your chin upwards to look at your boyfriend, your expression softening as soon as you noticed the hint of giddiness on his face. “ah, fuck it. mina, could you change the stream title to drinking with The Man, capital t and m? thank youu.” you grinned at the camera, standing up from your chair, signaling max to sit down before you comfortably sat down on his lap.

“is he staying?” verstappen read out loud, wrapping his arms around your middle. “well, i have no way to go anyway, so i might as well stay.” he answered the question with a silly smile, leaning against the back of the chair, his hand slinding beneath your shirt.

“of course he’s staying! none of y’all can keep him. he’s mine.” you spoke into the mic, a frown appeared on your face as max laughed at your reaction. “what? you are mine. i’m not letting you leave.” you said in the most matter-of-fact tone.

“don’t worry, i don’t even wanna leave.” he pushed your headset away from your ear, whispering. his nose gently nudging your temple. “good. i wouldn’t let you out, anyways.” you shrugged your shoulders, starting another game, while still sitting on max’s lap, your back pressed against his chest as he talked to the chat, pretending to be unaware of the chaos ensued on twitter.

max verstappen might be a multiple times champion, but right now, all he was — all he wanted to be was your boyfriend. that would be sufficient for him, he wouldn’t be upset if this was his life as long as it would include you. points in the championships didn’t matter, winning the title(s) felt nice, but it didn’t matter either, having a seat or being millionaires would never matter if you weren’t by his side.

the stream ended an hour later, when you got a bit too cozy on max’s lap, so he had to end the stream himself, before he ended, he thanked for a good time and said something along the lines of see you guys pretty soon.

“we should get you on sim.” the dutch man joked as you nestled your head in the crook of his neck.

“ah, fuck you.”

[starryeyed-apple]

a harmless crush

small town au xavier series part ii

synopsis: it might be easier to try and get over your childhood crush on xavier if the man wasn't everywhere.

★pairing: xavier x fem!reader ★wc: 2.6k ★content: fluff & light humor. small town dynamics, childhood to adulthood crushes, pining. reader is a fangirl in her crush. xavier is stoic but also a cutie pie. the slightly awkward tension that comes with trying to hold a conversation with your childhood crush. ★part i ★read on ao3 ★series masterlist

You try not to think about it.

You try not to think about he'd gotten prettier with age, his long lashes fluttering when he yawned and brushed past you in that little coffee shop.

You try not to stalk him on the internet for just a hint of what he's been up to since you'd moved away. But when you get home, after checking on your gramps, you end up sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open, work ignored in favor of logging into all your socials and searching.

When it turns up nothing, you sigh, muttering to yourself under your breath about how ridiculous you were being, until Gramps sent you such an inquisitive look that had you hustling upstairs to your childhood bedroom.

And you tried not to, but here you were, yearbooks spread open and surrounding where you sit in the middle of the floor. Each page you turn to is one you had memorized by heart each school year, and you're embarrassed (and a little bit impressed) you still remember the numbers.

It'd been years since you'd last seen Xavier Shen, and your heart still fluttered in your goddamn chest the first moment you saw him again, like you were still that doe-eyed teenager, stealing glances at him in the back of the class.

Sure, you'd thought of him in passing over those years. You'd thought of him even more over the past week of being home, when you started to settle back into a routine. Knowing Gramps was okay for now, and the stress leaving your system slowly, your mind was left to wander in this boring old place.

And it would always wander back to him.

"Ridiculous," you mutter, burying your face in your hands, groaning with the shake of your head.

You glance back at the spread about the fencing team's first place national trophy, four years running. It had been your senior year, and Xavier's, so it was an unspoken given that it was the last time that trophy was ever coming home.

The yearbook went all out with the pages that year, trying to milk every last bit of glory out of it, memorializing the accomplishment in its glossy pages. It's too bad that every photo of Xavier fencing in the competition itself was always a little bit blurry, moving too fast for the school's cameras to capture.

But there was still a picture of him with the rest of the team, hair sweaty and face unsmiling, perfect posture and eyes looking somewhere to the side instead of the camera itself.

And another one of him in front of the trophy case, looking bored and a little sleepy, posture a little more slouched and still no smile to be seen.

Thinking back, you can't remember seeing Xavier ever smile more than a handful of times. And when you did, they were always small twitches of his lips, gone as quickly as they came.

He had been reserved, but always just magnetic enough to seem mysterious. Like a bright star in the night sky, beautiful and always out of reach. Ethereal, almost. Untouchable.

You glance back down at the little golden stars you'd doodled all over the page, along with a few obnoxious hearts around his stoic face, and shut the yearbook with a groan.

Looking towards the mirror on the wall, decorated with little Polaroids of a younger you with your friends and inspirational quotes on sticky notes, you glare at your reflection.

"You're a grown woman," you snap with a point towards the mirror, watching your brows furrow. "Get over it!"

When your reflection doesn't magically make excuses, or promises to actually get over it, you realize you're still in way too deep for a guy who probably didn't remember your name (if he ever knew it to begin with), and flop back onto the ground.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. There was no harm in having a crush, right? Especially given what you'd just gotten out of, four years of your fucking life down the drain in the romance department.

Crushing on Xavier was innocent. Familiar. A little bit of a relief that you could still feel that flutter of excitement in your stomach, even after everything that had gone down back in the city.

As long as you didn't make a complete and utter fool of yourself in front of the guy, maybe it would all be okay after all.

Three days in and you were failing.

Miserably.

Because Xavier was everywhere.

The first day, you had chalked it up to just be some weird coincidence, the universe pulling strings just to laugh in your face.

In the library, in a desperate search of escape from the monotony through the books lined on the Romance Fiction shelves, the softly murmured "excuse me" in your ear had you yelping and jumping so much you nearly knocked back into the shelf.

When you whipped around, Xavier was frozen mid-reach towards the shelf over your head, the vibrant cover of a bodice ripper held innocently in his hand.

"I—" what? you think, your thoughts struggling to catch up as much as your mouth. "You—"

Xavier just blinked, blue eyes round and…curious? It had always been hard to read him.

"Do you…" you clear your throat, swallowing thickly when his head tilts, hand lowering back to his side.

You can still see the barely covered breasts pushed up against the muscled shirtless man on the cover, and you glance around wildly, trying to gather your mind back together. The unsubtle glare of an older lady around the corner of the aisle at your startled shout helps you reign yourself in.

"Do you work here?" you ask in a hushed tone to not disturb the still air, glancing from the little trolley of books behind him to his face.

Xavier blinks in that same, slow way he always had, like a cat lounging in a sunspot on a lazy day.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

Cute, you can't help but think, biting your lip to hold back the twitch of a tiny smile.

Xavier's eyes flicker down, then back up to the shelf quickly, and your breath stutters.

"I volunteer," he explains quietly. He's silent for a few seconds, then adds, "On Mondays."

"Oh."

You're still trying to think of what to say next, how to make him think you were normal (you weren't), but he's leaning forward again, arm nearly brushing against your ear when he reaches up past you.

You forget how to breathe, you're pretty sure.

He's too close, the fabric of his hoodie nearly brushing against your chest and you swear you can smell the calming scent of fresh pressed laundry. There's another scent too, warm and cozy, something you can't name. A little sweet, almost, and intoxicating to your senses.

His fluffy hair is right in the periphery of your vision, and you stand rigidly, hands curling until you're too focused on the bite of your nails into your skin to worry about your racing heart.

Then Xavier's leaning back just as quickly, grabbing the next book from the cart as he wheels it away from you.

It's only when he turns the corner to the next aisle that you allow yourself to collapse against the shelf, hand pressed against your chest.

God, did he not know what he did to you?

Well, you think with a sigh, eyes darting towards the book he'd put back on the shelf and away again. Probably a good thing that he didn't know how his presence nearly drove you out of your damn mind.

Halfway down the aisle, and you're hurrying back to grab the novel, keeping the cover pressed against your chest all the way to the checkout.

The next day, down at the little family-owned grocery store you'd been shopping at since you were nine years old, you're shocked to see his sleepy face behind the register when you walk through the doors.

Luckily, he's not paying any attention to you when you instantly duck into the first aisle available, mind racing with what the fuck what the actual fuck until you dare take another peek back. You half-expect him to already be staring, the same way he always used to catch you looking.

And, yup, that's Xavier alright, wearing a fluffy cardigan with the store apron, and stifling a yawn as his pen scratches across a piece of paper on the counter. You watch him for a few seconds before shaking yourself out of it, forcing your steps through the store to get your shopping done.

While you put a box of Gramps' favorite cereal in the cart, you're simultaneously rehearsing what you might say to Xavier, while also pleading to whatever deity that might be listening that you'll be spared making a fool of yourself.

But any prayers of somebody else taking his place before you get to the checkout are futile, his calm, observant gaze focusing in on you the moment you push your cart up to the counter.

The silence between you is way too loud when he scans your groceries. Old pop songs from the town's only local radio station blast through the speakers, grating on your sensitive nerves.

"Do you have an account here?" Xavier asks finally, peering up at you after putting your indulgent purchase of four chocolate bars in your reusable shopping bag.

"Uh—yeah." You nod, trying not to fidget with your hands, reaching for your wallet instead to get your credit card out. "My name is—"

"I know your name," he interrupts calmly, his long, lithe fingers typing with precision along the keyboard, and you fumble with your card, nearly dropping your entire wallet.

Sure enough, your name and account number pops up on the screen a moment later, and it feels like your whole world tilts sideways.

He knows your name.

It's all you can think of as you go through the motions of paying, humming with a mindless smile when he hands you your groceries, before quickly wheeling your cart out of the store.

He remembers your name.

It shouldn't affect you so much, but you're grinning the entire drive home.

When the third day comes and brings him with it, you think you might actually just go insane.

He's folding shirts in the front of the thrift store you arrive at with your little bag of donations, looking up at you when the door jingles with your entrance.

For a moment, you just stare at each other.

"You—" you point at him, blinking in disbelief, and he straightens. Before you can think, you're blurting out, "You volunteer at the library, work at the grocery store and here too?"

Xavier just nods.

"Yeah."

You shift in place, trying to think of something to say, anything to keep the conversation going.

He just watches you, head tilted a little to the side, impossible to read as ever.

"Uh…anywhere else?" you finally manage, fiddling with the bag in your hands as you try and meet his gaze, but it's hard when he's just full-on staring at you.

He blinks, then glances towards the windows, towards the other shops lining the main street.

"I hold a sign for the sandwich shop across the street every now and then."

"Really?" When he hums his confirmation, you nervously add, "So…that's it, then?"

"The high school's fencing team has practice on Thursdays—I help coach, sometimes," he reveals, and you think that must be it. Conversation over, he'll go back to his work, and you'll be on your way.

But then he keeps going.

"On Fridays, I visit the cat shelter, from noon to three. Every other Saturday morning I work on the flower garden at the park, and the first Sunday of each month is for setting up booths at the farmer's market."

Xavier looks back at you, like he's expecting you to say something now.

"Oh," you say, nodding absently. "That's cool."

You look at each other, and away, and back again, the awkwardness palpable. Two people who went to high school together, but had never really spoken much, trying to hold a conversation.

"That's…everything?"

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes.

"Sometimes I clean the tables at the coffee shop," he admits quietly, brows furrowed in frustration. "But Aarya doesn't let me make the drinks."

You laugh a little, the sound breathless, and his eyes quickly snap back to you.

"Why not?"

His lips purse, jutting out a little and oh my god he's pouting. Xavier is pouting and you think you might die he's so fucking cute.

"She says I'm bad at it."

You bite your lip, glancing away quickly when his eyes flicker.

"Are you?" you breathe out, and clear your throat before looking back. "Bad at it?"

"No," he says way too quickly, still pouting adorably, brows furrowing more until he looks like an angry bunny that had its carrot taken away, and you giggle.

The sound escapes you before you can even realize you're laughing directly at him, right in front of him, and you slap your hand over your mouth, horrified.

Xavier's eyes widen.

He stares at you.

You stare back.

It's silent for a moment, your embarrassment heating up your face until you're burning with it. And then—

His pinched brows relax, lips twitching up as the faintest of giggles slips past them.

Oh.

Xavier glances away, scratching at his cheek, and you try desperately to tell yourself it's not a little pink when he peeks back at you, before he turns away completely.

Oh, god.

You're going to explode, you are going to spontaneously fucking combust here and now and take this poor little thrift shop down with you because he is too goddamn adorable!

Your mind is spinning, skin buzzing from the excitement of having a full interaction with him. Giddy from the slow realization and acceptance that you had made him giggle and blush.

Xavier Shen! Blushing!

Okay, chill out, you berate yourself, thanking the cashier as they accept your donation, and you head back to the front of the store. It doesn't mean anything. Calm down. He's just a guy. A man!

But then he says goodbye to you when you pass him again while leaving—saying your name—and you hum in acknowledgment before scurrying away down the street, doing an imaginary jump and heel click in the air inside your head.

A few minutes later, and you're banging your forehead against your steering wheel again while you replay the whole interaction in your mind. One glance in the rear view mirror shows you how flustered you are, and you point at your reflection.

"Get a grip!"

But then you remember him saying your name, and you witness the smile that grows over your face, one you can't hide.

You lean back with a sigh, forcing yourself to accept that as long as Xavier was around almost every corner, your giant crush wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. And that may include making yourself look a little foolish, every now and then.

But he had smiled.

A tiny little twitch of his lips, just like you'd remembered. And now you could count the times you'd seen that smile on more then one hand, knowing the one on the second hand was because of you, and you alone.

You didn't mind looking a little silly if it meant you got to see his face soften up like that again.

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️Xavier fics @itsmysmut @santaluna @onigiriinthecorner 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi series taglist: @peascribbles (let me know if you want to be tagged for just the series!)

[whisperedmeg]

THE LAW OF TRULY LARGE NUMBERS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x analyst!reader

summary: the law of truly large numbers says coincidences are inevitable. but somehow, running into spencer reid never stops feeling like fate.

genre: fluff! | w/c: 3.4k

tags/warnings: none really. reader has some self-image issues and insecurities related to a sucky ex but nothing too crazy. glasses!reid, reader works for the fbi but not the bau, written with fem!reader in mind but could pass for gn!reader too if you ignore one use of the world “girl,” story takes place over the course of a few weeks but I wasn’t wildly specific about it

a/n: based on this request from @oh-yourloveis-sunlight! this ended up getting longer than I intended originally but oh well, I was having way too much fun coming up with ideas for how they’d run into each other next lol. hope you enjoy, tysm for requesting! ❣️

You first meet Spencer Reid at 8:21am on a Tuesday morning.

You’re holding a paper bag of still-warm pastries because your unit chief is on a “morale boost” kick this week and nothing says team bonding like volunteering to bring in baked goods. You’re thinking about the long day ahead and how stale the break room coffee is going to be and not watching where you’re going when the elevator doors open and—

You almost walk straight into him.

He’s tall. Tall-tall. And thin in a slightly unwell academic way, tousled brown hair parted on the side, honey brown eyes wide and blinking at you through browline glasses.

“Sorry,” you both say at once. You take a step back. So does he. Then he does that thing people do where he gestures for you to go ahead, and you hesitate before stepping forward at the same time as him, and now you’re doing an awkward, uncoordinated dance in front of a steel box.

Eventually, you both make it in.

You press the button for floor 5. He presses 6. Someone else gets in and hits the button for 4.

You stand silently. He glances at you. Then down at the floor. Then at your badge, clipped to the waistband of your dress pants. Then at the bag of pastries.

“The cinnamon ones are the best. If those are from Van’s, I mean,” he says tentatively.

You blink. “They are, actually.”

He nods. “They use Saigon cinnamon. It’s from Vietnam. It’s stronger, a little spicier than regular cinnamon. I—sorry, I’ve, uh, read a lot about spices recently.”

You don’t have time to answer before the doors open and he’s stepping out into the hallway, manila file folder tucked under his arm.

It takes you a second to realize he got off on the fourth floor with the other passenger by mistake. You catch him making an embarrassed, awkward turn back toward the elevators once he’s halfway down the hall before the metal doors slide shut.

You think about Saigon cinnamon and those glasses for the rest of the day.

—

Friday morning, 9:12am. You’re running horribly late.

You’ve got a USB stick in your hand and a mission in your head — get it encrypted, get it cleaned up, get it into the system by 10am. You’re halfway through the lobby when someone says your name.

You freeze. Turn. He’s already waving.

It takes you a second to place him without the glasses.

He’s wearing contacts today. His hair’s a little neater. Another soft sweater — burgundy this time — and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest like he just walked out of a grad seminar.

“Hey,” he says, catching up with you near the badge check. “Van’s cinnamon pastries, right?”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re still thinking about those?”

“Hard not to,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m Spencer,” he adds, like you don’t already know that from his badge, same way you assume he knew your name.

You both hesitate. You’re painfully aware of the USB drive in your hand and the growing line of people waiting for the elevators and the clock ticking steadily toward 10am. Your eyes dart to the stairs — they seem to be the fastest option.

He shifts his weight, pushes his hair back behind one ear.

“Can I walk you up?”

You blink. “What?”

“To wherever you’re going. I’m headed to the sixth floor, but I’m not in a rush. We’re between cases right now.”

You laugh. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he says, and he falls into step beside you.

—

It’s raining when you see him again.

Not dramatic rain, just a halfhearted Virginia drizzle that dampens your sleeves while you fumble with your umbrella and mutter curses under your breath. You duck into the small coffee shop across from the office — the one with the black bistro tables and an overfilled bulletin board — and shake the water from your coat as you slide into line.

You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy debating between hot chocolate and your usual latte.

But then someone behind you says your name.

You turn, and there he is.

Spencer.

Hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Glasses fogged. Sweater vest layered under a coat too thin for this kind of weather. He smiles at you — tentative, like he’s not sure if you’ll smile back.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless. “You following me?”

He blushes. “No, I’m—I mean, we both work across the street, so it’s not, um, statistically improbable we’d run into each other here.”

“I’ll chalk it up to fate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and steps up beside you.

“Can I guess your order?” he asks.

You arch a brow. “You’re going to profile my coffee?”

He shrugs. “I can try.”

“Be my guest.”

He tilts his head. “You work long hours. You probably don’t get enough sleep. You must drink something with espresso in it, but not just that — it has to be dressed up enough to feel like a treat. Maybe a seasonal flavor.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Okay, that’s… freakishly accurate.”

“Caramel latte?” he guesses.

“Close. Pumpkin,” you admit. “But that was impressive.”

He shrugs again, cheeks a little pink. “Lots of practice.”

A few minutes later, you’re both perched at one of the tiny round tables by the fogged-up window, drinks in hand, steam curling up between you. You’re technically on your break. So is he. Neither of you seems eager to get back.

You ask what he’s working on. He tells you about his last case, a triple homicide in Texas. Then he asks about your job, and you explain — badly — what exactly a tech analyst does for a department that isn’t the BAU. You’re pretty sure you’re boring him to death, but he’s watching you like you’ve just quoted Wordsworth.

“You talk with your hands a lot,” he says, after a pause.

You blink. “What?”

“When you’re excited,” he adds, quickly. “Not all the time. Just when you’re explaining something that matters to you. You kind of —” he makes a vague fluttering motion with his fingers, “— move them like you’re sculpting the air or something.”

Your face burns. You wrap your hands around your coffee cup.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” you murmur. “My ex used to say it was distracting.”

Spencer’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you see it — a flicker of something protective in his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s distracting,” he says. “I think it’s cute.”

You freeze.

He freezes.

The moment folds in on itself. His face goes pink again, and he ducks his head as he mutters something about meaning it in a completely observational way, not, you know—

You interrupt before he can spiral further. “Spencer.”

He looks up.

You smile. “It’s okay.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Rain patters softly against the glass. In your chest, something flutters.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friendly coffee. A weird coincidence of schedules and elevators and cinnamon pastries. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

But when he offers to walk you back — and when you say yes — your heart betrays you a little.

—

The FBI library isn’t exactly cozy. It smells like aging carpet and copier toner, but there’s still something about it that you’ve always found comforting. Especially on days like today, when your code has glitched five separate times and someone on your team said “let’s pivot” like that actually means anything and you just need a break away from a screen.

You’re curled up at one of the long wooden tables near the back with a spiral notebook, a pencil, and a pile of casefiles your unit chief asked you to cross-reference to give you an excuse to work on something that didn’t involve a keyboard. It’s not thrilling, but it’s quiet. Which counts for something.

You don’t notice Spencer at first.

He’s sitting at a smaller table a few feet from yours when you glance up — half-hidden behind a teetering stack of psychology journals, long fingers curled around a fountain pen, hair falling into his face.

He looks up a second after you do.

“You again,” he says softly, like it’s a private joke.

You arch an eyebrow. “Starting to think you’re stalking me.”

“You’re the one in my library,” he says, mock offended.

“Your library?”

He nods. “I basically live here.”

You glance at the empty paper cup beside him, the five or six books spread out across the table, the absurdly detailed notes he’s scrawling in messy handwriting.

“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve really made yourself at home.”

Silently, he gathers his belongings and moves to take the empty seat across from you at your table.

You go back to your work. So does he.

But every few minutes, you catch yourself glancing up.

Not on purpose, not exactly. It’s just… he’s got this way of reading like he’s somewhere else entirely. Lips moving a little. Eyes flicking fast across pages. You wonder if he knows how intense he looks when he’s thinking. How pretty his hands are when they move — when he writes, when he fidgets with his pen, when he adjusts his glasses like he’s trying to hide behind them.

You wonder what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looks at those pages or if he touched you with those hands.

He wouldn’t, of course.

You’ve long accepted that you’re not the kind of girl guys like that go for — not crisp and stylish, not someone who walks into a room and makes the temperature change. You’ve never quite known how to wear your hair right, or what to do with your hands, or how to stop fixating on the way your nose looks in photos. You haven’t even dated since the last guy — the one who told you that you were being “a little much” anytime you got excited about something.

You shake your head. Focus.

You’re halfway through reviewing the next file when you realize Spencer’s watching you.

“Sorry,” he says, when you meet his eyes. “I was just—I was going to ask if that’s a 0.7mm Pentel mechanical pencil.”

You blink. Look down. “Uh… yeah?”

“I thought so,” he says. “You write really small. And neat.”

You stare at him, then down at your paper, then back up.

“Are you profiling my handwriting now?”

He shrugs, looking sheepish. “Only a little.”

You smile despite yourself.

After a pause, he adds, “I like it — your handwriting. It’s meticulous.”

You laugh. “I’ve never heard that word used as a compliment before.”

“Well, I mean it as one.”

There’s something in his voice — not flirtatious, exactly, but sincere. Earnest. He doesn’t even realize it’s making your heart hiccup a little.

You don’t talk much more after that, but when you both stand up at the same time twenty minutes later and realize you’re heading out in the same direction, you fall easily into step beside him.

And this time, you both walk a little slower.

—

It’s just after 1 p.m. when you walk into the Quantico cafeteria.

The lunch rush is tapering off — fewer suits in line, more empty trays abandoned on beige tables. You slide your badge into your pocket and step toward the soup station, only half paying attention. You haven’t eaten much today, and your stomach’s been in knots ever since Spencer spotted you in the stairwell earlier and asked what time you were heading to lunch.

You try to act casual when you spot him.

He’s at a table near the window, brown paper bag open in front of him and a spiral notebook beside it. He’s writing something down, but he looks up the moment you approach as if he’d been eagerly waiting.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is small and a little shy. “I was hoping you’d come.”

You sit across from him, tray in hand. “Yeah, well, you did say in the library last week that the soup selection is better on Thursdays.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You remembered that?”

You nod, breaking off a piece of bread. “You said it’s the only day they serve lentil soup, which also happens to be the only soup they make that you claim is any good.”

“I stand by that.”

You laugh, and the warmth of it catches you off guard. It’s easy with him. You like the way he doesn’t fill silences just to fill them and how he listens like every word you say is a thread he wants to follow all the way to its center.

You talk for a while. About work, a little. About books and poetry and music. About your mutual disbelief that anyone could function on decaf. He doesn’t flirt, not exactly, but he compliments you — in that slightly awkward, matter-of-fact, Spencer Reid way that’s somehow more disarming than a rehearsed line.

You’re telling him about your failed attempt to install a new monitor alone while you had a broken arm last year when he goes still for a moment, causing you to trail off into silence. He clears his throat.

“Would you maybe want to, uh, go out with me sometime?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“What?”

He fidgets. Pushes his glasses up. “I mean, like, to a real lunch or coffee or something. Not in the office. I just—I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, and I was thinking, if you wanted, we could—”

You shake your head.

It’s not harsh. You don’t mean it to be. It’s just… instinct.

He stops talking. His face falters. “Oh,” he says softly. “Okay. Yeah. No worries.”

You rush to explain. “It’s not you. Really—I mean, I just… don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?”

Spencer blinks.

You look down at your tray. “You’re a genius,” you murmur, voice low. “You’ve probably read more books this week alone than I have in the last two years. You talk like a textbook and still somehow make everything sound incredibly poetic. And you—God, you’re so—”

Cute. Attractive. Hot. That’s what you want to say, but you stop yourself before you can finish the statement. You swallow hard.

“And I’m… not,” you finish quietly.

It’s not that you don’t want to say yes. God, you do. But there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a voice you haven’t shaken, the echo of someone who once made you feel like being too much meant you’d also always be not enough.

Across from you, Spencer is silent. For a second, you wonder if he’s angry. Or worse, embarrassed.

But when you finally look up, he’s just watching you — gently, curiously, like he’s figuring something out.

He opens his mouth. Then closes it again. His brow furrows slightly.

You stand. The words come out too quickly: “I should get back to my office. I’ve got a code freeze coming up and I told my boss I’d review the rollout plan before—yeah.”

He nods. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You hate the way his voice sounds now — too polite. Too guarded.

You force a smile as you gather your tray. “Thanks again for the soup rec.”

You make it out of the cafeteria before the lump in your throat rises.

You tell yourself it was the right call. It’s better this way. You’re not built for someone like him. You’d only mess it up.

But when you glance back, just once, through the glass of the cafeteria doors, Spencer’s still sitting there, scribbling in his notebook like maybe if he writes enough, he can make sense of whatever just happened.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s writing a list.

—

It’s raining again the next afternoon.

Not much — just a misty drizzle that turns the parking lot into a soft gray blur. You’re already halfway to your car when you hear footsteps behind you. Then a voice, calling your name.

“Wait—wait, just—can you stop for a second?”

You turn.

Spencer is jogging toward you, messenger bag bouncing against his hip, one hand holding a flimsy-looking umbrella, the other gripping something — a piece of paper, maybe. His coat is half-buttoned. His glasses are a little fogged.

He’s completely out of breath by the time he reaches you.

“Hi,” he pants. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to chase you down, I just—I tried to find you on your floor, and they said you left early, and I—”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “No. I mean—I’ve been thinking. Since yesterday.”

You look away. “Spencer, we don’t have to talk about—”

“I made a list,” he blurts out.

You freeze. “What?”

He thrusts it at you — a folded piece of notebook paper, lined, slightly smudged. You unfold it slowly, holding it under the umbrella he’s angled over you, and he watches you like he’s just handed over something radioactive.

It reads:

Reasons I like you and want to go out with you: A non-exhaustive list by Dr. Spencer Reid

you talk with your hands

you remember weird things I say about soup

you were nice to me in the elevator even though I rambled about cinnamon

you snort when you laugh (you try to hide it but I’ve heard it twice)

you don’t pretend to know things you don’t, and you always ask good questions

you hum under your breath when you’re concentrating

you don’t hold my technophobe tendencies against me even though your job is literally all tech all the time

your whole face lights up when you’re excited about something

we have the same taste in pastries and poetry and classical music

you talk about the people you care about with more kindness and affection than I thought possible

your nose scrunches a little when you’re confused and I think it’s adorable

speaking of which, I think everything about you is adorable. “beautiful” would be a more apt word to use, actually

you said us meeting in the coffee shop that one day was “fate” and I haven’t stopped thinking about it (or believing in it) since

You stare at the list for a long moment. Then you press your lips together, eyes stinging.

“It’s not exhaustive,” Spencer says quietly. “And it’s in no particular order. I wrote it fast. I could probably think of twenty more things. I… I like lists.”

Your fingers tremble slightly on the page.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “You’re… you. And I’m…” You trail off.

He tilts his head, studying you. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

You look away.

He steps forward, voice softer now.

“I don’t like you despite who you are — I like you because of it. Because you say what you mean, and you get excited about the little things, and you care more than most people do, and you never look at me like I’m too nerdy or too awkward or too much.”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought I messed everything up yesterday,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says. “You were just scared. I get that.”

“I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says, and there’s a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Me too. We can be scared together.”

You smile and fold the list carefully like it’s something delicate.

And before you can overthink it, before the doubt creeps in again, you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

But in the same moment, he coincidentally turns his head just slightly. Just enough that your lips land on his mouth instead.

It’s only for a second. A little awkward. Completely accidental, but also completely real.

He blinks. You blink.

You start to pull away.

But then he wraps his free arm around you and kisses you again, on purpose this time, the umbrella overhead shielding you both from the rain. It doesn’t last too long, but it’s soft and smiley and achingly wonderful.

When you break apart, you’re still in disbelief that it even happened at all. You look up at him, studying him, searching his face for signs of regret. You can’t find any.

“I keep thinking about all the times we ran into each other,” you say softly. “So many coincidences, it almost feels improbable.”

He smiles again, brighter this time. “There’s a theory called the law of truly large numbers,” he says. “It basically says that with a large enough sample size, coincidences are inevitable.”

You tilt your head with a quiet chuckle. “So this was all just math, basically? That’s kind of depressing.”

“Or,” he says, stepping closer, “it means the universe just kept trying. Over and over, until it got it right. Like fate.”

You smile fondly and kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Not just a coincidence. Not anymore.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

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[fashionteahouse]

i wonder - edward cullen x reader

<<prev >>next

As you tossed and turned you thought you were going crazy.

It was normal to think of someone, but you’ve never experienced someone taking up your entire mind.

You hadn’t touched your keyboard. You only stared at it. You haven’t played since your fingers knew what the Cullen’s grand piano had felt like. You look down at your fingers before closing them into fists. You wonder how much things had changed.

Walking outside, bundled up, you slightly jump from the sight of Edward, once again leaning against his car.

Waiting for you.

“Oh! Hello.” your parent greets beside you.

“Hello. Do you mind if I take Y/N to school today?” he asks politely. You watch the scene unfold without saying anything.

“I don’t mind.” they reply as they look at you, look at him.

“Are you ready?” Edward takes his eye contact and puts it in your direction. You just nod.

Your parent tells you they will see you later before adding, “Young man you shouldn’t stand outside in the cold like that. You will get sick.”

“I have a very strong immune system.” he says with a grin and your parent does nothing but shake their head and mutter, “You kids.”

Edward opened and closed your passenger door for you.

You silently just hold your hands to the hot air that flowed out of the vents. He didn’t say anything either.

You slowly would take looks from the corner of your eye before watching the snowy road in front of you.

No words were said, but he still walked you to your locker to put your coat away.

You tried very hard to focus. You looked down on your eraser covered quiz that the teacher had issued. You sigh to yourself as you brushed the eraser crumbs away.

Lab day.

You looked next to you, your lab partner was absent.

“Y/N?”

You look up to your teacher after you had collected the necessary materials for the day’s lab.

“Yes?”

“Your partner isn’t here. Do you want to work by yourself or do you want to join a group? It’s up to you.”

“Um…” you say and slowly take in your options. Other partners started to already get to work, the small chatter swirled in the science environment.

“By myself.” you say.

“Okay.” they reply with a soft touch to your shoulder and walk to another group, checking up on what they’re doing.

You write your name on the worksheet.

“Can we work together?” you hear and you immediately look up.

Edward’s eyes weren’t shy as he peered down at you.

“S-sure.” you say. You watch his body move to sit in the spot your partner usually sits in.

He then takes control, doing most of the work as he lowly tells you the answers.

“I could’ve helped. I’m not entirely useless.” you whispered as the teacher told a group to stop goofing off.

A small chuckle comes out and he says, “I know. I just want to get done faster.”

“What’s the rush?”

He shrugged before looking at you and you look down.

“Is something wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing..Am I..Acting like something’s wrong?” you ask as you write down the answers that he pushed in your direction.

“It’s just…You aren’t your talkative self.”

You just nod silently.

“I have a lot on my mind.” you say.

“What is it?” he immediately asks.

“Nonsense. Things that aren’t really all that important.” you brush off.

“I have a lot on my mind as well.” he says after you both looked at the scale and write down the ounces.

“What is it?” you ask.

He sighed softly, only a bit before looking at you with a soft grin, “Why did you really stop playing yesterday?”

You sit back in your chair a bit, “Because..” you say with a shrug, “I wasn’t trying to make it seem like I was a show off or anything.”

“That was your moment to be a show off.”

“Well..It’s over now.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

You look at him in question just as the bell for the first half of class ending, rings.

As students went to their lockers and used the bathrooms, you and Edward stayed seated at the lab table.

“What are you doing after school?”

“I have a piano lesson today.” you tell him.

It seemed as though Edward tried to think of something else to say.

“After that?”

“Going home…” you say with a slight shrug.

The class resumed after the small break. The teacher closed the door back.

“Are..Are we finished?” you ask as Edward takes both of your completed worksheets in his hand.

He nods and placed the sheets in the bin. The teacher grins a bit and goes back to typing on their open laptop.

You then pull out homework.

“Where did you move from?”

You tell him.

“That’s not far…” he mused and you nod.

“Has it always been one parent?”

“Divorce.” you answer in a small voice as you fly through the homework. You just did not feel like doing it later.

“Where are you going to college?”

You pause your writing and look up at him with a pitiful expression. He’s amused by this.

“I really don’t want to talk about all of that right now.”

You’ve heard enough of it at home.

“May I ask why?” he asks.

“It’s just..Not my priority right now, alright? I…” you say and look down to the pencil that’s clutched in your hand, “I don’t even know what I’m going to major in, let alone choose a school.”

“Music.” he says as if it’s very obvious.

“I’m afraid it’s not a safe career option.” you say.

His eyebrows furrowed a bit, “Why isn’t it?”

“I guess my lovely parent has nightmares of me being a homeless but talented musician.” you mutter. This makes him laugh a bit.

Walking side by side in the halls, he stops before the cafeteria is in view.

“Skip your lesson.”

You whip around at him as if he was crazy. He just plainly stared at you.

“Why on Earth would you ask me to do that?” you ask.

“We can work on your song for your competition recording.”

“That’s why I going to my lessons.” you say and nudge his arm.

“I can teach you superb notes to play. Something that isn’t repetitive.” he insisted.

“You don’t even know the song I’m playing.” you say.

The people you sit with at lunch walks past, questions that you know you will have to answer to at the table, is painted on their faces.

“Tell me.”

You tell him.

He shakes his head slightly, showing disapprovement.

“Come on..That’s elementary for your skill level.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m not skipping my lesson. Plus, I don’t want to get trouble when I’m supposed to be there and I don’t show up because I was getting my own special lesson from you.” you say and you walk away at that.

They did ask what you two were talking about.

“We had to work together in science today. It’s nothing.” you wave off.

A new chapter was taught in history. In the dark room that was lit up from the teacher’s screen, showing what needed to be wrote down, the class took notes. Jasper was back in his seat in the back of the class.

You slid your coat on and watched as Edward stood in front of you. He did something that surprised you.

He extends his arms and zips your coat up for you. You blinked.

“Thanks.”

He only nods.

“Here to convince me?” you poke at him.

“It seems you have your mind made up.” he says.

He tells you goodbye as you walk to the car that your parent was in.

As they drive, you notice that you’re going in the direction of your home, not to the place where the lesson was held.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“We have to talk.” they tell you.

“Okay..”

“I feel like we should pull back from lessons-“

“What?”

“Y/N, sit back.” they say as they take a glance at you.

“No.” you say. They give you a look. You sit back.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?” you ask desperately.

“You need to be more focused on what you’re going to do with your life.”

You cross your arms as you felt like you were going to cry.

“I know what I’m going to do with my life…Just please don’t take this away from me. Please!” you beg.

“What are you majoring in?” they ask as you both come to a stop at a red light.

You didn’t have an answer. You couldn’t blurt out an answer because they will hold you to it.

“See? Maybe this summer we can put you back in but for right now-“

“This summer?! That’s like…” you quickly count on your fingers, “Five months from now! What am I going to do until then?”

“Study. Really get down into what you are going to go to school for. If you’re going in my profession, I can start pulling some strings now but otherwise, get some letters of recommendations ready so you’re not scrambling all around last minute. Then, we gotta start doing tours of schools. There’s a lot to be done Y/N and now’s the time to start getting prepared. You can always tinker around with your piano once your business is taken care of.”

You slump back in your seat and let the rest of the lecture go in one ear and out the other. It was completely unfair.

You press down on your keyboard sadly as you couldn’t think of giving it up.

You barely spoke in the morning as you got dropped off at school. Your parent still wished you a good day. You were planning to have the most terrible day.

“How was your lesson?” Edward asks as you shoved your belongings in the locker and slam it shut.

“No more lessons until the summer. Yay me.” you say and storm off. He keeps up.

“Why?”

“Because.” you huff out angrily, “Because..Apparently it’s only pleasure and not at all business.”

“I’m sorry..” he says.

You give him a quizzical look, “Why are you apologizing?”

He opens and closes his mouth and opens it again, “It’s unfortunate..”

You nod and start to go inside of the classroom but his hand touches the hand that was at your side. You look at him.

“We can practice after school.”

You shake your head.

“Nah..”

“Why not? Isn’t that what you want?” he asks.

“It is but…You’ve done enough as it is.” you tell him.

You felt his eyes watch as you walk to your seat and sit down.

Quizzes were passed back. You read the score.

“6/10”

Your teacher leans down to quietly speak to you, “I know you can do better than that.”

You nod.

Your acting skills were then put to the test when your lab partner gushed to you about why they missed the day before. A college tour.

The teacher walks in and everybody has a seat and new notes on the new lesson were taken.

Edward walked to the spot you two always sit, in the back of the library but you walked in another direction.

You needed time to think. You sat by yourself as you stuck your headphones in and listened to music quietly.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder.

Taking them out, you look up to find Edward.

“Study hall is over.”

You rise and he actually waits as you gather your things.

“Kind of sucks you are a year below me. You have more time to figure things out, if you haven’t already.” you say. A small grin appears on his face, “What makes you think I might have things figured out?”

You take a quick look at him as you both walk in the halls, “You just look it.”

“Look it?”

“Yeah. Like…You have yourself together.”

“Like I have myself together.” he mused.

“Correct.”

“What else do I look like?”

You chuckle a bit, “You just…I don’t know you just seem mature. Especially for your age.”

“I’m mature for my age?”

“Are you just gonna repeat everything I say?” you ask with a smile.

“Maybe..” he says and the brunette that you have seen around, looks in both of your direction. She prolongs her eye contact before books slide out of her hands.

You watch as a boy eagerly picks them up. You look to see that Edward was watching the scene unfold right with you.

You then continue walking.

“She’s not my friend.”

That’s what played in your head. You don’t know why it stuck out to you but it kept replaying as you ate your lunch.

“I wonder if he’s lying.” you thought in your head but you then wondered why you even cared if he was or not. It’s not like you liked him or anything. You just thought he had a good looking face.

“Is Edward Cullen dating Bella Swan?” you couldn’t help but blurt out at the table.

A girl next to you looks at you with a snigger, “As if. I’m surprised a Cullen is even talking to you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“They talk to no one. They would be freaks if they were ugly. That’s what makes them so interesting. Rich, smart, good looking, good family, but they never talked to anyone here.”

“Edward talked to Bella.” you point out.

“Yeah for like a second. Then, it went back to him being to himself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She almost got crushed by some van and apparently he was there beside her when it happened.”

So, that’s why they were both at the hospital. That’s why the nurses commented on it being hectic that day.

“Huh.” you replied in thought.

“Yup. Some kid named Tyler who couldn’t control his own van. The van was skidding down ice and everything. She’s so lucky she didn’t get crushed. The paramedics came and everything.”

“Wow. I came right after all of the excitement.” you comment and laughs circled around the table.

You felt a nudge after you walked out of the cafeteria.

You look and display a grin.

“Hey, Alice.”

“Hey, you.” she says and she’s skipping at your side, linking her arm with yours.

“Wanna come over after school?”

You sigh a bit, “I really wish I could. I got a lot of work to do.”

“You do? It was a pretty relaxed day, at least for me.” she says.

It felt like she caught you in a lie.

“It-Its not homework. Honestly..Can I be honest?” you ask. She nods as she encouraged you. You wanted to say what was on your mind but you couldn’t form the words. You opted for something else instead.

“I don’t think I can come over today. I have to start researching for schools. I don’t feel like hearing another lecture.” you say in a tone that screamed pity.

She smiles a bit, “Why don’t we do so together? I might need ideas.”

“Darn you.” you say with a slight point, “Why do you have to have an answer for anything?”

She laughs as Jasper says hello to you. You both walk into the classroom together after you greet him back.

In your last class of the day, you let your parent know that you won’t be needing a ride home.

Edward was there when you came out of the classroom. You nod a greeting.

“Alice told me you’re coming over.” he says as you both walk to your locker.

“Yeah.”

“What changed your mind?”

You open your locker and don’t say anything.

“She asked me. We are researching schools together.”

He snorts. You look at him.

“Alice had her school picked out since forever.”

“So she lied?” you deadpanned.

“I wouldn’t say she lied. You said you wanted to research schools. She offered to do so together. She can still research schools with you even with her own picked out.”

You shrug on your coat and your coat is zipped up from him. He opens his hand. You look at it. You watch as it moves towards your backpack and he eventually holds it in his hand.

You place your hands in your pocket.

“You never wear one.” you observed.

He doesn’t say anything.

Sitting at the family computer, you were bored. You were more interested in Alice’s conversation than the descriptions of what a school was offering on the big screen.

“Fashion?”

She nods.

“You’re so lucky your parents are letting you major in that.” you say.

Her eyebrows furrowed a bit, “You have your music.”

“Yeah but..” you then shake your head, “Not to go get a degree for. I’ve been told, it’s pretty much useless.”

“Nonsense!” she says.

“Exactly.” you sigh out.

“She can’t take lessons anymore.” you hear Edward’s voice speaks out.

“What?!”

You giggle at her outburst.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” she says.

“You weren’t the one who took it away from me. I will be okay.” you say.

Jasper comes into the computer room, peeking his head in.

“Alice are you ready?”

“Coming.” she says and turns back to you and gives you a quick hug before following him out.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“We’re visiting a..Family member. Edward..Are you coming?”

You watch him shake his head.

“See you.” Alice says and grabs Jasper’s hand.

The room was silent and you scroll a bit before looking at Edward who was watching you.

“Why didn’t you go?” you ask.

“Didn’t want to.” he says. You nod and look back at the screen.

“You said you wanted to hear me play.” he says.

“Uh huh.” you say.

“Come on.” he says and you see that he’s leaving out. You exit out of the browser and follow him.

He pats the spot next to him on the bench. You sit as you concentrate on his fingers.

It was like an orgasm for your ears. Your eyes were stuck to his fingers. His fingers moved with such speed and precision. The music that produced from him and his piano was the most loveliest sound that your ears had ever heard.

When the song was over, he played around with some notes. It reminded you of a hotel lobby.

“I’m not ready at all.” you whisper.

“What?” he asks with a small chuckle.

“There’s definitely going to be people who play like that.”

“I doubt it.” he quietly but confidently says.

You don’t say anything and you press on the weighted key with one finger.

“Do you want me to teach you that song?” he asks.

You look at him with wide eyes.

“What song?” you ask. He chuckles again.

“The song I just played.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It is a competition. It’s about being the best.” he says.

You shrug a bit.

“When’s the deadline?”

“Next month.”

He nods, “Okay. That should give us enough time.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“But you want to.”

You retract your hand from the keys.

“How did you get so good?” you question.

“Years and years of practice.”

“You…Not to give you a big head, but you play very good. Like, better than some composers I’ve heard.”

He smiles as he looked at the keys.

“You let me teach you, you’ll win. What’s the prize? Money? Scholarship? What?”

“Money but, I don’t really care about it. I just wanted to be able to have the experience of winning something like that…I want to be able to say, well hopefully say, ‘I won that.’” you admit. He doesn’t say anything but you can tell he soaked in your words. You look away from his gaze.

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?” you ask and glide your finger across the keys one time.

“You don’t like looking at me.” he says.

You pause your movements.

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly.

“I mean that you don’t like looking at me. You look away from me all the time.”

You shrug, “I’ve never noticed.”

“You’re not even looking at me now.”

You breathe of a small laugh but you still don’t meet his eyes.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like looking at you.”

“Do you like looking at me?”

“I don’t…Know.” you answer honestly.

“I like looking at you when I’m talking to you.”

You don’t say anything. You instead shift a bit in your bench. You slowly look to him and his expression is warm but he took in your face. His eyes moved about subtly as you both blinked at each other.

You look away with a small but breathy chuckle.

“You did it again.” he says.

“We didn’t talk.” you reply.

“We’re talking right now.”

“You’re intense..” you comment.

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly.

He taught you the beginning part. He made you do it over and over and advised you to practice when you got home. It definitely was a challenge.

“Thank you teacher Edward.” you joke.

He zipped your coat up and smiled, “You’re a very good student.”

You walk out of his house and you look to him, “You zip my coat up but you never thought to zip yours up?”

“I’m not cold.”

“Edward, are you sick in the head or something?”

He laughs. Laughs as if it was a joke made by a comedian.

He opens the car door up and you sit in the car.

He drops you off and before you get out, “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

Your backpack is in your lap and you say, “It’s fine. You and your siblings have been good to me. I won’t ask you to do too much.”

“It’s not too much on my part, Y/N.” he says and the look on his face was sincere. You just nod.

Over dinner, you had to explain yourself.

“We were studying.”

“Did you study for schools?”

You groan as you set your fork down.

“Yes. I did.”

“Okay. What school?”

“I want to major in music.”

Their own fork clatters as they look at you.

“Y/N. We are not having this talk again.”

“It’s my passion.” you say.

“I know that-“

“Do you? I don’t want to work a job where I’m unhappy.” you say as you poke at your food.

“I don’t think you should hang around that boy anymore.”

“Really?” you ask.

“It’s like you’re distracted.”

“How? My homework’s done, I’m doing what you’re asking, please don’t strip my entire life from me.”

They don’t say anything.

You worked your fingers with your keyboard with your headphones plugged in.

Newfound determination came out as you practiced.

So that’s how it went.

He would pick you up from school, walk you to your classes, you would look up in science as you worked with your lab partner and catch him staring, and he would walk you to his car after school.

You both worked together on the song he was teaching you. He was mature with his criticism. It felt like you were in an actual lesson and he was an actual teacher. He knew his stuff.

You felt yourself improve each day. Your time at the Cullens lengthened to the point, you wondered how come you never seen them eat dinner.

The sky was darkened, mostly due to the ending of daylight savings time and you sat quiet in the passenger seat.

“What’s wrong?”

You look to him focused on the road and you shake your head, “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You haven’t said anything since we left my house.” he says.

“Just…I’m just…Do you and your family eat?” you blurt out.

You watch as his lip curled up in amusement.

“Yes. We eat.”

“You guys must eat really late.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite food?” you ask.

“You wouldn’t like it…I’m a vegetarian.”

You eyed him but didn’t say anything else.

You reach for the door but he calls your name.

“Yeah?” you answer.

He’s hesitant, but he forces it out, “Next week, after we record your solo, can I take you to dinner?”’

“As…Friends?” you ask.

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll think about it.” you say with a smile. He formed his own as he watched you walk inside your home.

It was surprising. You dreamed about playing the piano. You dreamed about playing the piano with Edward.

You yawned a little as you felt him put an arm around you as you both walked the halls.

“You didn’t get sleep?”

“Not really.” you say quietly and looked at his limp hand that was attached to the arm that was around you.

At lunch, the question was dropped like a bomb.

“Are you and Edward dating?”

“No. We’re just friends.” you say casually as you bit into your lunch.

Giggles circled and you furrowed your eyebrows, “What?”

It was a study hall day, you and Edward sat really close to each other in the back of the library.

“People are thinking we are dating.” you say with a straight face.

He slowly grinned.

“I heard that too.” he says.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to make our friendship weird. I really appreciate all that you’re doing for me. Same with Alice and everyone else.” you say.

“So, have you thought about what I asked you?” he asks and you look down from his eyes.

“Um..Not really. I’ve been too tired…To really think.” you say.

“If you don’t want to, just say no.” he says.

“When I say I don’t know, it means I’m not sure if I want to or not.”

“What makes you so unsure?”

You just stare at your hands.

“Why did you give me that song out of all songs?” you ask, changing the subject.

He notices but goes along with it, “It reminds me of you. It fits you.”

“Whatever that means.” you say with a slight chuckle.

“It’s true.” he answered.

The week went by fast. Too fast.

It was the weekend. He waited outside of your home as you got into his car on an early afternoon.

You aimed the camera at you as it stood up tall on the camera stand.

You wring your fingers a bit before looking at him. His hands are in his pockets as he looked at you.

“I’m..Kinda nervous. This never happened before.” you admit.

“Just pretend you’re in your room by yourself.”

You nod and walk to the piano.

He stands by, ready to hit record.

You roll your shoulder back before positioning yourself and gave him a slight nod to let him know that you were ready.

He gave you a small thumbs up and you play with determination.

You surprised yourself as you owned the keys on the grand piano. You were thankful that he let you use his. The weighted keys were pressed down as the musical sounds filled the room. Your eyes followed your fingers and you were focused. The nervousness that you felt earlier rolled off of you by each second.

When you were finished, you look up to see a small smile and a small clap.

“You hit it right on the nose.”

“Thanks.” you say as you scratch the back of your neck.

Nothing was said as you scooted off of the bench and walk to the camera that was currently in his hands.

“I thought about it.” you say. He meets your eyes.

“Thought about what?”

“We can…Sit down for dinner. Thank you for letting me use your piano.”

“I told you, you were free to use it.” he says but his smile didn’t fade as he broke down the camera stand.

You nod and sit on the sofa as you watch the video of you.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he asks.

A small smile formed, “Yes.”

The rest of the Cullens made conversation with you as you lounged in their home.

You found out that they had traveled to different cities. They had great stories to tell.

You noticed they all had the same eye color. Questions ran deep.

Edward reached and opened the door for you as you walk in.

“Table for two.” he holds up two fingers.

You stare at his glass of water, untouched.

“This smells really good.” you say as the waiter sets your plate down. “Are you sure you’re not ordering anything?” you ask.

“I’m okay. I ate a big breakfast.”

As you chewed slowly, you began to think.

You swallow.

“Edward…Do you…Have an eating disorder?” you ask quietly.

“No.” he says with a smile. A bit of relief forms in you but you’re still confused.

“I’ve been with you almost all day and not once have I seen you eat. Or your family.”

“We just…Have a special diet is all. But really, I’m okay. I ate right before I picked you up.”

You nod.

Valentine’s day rolled around. People walked the halls with small teddy bears and candy from their own relationships.

You open your locker with your coat in hand.

The teddy bear was as big as the space in your locker. You look to Edward. He looks to you.

“This from you?” you ask. He nods.

You hold it up with two hands. The smile stretched across your face.

You set it back in your locker. You hug him. He hugged you back.

“You shouldn’t have.” you say to him with a grin.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. I love it. Thank you.” you say. Your eyes then look about and you see people are walking past and staring.

“Is there something on me?” you ask in a whisper. You don’t remember dropping toothpaste on your clothes that morning.

“No.” he says with a slight chuckle.

You close your locker after making sure the bear was safe.

“Then, why are people staring?” you ask in another whisper.

You both start to walk and he puts his hand around your back and places his hand on your arm to pull you close, “They’re just curious. You have nothing to worry about.”

A dance was coming up in May.

You had no plans of going. That’s all your lunch table talked about.

“It’s girls ask guys. Are you asking Edward?”

“No. I don’t even want to go.”

“What?!” the entire table asks.

You shrug.

“You’re just going to do nothing but sit in your room?”

“Whatever.” you say as you playfully roll your eyes.

“We have no lessons today.” you say as Edward wasn’t going in the direction of your home.

“I know.” he says. You sit back in your seat.

You sat next to him on his couch in your room after you both finished homework.

“You don’t have a bed?” you ask as you noticed something missing.

He looked around.

You looked around with him.

“Are you going to the dance?” he asks changing the subject.

You look to him and shake your head.

“Why not?” he genuinely asks. You shrug, “We’re just going to be seeing the same people that we see everyday but just in different clothes.”

He chuckles at that.

“It’s your high school experience.”

“If you want me to ask you, just say that.” you say with a grin.

The look that displayed on his face make your heart thump, making you almost retract your statement due to nervousness.

“I want you to ask me.”

“Do we…Go as friends?” you ask.

“We could.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He gets up and holds out his hands.

You eyed him as you get up as well, placing your hands in his cool ones.

“Does it bother you that your hands are cold?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “I’m used to it.”

His thumbs brush the back of your hands that made you let out a small breath, you look up to him. He was looking down at your hands but slowly looks up into your eyes.

Soon, he keeps one of your hands in his and placed one of his hands on your back.

“What are you doing?” you ask as you grinned.

He twirled you as if you both had done this time and time again.

“We should practice.”

You both slow danced and you both were amused.

He gave you a hug when you were about to unlock your front door.

“You should get in your car. You will get sick.”

“I’ll be okay.” he says near your neck.

Weeks rolled by slowly. Your dreams were consisting of more and more of Edward. You seen him basically everyday. Even on weekends.

You sat up late in the night. Your heart thudded.

You dreamed that you both kissed. Your mind was distracted.

You stopped raising your hand in class. It was as if he infected your mind to only think of him.

The teachers took notice.

At lunch, your friends invite you to Port Angeles for clothes shopping for the dance.

As you waited for one friend to get out of the dressing room, you thought about changing your mind.

It was to the point where your heart started to race when you were near him. Even when you thought of him.

Your first acceptance letter that came in the mail made your parent let off of your back.

“See? This is a great school too.” they say with a pat on your back. You nod.

You received an email. Stating that you won. You blinked at it.

You gasp and run to your parent.

“I won!”

“Won what? A scholarship?” they ask.

“No. The piano competition. I won.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” they say.

“I’m getting a check in the mail soon.”

“Good. You can put it towards your schooling to get the things that you need.” they start to stay on that topic. You tuned them out.

You nervously pace as you clicked on his contact. One ring.

“Hello?”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” you just say.

“You’re welcome….What did I do?”

“I won.” you say with a smile. He congratulated you, telling you that he knew you had it in you.

“I’m not coming to school tomorrow.” he tells you.

“Oh. Why?”

“Family emergency. I’ll see you after though.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It was like you were in a daze. The entire family did not show up. The teacher’s words morphed together. It was as if you were in a time warp.

You hugged the large teddy bear that he had given you when you got home. You didn’t know if you were going crazy but it freshly smelled like him. The bear rested right under your nose.

The weekend came and he calls you.

“I want to take you somewhere.”

“Okay.” you tell him.

The meadow was beautiful. You had to tell yourself to breathe. You felt his cool hand interlaced with yours and you let him tug you.

“How do you find something like this?” you ask.

“I like to explore.” he says quietly.

He pulled you to him as he took both of your hands. He looked down at you.

He brings you in closer with both arms around your shoulders, you look up to him.

“I have to tell you something.” he says quietly. You nod.

His gaze burns into yours, “I don’t want to go to the dance as friends.”

“That’s okay…I didn’t really want to go anyway.” you say. He chuckles softly before shaking his head. He then straighten out his facial expression.

“I still want to go with you. Together.” he confirmed.

“As in…?”

He only blinked as he peered down at you. You look away as you notice that you two were in a tight embrace.

The next day, he knocked on your door.

You let him in with a grin.

You both hug. You then take his hand and your parent allowed you to go with him and his family to play baseball.

“Isn’t it going to rain?” they ask him as Edward zipped your coat up.

“We’re trying to stick a game in before it does.” he answered. He takes your hand and you’re following him to his car.

In the clearing area, the sounds of thunder was from the sky.

Alice grins, “It’s time.”

You thought that you were dreaming. There was just no way an average person could leap that high or run that fast. You had no words. You were very impressed and entertained.

The soft drizzle of rain dropped down as Alice threw the ball with a fast whizz. You heard thunder but instead of quick flashes of lightening strikes, you look up in the sky and see Edward and Emmett slam into each other. They’re on the ground laughing.

Alice throws, Rosalie is at the plate and cracks the ball with the bat. Once again, the loud struck of thunder surrounds the field but you knew it came from them.

“Y-you’re out.” you tell Rosalie. She gets up and whispered, “You could’ve let me slide with that one.”

“Cheating! You’re out!” Emmett says with a joyous grin. She flashed him an annoyed look.

“It’s just a game, babe!” he says.

You shrug with a soft smile as you help her brush the dirt off of her pants.

Jasper steps to the plate next and flips his bat impressively. Alice throws the ball and Jasper hits it and you watch as her eyes suddenly grow big.

Alice yells a time out that captured everyone’s attention. Before you knew it, your arm was grabbed by Edward as the family circled around you. It was as if they were hiding you.

“Let’s go.” Edward says to you.

“It’s too late. They were leaving when they heard us.” Alice whispered in slight panic.

You heard Alice hiss out in a whisper, “Cover Y/N’s scent.”

“Scent?” you wondered in your mind.

“You’re okay. Just stay quiet, okay?” he whispered to you, to calm you down. You nod slowly.

You look up to Edward looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he glued his hand into yours. You look down, his foot taps a steady rhythm. You wondered why he did it.

You hear Carlisle speak.

“Thank you.”

You peek and see three figures standing in front of the Cullens.

“I’m Laurent, this is Victoria and this is James.”

“I’m Carlisle and this is my family.” Carlisle says as gestures with his hands.

Laurent greets everyone.

You watch as Edward glared at someone. You didn’t want to look who it was.

“So…Could you use more players?”

There was hesitance and Laurent smiles, “Just one game.” he says with one finger up.

“Oh, alright. A few of us were leaving so you can take their spot.” Carlisle says and throws the ball back to Laurent. The girl however, Victoria, caught it with such insane reflex, you held back a gasp.

Slowly, Edward tugs you away. The family moved with his movements. Carlisle kept them talking. The rain started to pour more heavily.

Edward practically threw you in the car and he was already starting the engine before you could click your seatbelt in. You watch as the others form into a game.

He drives in silence.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m sorry.”

You do nothing but stare at him.

He dropped you back off at home.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he says again as the rain poured down behind him. You both stood in front of the front door.

“We have to talk.”

“Okay.” he says with a nod.

You give him one last look before shutting the door behind you. The rain poured much heavier. You stare out of the window.

Hours went by. Your phone rings. You answer.

“Do you want to talk?”

You watch your wall, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Just tell me the truth Edward…Your family are like…Superheroes or something. They jump really high, run really fast, super fast reflexes, and you all have the same eye color. Those people..In the field, their eyes were red.”

There was silence before he spoke again, “You’re right.”

“What are you?” you ask. You felt like crying. It felt scary in a way.

“I don’t want to tell you over the phone. I want to see you when I tell you.” he whispered.

You set the phone down and cover your eyes with your hand.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

“Yes.” you say after you pick your phone back up.

He doesn’t say anything else.

“Edward….We can’t see each other anymore.” you say softly.

“Y/N..I promise to tell you everything…Just not now. Please?”

“How long do you want me to wait? I just want the truth. I’ve been truthful to you.”

“You have. I just don’t want to mess this up…Us up..I really like you.”

“I like you too….But..I’m afraid all things that we like might not be good for us.”

“Y/N.” he begged.

His tone made you breathe in.

“What did Alice mean by my scent? Why were you hiding me from the red eyed people? Are they dangerous?”

“Yes. They’re very dangerous. Your scent would’ve enticed them.”

“What does that mean?” you ask softly, trying to gain understanding.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, “I want to tell you everything in person.”

“But we will be at school. Our time will be limited.”

“Can I come over?”

“What?” you ask as you never snuck in a boy before. It was almost midnight.

“I’ll sneak through your window. I won’t make a sound. I will answer everything truthfully. I promise. I…Just don’t want us to be apart.”

You think for a moment. You wondered what could go wrong. He’s patient on the line. As long as you’re on the line, he was okay.

“You promise you will answer everything?” you ask.

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

The statement made you chuckle a bit before he joins you.

You hang up with your head spinning. In a way, you thought back to things and how things used to be. You didn’t know if things were ever going to be the same. You were a bit scared of the soon to be answers to your soon to be questions. Not knowing what to expect, you just unlock your window without opening it. You then have a seat on your bed and hug the teddy bear that he had given you tight to your chest.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Unwrap Me For Christmas

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader 

A/N: This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa fic for 2024. This one is for you @atenea585 ! It took some time and ended up longer than I expected but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Smut

Main Masterlist

You lie in bed with your head on your boyfriend’s firm chest as it rises and falls. Generally, it would lull you back to sleep, but you can’t stop your mind from wandering to the current holiday season. You know the life of a hunter doesn’t exactly lend itself to having quiet days decorating a tree, baking cookies or sitting around drinking eggnog, but you can’t help but want that. You absent-mindedly run your fingers up and down the bare chest beneath you as you imagine doing all of those Christmassy things with the said man underneath you. Suddenly, you feel a warm hand cupping yours to stop your movements.

His deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. “That tickles”. You smile and peck his chest as you roll over more to look up at his beautiful face. His eyes are still closed, hiding his mesmerising emerald eyes. He looks so peaceful.

“Dean…Can we-I want to-Nevermind.” At your stuttering, he opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart? You didn’t take any of that lunatic's spells did ya?”

“I still can’t believe you were a dog and you checked out that poodle right in front of me! But no. I just…I know what you’re gonna say.”

“I could surprise you?”

“No, I know you too well.”

He flips you over so you’re caged between his muscular arms. “You won’t talk? Fine.” He presses soft kisses over your face and neck as his fingers trail down your sides digging in softly. You squirm in his grasp but he doesn’t stop. You rarely get to see this lighthearted and fun side of the hunter, so you revel in it whenever you do. He looks younger like this, not rugged and aged beyond his years like he does whenever he has a blade or gun in his hands. He looks like the mid-30s man he is. Eventually, he stops his fingers and lifts your chin so you meet his eyes. “Ready to talk yet?” You shake your head with a smile. “I torture monsters you know? I can do this all day.”

“Alright, Cap. Prove it!” you say defiantly. He reaches for the bedside drawer and pulls out a tie dangling it above your face. He carefully ties it around your wrists and the headboard as he straddles you. You know then that you’re in for a long morning, but you’re not complaining.

“Sure you don’t wanna talk?” When you stay silent, he kisses your lips softly before working his way down your body. His calloused fingers run under his oversized shirt you’re dressed in and across your bare stomach leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He pushes the shirt up until it’s covering just your eyes.

As you lay on his chest taking in the bliss you finally decide to talk. “I wanna celebrate Christmas…”

“Every day is Christmas since I got you.”

“So, sappy. And then what? Every other day is Halloween?”

He kisses your head. “Yep.”

“I’m serious though. I want it. A Christmas tree, gifts, mistletoe, the whole nine yards. I know we’ll never have the house with a white picket fence and two-point-five kids, but is Christmas too much to ask.”

“No…”

“See, I knew-”

“No, it’s not too much to ask. Let’s do it.”

You roll over to meet his eyes which are shining back at you. “Really?”

“Anything for my girl. The monsters’ll still be there after. We deserve a break. Plus, it’s still a couple weeks away. Now, come on. I need coffee.”

 “But I-” He lifts his eyebrow at you.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Much to your disappointment, when you and Dean finally make it to the kitchen for what is now brunch, Sam slides his laptop across to you to read a strange news report. You sigh and roll your eyes but allow him to tell you both more as you eat and let the caffeine fuel your system. You all agree that it’s worth checking out.

As you’re packing your duffle you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your stomach. “It’ll be a cakewalk, then we’ll be back home for Christmas. I promise.”

“It’s never a cakewalk, Dean.”

“That article had vengeful spirit all over it. We get in burn the bones and then get the hell outta Dodge.”

“You’d better be right.”

“I’m always right.”

You toss a few changes of clothes in your bag with a sigh. Under your breath you huff, “You’re never right.”

“I heard that!” He shoulders his bag and reaches for your hand. “Let’s go, grumpy. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and have Christmas.”

The next night you, Dean and Sam are standing over a grave as you watch the bones go up in flames. “I shoulda bought chestnuts, could’a give you your first Christmas tradition,” Dean says with a wink.

“I don’t want chestnuts cooked over a dead body, Dean.”

“It’s just bones.” You roll your eyes and walk back to the car, leaving the brothers to cover the grave back over. You sit in the backseat with your legs dangling out of the open door. As you wait for them to come back you pull out your phone and start searching for gift ideas. If tonight’s tactics worked, Dean may be able to keep his promise, and you want to be ready for that scenario. After scrolling through multiple websites you’re still unsure what to get him, or his brother for that matter. Sam had accepted you as a sister long ago and so you want to show your appreciation for that as well. You know the most useful option would be more ammo or a new weapon or food, but just this once you want a proper Christmas without reminders of hunting. 

When the brothers finally settle back in the car so you can all go back to the motel for much-needed showers and sleep you just decide to ask, “What do you guys want for Christmas?”

Dean meets your eyes in the rearview mirror and winks. “Just you, Sweetheart.”

“Gross!” Sam whines. “To erase that from my memory.”

“I’m serious! I want a real Christmas and I want to get you both things you’ll like.”

The car falls quiet and you lean back on the cool leather as Metallica fills the space instead. You sigh and look out the window into the darkness. When Dean finally parks in front of your room at the motel you jump out, but he grips your wrist before you can get far and pulls you to his chest. With his lips ghosting above your ear he quietly says, “How about a pie? Homemade. Or a new knife? Or…” He tilts his chin lower so his lips are brushing against the tip of your ear. Goosebumps rush down your neck as his hot breath tickles your sensitive skin. “Or you wrapped up in nothing but a bow.” Your breath hitches and your whole body heats up. Before you can even register, he’s gone, walking into the room you both have to share with Sam due to it being the last one available. You quickly compose yourself and follow.

As you lay snuggled up in Dean’s arms listening to his even breaths his words echo through your head sending goosebumps over your whole body. You know you need something else that he can unwrap in front of Sam, but you actually like the thought of him unwrapping you. With the semblance of an idea spawning, you settle into the warm arms around you and close your eyes.

Despite being the last to fall asleep, you’re the first to wake up. You carefully untangle yourself from Dean’s arms and sneak into the bathroom to freshen up. Once you’re done, you scribble down a quick note to say you’ve gone out to get breakfast and coffee and leave it on the table. You use the opportunity while waiting for your order to continue researching gift ideas, this time of the more scandalous variety. As you’re scrolling, a convoy of police cars and an ambulance speed past the cafe towards the house you’d come to investigate. Deflated, you call Dean to wake him up. After a few rings, he mumbles out a “hello”. 

“Our little salt and burn last night didn’t work. Tell Sam to get back on the research. I’m on my way back with coffee and breakfast now.” Without waiting for a response you hang up, grab your order from the bench that you barely noticed was ready and hurry back to the Impala. 

Back at the motel, you dump the food on the table and explain what you saw. Dean sits there rubbing at his eyes as he tries to wake up and take in your words. 

Four days later you’re finally back in the bunker after finding and burning the cursed heirloom ring from the recently deceased grandmother and freeing her restless spirit to move on. During the pursuit you’d had barely a minute to do any further research or shopping and you’re irrationally annoyed with Dean. You know it’s not his fault the hunt turned out the way it did, but you knew it would—it always does—and he promised. Now your idea of a peaceful Christmas is quickly slipping away. You huff as you shoulder past him to go to your room, put your stuff away and collapse in bed. When he catches up with you in your shared room he pulls you close.

“I’m sorry. You were right…you’re always right.”

“Whatever. I just wanna get in a few hours before Sam lines up the next one.”

“No more hunts till after Christmas.”

“Tell that to your oversized baby brother!”

“I have, he promised.” He kisses the top of your head. “Tell you what, you go have a warm bath and relax and then we can watch whatever sappy Christmas movie you want.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now go, I don’t want to see you for at least an hour.” You peck his lips and then pull away. As you go to the door he adds, “And check under the sink, that’s where Sam keeps his special hair stuff. Just don’t tell him I told you.”

“Thanks, Dean. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart. Now get outta my sight before I change my mind.”

In the bathroom, you quickly strip out of your sweaty clothes from travelling and start to fill the tub. You pour in some floral-scented bubble bath and slip into the shower to quickly shave your legs and wash your hair while you wait for the tub to fill. You get out of the shower just in time before the tub gets too overfilled. You shut off the water, massage in a small dollop of Sam’s secret conditioner, pin up your hair and then slip into the warm bubbly water. You sink down until the water is lapping your collarbone and let out a contented sigh. As you lay there letting the hot water soak into your skin and relax you, you continue considering what to get the brothers. So far all you can think of is a new book set for Sam and some new vinyls or cassettes for Dean, plus the special gift for his eyes only. You know they’d both be more than content with those options so you make a mental note to order them and then let your mind wander back to other Christmas activities, such as what movie you’re going to subject Dean to after the water cools. 

By the time your skin is well and truly pruned, the water is starting to feel cooler, so you drag yourself out of the tub and wrap yourself in a towel. You let the water out and then brace yourself for the cool air in the rest of the bunker. As you wander down the cold hall to your room, your body instantly feels cooler. You miss the warmth of the bathwater already, but you force yourself to go on. In your room, one of Dean’s hoodies, a pair of thick tracksuit pants and a pair of fluffy socks are spread out on the bed with a note: 

Hope you enjoyed your bath, Sweetheart. Put these on and meet me in the Dean-cave.

You smile as you quickly drop the towel and slip into the prepared outfit. You pad down to the Dean-cave and your jaw drops. A fibre-optic tree stands in the corner of the room lighting the whole space in vibrant colours. A fireplace crackles on the TV in the centre of the wall adding a warm glow and an overwhelming aroma of pizza and gingerbread wafts past you. Then you finally settle on the man standing in the middle of the room with his arms outstretched. His comforting smile warms your soul and sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You never thought a hunter could feel this way or make memories like this, but you’re so grateful that you can. You know in this moment that Dean will be your forever and it only strengthens your resolve to throw the best Christmas either of you have ever experienced. You run over to him and jump into his embrace, his strong arms catch you and hold you tight.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” he whispers next to your ear.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas, Baby.”

Unsurprisingly, Dean falls asleep midway through the movie. You take the opportunity to pull out your phone and order their gifts. Looking at the confirmation emails, you feel more content and positive about the chances of having a real Christmas this year. You carefully move the empty popcorn bowl to the coffee table and snuggle into your boyfriend’s weak embrace to enjoy the remainder of the sappy Christmas flick. 

The next week passes quickly and it’s Christmas Eve before you know it. Over the last few days, you decorated more trees to put in the library and kitchen and baked Christmas cookies. Finally, the bunker looked, smelled and felt Christmassy, at least in the most used rooms. Your gifts had arrived and you managed to sneak away to wrap them, now all that’s left is to put them under the tree, celebrate Christmas day and then orchestrate Dean’s special present.

While Dean’s working hard in the kitchen cleaning up from his Christmas cooking, I sneak out and put the presents for them under the tree in the library where they’re most likely to see them. I then quickly sneak back to our room and snuggle up in bed while I wait for Dean to join me. The anticipation sparkles through my body making it hard to relax. I scroll through my phone to distract myself by it’s no use, every photo is of people out celebrating Christmas. 

When Dean finally comes and joins me, I snuggle into his embrace and try to relax. He checks his watch and then kisses my head, “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas my love.” 

When you wake up, the bed is already empty. You’re a little disappointed at first but then you figure that Dean must be up doing something special, so you forgive him and jump out of bed to search for him. Predictably, you find him in the kitchen in front of the industrial stove. You approach quietly and wrap your arms around his chest. “Good morning, Handsome.”

“Good morning, Beautiful. Your special Christmas breakfast will be ready soon.”

You glance around him at the frying pan. It’s full of bacon and a plate of fried eggs sits to the side. “We have bacon and eggs all the time.”

“So? It’s still special.”

“I guess. I’ll be right back.” You kiss the back of his shoulder blade and then pull away. You go to the bathroom to freshen up for the morning, brush your teeth and then get changed into the dress you ordered when you ordered their gifts. It’s a bright red A-line dress with long sleeves, the hem falls around your knees and it flows around you as you move. You rarely dress up like this. The most you generally get to do is a button-down and pencil skirt when you’re pretending to be FBI or short slutty numbers when you’re playing bait in bars. This dress is cute and conservative but makes you feel so pretty. You sway a few more times in front of the mirror admiring your different look before finally emerging from your room and going back to join Dean in the kitchen. When you walk in, he’s set the table with plates, and cutlery and poured you both a mug of coffee. As a treat, he even added a dash of milk and sugar to yours. You can drink it black and often do due to not always having access to the luxury of milk and sugar, but he knows you prefer it on the sweeter side. You smile and he checks you out. He’s speechless. He nudges you towards your seat at the table.

“Sit down before I change my mind about all this and take you back to bed for breakfast instead.”

You smirk as you twirl in front of him. “You like?”

“You kidding? You’re stunning. Sometimes I forget you’re a woman and can look this beautiful.” You give him a disgruntled look and he tries to backpedal. “You know what I mean! I know you’re a woman, it’s just you never dress up like this. You’re always dressing and acting like one of the guys with me and Sam. You fit so well that sometimes it just feels like you’re one of us instead of my incredibly sexy girlfriend.” You giggle a little at his clear embarrassment and he shakes his head with a mock glare. “Sit down and eat your breakfast, it’s going cold.”

“You gonna make me?”

“Don’t tempt me I just m-” Sam comes into the room cutting off Dean as he’s about to reach for your waist and turn this day around. Not wanting him to expose his present yet, and especially not in front of Sam, you quickly sit down and sip your sweet coffee. 

After a large gulp of caffeine, you finally say, “Good morning, Sam. Merry Christmas.”

“Morning, Y/N. Merry Christmas.”

“I know Dean wouldn’t have cooked it, but that meat-free bacon you like is in the fridge. I wanted-”

“You what? You know there’s no meat-free shit in the Meat-Man’s kitchen!” Dean proclaims loudly.

“One, it’s not just your kitchen, Babe. And two, that does not mean what you think it does,” you say with a pointed look before smiling back at Sam, “help yourself. Consider it your first Christmas gift.”

“Than-”

“First? Why does he get more than one?” Dean complains.

“Who said you don’t? Stop whining and eat your breakfast.”

“Or what?”

“Stop it or I’m going back to bed!” Sam says. “I’m not listening to your bedroom talk at breakfast.”

“Yeah, Y/N, stop it.” Dean teases.

“You’re so childish,” you say with a smile before diving into your breakfast.

Once you all finish eating, you help clean up and then move to the Dean Cave. Dean flops down on the two-seater and stretches his arms along the back so you can slot in beside him. You turn on the lights on the tree and then sit down beside him as Sam sits on the single recliner beside you. Dean flicks on the TV to fill the space and finds a Christmas movie playing. After a few minutes, you all realise how sappy and predictable it is, so you get up to go get your gifts from the tree in the library. You hand them to the brothers and then sit down to watch them unwrap them. Sam goes first, carefully peeling apart the paper to reveal the new fantasy book set. He flips it over to read the blurb and then thanks you, saying he can’t wait to read it. You then turn to Dean. He fiddles with the packages trying to guess what it is and you grimace, worried he’s going to break it. Then he finally rips the paper off and inspects the albums. 

“These will be great to play in our new machine. Thanks, Sweetheart.” He carefully places them to the side and slaps his thighs as he gets up. “My turn I guess.” He collects two messily wrapped gifts from under the tree. He tosses one to Sam and hands the other to you gently. “Sam first,” he winks at you as he sits back down. Sam tears off the newspaper wrapping and smiles knowingly at the bottle of beer and skin mags. Then they both look at you expectantly. You take the hint and open yours. It’s small and feels solid as you turn it in your hands. You hold your breath as you peel away the paper to reveal a small velvet jewellery box. You shake your head as you look over at your boyfriend. He just nods. You close your eyes as you flick the box open.

Dean rests his hand on your bare knee urging you to look. When you finally open your eyes you see it’s a small pendant of a strange symbol hung on a thin black rope that matches his. You finally allow yourself to breathe as he takes it out of the box and ties it on your neck. With his lips near your ear, he asks, “You expected a ring?”

“Maybe…But I was more scared that it was. I love you Dean, but-”

“I know. It’s an angelic protection symbol, just FYI. Cas showed me and I made it.”

“I love it.”

Sam then gets up and retrieves two paper bags from his room. He hands one each to you and Dean. You both carefully reach into the bags at the same time pulling out a bottle of booze. Yours is a sweet strawberry and cream liquor that he caught you ordering at a bar a while ago. It was highly over priced to buy by the glass but you know it’s not something any of you would buy at a liquor store as you always get drinks you can all share or that are on the sale rack. Dean then inspects his bottle of top-shelf scotch whiskey. You know it’ll be gone in no time, but he’ll enjoy it. You both thank Sam for the thoughtful gifts and relax back into your seats. 

You all spend the rest of the day relaxing in the Dean Cave watching Christmas movies until it’s time for dinner. Around 5pm Dean stands up and disappears into the kitchen to start preparing some festive food. He carves ham off the bone, heats some turkey pieces, mashes potatoes and roasts a range of seasonal veggies after covering them in salt and oil of course to make them edible in his eyes. You spend the time while he’s distracted getting your room ready for his after-dinner surprise. You make the bed nicely and lay the thin lacy dressing gown you bought with the lingerie on the end of the bed for quick change. Finally, you hang one of his ties on the door knob so you can blindfold him when the time is right.

The table is set beautifully when you finally join the brothers in the kitchen. Sam has a glass of eggnog in front of him. He pours one each for you and Dean with a small smirk and you instantly know it’s going to be strong. You take a small sip and wince. You place it down, you want to be sober-ish tonight for a seamless execution. Dean places the last of the food on the table and sits opposite you. You all start dishing up your food and try to have a lighthearted conversation that doesn’t revolve around hunting; it’s harder than you thought. As you eat, you take small sips of the eggnog. Dean smiles at you whenever you look up. As much as he’d never admit it, you know he’s enjoying celebrating Christmas as much as you are. He’s never had much chance to have anything nice or indulge in normal celebrations. Since you’ve been in his life you’ve tried to do what you can, but being a hunter makes it difficult. The most you generally manage is to buy or make him a pie and then either start or end the day with mind-blowing sex or a blow job, but if you’re hunting he rarely even gets that. That’s why you’re so determined to make today special. 

Dessert comes soon after dinner is put away and cleaned up, which you’re thankful for. The nearer the end of the night gets, the more eager you get for Dean’s gift. You barely want to eat as you don’t want to go into a food coma; you want to be agile enough for the night’s activities but you know if you don’t eat it will be suspicious, so you force yourself to eat a small piece of pie slowly. Across from you, Dean scoffs his pie like it’s his last meal on Earth. You can’t help but smile. But then a blush creeps up your neck and cheeks as you imagine him eating you as passionately as he is the pie. You know he would, and likely will later tonight. You force yourself to push away the thought before they notice.

Half an hour later it’s finally acceptable to sneak away. Sam excuses himself to his room to start reading the books you gave him and you use the opportunity to sneak out of the kitchen yourself. You lean against your bedroom door as you wait patiently–or impatiently rather–for Dean to come find you. You fiddle with his tie as you wait. After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few minutes, you hear Dean coming down the hall. You instantly straighten yourself up and put on a confident front. The second your eyes meet he smirks knowing something is up, or maybe he has plans of his own, you’re not entirely sure, but you know there’ll be time for both if he does. He picks up his pace to jog to you, but as he gets within reach you put your hands out in front of you, the tie dangling off the fingers of your right hand. 

“You gonna tie me up?” he asks lowly, eyeing off the piece of material.

“Maybe…but first, lean down, you’re too tall.” He happily obliges but he kisses you briefly as he does. You take the opportunity to quickly wrap the tie over his eyes and in a bow at the back of his head. He doesn’t complain, he just uses his other, now heightened senses to continue to kiss you and hold you close. As he does, you reach behind you to turn the doorknob and slowly walk backwards into the room. Once the door is shut you step back quickly out of his reach and slip your red dress over your head, quickly replacing it with the lacey dressing gown. You tie a careful bow as Dean tries to seek you out. You stay just out of his reach as you sneak around behind him and lay carefully in the middle of the bed trying your best to pose seductively.

“Alright, come get your gift, Handsome.”

A low growl comes from his throat as he takes small careful steps towards your voice. When he’s facing you and almost against the end of the bed you tell him to take off the blindfold. He reaches behind his head quickly ripping the fabric off his head. His hair spikes up in all directions and you almost laugh, but you stay composed as his eyes run over you. “You gonna unwrap your present?”

“Fuck yeah. Just gimme a second to admire you first. So sexy.”

You stretch your legs out, reaching for him with your toes, but he quickly captures your foot and runs his calloused hand down your calf to your knee. He keeps a grip on your knee, holding you close as he crawls onto the bed. He runs his other hand down your other leg before lightly pulling them both around his waist. You cross your ankles behind his back pulling him closer. He falls to his hands, hovering over you as he continues to take in the moment. He kisses you softly before sitting back on his knees. He softly runs his fingers over the soft material before paying close attention to the bow. Savouring the moment, he unties it slowly before pushing the material away to expose the sexy red lingerie that leaves little to the imagination.

He growls lowly again as he asks, “Were you wearing this all day?” You nod and he throws his head back groaning. “I knew I should’a brought you back in here earlier.” He looks down at the thin lace covering your sex and bites his lip. “Looks like the wait was definitely worth it though. You’re so ready for me already.” 

You nod. “So, why’d you stop unwrapping?” That’s all he needs to pull you up to him and strip the grown from your shoulders. He kisses you deeply as his hands explore the lace and your body. You can tell he’s searching for how to remove the barrier from your body, but it’s admittedly complicated, so you just bring his hand down to where you need him and push the fabric to the side. He obediently slides two fingers into your heat with a groan and hooks them forward. You throw your head back and his lips slide down your neck, kissing every sensitive point like he has them mapped out in his head (to be honest, he probably does).

Near your ear, he whispers, “This is the best Christmas ever. Thank you, Baby.” You gasp at his words. He rarely calls you that, that particular pet name is saved for his precious car, but whenever he does it’s during passionate moments like this and you know then that he considers you one of the most important aspects of his life. Deep down you know he’d let the Impala fall off a cliff if it meant saving you or Sam, but it’s still extremely important to him; she’s his last tangible link to his parents and you’d never begrudge him of that. Your thoughts are dragged back to the present when he pulls away. You open your eyes to glare at him when you notice he’s shedding his shirts and jeans. You use that moment to undo the hidden clasps that keep the lace in place. He shakes his head at you, knowing he never would’ve found them on his own. He reaches out his hands to pull you up to him so he can help you the rest of the way out of what looks like a very sexy trap. The second you’re both naked he gently guides you back onto the bed and crawls over you. He kisses you softly as he slides inside your wet heat with a moan. You bite down on his lower lip as he pushes all the way in, filling you perfectly. He gives you both a minute to adjust and get used to the bliss before pulling back slightly and thrusting back in with more force. You dig your fingers into his short hair as he continues to increase his pace and pressure. As he bites his lip and his little sounds intensify you can tell he’s trying to hold back and drag out the moment. You slide your hand up his left arm and lock your fingers with his before guiding his hand to your clit. He rubs small circles at just the pressure he knows gets you off as he slows his hip movements slightly, dragging out each forceful thrust. You throw your head back with a loud moan as you feel yourself let go around him. He gives you two final thrusts before finally letting himself go. He pulls his left hand back off you to hold himself up as his lower body convulses with yours. After a few seconds, he falls to the side beside you trying to catch his breath. You lay there just revelling in the pleasure too until he reaches out and pulls you to his chest. He kisses your head and says, “Merry Christmas, Baby. Best gift ever.”

“Merry Christmas my love. I completely agree.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[ryuucam]

Hii im the person w the previous Mizuki ask, im not rlly good at asks but could I request Mizuki + hot spring sex and praise? Im seriously obsessed with her

PERFECT STRANGER

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ it’s scientifically proven that regular hot springs visit can make your body healthier - the benefits seemingly increase when the main shareholder for the bath house you visit the most keeps you company.

tw implied ill reader (projecting much..) even if nothing is specified, sickly sex hear me out… dubcon-ish, first meeting hook ups, porn WITH plot (i love writing wlw..) very condescending dom!mizuki (sub mizu here), slight exhibitionism, yandere tendencies if u squint. 1.6k words

a/n she’s so cutesy why does her kit have to suck </3 also just noticed that in one of her voice lines she talks abt how awkward it is to have conversation with a stranger .. queen sorry for making u ooc .. this is so long and the ending’s a bit messy </3

spring can’t come fast enough. you’re sick of the constant rain and snow in inazuma - your body’s not reacting positively either. the pumping headache you’ve had the last couple days doesn’t seem to go away, your nose is still stuffy, and your cheeks are flushed. you’re not too worried though, this has happened before: every winter, to be fair. you figured long ago that your probably have a shitty immune system, and you’ve acted accordingly: regular check ups, health treatments, massages and countless evenings spent at the local bath house.

growing up in inazuma, visits to the hot springs were never a surprise, so much so that the current owner of aisa bath house knows your name by heart, even making small conversation as you deposit your mora for their services. “still sick?” aikawa, the owner, asks. you sniffle in reply, murmuring something about how it’s just the usual winter fever. he chuckles, before handing you a soft towel and speaking up once more. “y’know, miss mizuki is visiting today. she’s back from natlan, came here to check up on how the baths are doing.” “mizuki?”, your eyes perk up in curiosity. “haha, yes! miss mizuki, one of your best investors. be careful, yeah? she can be a bit peculiar at times.” you just nod - your head’s killing you and you feel like passing out any second by now.

once you undress and prepare your body accordingly to the bath house instructions - which you know by heart by now, you wrap a towel around your body. before noticing it, you find yourself checking out your reflection in the mirror, wondering about this miss mizuki, how’s she like, and what did aikawa even mean by peculiar? you sigh, moving your attention to fixing up the towel, which is, as always, short, maybe too short this time. well, whatever, it must be one of the new changes implemented by the shareholders.

as you slowly walk over the main bath you feel your skin heat up once more, head growing dizzy in seconds. when you manage to sit down in the bath you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding - your eyes close in relaxation while the foggy atmosphere entrances your mind. it’s so warm, so peaceful and - "oh, didn’t know someone was here already.” a calm, peaceful voice interrupts your pensive state. you lethargically turn around, not recognizing your interlocutor.

a girl stands in front of you, blue-ish hair tucked into a bun, deep, spiraling eyes staring back at you. her skin is of a milky, ghostly even, white, smooth and soft, wrapped in the same towel you’re using. despite your feverish mind you can still figure that it’s a bit too short on her too, hugging her dreamy figure in all the right places. “ah, uhm, don’t worry about it.” you stammer - maybe you’ve been staring at her a bit too long. you move away slightly, giving her space as she sits next to you. “you don’t look well.” her voice interrupts your train of thought - again. “my health is quite feeble. my doctor recommended i visit hot springs regularly.” your reply is curt, dry, a poor attempt to cover your irritation.

“my, that doesn’t sound good, miss.”, the lady replies. “you seem tense. would you like a massage? don’t worry, i hardly ever get sick.” her honeyed words go straight to your head, and, against your better judgment, you nod. she seems so sure of herself, so comforting, but at the same time so eerie and distant. as you turn around, back facing her, you feel her cold breath hitting the back of your neck, leaving goosebumps over your skin. suddenly, a pair of cold hands grabs your shoulders, and begins working on knots and tight muscles. your head slumps forward - a mixture of pleasure from her massage and the fever acting up once again. her cold fingers are magic against your burning skin, a greatly appreciated sense of relief.

“i’ve - ah!.. never seen you around here.” you speak up after a few seconds. an amused chuckle hits the back of your neck. “i was on a business trip in natlan, i returned here a few days ago.” her hands slide down your shoulder, gently grabbing your arms. "it’s a shame, really”, the lady continues, “that we haven’t met sooner.”she leans forward, placing her chin on your shoulder. her eyes scan your figure, then go back to look at your flushed face. her hazy, dreamy eyes meet yours, and you find yourself lost in the deep purple hue. “mizuki’s my name.” you almost don’t register the newfound information, almost don’t recognize her as the esteemed benefactor that keeps the bath house open, too mesmerized by something you just can’t figure out. mizuki giggles again, her smile soon replaced by a grin. her hands start moving again, up and down your upper arms, warming up your body even more. your breath becomes heavier, almost panting, and your eyes flutter shut, letting her do her thing.

her fingers start tracing the outline of your shoulders, then drop down to your back, where you’ve messily wrapped your towel. in a swift motion, the piece of fabric falls, leaving you exposed. she presses herself further onto your back, before reaching out to untie her own towel. a flimsly piece of satin now shields your back from her breasts, but you can still feel her plush skin with no issue. mizuki’s hands move back to your shoulders, keeping up the slow, sensual strokes. then, they drop down to your chest, feeling the weight of your own mounds with her very own hands. it takes a few moments for mizuki to grow bolder with her touches, now squeezing the fat of your tits with little to no regard for the whines you started letting out. her cool fingers are torture against your nipples, throbbing and swollen because of the sensation play. your back arches, and you throw your head back, getting dizzier with every move.

with one final squeeze, mizuki stops groping you for a second, just enough to hear you whine and plead to just keep touching you. “oh my, you’re so cute. i’ll make you feel all better, ‘kay? let me take care of you.” she litters small kisses all over your shoulder blades, as one hand starts rubbing your nipple again, and the other slowly makes way to your cunt. her fingers poke your soft cunny, feeling the sticky sensation of your juices even under the water. her pointer finger nudges closer and closer to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles onto it, mirroring the motion of her other hand circling around your nipple. you can’t think straight - you don’t know if it’s the fever or mizuki’s fault, though. her middle finger moves too, pressing itself against your hole. when you give her a meek nod, she enters you, immediately feeling your tight walls flutter around her finger.

she begins pumping her finger in and out of you, gradually going faster and eventually adding another digit. you’re panting, everything’s spinning and you feel so dizzy, but oh, mizuki feels so good. her tongue is licking long stripes across your neck, her nipples pressed snugly against the arch of your back. this is too much - she is too much - and you squirm out of her grasp, turning around to meet her face to face. she thinks you’re so cute. your hair’s all messy, sticking to your forehead, pupils dilated and saliva staining your lips. she knows what you need. and she’ll give it to you.

she lounges forward, throwing the satin towel away and exposing her full body to you, before gently pressing you to the ground. as soon as you’re sprawled across the floor, she climbs on top of you, lips engulfing yours, muffling your sniffles and whines. your chests are pressed together, her soft tits moving against yours, lubricated with both sweat and steam. mizuki chuckles when she feels your nipples poking hers, amused by how much you’re affected by this. she separates from you, letting you catch your breath for a second. “you doin’ okay, cutie?”, she speaks. her voice is even softer, lower, just a whisper meant to be heard only by you. you’re not focusing on her, too overwhelmed by your heightened, feverish senses. mizuki’s nice, too nice, she won’t even reprimand you for not answering. she just lowers her pussy onto yours, both of your sticky folds squelching against one another. “hehe, don’t worry, angel, i’ll make you feel all better.”

she starts moving, riding your poor cunny to oblivion, taking delight in your moans. you’re going dumb, so overwhelmed, unable to do anything but be still and let mizuki fuck you. the more her clit bumps into yours the louder and dumber you get - uncaring about how the door’s so thin, and anyone could walk in at any moment. “cutie, are you going to cum? ‘m not going anywhere.” her voice is honey for your poor, sick brain, stimuli going straight to your cunt. you nod, tears spilling out of your eyes. “shh, it’s okay, you’ll get all better soon, do you trust me?” she gets closer to you, tongue licking your tears away. she feels your pussy twitch against her, your own fluids squirting on her tummy. she cums quickly after, feeding on your own orgasm.

before mizuki can even say anything, though, you’re passed out, the fever taking its toll on you. she just smiles, and wipes the sweat off of you with a stray towel. she’s a psychologist after all, she knows this is much needed rest for you, so waking you up is out of the question. she slowly dresses you up again, and calls over one of the female employees working at the moment. mizuki just gives her instructions to leave you to rest at your house before discharging her. she hopes you’ll remember her, and not dismiss her as just a character in your dreams.

well, even if you do, she’ll come to visit you. again and again, no matter how much it takes.

[oncasette]

FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!

tasm!peter parker + “i think i’ve been dreaming about you for awhile now. this doesn't feel real.” / “do i feel real?”

over the table, pass the notes

college!tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

summary: 0.5k

"Is it crazy if I say that I've been thinking about kissing you?" he whispers. There it is. It's not going back in. It's like the toothpaste in the anti-bullying speech they got every year in the spring back in high school.

or the one where peter can't hold back his thoughts about you anymore.

notes: sorry for the insanely late upload on this. inspo is a fickle mistress, but i hope you still enjoy!! xx

masterlist

Something in him had broken in the last month. He wasn't sure if it was his brain or his heart or his mind, or if it was simply just his restraint, but Peter Parker couldn't go a minute more without kissing you. It was silly, really. Juvenile, even, the desperation that seeped through his bones every time he saw you sitting across from him and doing the most mundane of things.

Surely you'd caught on at this point. He wasn't exactly subtle about the way he was staring at your lips or the way his eyes would glaze over every time you said his name. Hell, every time you so much as talked to him now. He'd been friends with you for years, why now was it such a task to be normal in front of you. Maybe it was the fact that you were starting to dress nicer for school, or the fact that you stopped sleeping in his bed when you stayed the night. Or maybe it was the fact that he'd finally realized he was in love with you.

"Pete?" you ask, poking his cheek with the eraser end of your pencil. He blinks at you before licking his lips. What was he doing again? "Do you have the answer to number three? I want to see if I did it right."

Oh, right. Chemistry homework.

"Yeah, sure," he says as he slides his notebook your way. He's not sure he even did number three, yet.

"You okay?" you ask, not even looking up from your paper as you check your work against his. Good, he had done number three. "You've been extra weird lately, and that's saying something."

"Who, me? I'm perfect. Great. Perfectly great," he nods.

"You sure? You've been like totally out of it recently," you say before you slide his notebook back in front of him. "You know you can tell me anything."

He nods. The word vomit is bound to appear at sound point, why not now?

"Is it crazy if I say that I've been thinking about kissing you?" he whispers. There it is. It's not going back in. It's like the toothpaste in the anti-bullying speech they got every year in the spring back in high school.

"What?"

"Hm?" he blinks. Shit.

"You've been thinking about kissing me?" you ask. Shit, shit, shit. The toothpaste needs to get right back in that bottle. You slide closer to him, pushing your chairs together until you're knocking knees. The hand cupping his cheek now does nothing for the nerves pulling taut in his gut.

"Maybe," he mumbles. "Maybe not. Depends on what you think about it."

"I think..." you whisper, pressing in so close he can feel your breath against his bottom lip. His eyes roll back. Peter's a bit too eager with the way he closes the distance. A puppy nipping at his new owner's fingers.

This is a dream, surely. He'd fallen asleep at his dining table while doing homework with you and his brain was playing cruel tricks on him. He pulls back with a grunt, his lungs frantically attempting to pull oxygen into his system.

"I think I've been dreaming about this long enough to know that this isn't real," he pants. "Right? You're not real right now."

"Do I feel real?" you ask, and he swears he nearly faints.

Oh, god, this is better than anything his mind could conjure up.

[manikas-whims]

LADS men when you start dating someone, who later on mistreats you

got this idea and wanted to get it out of my system ♡

ZAYNE

❄️ He isn't thrilled by the revelation at all but he won't say it outright because its not his place to tell you who to date or not.

❄️ However, his dislike does show with the way his brows knit together, the flare of his nostrils with every sharp intake of breath or how his lips turn down just slightest every time you bring up this person’s name.

❄️ Every single praise for this person will arouse a sense of self-doubt in him. After all, it's better you date someone like them. Their evol will never put you in danger like Zayne's can. And they would never skip meetings due to their schedule. (Ofc if you could hear his thoughts, you'd immediately shun them from Zayne's mind.)

❄️ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then best believe he'll freeze hell itself if he has to in order to track this person down.

“How dare you do this to Y/N!?” Zayne’s voice is harsh, cold radiating off his arms in dangerous yet controlled wisps.

And it takes you hugging him from behind, your head resting on his back, tears from your eyes soaking into the fabric of his coat, to stop him.

“Zayne, stop. You don't need to hurt yourself.” You mumble into the fabric of his coat, your arms slipping down to entwine your fingers with his chilling ones. You can already see the hint of a fresh scar developing on the back of his hand, and you won't be able to live with yourself if you see him getting hurt because of you dating a horrible person.

The prickly sensation begins dissipating from his hands and despite the scars, the softness returns into his skin. He turns around, drawing you into a hug with one arm. You can still see his chest rising and falling due to how much he'd been exerting himself.

“Fine.” He lets out a deep breath and finally flashes you the rare warm smile he only keeps for you. “Let’s go.”

And the two of you leave together.

XAVIER

⭐ Not that you're supposed to stay in this “will they? won't they?” situationship with your apartment neighbor forever but Xavier is just so jealous. His eyes darken, and his mood becomes sullen at the mere mention of this person.

⭐ Every time you try praising them, Xavier is going to interrupt and nitpick on how "they're always late on dates", "don't even check up on you at work", "give off a shady vibe",...the more he shit-talks about this person, the more ridiculous his words get.

⭐ He definitely gets a little touchy. After all, seeing you with someone else makes him feel as if he isn't as close to you. He makes sure this person sees his hand casually around your waist. And petty as it may seem, he's also deliberately gonna leave his hoodie and his other stuff at your place to remind you of himself.

⭐ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then no amount of prayers will spare this person to see the light of another day.

Xavier happens to see this person trying to approach you once more outside the apartment complex with words that barely sound like an apology. Swift as ever, he steps in front of you.

“You got some nerve showing up here after what you did to Y/N.” He says to them, an edge in his usually gentle voice.

He is as silent and deadly as you've seen him in the throes of battle, cutting down the Wanderers without a hint of mercy in his strikes. And you gulp down the tension in the air.

You know what he's capable of. You can't let him unleash the power of his evol simply because of your ex-partner maltreating you.

You bring your hand out and place it upon his heart, just like you'd done on your first encounter with him. Only this time it's not to resonate your evol with his but to push him back.

You force a smile on your face despite the messy state of your emotions. “Xav, let's grab a bite. I'm craving hotpot.”

His eyes are unflinching, and for a moment you wonder if even the bait of some tasty meat will fail to lure him. But then, a moment later he scoffs at the person and looks down at you, his gaze softening as he does so. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

He wraps his fingers around your hand– the same one that's still resting upon his chest– and pulls you along.

RAFAYEL

🌊 He's jealous but even more than that, he's disappointed in your choice. You can do way better than this. Actually, in his opinion, you are way out of this person's league, and deserve nothing but perfection when it comes to a partner.

🌊 He's quite vocal about his dislike, openly saying how suspicious he finds this person and how if you wanna indulge in wasting your precious time, you'd rather waste it on him.

🌊 He complains how you've changed. How you don't hang-out with him as much and pay less visits to his studio. Seeing you with someone else makes the ache in his heart more agonizing than ever. Rafayel wonders what you see in them? Do they cherish you more than him?

🌊 If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then he won't hesitate from raising the tides of the Whitesand Bay in order to drown them.

You frantically chase after Rafayel as he corners this person. You've never seen this magnitude of fury in his beautiful eyes.

Rafayel grabs them by the front of their shirt, his voice scalding as he smirks in annoyance, “So you've finally shown your true colors to Y/N, huh?”

You can feel the temperature rising just a little, the atmosphere around feeling a lot warmer than before. Your nose catches the whiff of something burning and you realize there's smoke emanating from that person's collar.

It's scary.

Seeing someone who holds even a paintbrush so tenderly act like this. And no, you're not afraid of him for you know Rafayel will never hurt you. You're afraid for this person. You're afraid of what Rafayel is capable of becoming if you let him go on like this.

Cautiously, you wrap your hand around his wrist and free this person from his hold. The fabric of their shirt appears to be slightly charred but there's no harm done otherwise.

“Come on, Rafayel, ” You tug his wrist to pull him to you. “We shouldn't bother with the likes of them.”

He fixes his gaze on the person one last time. “Count yourself lucky Y/N is here! Or else..”

He pries his hand out of your grasp and pats your head. His smile returns, as does the warmth in his eyes and he puts an arm around your waist. “So, where are we going?”

SYLUS VERSION [HERE]

» MASTERLIST «

[day-azevir]

Woag it's slab system time!!

Some basic info; we all know Etho (he/him) whose been around the longest, Logo (it/its) who joined during season 3 a bit after Etho did, and Patho (they/them) who joined during season 6 while still trapped in the jungle

People who know about the slab system: Xisuma, Bdubs, Beef, Doc, Impulse

People who have a hunch: Cub, Ren, Gem, Tango, Hypno

People who don't know: Those not listed. Etho. Patho.

Xisuma found out during a code check after Etho was retrieved from the jungle. Bdubs, Beef, and Doc all gradually figured it out over time (mostly encountering Patho), but chose not to bring it up as Etho seems to get uncomfortable about it. Impulse realized somewhere between season 3 and 4 when Etho wouldn’t remember their interactions half the time (he had been meeting with Logo). He was the first to learn about the system, but because he hadn’t known Etho that long, he wasn’t sure if it would be rude to bring it up and was under the impression that the admins already knew.

Similar to Impulse, Hypno often encounters Logo, but hasn't put everything together himself because “Humans are just so goddam weird.” He knows something’s there, just not quite what (or I should say who). Cub found Etho ‘sleepwalking’ (ie Logo taking a midnight stroll) and took it back to base, to which Logo commented on his situation with the skulk in a totally non-threatening manner before giving the front back to Etho. Etho, who had no recollection of how he got into Cubs base, was unable to give any explanation and left. Cub was not able to sleep for several nights after. Gem and Tango both met Patho when they woke up and ‘tried to escape the jungle’ and nearly ran off the server. The two ended up having to fight them for a bit, but eventually Etho started to wake up and Patho was forced to back off. Tango has been around long enough to believe that there might be a system, but doesn't want to assume. Gem took notice of the different fighting techniques between Etho and Patho, so she made a mental note to look into it later.

Etho has no idea. He usually doesn’t remember when the others front, and when he does just shrugs and brushes it off. ‘Well that was weird and out of character… Time to make tnt :)’ Genuinely oblivious. Things are very similar with Patho in that regard. They don’t front often and so things are often fuzzy and memories feel more like dreams and vice versa - they honestly still think they're in the jungle most of the time and nothing is real. Logo, on the other hand, is very aware of the others. It doesn’t talk much and is a big fan of Minding Its Own Business, but does enjoy hanging out with the voidlings.

But while 2/3 don't know about the others, they still have very fun effects on each other;

As always, open for asks about slab system!

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER ELEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst, allusions to sex, more julian mentions

kalena speakss 🪽! yall will hate me and thank me for this chapter, sorry :(

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut 

“Nuh uh! I’m standing next to Boogers, she was my senior!”

“She was everyone’s senior, she was here for too damn long.” Sarah responds, making the bunch of my former teammates laugh.

I don’t even bother to fight back. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss these girls until I was across the country. Connecticut has become home to me, five years of lessons and friendships that I’ll hold into forever. It’s my first time back in Connecticut since the national championship, and the feeling is unreal.

The amount of UConn jerseys is unreal, cheers each time I checked in, after every shot. It became normal to me, loudest crowds in LA, then Minnesota, and now Connecticut. My third home.

We all stand at center court at Mohegan Sun, all of my former teammates excluding Aubrey who’s in New York and Kaitlyn who’s in San Francisco.

We take the picture and everyone disperses, breaking into a multitude of conversations.

“So, we going out tonight? Like old times?” Ice is beaming at me, a smile fitting her face as she tugs me down with an arm around my neck. 

I chuckle. “I’m too damn old to be showing up at Ted’s again.” I mutter. My shoes squeak against the hardwood with each step I take to get out of her hold.

“No, not Ted’s, a different— that doesn’t matter. You coming? Please?”

I nod, tugging on the gatorade towel that accumulates the sweat around my neck. “Cam’s coming too.”

“Perfect! The more the merrier.”

—

The more the merrier was right.

The club was loud and fucking packed, from athletes to college kids, anyone that you could imagine. My leg bounces along to the music playing while Allie and Azzi talk about God knows what a few feet in front of me. The beer I’m drinking glides down my throat while I look around.

“This place is jumpin’.” I murmur to Caroline next to me.

She nods, the hair that frames her face swinging over her shoulder as she looks at me. “I know. Maybe you can get some play tonight.”

“You think I’m not gettin’ any in LA?” I laugh, taking another swig.

“I know you’re not getting any. I have my sources.”

I roll my eyes, spinning back around in my bar stool for another drink. 

There was definitely enough alcohol in my system. Tequila burning in my chest and a couple beers downed as well. I’m well beyond thinking straight, which to me is fine since we don’t play again for another two days.

“Lemme get a dirty shirley.” I tell the nice bartender who’s probably cringing at my alcohol breath.

“Can I get one of those too? And two shots of vanilla crown, please?”

The voice literally makes me freeze.

I know it well, so well, that I’m not even surprised when I look to my right and Nyla sits there with a smile towards the bartender. I haven’t seen her in what feels like years, even if the last time was in Tampa during the tourney.

She looks good. I mean, she always does. It’s why I let her walk all over me for so long. Why I kept going back no matter how much it hurt.

Nyla wears a blue corset top, it contrasts beautifully with her brown skin and cups her breasts in a way that drags my eyes down to them. Sober, I wouldn’t have paid her any mind. But right now my head is spinning and I can’t help it.

“Good to see you.” She feeds me a tight lipped smile.

I look over my shoulder at Caroline, who is no longer paying any attention to me.

“You look good, Ny.” I say through squinted eyes.

The bartender slides my drink to me over the table, her’s as well. And when Nyla picks up her drink, and her lips purse around the small black straw, my mind immediately goes to Maraye.

I haven’t thought about her in a while, not since she left my apartment. Yet, the second I look at Nyla I think of her. The way her hands, done up with pretty french tips, would wrap around the glass cup. Or the way she smiled at me when I bought her a drink that night in Atlanta.

I turn away, feeling the wood of the bar dug into my back as I watch Allie, and now Cameron and Caroline. They’re inebriated, definitely more than me, and dancing freely to Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. 

“You don’t wanna talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Nyla.” The statement navigates through the air, and the second it reaches her ears she huffs.

“You’ve never been good at talking about things.” Nyla laughs.

I’m quick to scoff and take another hefty gulp of my shirley. “I’ve always been good at that. You just don’t seem to listen to me.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence, her heal taps against the tiled floor in a rhythm I wish would stop.

“We should talk, P. About Tampa, about everything. You ghosted me the morning after.”

“And you ghosted me after I told you I had feelings for you.” I returned. “It was forever ago, Nyla. Move on.”

I see her down one of her shots before slamming the small glass down on the counter. She takes in a sharp breath of air, swiveling in her chair to look at me. Nyla’s upset. 

So many months of me getting angry, then realizing how badly I need her, then going right back. Countless times spent having sex with her rather than realizing how much I was letting myself go by just being around her.

She ruined me, and now that I’m not falling for it, she’s upset.

“Why’re you being such an ass about this?” She yells, the music drowns out the noise but I can still make out the bass in her voice. “It’s that bitch in LA, huh? That’s why you can’t talk to me?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” I snap almost instantly.

It’s too often that I forget that Maraye and I aren’t the only two people in the world. That everyone around us still sees the way we look at each other or act around one another. 

We co-exist with everyone else. They are also affected by the shit we do. The things we say.

The way we kiss each other.

“Oh so she is your girlfriend?”

“You’on’t get to be mad about shit. I’m setting boundaries with you.” I say, refusing to bring Raye’s name up again and make things worse. I care about Maraye, obviously, and if I had to hear a girl who literally ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it repeatedly call her out of her name again, I might get suspended.

I finish what’s left of my vodka filled drink, mouth tasting of grenadine and tingling faintly from the sprite. 

“I want you, P. Y’know that.” Nyla hums. She’s so damn sadistic. She knows the exact way to get under my skin all the while turning my brain to mush for her.

“No you don’t.” I scoff. “You don’t know what you want, Ny. That’s why I ended all this shit.” 

This conversation is entirely reminiscent of the one I had with Raye earlier this week. Which makes me think that she didn’t do anything about the pressing Julian-situation.

Then I’m getting angry all over again. Pissed off that not only is the girl that I want is probably at home pillow talking her boyfriend, but that the girl I once was fucking helpless over is sitting in front of me telling me everything I want to hear from her. Not her–Nyla, her–Maraye.

Even though I have on shorts and t-shirt, my body still feels like I’m on fire as if I was wearing a full snow suit. The alcohol and combined anger has my brain running in laps, from Maraye to Nyla to the fucking flight I have to be on time for in the morning.

And it’s hard to keep it all intact with the way Nyla fucking looks at me. Like she hates me but there’s still a glint in her eye that reminds me of the first time we met. When I saw her in the stands sophomore year, her hair was short and brown with blonde streaks. She was everything then.

“Paige.”

“No, Nyla.”

But now, I don't even recognize her. Her voice sounds like a fever dream, or a fragment of my imagination.

“I can fix this.”

Her hand rests on my knee. I should jump or push her away but I just stare at it like an idiot.

My legs spread apart subconsciously, welcoming her between them. And I am an idiot, allowing her to stand in this place that I have decided belongs to Maraye. 

“Lemme fix it, P. Like old times.”

We’re at eye level like this. Her hand trailing up my thigh and to my shoulder. I need to push her away. Tell her to get off me, and then head back to the hotel. By myself.

But I can’t.

For whatever damn reason. I can’t.

—

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

I rock awkwardly on my heels, bottom lip tucked between my teeth so tight it might bleed.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest while I wait for the door to swing open. I can hear the hum of the air conditioning system blow through the hallway and the sound of my breaths coming out heavy and ragged.

The lock click echos when the door finally does pull open and there he stands. Hand stuffed in the pocket of his black dress pants. 

It’s crazy, that just months ago I was head over heels over this man. The sight of him like this would’ve sent me into orbit, but now it’s like he’s just here. Just another person in my world.

“We need to talk.” I stutter, eyes glued to him.

“Yeah.” Julian responds, turning around and walking into his apartment. He doesn’t close the door, leaving it open for me to follow him, I do so not forgetting to lock it behind me. 

“This needa be quick. I got a meeting.” He murmurs as we approach his bedroom. 

I haven’t been here in forever, and that’s totally and completely my own fault. I’ve been so damn avoidant. Sure I was always working, but I made time in my day to go see Paige or Rickea or my sister. But with Julian I just chose not to.

“That’s fine.” I say. “We uh, Ion think this is working, Ju.”

He hums, nodding and throwing on a button up shirt over his wife beater shirt.

I don’t even think he’s surprised, more content with the result. Like he expected this the second I rang his doorbell. Maybe even earlier than that.

“Damn.” It’s not a disappointing damn, quite the opposite actually.

“I’m sorry. I just— I can’t give you what you want. We’re one opposite ends of life right now, and I don’t wanna hurt you. Really.”

I don’t know how much is the truth and how much is meant to be a lie to get him to not talk about our last argument. I know I can’t give him what he needs, it’s not because of my alleged time management struggles. 

My heart wasn’t in it. Even if it wasn’t for Paige, I’d be calling it quits because I’m not into him the way I should be. She taught me that. The lengths I’d go to for someone I had feelings for, I simply don’t think I could do for him.

“That’s it? Y’just can’t make time for me?”

I huff at the undertone of his voice.

“Nah, this isn’t me arguing. You really think that?”

I nod. “Among other things, yes.” I can’t look at him. Because even though I think he doesn’t, Julian knows me well. He knows my tells and the way I react under pressure. “You deserve better than me, Julian.”

His cologne burns through the air when he sprits it out across his skin. I’m sure that the second I leave, that damned scent would be ingrained into my mind forever, I’d never forget it.

“And this has nothing to do with her?” 

Julian doesn’t look away from me for a second, staring holes into my soul that make me feel naked. My hands sweat, and I stuff them in the back pockets of my jeans.

I’d be dumb to stand here and keep lying. I’m already an idiot for thinking that everything would be peaches and cream after this. So I take a breath of air, which basically confirms any doubts Julian has running in his head.

“I— Ju.”

“I fuckin’ knew it. You sleepin’ with her?”

“No. No, Ju. She just— it’s so easy to be myself around her, and I feel like I'm always fighting to be myself with you.” I explain, partially trying to save my ass. “I dunno.”

“So that’s it. You cheat on me and think shit just gonna work out with her?”

“All I can control is this. We aren’t working, so we’re breaking up. That’s it, Julian.” I say, fully aware of how disgusted he looks with me right now.

Never in a million years did I think this shit could happen to me. I’m so conflicted, I don’t deserve whatever happy ending may come with Paige. I don’t deserve his forgiveness either, that’s for damn sure.

“Whatever.” Julian shrugs, walking out of the room with his shoes in hand. I follow behind him, trying to meditate the situation any way I can. It doesn’t work, as I expected.

He trots to the door, unlocking it again and pulling it open. He stands in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. His height looms over me as he waits.

Words form on my tongue and instantly die there. I shut my mouth, slipping through the corridor and hearing it slam behind me.

And for a brief second, I feel good. Like everything is going the way it’s supposed to.

Then the reality of it all hits me, and I feel like I want to run into a wall.

—

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut

My heartbeat rings in my ears while I make an attempt to catch my breath. 

Nyla lays next to me, sweaty and naked, and months ago I would’ve been completely enamored by the sight. But now I’m just fucking disgusted.

She’s gorgeous, always has been. That’s not the issue.

The issue is her lips don’t taste like that vanilla sweet cream I would always taste after being with Raye. It’s almost bitter, just pure alcohol.

I eagerly throw my legs off the side of the bed. We’re at her apartment, not too far from my hotel. I feel her stare into my back, piercing through me and suddenly I’m well aware of my own nakedness. I toss my bra followed by my shirt over my head before picking up my boxers and putting them on too. The bed shifts, dipping slightly before I feel her hand on my arms.

The events of the last hour have sobered me up tremendously, her hands that once were burning hot to the touch are suddenly freezing. Almost dead.

“Where you goin’?” Nyla asks. Her voice is raspy from the screaming of my name. It should make me feel good, as it always seems to no matter who I’m with.

This time it doesn’t.

I shrug her off of me standing up from the bed and searching for the rest of my clothes. My shorts, socks, shoes all scattered somewhere. I threw the hair tie that kept my hair in a ponytail somewhere too, and Nyla was definitely crazy enough to use it to make a clone of myself.

“Paige, I said—”

“I heard what you said. I’m getttin’ the fuck outta here.”

“You’re not doing this shit again.” She grumbles, pulling on her panties and trying to chase after me. Nyla grabs my arm as she spins me around, looking up at me while I stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid her tits in my face.

“This was a mistake.” I explain, pushing her off of me and finally putting on my shorts. My shoes follow. “You and me are fuckin’ done. Ion know how many times I gotta say that for it to click in your damn head.”

“‘Cause you say shit like that and then come crawling right back!” She’s yelling now, and I can only imagine how irritated her neighbors have become with us. “You wanna act like you didn’t just fuck me? Or that you didn’t tell me you missed me.”

“I’m fucking drunk! That’s the only reason why I do any of this shit with you.” I yell, back. “Ion want shit to do with you, Nyla. I’m moving on.”

“Moving onto that ho, in LA? Is she better than me?”

“You got one more fuckin’ time to—” I cut myself off with a heavy breath, shaking my head and grabbing the rest of my belongings off her nightstand. “Get over it. We’re done. This is never, and I mean never, fuckin’ happening again.” I muse. I’m quick to rush out of the apartment, phone in hand, while I shut the door.

I feel dirty. Like I just committed a fucking felony and was on the run. 

The cool air finally hits me like a breath of fresh air when I finally touch the streets. My hotel wasn’t far, a block, maybe more, away.

I’m ashamed of myself, for going back to Nyla and falling for her dumbass words as if they meant something. They never did. 

Then it hits me.

Maraye.

I nearly stop in the middle of the street before picking up my pace and walking into the hotel building.

God knows what decision she’s made. She could be with Julian right now telling him everything he wants to hear. Or she could be waiting for me. To call her, to text her, to tell her that I miss her.

And believe it or not, I do. I fucking miss her crazy. Her voice and those gorgeous fucking eyes. The way she listens to me like I’m the only person left on Earth, like it’s just me and her. I miss her smell, the Chanel no.5 combined with some vanilla body spray that she almost always seemed to have on, that permanently left its mark on my nose and my soul. Everything about her being, I miss it like crazy.

I’m in the elevator, the hum of the gears and the corny ass elevator music that plays only leaves me with my thoughts. Feelings of disparity and fucking anger.

How could I be so stupid. All it took was a few drinks and a fucking glare and now I’ve made arguably the biggest mistake of my life.

My phone starts ringing when I pull out my key card. I stand in the hallway, flipping the device over and staring at it.

Her name, in bright and bold font with the anatomical heart emoji next to it. It’s so intimate, an emoji that I think I’ve only ever used in correspondence with her. The picture is recent, I changed it after she left my place that night. It’s the two of us seated on my couch, her head resting on my shoulder with her lips in that cute pout she does in almost all her photos. My eyes are red from sleep but I still keep a nose-scrunched smile on my face.

I catch myself just standing there, looking at her looking at me until the call goes to voicemail.

I’m glad that it does, because I know that if I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice as she talks I might break down.

I unlock the door, kicking my shoes off the minute the door closes. I rest my back against it, head tossed onto the white painted portal. 

Then my phone buzzes again.

i miss you. call me in the morning k?

I fucked up. Fucked it all up.

[twilightsumu]

how to create a love story | k. akaashi

chapter three: maybe he smells you through the screen?

synopsis: yn finds akaashi and sends him a follow. atsumu buys a hard hat off SHEIN. kenma (with the help of kuroo) and oikawa unknowingly play against each other in a dti sever.

warning/genre: smau, modern au, kms joke, yn has ibs :/, talks of violence (nothing serious i promise lol), taxes

a/n: #ibswarrior

“and when you find this akaashi person, who i believe is a little bit of a creep if i may add,” atsumu is standing outside your front door with a drill and the new security system that came in. “… you’re going to do what exactly?” 

kiyoomi is sitting next to you on the couch as you stroll through your secret mission on twitter. you could feel omi’s annoyance and when you look up to him and see that his eyebrows are raised and his fist clenched on his thighs, you already knew.

“we’re so not getting our security deposit back,” he mutters as you both watch atsumu assault the front door. “if you’re going to be late with your portion of the rent, why didn’t you just pay the extra to have the company set it up?” he says a little louder. 

“because i am a,” he stops what he is doing and points the drill at you two, “a man.” he adds air quotation marks on the last word. 

“so… are you one or not?” you ask, going back to your phone to look for a certain someone. 

“he’s a fucking moron,” kiyoomi mutters. 

“okay enough of the gender studies lecture,” atsumu yells over the drill, the splintering of the wood from our doorframe is just as loud. “what are you going to do when you find this akaashi?” 

“not bring him here. i don’t need anyone sketching me,” kiyoomi says, you feel him shift on the couch turning away from watching atsumu helping us kiss our security deposit away. 

“well, you know i have been wanting to create a manga..” 

you look up from your search when you hear the drill stop and no snarky comment following the silence. they both just stare at you. atsumu with a drill in his hand and kiyoomi with a raised eyebrow and bored look. 

“anyways, i have been wanting to find someone who’ll do the art and i would do the story, obviously,” you shrug. “i never wanted to be a publisher, it just happened because i couldn’t do this.”

“so the creepy sketch of you fits in where?” atsumu says, turning his attention to the single paper of instruction the security system came with. 

“why not just go to the local college and take drawing classes?” kiyoomi adds. 

“well akaashi’s sketch is great and closer to anything i ever envisioned for the art style i would want for my manga. no amount of classes could help me draw as well as he did in that sketch,” atsumu moves into the house, drill in hand and a look of confusion on his face. 

kiyoomi and you ignore him. 

“so my plan is to find him and ask to work with me to create something.” you finish. 

“and when he says no?” kiyoomi says, rolling his eyes when atsumu barges back into the hallway to take a look at the front door. 

“why would he say no?” 

“also, you saw one sketch,” atsumu tells from outside, the drill starting again. 

“nope, his friend, that bo guy posts all of his drawings,” you shrug. you were searching through bokuto’s twitter media to see if he has any pictures where he tagged this mysterious akaashi. 

“so… you haven’t checked his friend’s following for an akaashi?” atsumu bellows and you almost feel stupid how it slipped your mind to check the literal following list. 

“wow atsumu, what the hell do you think im doing?” you run to bokuto’s following and start swiping through. 

@/kenma

@/kurooh

@/hinatashoyo

@/bigstepperbo

@/taxes4you

@/taxeshelp

@/taxesworkshop

@/axebodyspray

@/levhiba

@/kakaashi

“WAIT I THINK FOUND HIM! K AKAASHI!!” you click on the last user and you’re met with a private account, but with much squinting to your phone… the icon of this so called akaashi made some butterflies erupt in your stomach. he was cute, really cute. totally does not look like a stalker who wears a trench coat and fedora and follows you from your morning gym class to the train. 

“…but he’s private,” you instantly click on the request button. a little excitement running through your body. it felt as if you just sent your college application in again for the first time. 

“mhm so the creep vibe has swapped,” kiyoomi sighs, reaching for his phone on the table in front of us. 

“when he follows you back, tell him he needs to pay for this security system,” atsumu blurted over the drill. you shook your head, a slight headache coming in from the constant drilling. “also kiyoomi order pizza for dinner please please.”

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