#I say this knowing full and well I’m recounting something from maybe last month

[knight-rider-fan-2000]

Mutuality

Summary: Kitt freezes during situations that Michael is sure an AI touted to be smarter than he is shouldn't be freezing in. Michael takes this complaint to Bonnie and eventually to Kitt himself.

(Takes place early season 1)

Word count: 1774

“Bonnie, could you take a look at Kitt’s. . . I don’t know, situational awareness?”

Bonnie gave Michael a rather strange look and stood up from her chair. The debrief was over anyway, (Devon having just left), so it would make sense for her to be leaving, but the timing still felt threatening.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Oh, just uh, something out during the last mission.”

“Like what?”

Okay, so maybe he’d skimped the full extent of the danger during his recount of mission events. “Well, you see, Kitt and I ended up off the roadway. We were racing towards certain doom for me and he seemed to. . . freeze up. I’m lucky I thought of a way to stop our momentum before we reached the cliffside. Isn’t he programmed to protect me from accidents?”

“A cliffside? How steep was the incline down to it?”

“Steep, trust me.”

“Too steep for the brakes?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“And you’re saying that Kitt wasn’t responding?”

“Well, he was, but he was only saying things like ‘look at that cliff’ and ‘that fall will kill you’. Real helpful stuff!” Michael snapped. “You said this car would protect me and he has so far, but if this kinda thing keeps up, I can’t be so sure anymore. So fix him, would you?”

Bonnie let her mouth fall open, before fixing her expression into a glare. “First of all, don’t use that tone with me.”

“Well sorry, but when my life is on the line-!”

“Second of all, you don’t know the full story, so before you go blaming Kitt for not being omniscient, why don’t you think long and hard about how you can prevent yourself from hurtling off cliffs in the future!”

Bonnie stormed from the office. Michael didn’t follow. Instead, he lingered around the main office. He’d already been settled into this new job for a few months now, but the mansion still held many surprises and interesting choices of decor. Not that he was that interested in furniture, but it was better than following too close to the fuming mechanic.

Eventually, though, his comm beeped. He answered it.

“Michael, could you come down to the garage for a moment?” Kitt’s voice came through.

“Is Bonnie asking for me?” 

“No, Bonnie isn’t here right now, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Michael ended the call. He paused for a good, long moment before he made his way to the main garage. Sure enough, Kitt was telling the truth. Bonnie was gone, leaving Kitt sitting alone, glimmering under the harsh ceiling lights.

“There you are. There’s a chair on the left for you, or you can sit inside my cabin. Whichever you prefer.” Kitt greeted him.

Michael forgot his anger for a moment and almost snorted at the idea of the chair. He shook his head and gestured to the driver door. Kitt opened it without a word and Michael slid in.

“Bonnie told me that you needed to be informed in greater detail of my abilities, specifically my processing capabilities, but first I wanted to apologize.”

Kitt’s interior lights were dimmed somehow, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. Either way, it made him feel guilty in a way that he didn’t understand. He found the button for controlling the dash lights and adjusted the interior back to its usual glow. 

“Apologize for what?”

“I’d been meaning to apologize ever since the incident, I just wasn’t sure how. I wasn’t sure how angry you would be and I was hoping that if I didn’t mention it, you would forget about it. You haven’t. Most dangers in your life you seem to ignore, but this one has rattled you more than you let on.” 

“We were hurtling off a cliff and you didn’t do a thing about it.”

“Which leads me into this discussion,” Kitt’s interior lights dimmed me again, “about my capabilities.”

“Did Bonnie fix you up?”

“There was nothing to fix. I’m operating exactly as I was intended to. Therein lies the problem. I’ll try not to get too technical, but Bonnie and I believe that helping you understand how it is that I operate will prevent further misunderstandings on missions.”

“So she put you up to this. She couldn’t even chew me out herself?”

“No, I was the one who suggested the idea.” Kitt said forcefully. “Bonnie did want to ‘chew you out’, as you say, but I didn’t want her to. You’re perfectly within reason for being upset at me and you deserve to know why. May I explain?”

Michael blinked once at the center console. In all their time together so far, Kitt never conceded to anything, at least never without significant arguing or teasing. After a few more moments of silence, he realized Kitt was waiting for his approval. He nodded.

Kitt wasted no time. “My operating system is heavily reliant on something called advanced machine learning. In essence, it allows me to learn from experience, similar to how a human would. It also allows me to react to situations outside of any programmed parameters, drawing on any relevant prior experiences to make the correct judgment.”

“Okay, yeah, you think like a human. Got it.” He nodded again.

“No, I don’t.” Kitt contradicted. “I think like a computer, because I am a computer. Such a learning matrix simply allows me to be constantly rewriting myself to fit with the situation at hand.”

“Sounds busy.” Michael cracked an attempt to lighten the mood, but Kitt did not seem to register his comment at all.

“Michael, I draw from previous experience and current inputs in order to make decisions. If one of those two things are lacking, then. . .”

Kitt’s voice faded out, something which disturbed Michael. He fought to suppress a shiver, and, before he knew it, he put a hand on the steering wheel.

“If one of those two things are lacking,” Kitt started again, “I can’t effectively respond to the situation at hand. I’m compromised. That’s what happened on our way to the cliffside the other day.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. He’d always known that he was the better one at improvisation, and that Kitt was a horrible guesser sometimes, but this. . . this didn’t seem right.

“I’m programmed with a variety of parameters to which I can rely on in a dangerous situation, but like any other computer, I’m limited to the oversight of my programmer in those scenarios.” Kitt’s voice tried to regain a more clinical tone, but it still grew quieter in volume. 

“. . . I see.” 

“I’ve gotten Bonnie to print out a manual that further details the exacts of my automated responses. I want you to read it so you know how I will respond in certain scenarios. Being prepared for my-”

“Kitt, I know you.” Michael interrupted. 

The AI was silent for a moment. “Knowing how I operate will-”

Michael couldn’t place it, but the way Kitt was talking about himself as if he was just another computer was just flat-out incorrect, so he spat, “No, I know you!”

Kitt’s voice modulator froze mid-flash before resuming its normal resting position. Michael put his other hand on the steering wheel and grasped it firmly.

“I don’t need to read about you in some manual,” he sighed, “because I know you. You’re my car. And now that we’ve had this little chat, I know a little bit more, so I’ll be prepared for next time.”

“But Michael, I don’t understand. My limitations put you in danger. Surely you’d want to know of all the other circumstances where my behavior could threaten your well-being?”

The words hurt worse than a well-placed gut punch, and Michael suddenly realized how stupid he’d been.

“You’re not a threat to me. If anything, my own human stupidity puts us in danger more than anything.” Michael lowered his hands from the steering wheel. “And just because you think a different way doesn’t mean it’s bad, or putting me in danger, or anything.”

“Go on.”

“I mean, you understand things and do things that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s the same for you then, right?”

“Correct, but-”

“Then it isn’t fair to ask you to be like I am. You’ve had to catch up on all my ‘human’ stuff; who’s to say I can’t adapt to all your. . .” Michael vaguely gestured to Kitt’s dashboard, “this.”

“Is that feasible? I mean, you’re certainly not my technician.”

“Partners cover each others’ weaknesses.” The assertion spilled out of Michael’s mouth before he even had a chance to think about it.

“I’m not supposed to have any.”

“Hey, I have to stay useful somehow.”

“I never meant to imply you weren’t.”

“Good! I’d have started to feel real out-classed if you did.” Michael patted the dashboard. “You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. Good chat?”

Kitt hummed. “Yes, Michael. ‘Good chat’.”

Michael smiled. He reached for the door handle, but before he could grab it the door opened the perfect amount to allow him to slide out. At some point, Kitt has learned his preference. Michael now wondered if there were little things about Kitt that he could learn in return. They were partners, after all, even if the idea of being partnered with a car still sat somewhat awkward in his head.

He paused in the doorway out of the garage and looked back at the black Trans Am. The molecular something-or-another bounced the light right off of its surface, but if he squinted he could perhaps see a bit of a smudge just off the hood.

“Say, you like getting waxed, right? Do cars like wax?”

“I don’t need such care. My molecular-bonded shell will never get a scratch.”

“Didn’t answer my question. Would you like it?”

“Can’t say. As I said, I’ve never needed such care. Though I suppose having such attention directed at my bodywork couldn’t be a bad thing.”

Michael shrugged, before turning back into the garage. “Let’s find out.”

—

Thirty minutes in, Bonnie entered the garage. She lost any huff she had about her. She jokingly scoffed at the rag he was holding, handed him a buffer that had been tucked away on one of the back shelves, and left.

Two hours later, Kitt emerged from the garage almost unbearably shiny. Michael had thought it impossible for a car to preen in sunlight, but Kitt was sure managing to make it seem that way. Was that overly imaginative? Maybe not.

“Now, let’s make sure to not go hurtling off any more cliffs, huh, partner?” Michael said.

“Partner. I do like how that sounds.”

“Me too. Me too.”

[collecting-stories]

Idiot - Finn Shelby

Request: Hey I don’t know if you still write for Peaky Blinders but I’d absolutely love if you could do a Finn fic where Michael tries to flirt with the reader (she’s like super not into it) and Finn gets super protective. I love your writing so much, I’ve been binge reading them! 💗💗

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You couldn’t fight the urge to roll your eyes as Michael continued along recounting his latest exploits for the Shelby’s. The night was meant to be fun, a celebration at the London club filled with drinking and dancing, but so far you’d been trapped by Michael at a corner booth, hearing his life story mapped out for you as you tried desperately to catch the eye of the young man at the bar counter who’d arrived a little later than his brothers. 

Since midsummer, when he let you take him to see a play he’d never heard of down at the theatre near St. Paul’s, you and Finn Shelby had been going steady. Much of his life was still tied up in Birmingham but he made a few more visits a month that usual and spent all of them staying at your room, sneaking in at night because the woman who boarded the home didn’t allow men inside. 

There was something about Finn, as silly and cliched as it made you sound to admit it, that was different from his brothers. A softness they didn’t possess anymore, a light to his eyes that reminded you a lot of when you were a kid and someone would tell you something you’d never heard before. It was always as if he was experiencing everything for the first time and really savoring it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t as tough as his brothers were, on the contrary you thought Finn Shelby could be just as intimidating as the rest of the Peaky Blinders when he wanted to be. You’d seen that intimidation first hand when people had been cross with you at work and he’d been around.  

You were hoping for a little bit of it now, as you signaled to him, hoping he’d get the message and save you from his cousin. There wasn’t anything really wrong with Michael but there wasn’t much right about him either. He was full of himself, you knew that before he’d even sat down to chat tonight, and he didn’t know how to take a hint. Even if that hint was more of a glaringly obvious sign being flashed in his face.  

“That’s all well and good Michael but I really do need to be working,” you insisted, still trapped in the booth. You didn’t really need to be working. Finn was there and it was a party which meant you were less an employee of the Shelby brothers and more a guest.  

“Nonsense,” Michael shook his head like it was the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard you say.

“What’s it then Michael?” Finn asked, coming up beside the booth, his hand going down on his cousin’s shoulder in a way that was meant to look friendly but to be intimidating. You thought Michael looked peeved by the interruption and curious about the hand on his shoulder. “Harassing the staff?”

“Hardly. I was telling her about last weekend, out at the races.” He replied, grinning at you. “You ever been to a race love.”

“Can’t say I have.” You replied, “though the boy I’m going with keeps promising to take me.” Your eyes flicked up to Finn’s and he smiled.  

“Maybe he’s tried, maybe your just too busy on the weekends.” Finn said. He let go of Michael’s shoulder and moved around to the other side of the booth, sliding around so he was sitting next to you. He stretched his arm out behind your back, practically pushing Michael out of the way.  

“Doesn’t sound like the sort you should be going around with then,” Michael mentioned, lighting up another cigarette. “I know I’d certainly never spend a weekend all alone here, sweet talking drunk idiots.”

“I have to admit, I’m quite partial to him...besides, I’ve been sweet talking you most of the night so I’m not sure you should be so quick to complain.” You replied, downing the last of your gin.  

“Are you calling me a drunk idiot?” Michael laughed.

“Sounds that way it to me,” Finn mused, taking his cigarette case out of his jacket pocket and flipping it open. You took two cigarettes out, lighting both of them and held one up to Finn. He tilted his head down, lips brushing your fingers as he closed his mouth around the end of the cigarette. You smiled as you watched him, blowing smoke in his face.  

Michael shifted closer to you in the booth, “what do you say we not waste the night, have a dance?” He asked, looking to the middle of the club where people were dancing before looking back at you.  

“You really are an idiot Michael, you know that?” You chided, laughing.  

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what she said,” Finn replied, smoke seeping out of his mouth as he spoke, “you’re an idiot. Why don’t you find someone else to bother and leave my girl alone?”

“Finn’s who you’ve been going with?” Michael asked, more shocked than anything, staring at the two of you.  

“I can hardly believe it myself,” you joked, looking back at Finn with a knowing smile on your face.  

Finn rolled his eyes at you before glancing at his cousin, nodding his head in the direction of the bar as if to wordlessly tell Michael to beat it. You were sure that there weren’t too many times in Finn’s life that he’d had the pleasure of telling Michael off and you could tell he was savoring this one. Especially when Michael slowly slid out of the booth, looking back at you one more time as he moved on to find someone else to chat up.  

[iiraven]

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines​ for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride​ for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god. 

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.  

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began. 

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.  

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.  

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even. 

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear. 

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close. 

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine. 

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you. 

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies. 

[ditttiii]

gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch? 

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten. 

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa​ who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever. 

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere​ @papillonsgf​ @birbdae​ & @unoriginal-username15432​. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo​ & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive​​ their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria​.  this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub​ january monthly project. 

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

 The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

 "What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

 "What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen. 

 "Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

 Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you. 

 It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

 It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

 You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

 The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

 "You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

 "I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

 Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

 He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

 "God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

 The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

 The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis. 

 "I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong. 

  "Huh?"

 His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

 "Why?" You rasp out. 

  Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope. 

 Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping. 

 "Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall. 

 "Don't play games with me." 

 A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

 "What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail. 

 Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts. 

 It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

 Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud. 

 Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

 You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow? 

 "I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse. 

 "I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two. 

 "But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

 "But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

 "I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

 Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

 Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

 "No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

 Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't." 

 Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness. 

 "Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas. 

 "Don't do this to me. To us."  

 "You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

 "No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw. 

 "I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso. 

 It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

 Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart. 

 Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek. 

 The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

 His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

 "I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

 His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

 "Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

 Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah." 

 When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

 Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide. 

 "You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen." 

 His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck." 

 Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh— 

 His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is. 

 When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity? 

 But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin. 

 He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung. 

 It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for. 

 His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona." 

 Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands. 

 You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

 The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly. 

 Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are. 

 Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go. 

 The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does. 

 You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it. 

 With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high. 

 Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness. 

 The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going. 

 One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again. 

 Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last. 

 Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more. 

 Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

[ynscrazylife]

Hey !! i love ur writing style <3 i wanted to ask you if you could write a loki x reader where the reader and loki have been best friends for a long time now and after he faked his death in tdw he knocks on their door and the reader and loki have an argument and then they kiss?? maybe like the scene in crimson peak “you lied to me” “i did” “you told me you loved me” “i do” smth similar? :)

The Greatest Deception | loki angst fluff fic

Summary: After Loki reveals himself to be alive, Y/N has some choice words to say. Loki has a question.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! Also, I want to say that I fully support and acknowledge that Loki is genderfluid. Seeing as this fic was requested with Loki having he/him pronouns, I will use those pronouns. (Also, I didn’t know which pronouns you wanted me to write since you mentioned they for the reader but typically I use she/her, so lemme know if you want that edited)

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist 

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“Lady Y/N?”

The voice was muffled through the door and the one in question rolled from her side and onto her stomach as she laid in her bed. A low groan emitted from the creature whose limbs were tangled in the blanket and sheets.

. . .

“Lady Y/N?”

A short knock-knock accompanied the repeating words, and Y/N had a feeling of that the lovely woman who she’d love to talk to at any other time wouldn’t stop until she replied.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, smoothed over her unruly hair, and finally pulled the covers up so her pajamas wouldn’t be seen and called out, “Come in!”

The woman opened the door and sent her a sheepish smile. “The All-Father has requested your present, ma’am,” she informed her.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Do you know the reason as to why?” She quizzed.

The woman spared a quick, darting glance at Y/N’s window. “Well, the All-Father has requested all of the palace’s royals and higher-ups to gather in the courtyard. He is gathering local citizens for a, ah, play, and more would like, in this words, his ‘most esteemed confidants to enjoy,’,” she answered, subtly bouncing her weight from one foot to the other.

Y/N thought for a moment. This was the first time she was hearing that the King was holding a play — not to mention, the fact that the last play (if you could even call it that, because by Heimdall’s recounting it was horrific) was held before any of the children of Odin were born.

Just thinking about that caused a twinge to hit her stomach and for it to twist up. Loki. Odin’s youngest child and the one that had most recently left her, as he sacrificed herself to save his vaillant brother, Prince Thor. It had been weeks, maybe even a month, since Y/N had heard the news and had been resorted to a lonely, saddened version of herself. Loki was her best friend, the person she trusted more than anything and—no, no, who was she kidding? He’s more than that, and he deserves to be remembered as more than that by her.

He’s also the one that she loves, and has loved for at least the past year when she realized it.

Nonetheless, she had taken many steps to get through the grief of Loki’s dead — as had his father — and she wasn’t going to let all her hard work crumble down on one, singular thought.

“Very well, then. Please inform the All-Father that I will be there shortly, thank you,” she said.

The woman nodded and bowed her head before exiting.

Once the door had been fully shut and she could hear footsteps no more, Y/N crossed over to her window and drew back the curtains, not having missed the look at said window.

The sunlight poured into her room but the stage was indeed sent. Rows of fine chairs sat with rows of fine people in them. In front, Odin stood with a red curtain drawn closed behind him. His arms were gesturing wildly and he had a big grin on his face as he gave his speech.

Despite the curiosity that itched into Y/N’s face, she pushed it aside. She had never seen the King conduct himself in such ways, but alas, everyone grieved differently. So, she closed the curtains and got dressed for the day ahead.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The moment Y/N stepped outside, she could’ve sworn that there was already long beads of sweat trailing down her skin. She let out a huff but journeyed on towards the courtyard, as this formal royal wear was necessary and she had no intention of pissing off Sir Snotty-Dickhead — as she called him (he had some fancy and long name she couldn’t remember, in her defense) — who was Odin’s right hand man.

By the time she got there, Odin was still rambling on with his speech, but his sudden notice of Y/N saved the guests from boredom.

“Aha, the guest of honor! Lady Y/N, herself,” Odin announced, bringing his hands together in a clap and gesturing for her to come toward him.

She betrayed herself and her cheeks involuntarily reddened as all eyes laid on her. She approached Odin and curtsied out of respect, but her mind was full of wonderings of why she, of all, would be singled out.

“I’m sure you all know who Lady Y/N is, yes?” He began, briefly pausing before continuing. “If you sadly do not, let me tell you. Lady Y/N had been a friend of the royal family, specifically my child, Loki’s—” the name caused her to suck in a sharp breath, “—and she was granted the title of Lady to uphold the image of the palace and to complete very important Asgardian duties.”

Once he stopped talking and the crowd clapped politely, Y/N took the opportunity she was presented before it’s door could close and quickly went and sat in her seat, the only seat not occupied yet, in the front row.

Odin then began speaking against whilst he walked to the side, “Speaking of my dear child Loki, this play that has been put together is one designed to honor him and his heroic sacrifice. Without further ado . . . ” He let his words trail off, and the red curtain pulled open.

Y/N’s face contorted into surprise at the words, not expecting this to take place. Again, she reminded herself, everyone grieved differently, so she decided to give it a chance. However, as the play went on, she was quick to realize that honoring Loki wasn’t the intention here. The horrid acting could be excused but Odin himself allowing this mockery of how Loki died? Of how he sacrificed himself? Well, with every second that passed, her face heated more and more — and not due to the sweat — and she grit her teeth, just barely refraining from yelling.

The worst part for her came though when the actor who played Loki did a dramatic reenactment of his sacrificed and the actor who played Thor did the worst fake crying ever. Y/N turned to the others, expecting them to be just as enraged as she was, but was floored to find that no—they were laughing. And not just that, but Odin was having himself a chuckle as well!

Her fingers tightly gripped the edges of her chair and she forced herself to look straight ahead, just about able to hold in her tears until the play was over and the actors bowed.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Afterwards, while everyone was standing and giving Odin rounds and rounds of praises, Y/N stayed rooted in her seat. She couldn’t just let this go by as if it were nothing, but she was struggling to compose herself to confront him.

After a couple minutes of going back-and-forth, she decided, screw composure. She didn’t have to be composed. She was allowed to be angry.

So, she stood up and marched straight for him.

“All-Father,” Y/N said through grit teeth, forcing herself to curtesy, “I request your company in private, if I may.”

It took Odin a moment to tear himself away from accepting his latest comment, but the way he quickly glanced over at Y/N, she knew that he had not noticed — or perhaps he did not care — the state she was in.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N, but should I depart now, I fear I shall upset my comrades!” Odin said, ending his comment in a boastful joy, which resulted in laughter and cheers.

He didn’t wait for her response before engaging in another conversation, and Y/N’s lips remained tightly shut until she decided to just go forth and let her stuffed-up emotions out.

“Fine. I will say it in front of everyone, then!” She said, firmly and loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. “That was a pathetic excuse to remember Loki . . . It was an insult! You mocked him, your own child! How could you even— I . . . I just don’t understand . . . He sacrificed himself for your son and for Asgard and this is how you repay him? God. I expected much, much more from you for him because I . . . Let’s just say that we both love Loki, in our own ways, and I-I . . . I am very disappointed.”

Wanting to flee from the tears that were now streaming down her face and from the silence that was pounding, she turned around and she walked away, the realization that she had just confessed her love in front of everyone hitting her.

“Lady Y/N!”

Odin’s words stopped her in her tracks, but she did not turn around. Just stood. Waited.

“He told Thor, before he passed, that he, uh . . . He loved you, too.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, her hand jutting out to grab the pillar next to her to steady herself.

Loki loved her?

She didn’t stop the tears from coming this time. She let them, and the sobs, overwhelm her.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Lady Y/N?”

The voice and the knock were much more stiff than they were this morning.

“Come in.”

Her response was devoid of emotion, much more curt than it was this morning.

The same woman turned the door’s knob and opened it, sending Y/N, who was curled up on her bed, head nestled into her knees, a wary look. “The All-Father has requested your presence at his quarters,” she said.

Y/N let out a small huff, in no mood to talk to the King after what had happened. She forced her head up and gazed boredom at the woman. “Is it an emergency?” She deadpanned.

The woman looked around the room and by her lack of response, Y/N knew that either she didn’t know or didn’t want to say.

She sighed. “I will be there shortly,” she said.

The woman nodded and wordlessly left.

After she did, Y/N stood up and went in front of her mirror, taking in her appearance. Her once brushed hair was now frizzy and in knots and her eyes were puffy and red. Angrily, she practically tore the hairbrush through her hair and dabbed at her eyes with makeup until the red could be seen no more. She had no intention of letting him see her this way.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Screw formalities, Y/N thought, as she walked straight into Odin’s quarters which composed of a small living room, a bedroom down the hall, an office, and a bathroom. She didn’t bother to curtsy or announce her presence.

When he finally and gradually turned around from whatever he was doing, a slight look of shock crossed his features, before he replaced it with a warm smile. “Y/N!” He said, but quickly corrected himself, “Lady Y/N.”

Y/N frowned and crossed her arms. “I hope that you have called me here to apologize,” she said, an icy edge to her voice.

Odin nonetheless looked at her kindly. “In a way, yes,” he vaguely said, before a magical transformation underwent before her.

His wrinkles disappeared, his beard disappeared, his grey hair turned jet black, and his clothes transformed into his usual wear.

No longer was the All-Father standing in front of her, but her best friend. The one she loved.

Taken by utter shock, Y/N instinctively stumbled back, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. “What the hell is this?” She gasped out, not wanting to believe it at first. It was a cruel trick — it must be! There was no way.

“It’s me,” the mischievous deity said, a rare softness to his voice and in his eyes. He took a step forward, but then stopped himself. “I never died, I only impersonated my father.”

Y/N stared at him, angry tears coming to her eyes once more. “How?” She forced out, thinking that maybe she was dreaming. “Why?”

Loki looked around, slightly dumbfounded, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to question him. “I wanted the throne,” he answered, as if it were obvious and a perfectly acceptable reason.

Y/N stared at him as if he had grown two heads. To her, he might as well have.

“Oh, really? So you take over your father, trick everyone - me, your brother - into believing that you’re dead, you banish Sif . . . All because you wanted the goddamn throne?” She cried.

The cluelessness left his eyes and replaced itself with guilt, regret pooling inside him. He looked down, shoulders falling with a sigh.

“I’ve felt guilty tricking you ever since it had all went down. I wanted to tell you but, honestly, a part of me didn’t think you’d be that upset over my death. But you were really, so upset and I . . . I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. All I wanted to do was hug you and tell you that it was fine, that I was here, but I thought I’d screw up your emotions and hurt you even more,” he admitted.

Y/N just looked at him, her frown growing deeper. “That’s an awful excuse,” she hissed out, words laced with venom.

Loki immediately snapped his head up to look at her and his gaze held desperateness. “It’s not an excuse,” he said quickly. “It shouldn’t be. I’m . . . I’m so sorry. The last thing I ever wanted to was to trick you, and . . . I did. But today was the final straw. I couldn’t continue like that.”

Y/N took a step forward, having an inner battle in herself on whether or not to forgive him. “You lied to me,” she reiterated bluntly.

Loki nodded guiltily. “I did,” he agreed in a small voice.

She took a pause, taking in a deep breath. “You told me you loved me,” she added.

There was a brief moment of silence before Loki said, in the same small way but a little more firm now, “I do.”

Y/N kept walking, not even fully sure or convinced of what she was doing, but knowing that she needed to do it, until she was standing just inches away from him. They looked at each other for a couple moments, neither saying anything, until Y/N wrapped her arms around Loki. He returned the embrace.

“Never do that to me again!” She yelled through the tears that were now coming. God, was she tired of crying. Especially today.

Loki hugged her tighter, his own tears falling. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and repeated that over, and over, and over again. “I’m an idiot.”

Y/N leaned back and cupped his face with her hands. The love she had for him overwhelmed her pain, and more than anything she needed him now. Besides, she could see his guilt. She could see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn’t do anything like this again, because he loved her. And she loved him.

“At least you’re self-aware,” she whispered through a sniff, taking a page out of his book with her joking remark. Before he could quip back (and she was sure he’d have an excellent one), she leaned forward and captured his lips in his a kiss. Loki smiled against her lips and wrapped his arms around her waist.

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[perpetuelledaydreaming]

L.o.v.e.l.e.s.s. generation

Request: Amazing!! Can i ask for a billy hargrove imagine where he and the reader are together and at a party. They separate for like an hour so he goes with his friends for a while and shes with hers and she gets roofied. Steve and nancy try to help her and then call billy and hes a mess trying to get her to throw up and hes just blabbering and crying and mad af. So much angst and then fluff and yeah. 

@peakascum​ i’m so sorry for taking so looooong. 

words: 7.4 k

Summary: Billy has a bad feeling about a party at Tina’s and you don’t trust your gut feeling because of a kiss, Nancy can kick some ass and both, you and Billy, are the kind of people who cry in the shower. 

Warnings: *trigger warning* We have dark shit here, like pls people if any of your friends get too drunk or you think someone has put something in their drink GO TO THE HOSPITAL. Don’t follow the characters behaviour down below.

billy hargrove masterlist

"There’s a party at Tina’s tonight”, you muttered after disconnecting your lips from Billy’s, who had been more than happy on your make-out session in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

You fluttered your eyes to watch your hot, hot, boyfriend who was perfectly placed between your legs while he kissed you softly. You weren’t sure how Billy kept his glowing tan all year long, especially in Hawkins but you loved how it combined with his blue electric eyes that pierced you every time he watched you. You removed some of the blonde locks falling on his forehead and placed another kiss on his full lips. 

Sometimes you didn’t know how you managed to snatch him. 

He sighed, “I heard, are you sure you want to go?”, he groaned as he tried to chase your lips once more but you stopped him as you jumped from the hood of the blue Camaro. 

“When does Billy Hargrove rejects a party?”, you asked while raising your brows. You picked up your bag from the floor and began fixing your skirt and sweater, you had to be ready for the debate team meeting while he rolled his eyes. 

You smiled but you turned around as you heard a couple of girls from Billy’s friend group nattering about you from afar as they saw Billy pulling you in once more for another kiss. 

See, how could you even start to recount your relationship with Billy Hargrove? it was hard. Not because it was a difficult relationship, but because you two seemed so different from the outside that sometimes people didn’t even believe that you had lasted so long in the first place. Billy and you had been going strong for over eight months now and it felt like you were on cloud nine. 

He was mesmerized by you since his first day of school, he wasted no time in asking you for a date -to the disapproval of his new gang and the dismay of most of the girls at the school- you were elated by it but you said that he needed to do a lot more if he wanted you to say yes. It wasn’t that you weren’t oblivious to Billy’s charm but you knew his type and he was definitely not on yours. 

Billy didn’t seem more than an aggressive jog and you bore those type of guys, they weren’t stimulating and you had learned to value yourself and your time, more than anything else. So, it took Billy time -with a lot of rejected attempts and multiple pairings on classes- to actually get a yes from you. 

And so, you had come to learn that Billy Hargrove was more than he showed and it hit you to the core because you did the same. They were just different acts, both of you were familiar with the fact that people liked to put tags on others, to label them and keep them in a box, they liked making you one dimensional for them to feel comforted in a stupid status quo. And both of you followed swiftly because sometimes is easier to play a role than to be yourself, it’s easier to make people believe you are one thing. Sometimes it was easier to be just a good girl and sometimes it was easier to be just a bully, but you weren’t that and neither was Billy. 

Billy Hargrove wore his heart on his sleeve and no one had noticed that, you instead kept it locked in a safe to survive and no one had noticed that. 

But Billy noticed your lock and you noticed his sleeve, he understood you and you understood him. 

After hours or even whole nights talking to each other, laughing, even crying you finally agreed to go out with him. 

“I always want to do whatever you want to do”, he whispered to your lips as he pressed quick pecks. You sighed into his lips; eyes closed in bliss as his lips touched yours. “Pick you at nine?”

You smiled as you heard him and your lips now were chasing his. 

…

“See you in an hour or so?”, you asked as you opened the door for Tina’s house, Billy was behind you. Both of you were analyzing the scene in front of you. 

There were a lot of people, far more than what you were expecting but it was the last Friday before Thanksgiving break so you kinda got it. Many of the kids that went away for college were coming back to see their families and since Tina’s parties were always a staple of Hawkins High, you knew most of them wouldn’t miss it. So, there it was: an ocean of sweaty and drunk teenagers and young adults having fun and blasting music.  

You turned around to see a frown on Billy’s face as he saw the scene while you rolled your eyes. You didn’t really know why he was so opposed to partying when he was always down for any type of rave. 

See, although both of you were so similar in many senses, it wasn’t at all the case when you were partying. Billy was the type of guy who liked the attention, he craved it and he found it most of the time in senseless partying. While you, you were the type of girl who liked to be lowkey about your presence at a party, if you had the attention it was from your amazing dancing skills. Otherwise, you liked to spend your parties taking a few shots, dancing, and talking to your friends; nothing more and nothing less. Billy, instead, liked to do his keg stands and playing games, getting a bit more than tipsy. 

Most of the time you were together months of your relationship you both had made sacrifices, sometimes Billy wouldn’t do his normal circus act so he could be in a more calm conversation with you, and sometimes you had decided to cheer him when he was doing his keg stands or accomplishing the dares his stupid friends wanted him to do.

And it was fine, except for the fact that you had exploded one Monday a few months ago when you heard the rumors about the past party, especially the rumor about the “Queen of Hawkins” and how everyone was beginning to think that you were nothing more than a pretty thing that Billy wore around his arm, an accessory. You hated it, you hated it so much that you had ended up ranting about it to Billy who had been patient and listened to every single word without saying much. 

“I’m fucking captain of the debate team, since when I’m an accessory?”, “I’m running for president of the student council, does it look like I care about being Queen of Hawkins?”, “I’m not clingy or sticking to you all the time, it was just one party!”

And so, you had come up with the party plan. It was really simple: As soon as you got to the party, each one would go and do their thing. Billy would go out and play games while you hang out with Steve and Nancy and Johnathan. If there were any good songs or if you were craving each other presences, you would find each other and would dance for a couple of songs or maybe have a little (long) time out inside any room available where you could moan each other’s name. It had worked on the parties that you had gone to for the last few months and it had been fine, most of the time after you found each other you wouldn’t let go.

Today had to be no different, another party at Tina’s, usual business. 

But you knew it wasn’t, Billy turned around to see you with narrowed blue electric eyes, brows bumped together in a scowl and lips pressed together. 

“Billy?”

“I’m not really feeling like partying”, he muttered as he sighed and took a hold of your waist and pulled your flesh against his. 

Sometimes you were more than sure that Billy’s arms were made perfectly for you, you loved being held by him, and feeling like nothing in the world could hurt you. Being held by his biceps and pressed against him always made your heart skip a bit, you didn’t even think twice as you quickly took a hold of his face and you pressed your lips urgently against his, making you whimper into his lips. It was intoxicating the dance between your lips and tongues, you sometimes even got dizzy after kissing Billy but you were more than happy to get drunk on him rather than on vodka. 

But today you wanted to hang out with Nancy, Johnathan, and Steve, you hadn’t been seeing them much since school started again since, well, Billy was a handful. 

“I’ll see you later sir”, you whispered as you gave him the last peck and walked away from him with a smile on your lips. 

Billy stayed stunned after a few seconds and cursed to himself but he knew that you were in the mood for partying and the least he could do was give you space to be by yourself, to have times with your friends. He didn’t want to admit it but he had taken a lot of your time the past few weeks, he had wanted to take advantage of his father leaving Hawkins for a work trip, so he had spent most of his time buried inside of you or sleeping next to you or laughing with you, etc. And he wanted tonight to be no different, but he also respected you and your wishes. So, although he wasn’t too excited, he managed himself. He quickly threatened his way to get a whole bottle of tequila and went outside where Tommy and Carol were waiting for him already. 

“You look stunning!”, Nancy gasped as she saw you, you twirl so they could give a look at your outfit: A tight black leather skirt, military boots, and a cutout band t-shirt from Billy. 

Steve and Jonathan cheered for you as you moved your hips and Nancy clapped, while you then twirl her around for her to model her outfit. 

“You look stunning all the time!”, you replied as you hugged Nancy. 

“That’s indeed true”, Johnathan muttered as he pulled in Nancy for a kiss on her forehead while she wrapped one arm around him, quickly pulling him into a passionate kiss.

Steve rolled his eyes as he got closer to you, “Are we going to dance?”, he whispered in your ear and it made you shiver. 

You couldn’t lie that you had a thing for Steve when you were younger than you were less than thrilled when he started dating Nancy but as time passed, your feelings had changed and Steve became just a great friend in your eyes. Although, it didn’t mean that sometimes Billy didn’t get jealous of him and how close you two were. But he had come to accept it, as he should, and Steve also started to deal with Billy by your request since he didn’t really like him after he had dethroned him as King of Hawkins. 

“Yes, we are”, you replied and quickly pulled Steve into the living room where everyone else was dancing. 

The way you felt the music cruising through your body made you get lost on it, eyes closed and jumping, swaying your hips to the beat, laughing, and smiling all along. Should I stay or Should I go from The Clash was the tenth song you had danced to with Steve and you were sweating from bopping your head to the last bit, throat a little bit sore from screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. 

Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “I forgot how good it was to dance with you, Y/L/N”, you nodded without much breath but you turned around to see one of the boys from Billy’s group watching you with malice. The narrowed eyes and puckered lips weren’t anything new for you, especially from his “friends” or followers, but you knew how much they would like to initiate any rumor that could create any drama in Hawkins since they didn’t have anything more exciting to do. 

“I’m going to get something to drink”, you muttered as you glared at the loser who had been watching Steve and you, but soon he turned to the patio, where you imagined Billy was. 

You rolled your eyes; you knew you had to do damage control with Billy. Although Billy seemed like he had all the confidence in the world, you knew deep down he was insecure thanks to his relationship with his father, and especially, as months had passed by, he was insecure about your relationship sometimes. It seemed to him that you could do so much better and he was perpetually on edge when he thought about you and Steve too much, although he trusted you completely. 

And on your part, it wasn’t too different, Billy had girls throwing themselves at him permanently which was always annoying, girls who whispered at him that they would make him feel so much better than you ever did and that they wished he could make them scream. Billy had assured you and showed you that he only had eyes with you, and it did become funny sometimes because if there was someone in love with his girlfriend was Billy Hargrove. But still, sometimes that burning feeling that crept its way your heart and spread it through your body, making you feel like you could spitfire didn’t go away.

Especially not at the moment. 

Billy was outside, playing a nice game of beer pong and chugging more beer than you thought he would like tonight, but there he was… with Heather freaking Miller. She was leaning into a flustered Billy as she giggled while he poured the beer on his mouth, a little bit too fast that it made the drink spill all over his naked chest -he always lost some buttons or his shirt at some point in a party-, you imagined that he was a bit tipsy at the moment but you couldn’t help to feel your stomach twisting as you saw Heather pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. 

You spun on your heels faster than you could even imagine, not even wanting to watch Billy’s reaction to her kiss and if you had been a bit drunker, you might have been bold enough to start going off at her and Billy. But you weren’t in the mood, to hell if Billy was told something about Steve, whatever. 

“You said something?”, a guy in the kitchen asked you, as you leaned on the kitchen island in front of the living room that served as the dance floor, realizing that you had been muttering out loud. There weren’t many people in the kitchen, the great majority of the people were dancing or outside, but there were two boys. 

You huffed as you turned around and saw the guy. He had short brown hair and a nice smile as he sipped from his red solo cup. He looked familiar and you remember him being a cheer on after a basketball game while you were a Sophomore at Hawkins High and he was a Senior. He was from an affluent family, you remembered that as well as you might have seen him in one of your parent's Christmas parties, but you weren’t social. 

“Do I know you?”, you asked a bit coldly, annoyed still at the image of Heather and Billy. 

“Burn!”, another boy close to the one that had just talked to you shouted as he laughed at his friend. You recognized him too, he was also known as a Senior when you were in Sophomore, he wasn’t on any team but he was on the popular crowd. 

You vaguely remember the class that had graduated that year, only remembered a few bullying incidents but mostly that they were sexist assholes. You hoped that college had changed them, at least you liked to believe people could mature, but seeing them three years later in a party of their high school didn’t give you much hope.

“I’m Brad”, the boy with short brown hair stated as you sighed and smiled, trying to be as polite as you could taking into account how mad you were. “This is Chad”, he said pointing to his friend. 

“Y/N”, you answer as you shook his hand as he had offered it. 

He held it for a bit too long and you felt goosebumps erupting on your skin, but they weren’t good goosebumps, the way he was looking at you was way too intently but you figured that he was trying to flirt and score a girl. 

“Brad! I just…”, another boy came from the living room with a bottle of tequila in his hand as the three of you turned around to watch him, you took the opportunity and removed your hand from his hold as your eyes began to look for some wine or vodka to take to Steve. “Who’s that?”, the same guy muttered as he got closer to Brad and Chad. 

“Shut up, Logan”, Brad rolled his eyes as he saw you reaching for a bottle of vodka, he quickly took it and then handed it to you with a strange smile. “You have to apologize, my friends, they are…”

“Wonderful?”, Logan said with a smirk.

“Charming?”, Chad answer as he seemed to be taking something from his Varsity Jacket, you didn’t manage to see really what he had since Brad quickly placed solo red cups for you to do shots in, blocking the view.

“Annoying”, he stated as he poured a bit of the vodka on two small cups and then passed the bottle to his friends. You smile at the way he said it, the guy had a charm but there was still a hint of something you didn’t like. Something that didn’t add up to his pretty greyish eyes or his sharp jaw. “Want one round?”

You sighed and nodded. At the moment, you only wanted a drink and don’t think a lot about Billy and Heather, you didn’t want to be too mad about it, especially since it was your idea to do a party plan and you left the road wide open for girls like Heather to flirt with Billy. 

It felt like it was your fault. 

“Sure”

The vodka burned your throat a little bit more than you would imagine but you didn’t care. It tasted okay enough and your eyes simply wondered towards the patio door, in the hopes that Billy might come looking for you but there was no sign of him coming. 

“You have a boyfriend?”, you heard Brad asking and you turned around as you passed a hand through your hair. You watched as Brad’s friends began pouring another round of shots with the vodka but your attention went right to Brad again. 

“I do, he’s with another girl at the patio”, you muttered angrily as you took a hold of the shot and chugged it right in. The vodka still burned on your throat but it now felt bubbly, still burned a bit more than before but you figured it was because you hadn’t been drinking in a while.  

“Ooh”, the two friends shouted and it made you roll your eyes, they weren’t being good company and you tried to snatch the bottle of vodka from the table where they had left it but Brad took it first. 

“Let’s do two more rounds, it will make you feel better”, he cooed as he got closer to you. 

If this was any other moment, at any other party, you would’ve said no and leave without a bottle and look for Billy. But the blonde hair from Heather on Billy’s shoulder, his laugh, and her lips on his jaw were burned on your head at the moment and you wished that maybe vodka could help you, you wished that angry drinking would be enough to make you feel better. 

“Fine”, you answer with a smirk and Brad smiled as well, his friends cheering in the background as you chugged another shot that had been served by you. 

It had to be almost four more rounds of shots of vodka -at least you believed but it didn’t taste like vodka after the second- that they had handed to you when you began to feel weird. 

It began slowly, the sleepiness taking over your body, spreading from your belly towards your chest, and soon it seemed to get on your head. It didn’t feel bad right away, simply weird. You were never a hard drinker, you had never blackout before and you weren’t planning to tonight. Getting tipsy? Yes, getting drunk? Maybe, but this felt like it was happening faster than what you had anticipated. 

You closed your eyes and leaned into the kitchen island for a second, trying to recover your breath to see if that was it, you just needed a little break. But as seconds passed, you felt your muscles getting sleepier and even when your eyes were closed, you felt like you were on a carrousel and it wasn’t stopping. 

“You don’t look so good”, you heard Brad said as he wrapped his arm around your waist, which you tried to get off but it seemed as if your muscles were going in slow motion. “You want to go to the bathroom?”

You felt like you could vomit at his questions, it sounded wrong. You shook your head as you opened your eyes and glared at him, motioning for him to let you go and he did, but as you turned around everything began to be blurry. 

“Iwanttodance”, you slurred, words tumbling against each other. You began walking towards the living room, trying to get away from the kitchen while you desperately tried to look for Nancy, Johnathan, or Steve. 

You felt your head getting dizzier and dizzier as each second passed, your brain seemed to be trying so hard for your limbs to move at the pace that you needed them too but they felt disconnected like there was a short-circuit between them.  

You weren’t sure when they had actually disconnected, it had to be a second before you reached the living room by going down simply two steps. It was something you were sure you could accomplish, not even on your worst drunk stories you had been so unaware of your body, you had never felt like that. So, it wasn’t a surprise when you saw the world turning upside down and you felt a sharp pain on the right side of your body, your head crashing on the floor as you closed your eyes from the impact. 

You fell, badly. 

You whimpered in pain as you felt people’s gaze on you, although you had your eyes closed you could feel people’s presence close to you and you wish you could even stand up but it seemed like nothing worked and you could only motion simple things You heard a couple of people laughing, guessing that maybe you were too drunk and were unable to handle your booze. You felt some girls getting closer to you and asking if you were okay but your words weren’t really words anymore, only mumbles, the pangs of pain still spreading through your torso, hips, and legs while the numbness started to spread as well. 

 It was even getting hard to keep your eyes open for too long. 

Before you knew it, someone was wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the ground. You prayed it was Billy or Steve, with Nancy by their side or even a couple of the girls who had been asking if you were okay. 

“Seems like she’s ready to go to sleep”

You froze as you heard Brad’s voice and a deep feeling of panic started invading your body. You protested, at least you thought but your words didn’t come out from your mouth, your eyes were still close as the pangs of pain from the fall were disappearing quite quickly, which made you worry. 

Brad quickly took a hold of your body and carried you bride-style to god knows where, you suddenly felt your stomach sinking as you realized how weak you were and the fact that you were in the hands of strangers. Sleepiness crawling over your body and anxiety too, everything began to become foggy. 

“We’ll take care good care of you” Logan stated as you felt the music farther and farther away.  

You whimpered in protest as you opened your eyes as you tried to shimmy yourself out of his hold but it just came as spams on your limps, nothing strong enough and it seemed like they were going through the foyer, towards the door. 

“Stop”

Nancy’s voice felt like it had been sent from the sky, you tried to turn your head as quickly as you could and there she was.  “Who are you?”, she asked as she got closer to you. 

You knew Nancy might be little, she might have been a little mousy when you met her but she was fierce and she could end anyone who came on her way. Such a small girl could raise hell if she decided to and you felt like crying with happiness when you -in a blur- watched her crossed her arms across her chest and glare at the guys she was standing in front of.

“She’s feeling bad”, Brad explained with a shrug but the sassy nature of his answer gave him away to Nancy, “She had a lot to drink and she told us to get her home”

“She has a boyfriend for that”, Nancy replied right away angrily. “And friends that know her”

“We are her friends”, he barked back and it made you jump on your inside. 

These guys were aggressive, the way that he answered to Nancy… you felt like tears were pooling in your eyes. This was not okay and panic raised again, flooding your body. You needed Nancy to take you away from their paws, now. You didn’t want to think where this was going if she didn’t manage to stop them. 

“Nancy” you managed to mumble and with all the effort you had, you tried to take a hold of her but your arm gave up before you reached her, soon your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your head fell backward.

You were too weak. 

Nancy froze for a second with fear as she saw your state, and so hell was loose. 

“Get her down now!”, Nancy’s growl made your body tremble, it was so loud that you were hoping that anyone else noticed. 

“Fuck you”, Chad replied as you heard a struggle in front of you… they were holding Nancy now as Brad began to move again, your heart sinking 

“Her boyfriend is being called right now!”, Nancy yelled as you could hear her struggling while you passed in front of her. 

The cold air hit you hard and you cried as you tried to move from Brad’s hold but he wouldn’t budge, they had managed to sneak you and this was the worst-case scenario. Billy was the only thing you thought before your brain began to shut down when you began to drown in the darkness. 

“We shouldn’t have given her so many”, Logan muttered as he opened the door of the car that was parked in the front patio of Tina’s house, close to many others. 

“Can you just shut up?”, Brad growled as he tightened the hold on your body, and tried to see how he could fit you in the car correctly. 

“Maybe it’s better”, Logan muttered as he opened the driver’s door, still talking to himself. “She won’t remember anything”

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The growl coming from the main door from the house shook Brad and Logan to the core. They both turned around to see Billy, exiting the party with Steve and Nancy behind him. 

Billy had been trying to get a Heather Miller off his back since he had started to play a beer-pong match, it had all been easy and messing around until Heather had come in and began to linger closer to Billy each time he drank. She had placed a kiss on his jaw when he had barked at her to back off, people began to laugh around them and scream things, Heather seemed to be annoyed by the statement and tried to talk him out of being so aggressive. Billy remained silent and shrugged her off each time she tried to flirt with him again, it was annoying to him and he knew that his friends would take any chance to start a rumor that could affect your relationship. So, the rest of the time he tried to get as far away from Heather as he possibly could, he even flipped her off before Steve had run towards him and ask him to go with him.  

Billy felt as if a black hole had grown in his stomach as Steve told him what had happened, that some guys were trying to take you somewhere and that you were barely conscious, that Nancy was trying to hold them back but you needed him now. 

Billy wasn’t exactly sure how fast he had arrived, how he didn’t even notice the guy on the floor that Nancy had managed to beat up with a flower vase at the foyer or how he couldn’t hear anything because his heart and breathing were so loud that he could only focus on what he saw. 

And there you were: completely limp, head falling from Brad’s arm, eyes rolled back on the back of your head. You seemed so small; it shook Billy.

Sometimes Billy had these gaps in time when he became so mad that he didn’t feel like himself anymore, he could only feel the anger filling his body as the seconds passed. It was almost automatic when his hands formed into fists and he began to growl. You had talked to him about it and had helped him to never lose control again since you began dating, helping him breathe and control his emotions. 

But not this time. 

Billy yelled as he took Logan first. The guy didn’t even have a second before Billy yanked the keys out of his hands and smashed the boy’s head against the window of the car. Billy didn’t really notice when the window cracked, he only noticed when it broke in front of him as he smashed once again Logan’s head. 

Logan fell on the ground with a groan, blood coming out of the right side of his face, laying with the broken glass on the floor. Billy then turned around quickly to go and get you, Brad had already been cornered by Steve and Nancy while Johnathan tried to rip you off from Brad’s hold. 

“HEY!”, someone yelled as he pushed Billy making him slam against the car door. 

Billy turned around to see Chad, nose already bloody from Nancy’s punch and more coming out of his eyebrow cut thanks to the vase. The guy was already beaten up by Nancy, badly, but Billy didn’t hesitate to beat him to a pulp with his fist. It seemed rather like a gap of time where Billy had no control, as his knuckles slammed against the guy's jaw while he screamed in pain. Chad managed to punch Billy on his ribs but Billy quickly retaliated and knocked him out with a single punch. 

Billy’s breathing was too shaken up, he almost couldn’t even hear how Nancy had been telling him to stop as he kept kicking the guy on the ground. It was only until Nancy hit him in the back of his head, rather hard, that he turned around. 

“We got her”, Nancy yelled at him as she glared at Billy. She didn’t seem too shaken up, her hands were bloody as well and her eyes seemed steady. 

Billy’s eyes traveled to Steve who had you in his arms while Johnathan let Brad fall from his hold against the car, his nose was already bloody, as well as his lips. But at the moment, Billy didn’t care about anything else, he got closer to you so quickly that he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

“Y/N”, he whispered as tears began to stream from his face. 

You didn’t respond, your eyes with long lashes were closed while your arm was dangling. You were cold, you usually got cold as Billy would work as a heater for you, but right now you were too cold. 

It hurt. 

Billy swore he had heard something breaking inside of his chest, he sucked in a breath as he pressed your cheek with his palm as if in any moment you would open your eyes again, that you would watch him lovingly and place a kiss on his lips like many times before but you didn’t react, you seemed lost. 

It hurt him so much that when he heard a groan coming from the floor, he saw Brad there with barely any real damage on him. Billy felt his muscles tensing up as he walked towards him, ignoring Nancy’s pleas. Billy seemed like a robot as he quickly opened again the door of the car and place Brad’s hand on the edge, without much thought, he shut the door roughly.

“aaaaAAHHH!!”

The painful scream coming from Brad’s lips shocked Nancy and Steve, and even you in your state. The scream had been the only thing that had managed to make you come back from the darkness, you couldn’t really move but your body was screaming for something to happen but your limbs seemed useless. 

Billy quickly kneeled and punch Brad again, making his nose bleed even more. The groans and whimpers coming from Brad didn’t bother Billy, it only bothered him when he wrapped one hand around Brad’s neck and he noticed his knuckles already getting purple. 

He hated being like this. He knew you would disapprove if you had been there watching him but the rage that he was feeling at the moment, he hadn’t felt it in such a long time that if he thought he remained still, he would burst. 

“I see you or your rat friend’s again, and I’ll kill you”, Billy murmured as he let go of Brad’s neck and allowed him to breathe again as he coughed thanks to the pressure Billy had on him.

Billy turned around to see Nancy, Steve, and Johnathan looking terrified, he tried to shake it off and came back to you. 

“They must have roofied her”, Johnathan explained as Billy was desperately trying to wake you up. 

“Y/N, please are you there?”, Billy couldn’t believe it was his voice, so wobbly and small as he moved your hair from your face and took a hold of you had, begging internally for you to wake up. 

You couldn’t believe it was his voice either, you wanted to scream and cry, you wanted to be held by him and feel safe again. But you couldn’t do anything, you could only beg your body to move, nudge, talk, do something. 

And it seemed as if it had listened to you for a moment. 

“Billy”, the whisper was so faint that Billy wasn’t sure it was real, he stopped dead on his track and saw how your glassy eyes were half opened and Billy felt his shaking hands coming over to your hand. 

But then you suddenly gave up, the darkness eating you once again as your eyes rolled to the back of your head once more and you were lying there, emotionless. 

Billy felt his body cold. 

“Y/N?”, Billy asked as tears streamed down once more. “Baby?”, Billy’s voice was so raw and shaken up that it almost scared Nancy as he looked at her and yelled. “Nancy, what should we do?” 

Nancy stayed still for a second, doubting herself but then she walked decidedly towards Steve who was holding your body. “We have to check her breathing and her heartbeat”, Jonathan coming right up helping her to check your vitals, while Billy gave a step back and held your cold hand. 

“She’s still breathing, it’s like she fell asleep”, Nancy answered.

“We have to take her to a hospital”, Steve stated as he held you tighter on his arms. 

Billy panicked and shook his head, knowing exactly that -even though your parents had come to accept your relationship- they wouldn’t waste a second if he gave them a reason to break you guys up. 

“Her parents would know; you know they would never let her see me again”, Billy explained to Steve, his eyes pleading with him not to do it because he knew what the consequences were and he might ruin what made you and Billy happy.  

Steve didn’t like Billy, but he had never seen him like this or anyone for that matter. He had never seen such true desperation; he had never seen someone show such raw emotions for someone. He didn’t like Billy, but you did and Steve knew that Billy was everything you wanted. 

“Fuck, what should we do?”, Johnathan sighed as Billy began taking you from Steve’s arms. 

Billy remained a second as he adjusted you in his arms, his arms around you securely as he watched you carefully. You seemed so pale and fragile, and he hated it because he knew that this wasn’t you. He couldn’t get out of his head how scared you must’ve been before you went out, what they had done to you. He wanted to take you to the hospital, he knew it was the most appropriate way but he also knew that he really couldn’t and at that moment he had a flashback to California when people took more pills than they should. 

“She’s going to have to throw this up”. Billy stated as he tried to wipe the tears with his shoulder as he took you into the house, as quickly as he could. 

“Billy, what are yo-”, Nancy protested as she followed him but Billy was on a mission, 

“She couldn’t have taken them too long ago”, he muttered as he entered Tina’s house.

He was shaking as he muttered to himself deliriously: you are going to be okay; you are going to be okay; you are going to be okay. He pulled you closer to his chest and his eyes urgently tried to find a bathroom, people were gathering around him at the entrance of the party, watching Billy splattered with blood and knuckles purple with you limp on his arms. Billy didn’t care about the people as he tried to see where was it better to take you, he even wondered if the kitchen was right but he knew you wouldn’t want anyone to see you or him in that state. 

Tina ran towards him, as she was about to speak Billy interrupted her.

“Tina!” He screamed, his voice was raw and torn -the urgency in his electric blue eyes seemed almost psychotic-, she shook at his scream. “Bathroom with a shower”

“Oh my god, what happened?”, Tina squealed as she tried to get closer but Billy stepped back. 

“Bathroom”, he growled once more startling Tina. 

“Upstairs in my room! Turn to the left”

Billy said nothing as he ran upstairs, adjusting you in his arms as he followed Tina’s instructions. He let out an all-encompassing sigh of relief as he entered the bathroom. 

“Come on, come on baby”, he whispered as he placed you on the tub and then turned on the shower. The lukewarm water began to wash your legs and lower abdomen as Billy hurried and placed himself behind you. 

He made sure that you were well position, laying on his chest so he could sit you, and then he began to place his fingers on your throat. But nothing was happening, you weren’t reacting as he tried to place his fingers on the right spot for you to throw up whatever they had given to you. 

Tears began to fall from his face, a part of him glad they were being masked with the drops of water. Billy felt like he wanted to puke himself as he gazed at the bottom of the bathtub and realized the blood was being mixed with the water -blood from the guys that he had beaten up and his own coming from his knuckles-. 

He shivered at the thought of how badly he had reacted and what would you think of him, but he quickly snapped out of it as he continued to cry for you. 

“Y/N please”, he cried. “Baby please, come on”.

Billy’s voice seemed so broken and raw, his pleas could be heard by Steve and Jonathan who were outside the bathroom while Nancy was talking to Tina outside her bedroom, convincing her not to enter until you were okay. 

But you weren’t okay, nothing was happening and Billy snapped. 

“pLEASE! Y/N”, it seemed as if his screamed had ripped through his chest as he held you, and once more, he placed his fingers on your throat in one last attempt. 

The gagging was like music to his ears, how your body finally reacted and you raised a bit from his chest with the help of Billy and you began to throw up. You felt like if you were getting out every organ inside of you as your body spammed as you threw up with Billy’s face bury on your neck as he held you. 

It wasn’t until you finally stopped after a minute of throwing up everything you could, that you realized that the fogginess and darkness that had trapped you were leaving, your head was clearing again and Billy felt like he could breathe. It wasn’t like you were completely fine, your breaths were still raggedy but they were stronger than before and you could raise your head for a second, hold yourself. 

You could hold yourself enough to throw up once more, another round, but this time it felt more like a reaction of the fear that you felt from those guys. You didn’t want anything inside of you, nothing from that night, the thought of those guys made you sick. 

It wasn’t until you were unable to throw up anything else, you turn around softly, still feeling woozy. 

And there he was, the only one you had ever wanted. 

Billy’s hair was wet, the streams of water were still falling from his body but you recognize his tears as well. His blue electric eyes that had always been heaven to you, were red from crying and his usually tan skin seemed as white as a paper, completely pale, he looked terrified. 

Indeed, Billy was terrified but he tried not to show it as he caressed your hair and help you lay more comfortably on his chest. It was only when your eyes connected and you took a big breath that you began to cry. The tears were streaming without control from your eyes and it seemed like before, you just wanted to feel empty and clean and safe. Billy held you as close to him as he could while you sob.

He kissed your head, he kissed the back of your neck and your hands as you whimpered and tried to hold anything from him, the craving of him becoming stronger every second. 

“Hold me”, you slurred and Billy nodded, wrapping his arm around your body as you cuddle against him while being wash with the water. 

“I’m so sorry”, Billy whispered as he rocked you back and forth. “I’ll never leave again”

His voice sounded so truthful that you began to think that he meant something for good, so permanently that it made your heart skip a bit but you didn’t want to say anything, you simply nodded and leaned into him even more, burying yourself against his chest. 

“I love you”, he whispered. 

[inmyownlaine]

Hi,love your writing and was wondering if I could request a John Murphy fluff/angst based on season 2or3 where the reader and him get in an argument about him ‘being with Emori’ but he likes the reader?

John Murphy x Reader: Promises

*Absolutely! Thank you for the suggestion. Also, let's just act like I haven't been MIA for literal months :)

GIF//

Warnings: None to my knowledge!

Word Count: 2078

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“Don’t go,” you begged, grabbing Murphy’s hand as it swung carelessly behind him. When your fingers touched his skin, Murphy stopped immediately. He inhaled heavily through his nose, trying to control the sadness and desire that you sent rippling through his body.

“Murphy, please,” you whimpered.

Murphy’s shoulder dropped as he let the single strap of his backpack slide down his arm. Your eyes lit up, hoping that was a positive sign. Hoping that you were enough to make him stay.

“I can’t.”

“You can,” you said assertively. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he replied, apologetic eyes looking at you between half-closed eyelids. He was right. You didn’t understand. He had nothing to apologize for. He didn’t have to prove himself to you. Or ask for your forgiveness. None of the things that his blue eyes seemed to convey.

“You don’t need redemption.”

“But if I go now, maybe when I come back-”

“What?” you interrupted. “Everything will suddenly be different?”

“Is it so wrong to want that?” he questioned softly, a shaky sigh leaving his body. You tightened your grip, white knuckles against red calloused ones. Just another casualty of his bad temper.

“Of course not. But you’re not going to fix anything by leaving. You need to stay. Stay and show them who you can be. Don’t leave and prove them right.”

Murphy dropped his head, fixated on your two hands intertwined. There was a lot more going on than the surface discussion. You danced around being in love by using double meanings and knowing glances. This wasn’t about him leaving to find himself. It was about him leaving you.

Glassy eyes meet together in a flurry of uncertainty and passion. The pit of your stomach churned as Murphy leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. They barely touched before he pulled away, eyes closed. It was a kiss that you never wanted to experience, especially being your first.

You knew he was leaving.

“Don’t cry,” he told you, hearing a sniffle escape. His eyes still rested, he quietly spoke, “I will be back. I promise. I have something to come back to.”

“Murphy, I-”

“I promise.” He now faced the reality of the situation, confronting his fears head on as he stared into your bloodshot eyes. There was no way he would ever be the cause of this again. He just needed one chance to make you proud. To clear his name.

“I promise.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

The taste of dirt and sweat caused you to gag as you were manhandled into the unknown. You had no idea why you were the target of a kidnapping. If anything, you laid low and kept to yourself. Regardless, you followed the directions given to you, fearing what would become of your life if you didn’t.

“I’ve brought you some company!” the voice behind you bellowed. You jumped at the sudden noise, interested in the way he practically sang the announcement.

“Who?” another voice asked, seeming alert and slightly panicked. You knew this voice anywhere and it quickly became clear why you were here. Even still, you obeyed the commands given. If you spoke a word, made any noise, it would be the end of your life.

“Worried, are we?” The man started to laugh heartily as you continued to walk. Every thundering step matched the beating of your heart. What would happen when you finally stopped?

There was no response, so the man began to speak. “Someone who wouldn’t shut up about you. Scared for you. Desperate to see you.”

As if being captured weren’t enough, this was just plain humiliating. He didn’t have to recount all the times you pined after Murphy while he was gone. You lost track of the months it had been since you last saw him. This was not how you wanted to reunite.

“Who. Is. It?” Murphy asked yet again. It was dark and menacing. A resemblance of a person that he used to be. You knew that would always be a part of him. Especially when it involved people that he cared about.

“A girlfriend?” the man guessed. You cringed hearing that word, tormenting and taunting you of what never was. But how Murphy replied was even more heartbreaking.

“Emori?” The man began to cackle once more as Murphy cursed and threatened his life. It was terrible to hear the intensity of his love. How much he cared for someone else while you turned others down, waiting for him.

The man gave you one last shove, causing you to fall to your knees. Through minute gaps in the woven sack over your head, you finally caught an amber hue of light. You groaned in pain, trying your best to stay upright with your hands tied behind your back.

There was a brief moment of silence before another outburst broke out. This time, you heard the scuffling of feet against the floor. Fabric harshly rubbed against a scratchy surface. It sounded like an attempt to escape.

“Let her go!” Murphy yelled.

“Why would I do that? I have everything I need, now. Except for the information.”

“Just let her go and I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you everything,” Murphy frantically said.

“But I’m having so much fun. Maybe just one...little…” A cold blade touched your neck, causing a shriek to escape your throat. He put an ounce of pressure against your rapidly thumping artery.

“I swear to God if you hurt her I will kill you!” Murphy’s voice was full of anguish as it broke here and there. It was a frequency in which you had never heard from him. It was harrowing to witness.

The knife was removed from your neck. In a series of exchanges, Murphy gave him the answer to every single question he asked. When the interrogation was over, you were picked up and moved to a new area. Here, you were tied once more around my stomach.

Then, without warning, the bag was removed from your head. You could barely take in my surroundings before Murphy called your name. Tears fell from your eyes as you saw, for the first time in months, John Murphy. Though you had to admit, he looked worse for wear.

“Murphy,” you cried back, wanting more than anything to be able to touch him. To hug him. To take in his scent. You had been without this man for way too long.

“That’s sweet,” the man, who you could now identify as Titus, interrupted. “But I’ve got what I wanted. For now.” And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving you and Murphy alone.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Murphy asked immediately.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “But you don’t look good at all.”

“Yeah, well, being tortured does that to a person.”

“He tortured you?” you questioned, breath leaving your body. Picturing someone hurting Murphy made you sick.

“A few times,” he shrugged.

You wanted to be happy. You wanted to ask him about his trip. You wanted to know if he discovered himself. If he found who he truly was. But you couldn’t get past the fact that he said another girl’s name.

You never claimed to be anything more than friends, but you thought it went without saying. A person doesn’t just kiss someone before they leave. Or promise that they would come back to you.

“I hate that I have to see you like this,” Murphy finally said, breaking the silence. “I always imagined coming back to camp with Jaha’s group. We just saved the human race, or something like that. But it didn’t matter, because I was looking for you.”

“Not Emori?” you mumbled, mustering up the courage to be so bold. Murphy’s eyes grew wide as he avoided your haunting gaze.

“Look, it wasn’t supposed to- she just- we were,” he tried to explain, slumping over in the process.

“I waited for you. Every day,” you admitted. “The last thing I did before I went to bed was look out the gate for you. Every morning I woke up with the hope that it would be the day you came back to me.”

You started to sob, recounting the loneliness that you felt. And the fear of not knowing Murphy’s fate. Were you holding out for someone who was dead? Was it hopeless to wish that he would keep his promise?

“I turned people down. I kept faith in you. I told everyone how proud I was. And then to know that you weren’t keeping me with you at all. I wasn’t even a passing thought.”

“It’s not like that,” Murphy said.

“But it is. She’s your girlfriend.”

“I don’t- love her,” he said softly, swallowing hard enough to make his entire throat bob up and down.

“Then what?” You were at the tipping point with Murphy. Exasperated with his short answers and frustrated with the secrets he was holding. If he wouldn’t be honest with you now, there was no way you would ever be with him in the future.

“I’ve been through a lot. More than I expected.” He stared into the distance, seemingly void of emotion. It was like he was lost, trying hard to remember something that he pushed away. “I was trapped. By myself. 86 days. You know how I spent that time?”

You shook your head in response. He was still burning holes in the wall, but somehow knew that you replied. He smirked slightly before saying, “I thought about you. And how good it would feel to see you once I was out. Granted, I went absolutely crazy in there, but you kept me as sane as I could be.”

You couldn’t help but to chuckle at this. “I can’t imagine you any more psychotic than you are now.”

“Is that so?” he bantered, catching you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re a freak,” you teased.

“Why? Because I’ve killed a few people?”

“Yeah, that probably contributes.” The two of you shared a smile, falling back into old patterns. You missed having a person that you could shamelessly be yourself around. The quick wit and sly comments were always absorbed and thrown back by Murphy. No one else stood a chance against you.

“When he said he had someone,” Murphy carried on, “you’re the first person I thought of. But it seemed impossible until I saw you. I don’t know what came over me. I- I was blind with rage. I tried to fight my way out. Because if he hurt you-”

Murphy couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. You didn’t need him to. You knew what was left to say. You heard the distinct difference, the silence that fell, when he realized you were the captured person and not Emori.

“I know that doesn’t make any of this right, but I just wanted that feeling of safety that you gave me. And Emori was there. I misplaced it. And I’m sorry,” Murphy apologized.

“What about Emori, then?” you pressed.

“She’s a good person, and she will understand. I just couldn’t live with myself if I left you again.”

“You mean that?” Murphy simply nodded, outstretching his fingers in your direction. Even though you couldn’t hold hands, the sentiment remained as you reflected his actions. You were two people trying to make your own light in the darkest of situations.

“I love you,” you managed to choke out, taking in the dried blood on his hairline and the bruises on his skin. His pant leg was ripped at the cuff and his hands were caked in dirt. You needed him to know that no matter what happened, now and forever, that he could carry this with him. Even after death, if fate so decided.

“I love you, too,” he said, without hesitation or a second thought. It was something he wished he had told you the night he decided to leave. The only thing he regretted once he left the compound.

But he had the chance to fix all of that. And in that moment, he swore that once you escaped, he would always be there to protect you. He would always console you and your wondering thoughts. He would love you the way that he should have a long time ago.

He promised he would always find a way to come back to you.

He promised he would never leave.

He promised.

**Hey, it's Lainey. Slightly embarrassing but I am back from the grave! I hope you all enjoy this and still love Murphy as much as I do <3

[gucciwins]

Frosty the Snowman

Harry and Y/N love the holiday season but Harry takes the teasing a bit to far and well Y/N decides to give it right back. 

Word Count: 5126

A/N: hello! thank you so much to @goldenbluesuit for organizing this wonderful christmas fic challenge. thank you for allowing me to participate, kate. i’m so happy i got to be a part of it. merry christmas and happy holidays to you all. sending you all a big hug and lots of love. 

_____

Christmas has never been much of importance in your life.

That was until you began dating Harry.

 Harry and his family loved celebrating in particular because Harry was gone for so many months of the year. They loved giving gifts, and Harry loved spoiling his family. He was a true family man who loved to be doted on by his mother and teased relentlessly by his older sister. His smile never leaves his face when he's with them.  

Ever since Harry found out how you spent the holidays alone drinking wine and hot chocolate on and off and binging all the best holiday movies. He declared that was not acceptable and that furthermore and until the end of time you would be spending it with him and his family. 

The first year was something out of a storybook, a house full of kids and adults, Christmas music all day, and a big festive dinner. Gifts passed around, photos being taken to be added to the end of year scrapbooks. Lots of stories being told; honestly, it overwhelmed you. 

Anne found you outside wrapped up in Harry's coat that you swiped before slipping out unseen. She stood next to you, overlooking her garden with you. "My son loves you; he's brought you here not to overwhelm you but to let you know that you have a family here, and you always will." You let your tears run free, feeling comforted, and loved. "I've never seen him shine as bright as he does when he's with you and when he's speaking of you. We all want you here as much as he does." Anne then pulled you into a long hug, the motherly hug you never got growing up.  Reminded you not to stay out too long. 

Three Christmases later, you now take part in family traditions, helping Anne cook dinner and staying in sweats and playing family games all of Boxing Day. 

It's what makes your move to London with your boyfriend of four years easy. Knowing they want you there, knowing that the love Harry has for you won't fade, you've gone through many hurdles together, and it only strengthened your bond to one another. 

Four years together, and you're still learning new things about each other, like Harry having to have coffee first thing in the morning, bread was a must-have always in the house, and that he owned more mugs than he needed. He picked up that you adored your shoes, meaning you wouldn't throw them out until they were ripped and beat up enough for a new pair. Also learned that you rather eat lots of fruit during the day than making food in the kitchen because it meant more dishes that would be needed to wash. You loved doing the laundry, Harry knew it was to steal his shirts, but he didn't mind. He always knew where to find them. 

The one thing that really surprised him was your love for Christmas music; you knew every song, maybe couldn't remember the name, but you would be able to sing it. It never failed to make him smile; you even knew ‘Feliz Navidad’ and didn't butcher it as he did. 

Your love for Christmas music was signified because you never celebrated the holiday, and music was easy to access. It was what you immersed yourself in. 

This is why Harry is confused when he hears you begin to sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ under your breath, then switching to a soft hum in the tune of the song as you start to place your freshly washed sweats in their drawers. 

Harry was not sure why you did that; you loved singing out loud. You had a decent voice, as you liked to say, but why switch. 

You're clueless to Harry watching you, deep in thought, trying his best to analyze you. 

Then Harry gasps; it all clicks, making sense. 

You raise your head to look at him, shutting the drawer with your hip. "What?"

"You don't know the lyrics." Harry accuses. 

"To what?" You step towards the bed, wanting to finish the rest of this to finally go down and each lunch. 

"Frosty the Snowman."

"I do." You defend.

Harry smirks, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"No." 

"Why not?"

You frown before taking a deep breath and begin to hum the song correctly to Harry. 

"Okay, you know the tune, now the lyrics." He gestures for you to go on.

"Frosty the snowman..." Your voice dies down, you rake your brain for the correct lyrics, sending a smaller prayer you're right. "had a shiny nose?" 

"Oh, this is golden, love." He's laughing now. It's filling up the room. 

"Harry," You whine. 

"You call yourself the Christmas Queen." Harry is holding his stomach, his laughter getting to be too much. "Next, you're going to tell me you don't know the lyrics to 'All I Want For Christmas Is You.'"

"How dare you, that came out in our birth year." You're over making fun of you. 

"Okay fine, but really so many years, and you never learned. You said you love all Christmas music, and well, that's a classic, dove."  

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers getting caught on the tips for not brushing it out. "I never actually got to make a snowman, so I never listened to the lyrics."

"Are you secretly a Grinch as well?" Harry teases.

You throw a balled-up shirt of his and hit him square in the face; it quiets him down. "Conversation over." 

You walk out of the room, leaving him alone, to his chuckling. 

_____

In your home, something was always baking. 

It was either Harry trying to better his last bread or you baking a new vegan cake that Gemma sent you. 

It's something you both loved to do.

For you, though, it was your own form of meditation. No matter the time of day, if you felt your head spinning, you'd just head to the kitchen and begin to take out ingredients letting that be your only focus. The Great British Baking Show also brings a lot of comfort to you, Harry happily laying his head on your lap, your hand running through his hair as you just let the show play on and on. 

Now, you're in the kitchen for a whole other reason; you're baking gingerbread cookies, from snowflakes to snowman and even little reindeer. Harry has invited friends over for a fun holiday decorating party. It sounded like a good idea until he left you to do it all yourself as he ran errands that he pushed off for a week. 

Thankfully, there were no distractions during the time it took you to make one hundred cookies because there would be casualties during the decorating. Just as you were putting the last dozen on the cooling rack, does your phone ring causing it to cut off Paul McCartney's singing of 'Wonderful Christmastime.'

As you pick it up to answer, you check the caller id and see that it's Gemma calling. 

Gemma forgoes a greeting and goes straight to the reason for her call. 

"You don't know 'Frosty the Snowman!'" She exclaims more than asks. 

"I'm going to kill him." You groan into the phone. 

Gemma laughs, "No, no, please don't. Mum likes you too much to see you behind bars."

"Gem, he's been relentless." Thinking back to the past few days and how he'd randomly come up to you and just begin to sing the lyrics to you, not shutting up until you tickled him too much to continue. "Please don't let it come up later." 

"I've got you," Gemma assures you. 

"Thank you."

"As long," Gemma begins, but you groan jokingly into the phone. 

"Go on," You sigh, knowing this is how the eldest Styles sibling acts.  

"As long as you tell me what Harry bought mum for Christmas."

"Alright, fair." Very well, Harry would most likely spoil this himself the closer the holiday arrives. 

Just as you were about to spoil Harry's gift, he walks through the kitchen, saved by the devil himself. "I'll tell you later when you get here." You tell Gemma, smiling at Harry as you bid his sister goodbye.  

"Who was it, love?" Harry asks, kissing you lightly on your lips, being able to taste the gingerbread on your lips that makes him beeline to the cooled cookies. 

"Gems, a huge birdie told her I don't know the lyrics to a popular song." You lean against the counter, smiling as he has a cookie in hand already; he is also a big reason you made so many. 

"Hey," He says, offended, a cookie half shoved in his mouth. "I'm not huge." 

"Never said it was you, hun." You smirk. "Thanks for fessing up."

He pouts, not liking that you outsmarted him. 

"Might want to watch the cookies." You pinch his love handles, snatching what was left of the cookie from his hand and heading upstairs. 

Harry watches you walk away, upset that you stole his cookie; also, he knows you love his winter gains. 

_____

You and Harry are up fairly early, he likes to go on a run around the neighborhood, but you like going to the park. This morning you skipped your run because Harry was meeting up with a friend for breakfast. 

Sure, you got up at your usual time at 7am and began to prepare yourself breakfast. You usually drank coffee with Harry and seeing as he wasn't here, you decided to skip it, instead going straight to the fridge to get the fruits and orange juice to make a smoothie. Something simple, not wanting to clean much after. 

As you finally settled on the couch, getting ready to read Educated by Tara Westover, a book Gemma recommended to her then gifted to her. Tara's memoir is her story of how she comes from a Mormon background and recounts how she educated herself to go to college and learn about the world. It's a Friday, and what better way to spend it lost in a book. 

You had just flipped it open when your phone rang, alerting you to a message. As much as you didn't want to check because you were finally in a comfortable position, you knew it could easily be Harry checking in who gets worried about not getting a reply even five minutes after. He's a worrier at heart. 

As you retrieve it and settle yourself back down, not at all comfortable anymore, you see it's a message from Iz. She was the first friend you made on your own that Harry didn't introduce you to. Iz saw you at a coffee shop you began to frequent and complimented your tote bag that had wildflowers embroidered on it. You thanked her and shared you made it. Iz was shocked, just throwing compliment after compliment. You offered to make her one, but she said you had better teach her instead. Thus, a friendship began. 

Her message read: 

Radio 1 Breakfast Show. Listen in! 

It was definitely a strange message coming from Iz, but you did as told. 

Greg James was saying goodbye to his special guest, no idea who it was. "Before he signs off, he's going to play you one of his favorite Christmas songs," Greg says, then silences, allowing his guest a moment before speaking. 

"This week's Christmas song is in honor of my girlfriend who loves singing Frosty the Snowman... without knowing the lyrics. Happy Holidays."  

Your jaw drops. 

That your boyfriend's voice. You are the girlfriend. 

He went on record. 

Harry really went on live radio to tell thousands that you don't know the lyrics to a Christmas classic. 

You want to laugh because you never expected this from him and are annoyed that something personal now the whole world will know by the end of the day. 

You can't wait until he arrives home.

"Harry Edward Styles!" You yell as you hear Harry open the front door. 

He looks sheepish. "Yes, my darling angel."

"You told me you were having breakfast with Greg James, not that you were going to be on the Breakfast show."

"I took muffins, and they provided coffee, therefore, breakfast." Harry defends

"You exposed me to all of the UK to not knowing 'Frosty the Snowman.'"

"No one knows you're my girlfriend." Harry tries to brush it off.

"We've been dating four years; I'm not that much of a secret. Anne posts me on her story from time to time, and your friends follow my Instagram, fuck; you've introduced me to Greg." You're not angry, more annoyed than anything because he won't let this go.

"It's just to give everyone a good laugh; no one is going to hold it against you." 

"No, just my boyfriend and everyone who listens to the Breakfast Show." You cross your arms before storming up the stairs away from Harry. 

"Love? You're not actually mad, right?" Harry asks, pushing the bedroom door open. 

"You even got Iz on it!" Your turn around with a pout on your face. 

Harry laughs. "I honestly thought she wouldn't go through with it."

"Well, I see where her loyalty lies." 

Harry steps close and pulls you into his chest. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him. He knows how much you love his hugs.

"I promise this is the last I mention of it." 

You frown into his chest, not at all believing him. Harry pats your bum, and you take that as the queue to look up at him. He's smiling down at you, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "I promise." 

"Okay, then." You lean in and kiss him, firmer this time and much longer. Harry sneaks his tongue in, instantly getting a moan out of you. 

"I know how you can make it up to me." You gasp, pulling away, 

Harry raises an eyebrow at you. "Do tell." 

A smirk on both your faces as you guide him to the bed, very much hungry for something that wasn't breakfast. 

_____

Harry has the Christmas playlist running; it's a Sunday, meaning they spend it at home doing absolutely nothing. To be truthful, they rolled out of bed past ten and still have their pj's on. Not at all bothering to change, why waste more clothes if no one will see them like this in the comfort of their own home.

You cooked grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and now are playing a game of scrabble.

Harry puts down the word 'light,' then reaching his hand into the black pouch to pick five letters to have seven once again. You are looking back and forth between the board and your letters, thinking of the best place to place your word. 

"I've got a question," Harry says, looking at you, wanting all your attention as well. 

"What is it?" You're focused on your letters. Rearranging them, not putting down the 'q' in your hand. It's currently useless but will eventually give you a word to win the game. Not that you both ever keep points, oh no, that stopped after you beat harry 120 to 66, and he flipped the board, causing letters to fly everyone. You still claim that there are missing letters. 

"Frosty is a cute name."

"Reminds me of that Wendy's dessert. I'm still not sure what made it so good." You say, maybe you should get up and eat some. Harry did just pick up new flavors that he had been wanting to try something about them being richer in flavor. 

"You're getting off track." 

"Sorry, Frosty is cute for what?" You don't let him answer before you're speaking again. "A dog, did you get a dog?" You pause, looking up at him, "a cat, did Anne find a stray and wants to give them to us?" You wait, but Harry is about to crush all your excitement. 

"None of that." He shakes his head at you, and disappointment fills you immediately. 

"Well, can this conversation end then? I'm disappointed." 

"Darling," Harry chastises you for not letting him go on.

"Go on then, mate." You gesture him to continue. Shifting your attention away from the game in front of you.

Harry frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in the sweet way that makes you want to rub them out until he's relaxed. "Why'd you call me, mate?"

"Oh, I've called you this before." You brush off Harry's reactions; he's always dramatic. 

"I'm not your friend." He states.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head and really look at Harry. "Well, of course, you are boyfriend," You emphasize, dragging out the word. "You're my best friend." 

"You can't say boyfriend anymore. I'm your fiancé now." Harry states proudly, but you feel a little dumbfounded, not knowing why he is saying that.

Your eyes widen when you look down at your left hand, and no ring rests on your left ring finger.

"Fuck, I missed your proposal, and the ring got lost." You pout, trying your best to stop the smirk from coming out.  

"Darling, I'm sorry." Harry quickly apologizes. "I'm still your boyfriend, but I will be proposing soon." He promises. "Shit, you were supposed to not even know. I really am bad at hiding things."

"Fuck, you really are." You laugh, "but boyfriend sounds cute. Can't I still say boyfriend when you do?" 

"Doesn't fiancé sound nicer?" Harry tries. 

You shrug. "Not as fun, husband is nice."

"You're rejecting my future proposal, then." Harry is teasing, and you can tell by the sparkle in his forest eyes. 

"Of course not, you dummy. You can be my fiancé and my boyfriend." You tell him like it was the most obvious answer.

"Seems like a lot of work."

"Rude." You stick your tongue at him. 

"Right, love, well try to remember I'm your husband once we're married, no more boyfriend."

"I will, hubby. You're going to be my hubby."

You both go silent.

You burst out laughing, "That's awful, I hate it."

Harry chuckles, nodding his head. "Yeah, I do as well."

"This is why I'm the brains in the relationship." 

"Right," Harry rolls his eyes at you, not at all agreeing.

"Uh, darling, I went to uni and got two degrees while you only finished school at sixteen before going off to steal millions of hearts around the world." 

"Including yours." He teases.

"I was always more a Zayn girl." You correct him.

Harry throws his arms up, "Can never let me win, can you?" 

"Nope"

"We're off-topic." Harry realizing how far they strayed from their starting point. 

"Where did we start?"

"Frosty." 

You sit back, resting against the couch; you take him in and smile at how cuddly he looks in the purple robe that he stopped letting you use. "Well, go on."

"Seeing as-" He pauses, hearing the familiar opening notes to the song he was thinking of. 'Frosty, the Snowman' is now his favorite song. "Perfectly timed, as you don't know the lyrics to Frosty the snowman."

"Gosh, you're never going to let this go," You grumble. 

"Nope. I figured we will have a little fun with this."

"More fun than the breakfast show." 

He gives you a pointed look.

You let out a long sigh, "Let's hear it." 

"You learn all the lyrics and sing it for me, and I'll let you get us a dog or cat." Harry's grinning at his idea, knowing you'll agree without a fight. 

"Can we go to the shelter?" You look like a kid on Christmas morning who had just received their presents from Santa, and in a way, you have.

"Yes, we can. Only if you can learn the entire song." Harry tells you again, wanting to emphasize the singing.

"Done deal." 

"Great, I'm giving you a week." 

You smile wide, nodding, looking, finally focusing back down at your words and the ones Harry has placed. You put down the word 'queen,' and this wins you the non-official game. Harry looks down at his poorly hidden score sheet and curses under his breath. 

"I win." 

Safe to say you lost more letters that day.

_____

It's been a week, and Harry is patiently waiting on their bed as you get ready in your shared closet. Your shared closet is large and mainly holds all of Harry's clothing. You definitely have a nice share of clothes filled with gifts from friends as well as Harry's friends and your treasured thrifted pieces. You smile at yourself in the full-length mirror. 

Harry really can't begin to imagine what you have in store for him. 

The speaker is set out and ready, and all that is needed is for you to make your entrance.

You shake out your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the nerves. You look yourself over one last time before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open. 

"Close your eyes." You call out. 

Harry rolls his eyes but does as he is told.

You walk over to the speaker and press play, letting the music fill the room, making your way to stand in front of Harry, who slowly opens his eyes.

He gasps; he feels himself start to get hard. His eyes can't seem to take everything in fast enough. You smirk, loving the reaction you got out of him. It gives you the extra boost of confidence you were needing. 

You stand there, hand on your hip in a sexy snowman outfit to go with the performance you are about to give.

The dress, if you can consider it with how short it is, has three black buttons in the center. The material hugs your chest nicely, giving Harry a nice view of your breasts that are close to popping out. The dress hugs your waist and begins to flow out right past your butt. You wore your favorite black heels that Harry sometimes begs you not to take off. You had on a plaid scarf and a black hat that matched it perfectly. 

You were the human version of the snowman except for a more rated r version.

Harry is sitting his mouth wide open at a loss for words. You blow him a kiss before letting the song lyrics flow out of you.

Frosty the snowman

Was a jolly happy soul

With a corncob pipe and a button nose

And two eyes made out of coal

You sway your hips side to side, singing, enjoying the ravenous stare he was giving you. You throw the hat, letting it fall at his feet, but not even that breaks the gaze he has on you, not wanting to miss a single movement of yours. 

Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale they say

He was made of snow

But the children know

How he came to life one day

You take a few steps forward, but never enough to allow him to touch you, and he's craving it; you know he is. His hands are gripping his thighs, his knuckles turning whiter by the seconds. 

He still hasn't said a word. You have him mesmerized. 

You sing the lyrics proudly, knowing you practiced all week for this moment. The moment Harry will never forget all the teasing he had been doing, always forgetting you win these battles. 

There must have been some magic in that

Old silk hat they found

For when they placed it on his head

He began to dance around

"Baby," Harry breathes out, putting a hand out to touch you, but you take a step back before he can do so. 

You smirk, shaking your head no at him. You were having a lot more fun than you expected. 

You bend over, slipping off your heels, never breaking eye contact with Harry; he could very easily see up the dress that you had nothing underneath. His green eyes turned dark, and you swore your heart stopped, and you were sure he was about to attack. You were the prey, taunting him until he had enough, but surprisingly enough, he took a deep breath, and his composure was back well, just a bit of it.  

O Frosty the snowman

Was alive as he could be

And the children say he could laugh and play

Just the same as you and me

You stopped right in front of him. Harry's eyes trained on your red lips, hanging out to every word you were singing. You reached a hand back and began to unzip the dress. The grin on your face excited for the next reaction you were about to receive. 

Once you reached the bottom of your back, the dress fell to the floor. Harry let out a loud gasp. Your breasts on display, the small owl tattoo on your hip staring at him, he could see how wet you were, and all he wanted was his head between your thighs as you screamed his name. 

You were a dream. You missed Harry's touch. It was the reason you stepped close enough for him to finally pull you in. 

He led them down the streets of town

Right to the traffic cop

And he only paused a moment when

He heard them holler "Stop!"

Harry has no expression on his face as he sits you on his lap. He lets his head fall into your next, feeling how wet you are through his thin sweats. You move to stand up, but he grips your hips tightly, thrusting his hips against yours, searching for some kind of relief or a reaction from you because you still haven't stopped singing. 

"Baby, stop singing." His hand is cradling your cheek as his lust-filled eyes stare at you. 

You shake your head, not letting him distract you. The only piece of clothing left was the scarf, and Harry lets out a growl before ripping your scarf off your neck, throwing it off to the side.

Now you truly sit there naked in his lap, and you feel all the control you have over him. The song is coming to an end, meaning you've got to remove yourself from your favorite place to sit but knowing you'll be back there soon enough. 

Frosty the snowman

Had to hurry on his way

But he waved goodbye, saying

"Don't you cry I'll be back again someday"

You sing the final lyrics in his ear before walking away to turn off the speaker, an extra sway to your hips, knowing Harry is very well still watching your every move. You stand a delighted look on your face as you wait for his praise. 

"Those were the longest two minutes of my life," Harry says; he puts a hand over his heart, feeling like it might just burst out. "I'm never going to be able to listen to this song in public or around anyone that isn't you." 

You smirk, thrilled to hear that.

"What did I do to end up with someone as beautiful and perfect as you in my life." He confesses. 

"Probably stopped a war in a past life." You throw out jokingly. 

Harry puckers his lips and makes grabby hands at you. "Kissy, please?"

And who are you to say no? He spreads his legs, letting you step in between. You slip your fingers into his hair, pulling back with enough force to have him let out a moan. You lean down and connect your lips in a hot kiss, one that has Harry gripping you tightly wherever he can get his hands on. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you happily give up the control to him. 

You pull back and rest a hand on his chest, preventing him from pulling you back for you. You wipe your thumb over his bottom lip that now has some of your red lipstick. "Seems like I won, sweets."

"I feel like the real winner here," Harry tells you cheekily, sneaking a kiss to both your boobs. You giggle, not at all surprised by his action. 

"Well," You fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "Why don't you show me how winners celebrate?" 

"With pleasure." Harry groans standing up quickly and pushing you back against the best. He strips as fast as he can, not without a small stumble; you're sure to keep your giggle quiet, knowing very well how easily he gets embarrassed. 

He is quick to get on top and kisses you hard. His kisses are always soft, but it seems the teasing seemed to flip a switch, one that you will happily remember to look to turn on again on a later date. Tonight, you are ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

Harry connects their lips, ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

_____

Christmas cards were a lovely tradition. Harry insisted they started because he wanted to show off his beautiful girlfriend to his friends and family. He also liked them handwritten because it added a nice personal touch. Who were you to argue about it?

This year you were the one excited to send them out. 

It read: Merry Christmas from our beautiful family to yours

You and Harry sat in front of the fireplace, four stockings hanging behind you. Harry made you sit in his lap, wanting to show off your matching two-piece buffalo plaid pajamas. You both had the biggest grins on your face, eyes shining bright. Next to you, laying on top of a box that was wrapped with blue sloth wrapping paper, was a one-year-old Australian shepherd that had spent the better of six months in the shelter because the small pup was quiet who didn't do well with people, but that changed instantly the minute he met you. You decided on the name Frosty for him. Not only did Harry get you the dog of your dreams but a small kitten as well. You brought home Snow, a six-month white Birman kitten who was the rut of his siblings, and how could you just not bring him home with you with his big blue eyes staring at you begging to add to your family because he had lots of love to give. At least that's what you told Harry what the look he was giving you meant. The two siblings laid next to each other, both surprisingly staring right at the camera, making it their best Christmas photo yet. 

A photo can honestly speak a thousand words because one glance at this photo tells you how much love there is in that home and their relationship. 

Christmas was all about spreading joy and love, and well, Harry accomplished just that for you.

_____

thank you so much for reading! i honestly hoped you loved it and would love to hear what you thought so send me a message if you like. 

i love you!

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 25

a/n : so sorry it took so long getting this update out !! i had a disgusting amount of work to do and i really was not doing anything else for a few days -- i really hope you like it!! pls lmk what you think about things now that jimin (and we) know everything! its gonna get,,,, i wanna say messy but messys not even enough to cover how messy its gonna get

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________________________________

Jimin can’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes for more than a few minutes. Time goes by so fast these days that he’s partially convinced he’s been falling asleep and not realizing it. The hours between class and dinner every day are spent in the library, his headphones shoved into his ears haphazardly while he tunnel visions onto what’s been in the back of his mind since the beginning of the year.

Those spare hours had turned into days and days into weeks -- weekends where he doesn’t even glance at his phone, unaware of the growing concern of his friends. It’s almost May now, the chill of early spring having melted away around him without him realizing. His schoolwork stopped being a priority ages ago, and he knows his grades are really taking the hit for it. He vaguely remembers Namjoon confronting him one night some time ago -- a week? Two weeks ago? -- but he can’t for the life of him recall the contents of that conversation. Something about hating to play the ‘prefect card’, but having no choice. He doesn’t even know if he’s still on the quidditch team. It doesn’t matter -- nothing matters when seeing everything with the perspective he’s got now.

Practically buried in scrolls and books, Jimin could care less about the time and the fact that he’s very obviously breaking curfew right now -- the library’s been empty for hours now, and the light outside the window has well past faded into pitch black darkness. He had to hide from Pince around 10pm, barely managing to catch the click of the librarian’s heels through the music blasting in his headphones to keep him concentrated -- it’s a miracle that she hadn't caught him, really. He’d never be able to focus properly back in his room, not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together.

It’s there, right there, everything scattered in his brain. He knows it’s sitting right in front of him, he can feel himself trying to hyperfocus on anything that can blatantly tell him what he needs to know. Flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and shuffling through scrolls with his other, he glances down at a scrap of paper with his own handwriting, chicken-scratch on a ripped up piece of parchment for him to refer back to every few minutes. There, in black ink, the words ‘vampire’ and ‘veela’ are written and then, later, crossed out. There’s one below it -- ‘maledictus’ -- that remains uncrossed and haunts his every thought.

For the better half of the week, he’d spent his nights scouring the bookshelves for any text he could find on blood malediction -- there isn’t much to show for his efforts. Too rare a condition to have any extensive research done, he could barely manage to put together a few measly scrolls and one book with less than a full chapter on the subject. Sighing heavily, Jimin leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples while he reconsiders the information for what feels like the hundredth time.

It fits the fact that she has a blood condition… but it’s not right. There’s no mention of a potion or even of regularly experiencing sickness. Y/n is in the Hospital Wing like once a month. There wouldn’t be anything Pomfrey or Hoseok could do to help her if she was a maledictus…

He considers that maybe those things are part of blood malediction and that there just isn’t enough documentation for him to verify it. But there’s something nagging at him, telling him this isn’t right. He thinks back over everything he knows, trying to pull up the major details that could help him finally get some sleep. Ignoring the fact that he very well could doze off, even with his loud ass music, he lets his eyes close so he can think. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s sitting up in his seat, eyes wide as he recalls something said to him almost months ago, forgotten amidst everything else on his mind.

“What’s the deal with your roommate, Tae?”

“Who, Stephen?”

“No, not fuckin’ Stephen -- Jungkook!”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Because Stephen doesn’t look at me like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what you did to make Jeon Jungkook hate you, but it must have be serious--”

“Just tell me what you know about him, Tae.”

“I mean… nothing crazy, really -- an only child, comes from old money. Probably as old as the Malfoys or the Potters. His family’s the purest of purebloods. And always Gryffindors, just like the Malfoys are always Slytherins. It’s kind of nuts, having a family history like that.”

Jimin stumbles out of his chair, already making his way down the aisles of bookshelves, almost crazed with concentration.

Purest of purebloods -- there’s not a single pureblood family that isn’t documented in a registry… registry… regis-- aha!

Turning down an aisle designated for family registries dating back centuries, he scans the shelves at a lightening speed, finally coming to a halt in front of a tome titled Gryffindor Legacies. Hauling it from the shelf, he doesn’t even bother returning to his table, taking a seat right there on the floor.

Flipping straight to the back to search for the family name, he locates it easily and heads to appropriate page. Searching the family tree down generations, it takes him several pages of flipping through Jungkook’s ancestors’ lives to finally get to his parents. They’re the most recent entry -- new editions of the book are printed with each new generation, the original, handwritten copy belonging to the respective families. It’s an inefficient system for sure, but Jimin’s not exactly complaining when he’s the one benefiting directly.

Scanning the page, from the birth of his mother -- Jeon Eunha -- to her school days, from her marriage to his father all the way to Jungkook’s birth. Jimin expects the next part to follow the same structure of his mother’s story, recounting his childhood, but it diverges from that almost immediately with some extra lines that he almost feels don’t exist in the original copy at the Jeon family residence.

Not long after the birth of their first and only child, they were met with circumstances leading to the adoption and care of another, the recently orphaned infant girl, Y/n Y/l/n. In her days at Hogwarts, young Eunha had become friends with a female Ravenclaw student, who had a noticeably sickly pallor about her at all times. She was to become her closest lifelong friend. The same night in which Y/l/n was to give birth to her first child, she and her husband met an untimely fate in the form of a violent animal attack in the backyard of their own home. The Jeon family were the first to arrive at the premises, deciding immediately to take in the infant child and raise her alongside their own son. Not much else is known about the girl, only that she and the Jeon heir were to become inseparable.

Jimin stares down at the page, unblinking. There’s a lot of information to process, but the things that stand out most to him are the fact that Y/n’s mother was also apparently afflicted with the same illness as Y/n, and --

‘Violent animal attack’? I knew the car accident thing was bullshit, but… did her mom not even die in childbirth? Why would she not tell me… there’s nothing suspicious about an animal atta--

Almost like his brain has started to short-circuit after the long nights and lack of sleep, Jimin’s thoughts are gone instantly, replaced by the mental image of a book sitting not a even a few aisles away, on a table littered with all of the information he’d ever needed in the first place. He’s completely incapable of registering anything around him as he races back to his table, his mind flipping incomprehensibly between the information in front of him and all of the pieces of his memories, details that make too much sense in this moment to match anything but this one conclusion.

Most Muggles, however, will die from the extent of their injuries… all known instances of Muggle attacks have been portrayed in the media as ‘animal attacks’ so as to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world…

Given the extent of the available research and data, collected almost entirely from male subjects afflicted with lycanthropy, not much is known about the hereditary components related to a female werewolf. Therefore, it is unknown if a pregnant female werewolf's transformations would affect the ability to carry the pregnancy to term…

Without any humans nearby to attack, or other animals to occupy it, the werewolf will attack itself out of frustration…

“My mom died in childbirth and my dad… just a… just a freak accident you know, no one’s fault or anything…”

Because werewolves only pose a danger to humans, companionship with animals whilst transformed has been known to make the experience more bearable as the werewolf has no-one to harm and will be less willing to harm themselves…

“You want to talk about forbidden, Jeon? Let’s talk about your illegal animagus status-”

The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full of wolfsbane potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon…

“…you know how long it takes me to make a full set of vials for you. I barely have enough to make it last 3 days…”

The monthly transformation of a werewolf is extremely painful if untreated and is usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health…

“He was lowkey carrying her down the stairs… she looked kinda sick actually…”

Throwing scrolls behind him without care as he searches for the one with the final detail, he pulls his phone out when he finds it -- a book listing all of the recorded moon cycles for over a century. Jamming his thumb down on the icon that’ll take him to his search engine and typing with blind panic, he finds himself yanking out his headphones by the cord with one sharp tug when the answer flashes back at it him on the screen, and he realizes that almost all of the pieces are in place.

The quidditch match against Slytherin -- it was the night before a full moon.

“No, no… no, no, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t happening, this can’t be right, she can’t be--” Jimin remembers the text he’d sent to her almost 8 hours ago, sitting unanswered, and he moves without thinking. Slamming his hands down on either side of the moon cycle record, he flips frantically to the cycle for this current month, April of 1978. What he sees there has his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Next week? It’s next week? But that means she’d have to be feeling the effects of it this wee--” He’s cut off by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches for it almost desperately. It’s Y/n, finally responding to his concerned texts with nothing more than a single line. His blood turns to ice when he reads it.

I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.

--

When Jimin bursts through the door of Dumbledore’s office just past 3am, the headmaster’s already seated at his desk, evidently waiting for him. He’s donning a light blue robe with a matching sleeping cap perched delicately on his head, suggesting to Jimin that he’d somehow woken up knowing he was soon to greet a guest. All of the panic invading Jimin’s body is masked just slightly by guilt, only now realizing how late it is and how intrusive he must seem in this moment.

“Mister Park, you certainly are out quite a bit past curfew, no?” Jimin stands in the doorway cradling all of the scrolls and books he’d been hoarding the last few weeks -- he can’t very well have left a huge pile of evidence back in the library. It would have taken no time at all for someone to look through it and see there were connections everywhere to lycanthropy, even if he himself had been blind to it for so long.

“... Park? Mister Park?” Jimin jumps, lifting his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore’s concerned ones. The man continues once he’s got Jimin’s attention. “Surely, you must need something from me, or you wouldn’t appear so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Jimin’s aware of the state he’s in -- the dark rings under his eyes, his ruffled clothes and hair, the way he’s holding his books like he needs to protect them with his life. He looks unhinged. He feels unhinged.

Realizing he has absolutely no idea how to approach the subject of a potential werewolf at Hogwarts with the school’s very headmaster, Jimin decides to start by moving toward the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Maybe I just need to sit down and take a deep breath. That should help--

He doesn’t even make it two steps before one of the many books he’s holding crashes to the floor between them, falling open to the page he’d stuck a pencil in to save his spot. The moon cycle for April of 1978 stares back up at him, and when he flicks his gaze up to peer at Dumbledore, he sees the headmaster’s expression has hardened with caution.

“Professor--”

“Have a seat, Mister Park.” Jimin’s heart lodges in his throat at Dumbledore’s tone, never having heard such a sharp edge to the kind man’s voice. He moves to the chair, setting the obnoxious amount of research haphazardly in his lap. His eyes will only go so far as the top of Dumbledore’s desk, unable to bring himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sir, I… need to ask you something.” When he isn’t granted a response, he swallows hard, pushing forward. “If there were to be a student at Hogwarts with a… peculiarity of sorts… how would you go about dealing with that?”

“How would I deal with what, Mister Park?”

“That student.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.” Jimin lifts his eyes then, confused, but he’s met with a deliberately ignorant smile.

“Sir?” Dumbledore’s smile, albeit strained, only widens.

“I think you may be suffering from a lack of sleep, Mister Park. There are no students at Hogwarts with any peculiarities, as you call it.” Jimin stares suspiciously up at him, knowing Dumbledore can tell that Jimin doesn’t for a second believe that claim. Breaking eye contact, he glances down at his lap, trying to figure out how to keep this conversation going. Trying to figure out why he’s even here.

Jimin looks down at himself and the pile of incriminating evidence, cursing his idiocy when he realizes just how bad this situation must look. A student out of bed way past curfew, barging into the headmaster’s office holding weeks of research and making outrageous claims about a potentially dangerous student. And he’s a Ravenclaw no less.

Shit. He probably thought I was some nosy little fucker trying to expose her and get her expelled.

Knowing that he’s risking a lot by being straightforward, he takes a single deep breath and meets Dumbledore’s eyes, his own filled with determination.

“Sir, I know about Y/n Y/l/n, and I know you do, too. I need to know how to take care of her. I need to know how to help her. I need you to tell me what to do because, to be honest with you, I’m freaking out.” The way Dumbledore’s examining him as he speaks tells Jimin that he’s right, but more importantly, it tells Jimin that Dumbledore hadn’t been expecting him to want to help.

“That is a very serious accusation you’re making, Mister Park, especially in this political climate. Very serious.” Jimin doesn’t waver when he responds.

“I know, sir. That’s why you’re the only one I’ve made it to. Because I need your help. Because I know you can help.” Dumbledore narrows his eyes, peering at Jimin over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

“Have you considered the fact that just you knowing this information at all has placed Miss Y/l/n in more danger than she’s already in?” As soon as the words leave Dumbledore’s mouth, Jimin’s heart is stopping in his chest. All the times that Hoseok and Jungkook had told him to mind his business come rushing back, and he feels himself becoming sick to his stomach. Of course it’s more dangerous for her now that he knows -- he’d been too selfish to even think it through, too nosy for his own good. He had done all this to try to understand her, to try to be a better friend who can help when she needs it, but it’s all bullshit. Everything he thought he had done for her sake had actually been for his. For him and his stupid curiosity.

Lifting his head as a thought comes to mind, Jimin doesn’t even think twice before speaking.

“Can you erase my memories?” The headmaster’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, his expression becoming amused as Jimin continues rambling. “Can’t you obliviate me or something? Wouldn’t that be the best way for me to help her? Wait… but do you have to erase everything I know about her -- will I still know her? Can you make sure I still know her? I really like her! I don’t like Hoseok or Jungkook very much -- they kind of scare me -- but I like her! I don’t want to forget her, but also if me knowing that she’s a werewolf is only going to cause her more trouble, then I really think you should make me forget--” Dumbledore lifts his hand calmly, effectively silencing a frantic Jimin.

“Have you always had such a one-track mind, Mister Park?” Jimin smiles weakly, offering a half-joking response.

“It’s my only redeeming Ravenclaw quality…” Dumbledore chuckles before scratching at his forehead with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately -- and I do truly mean that -- I cannot erase a student’s memories. So, you and I will need to continue this difficult conversation.” Jimin considers the man’s words, knowing that it really would be better for everyone if he had his mind wiped clean and hating that he’d unknowingly put Y/n even more in harm’s way. He looks up when Dumbledore sighs again.

“Mister Park, you do understand that you are strictly forbidden from informing anyone else of this situation, yes?” When Jimin nods immediately, opening his mouth to assure the man that he wouldn’t say a word, Dumbledore only shakes his head. “No, Mister Park, I’m not sure you really understand. This situation is infinitely more complicated than you could ever imagine, so it is absolutely imperative that you keep this information to yourself.” Jimin blinks, unsure what’s meant by ‘infinitely more complicated’, but he nods again.

“I’ve put her in enough danger just by being here, Sir -- I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone.” Dumbledore examines him a moment longer, essentially staring into Jimin’s soul to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually he nods, leaning back in his chair.

“What advice would you like me to give you, Mister Park?” Jimin stays silent, thinking hard about any way that he can make Y/n’s life easier, especially after all the trouble he’s caused up to now. His mind flashes back to the conversation he’d overheard in the library. He opens his mouth slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Sir… how does a student that isn’t even taking Potions know how to brew the wolfsbane potion? Isn’t it nearly impossible?” Jimin sees Dumbledore’s eyes flicker with recognition, and the headmaster responds cautiously.

“…If that student isn’t taking any kind of Potions course at all, they’d need to already be an expert from having dedicated all their studies to the art of potionmaking. They would also need an immense amount of private mentoring, even if they are taking Potions. We do not teach the wolfsbane potion in the curriculum. As I’m sure you can imagine, it wouldn’t fare well in these times…” Jimin squints, putting the pieces together quickly in his mind.

“And where would a student like that find this kind of… private mentoring?” The headmaster hums at Jimin’s question, peering down at him with knowing eyes.

“Well, Mister Park, if you wish to receive mentoring on much… safer forms of potionmaking, I’m sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to help you. However, if you are asking me about Mister Jung Hoseok of Slytherin House, and if you are wondering just how he became capable of caring for Miss Y/l/n at the young age of 13, well… you’re looking at his mentor.”

--

When Jimin leaves Dumbledore’s office almost an hour later, he feels like his head is going to explode. The nights of sleeplessness seem to also have come rushing back to him at once, and he’s not sure if he’s going to collapse first from the exhaustion or from the weight of everything he knows now. For a moment, he considers that maybe he really should ask someone to erase his memories -- Jungkook or Hoseok, perhaps.

Yeah, I’m sure they’d absolutely love to do me that favor.

Dragging his feet as he trudges down the corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Jimin stops short at a window when movement down by the Black Lake catches his eye. Almost as if thinking about them has caused them to materialize before him, Jimin watches the silhouette of Jung Hoseok stroll casually down by the shoreline, followed not long after by Jeon Jungkook racing toward him, a body perched precariously on his back. It’s not hard to see that Y/n’s clinging weakly to him as he runs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he keeps his hands hooked under her knees. Jimin can see that she’s got a gown on from the Hospital Wing, and it’s obvious that Jungkook and Hoseok have snuck her out from under Madam Pomfrey’s stern supervision.

They head for the Forbidden Forest, Y/n reaching back for Hoseok when Jungkook passes him. She beckons him forward, and Jimin watches as the three of them disappear together into the trees. He sighs deeply when he can no longer see them, muttering to himself under his breath as he makes his way to his room, overcome with extreme guilt at the entire situation.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, you fucking idiot.”

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - We’re Coming Back Home

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, the last one I plan to do, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 3rd.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, miraculously, through all of Ford’s traveling, through countless dimensions, his Quantum Destabilizer remained on his back and fully intact.

Okay, well, mostly intact. Partially intact. 

When he was finally ready to attack Bill and put an end to his reign of terror, his plans had been put on hold when a crack in space-time opened. He didn’t dare hope that it was a way home, but maybe if he aimed correctly, the shot would not only kill Bill, but fly him home. But no, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl fly out of the hole, and with reflexes he developed over thirty years of staying alive in the worst circumstances, he hooked his Quantum Destabilizer onto his back, caught the girl, and swam through the gravity-less air for safety, hiding behind an asteroid, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissing for her silence, swearing she would be okay, and they barely made it out as Bill’s words echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

“Sixer’s caught a Shooting Star, boys!”

Ford had no idea what that was supposed to mean at the time, but now a month later, he thinks he finally understood. His niece, Shermie’s granddaughter, Mabel, loved stars, and was very much like one herself. Always shining. Always so bright and full of hope. Many times in history, and even today in other dimensions, runaway slaves used the stars as maps to guide them to a better place. Ford often wondered if Mabel was his star, maybe not guiding him physically to a safe haven, but guiding him to a happier mindset. Guiding him to a life that isn’t completely isolated. Guiding him to a life that included love.

The last few weeks have been challenging, sure, but not that much more challenging than traveling alone; Mabel was a fast learner, and while she refused to use a knife or gun (“Cuz those hurt, Grunkle Ford!”), she was perfectly comfortable with pop-rocks and making foes lose their footing and fall down so they couldn’t attack. And she was very good at hunting for food and water and other reliable resources. 

In fact, Ford would easily say the last few weeks have been the happiest of his life. Maybe only tying with when Fiddleford joined him in Gravity Falls, before work on the portal became dangerous, but after he realized that maybe the woods had been too quiet the last six years.

After just a day and a half, Ford was fully-aware of his attachment to his niece and how much it would ruin him if he lost her. Mabel was everything a good person strives to be: kind, sweet, a pleasure to be around, but not a pushover, either; Mabel Pines knew how to stand her ground.

And so the last month was littered with so many happy memories. Ford was a little hurt when she “borrowed” two broken fishing poles and fixed them up so they could fish, but he very quickly enjoyed sitting on a log by a river and fishing with Mabel. Ford found it brought her much comfort to brush her hair, and he also discovered he enjoyed a calm brush himself. Ford found he didn’t mind the extra weight of his niece on his shoulders; quite the contrary, he found it comforting, and he was always swallowed with peace when she was so relaxed with him that she fell asleep, using his fluffy gray hair as a pillow.

No longer was Ford met with suspicious looks when he walked down the street of a market alone, face hidden. Quite the opposite. He was always met with smiles and warm greetings, and sometimes a little extra food was thrown into a purchase for free. Be it because people saw him as a parent with an adorable child, or because of Mabel’s charm. Or both.

The dimensions they came across were random and different, just like it was when Ford traveled alone. Some dimensions were like an alien sci-fi movie, completely different with no humans. Some dimensions were scaringly like home, with a small difference here and there. Ironically, the alien-like dimensions were typically safer, because they were used to travelers and weird-looking creatures. 

But Ford guessed it would be okay if he and Mabel stepped into a normal grocery store to buy some food.

They had come across a “normal” dimension, and while Ford’s first thought was to retreat for the woods, he heard Mabel’s stomach growl, and he decided her health was more important. So they stepped in and kept to themselves.

Ford and Mabel were picking up crackers when the little girl grinned at rows of cereals behind them. “Grunkle Ford, can I please pick a cereal?” She asked politely.

The old scientist thought about it for a moment. Cereal would definitely cover a few meals and be light and easy to carry, and it wouldn’t get hold too quickly, and he had wanted to get her at least one nice thing while in the store, so he nodded and said, “Yes, dear, you may pick one box. Any flavor you want.”

“Thank you!” And Mabel took the time to hug him before skipping over to the cereals to look.

Ford chuckled and picked some crackers, then decided to browse the fruit snacks, debating if it would be wise. Probably not, because if they get stuck in another desert climate the gummies could melt and make a mess, but they could make a good snack for Mabel. He held his chin, debating the idea, while a couple was also looking over the cereals.

“Which do you think Dad would want?” The yellow-haired woman asked.

“Honey, who cares what Rick wants? Just get a cereal you’ll like.” The husband said with an eye roll.

Ford froze at that name. No no, that was most definitely a different Rick. It was a common enough name, and there were billions of dimensions. There was no way Ford and Mabel somehow managed to stumble into C-137. He ultimately decided against gummies and he then looked at the trail mixes and granola bars. Both were always a good option.

“I know, but I want him to feel welcome, you know?” The wife said as she picked a box. “He’s been travelling in space alone for years…”

Oh no. No, no, no. Ford quickly chose some packets of trail mix and several granola bars and hurried back to his niece. He was not going to do this today. Nope.

Mabel grinned at him, a box of cereal in hand, and she held it out to him. “Look, Grunkle Ford, do you like this flavor? I can pick a different one if you want.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear, but I like the one you picked.” Ford did a decent job masking his uneasiness and he took her hand and smiled. “Why don’t we pick up some fruit for today, and then we’ll go fishing for dinner?”

“Yay! Sounds great!”

Ford didn’t miss the yellow-haired woman smiling at them as they left the aisle. If that was who he thought it was… She really didn’t look anything like him. She might have just favored her mother. Who else would have spent years traveling space? Bastard.

Ford may have hated him for many reasons, but choosing to abandon his girls was at the top of the list.

At the checkout line, Ford nervously watched the total of their purchase go up with each beep. He recounted their cash and made a small list of items in his mind for them to go down if they couldn’t afford everything. A few granola bars can go. And, maybe they could find band-aids elsewhere and “borrow” them.

The worker rang up the last item and Ford smiled when he saw the total was 29.89. He had thirty. But then the worker pressed the total button and taxes were added. Shit, right. That made their total 35.45. Ford winced. Mabel looked up at him worriedly, but she smiled and stood on her tippy-toes to see the worker better.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Can you please put the cereal back? We don’t really need it.”

Ford looked down at her, surprised and also a little disheartened. He had really wanted to get her at least one nice thing, but truth be told the cereal was the most expensive item, so it made sense to get rid of it first. Still, it sucked.

“Total’s now 32.14.”

Ford bit his lip. “Very well, may we please put the band-aids back, too?”

The worker nodded, seeming tired and annoyed, but they didn’t say a word. Blissfully, the total went down to 29.99.

With hands full of bags, Mabel and Ford paused at the beginning of the parking lot to move their groceries into their backpacks. While they worked, the old scientist said, “I’m sorry I could afford your cereal, Mabel.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” The girl said instantly. “I’ve got something even sweeter.” And she grinned at her grunkle and gave him a warm smile.

Ford smiled back at her tiredly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” Mabel insisted and hugged him around the neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and determined to sink as much comfort as she could into his skin. “I love you Grunkle Ford. Please don’t beat yourself up, m’k?”

Ford hugged her back and petted her short brown hair. It was certainly easier to feel better with a ball of sunshine in his arms.

They both heard rustling behind them as a buggy rolled from the door to the parking lot. They both looked behind Mabel and saw a bag with the cereal and the band-aids in it. They looked around and saw no one, except for the yellow-haired woman and her husband going to their car.

Mabel grinned and hollered to them, “Thank you!”

They didn’t respond, but the woman did smile and wave before putting groceries into her car. As appreciated as Ford was for her kindness, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. No offense to her. She seemed like a very lovely lady.

But then it hit Ford like a pile of rocks. What was it he had said before he had pulled out his gun and left Ford to travel alone? “And hey, if you ever wanna travel without customs or waiting for wormholes to open, don’t come looking for me.” And then he winked and fell backwards into a pool of green, leaving Ford to curse his name.

If this was like before, when Ford was alone, he wouldn’t dare. But if he could help get Mabel home…

Ford took Mabel’s hand and muttered, “Come with me.” And she followed without question.

Beth felt good helping the old man and the little girl, and she didn’t expect anything more. Really, it was only five dollars worth of stuff. But she was happy when they started to walk towards her, so she trusted Jerry to finish loading up the car and she smiled at them.

“Excuse me, miss, I just want to thank you for what you did.” The old man said.

“Oh, you’re welcome, it was no trouble at all.”

“I… I hope I’m not being too invasive, but… but I believe you know someone I know.”

Beth smiled. Small world! “Really? That’s great! Oh, are you a relative of Dave’s? Or, you know, I do know a lot of people indirectly from the horse-track.”

“Er, no.” The old man gave her a more serious look, and then asked quietly, “Do you know Rick Sanchez?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was so excited to give Stanford Pines and his niece, Mabel, a ride, and to invite them to dinner, not only because she thought seeing an old friend might make her dad smile, but maybe she’ll learn more about what he’s been up to all these years. The man was very polite and the girl was as sweet as can be, both of whom looked rough and in need of a cozy bed and maybe a soothing bath. Jerry was a little unsure, not wanting “more Ricks” into his house, but after a huf from the girl and a cheerful greeting, Jerry couldn’t help but tell the girl she was more than welcome, so now he was roped in.

Mabel noticed that her uncle looked distracted. He was looking out his window, but his eyes were elsewhere. He was thinking. So she decided to try to help him with his thoughts. “Grunkle Ford, who’s Rick Sanchez?” She asked quietly.

Ford looked at her, sighed quietly, and muttered, “He’s an intergalactic scientist. He’s ridiculously intelligent and clever, and… a bit…” Ford pursed his lips. All the words that came to mind he didn’t want Mabel hearing, so he settled on. “... mad.”

“Oh. Is he like a real mad-scientist?” Mabel asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, but with less laughter, more slurs and sluggish demeanor, and even less consideration of other living things.”

Mabel noticed his cold tone and grew concerned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Ford bit his lip. No, he didn’t. But there was a more important reason why he didn’t want to see Rick today. 

Mabel leaned in closer and whispered, “Is he mean?”

Trust Mabel to sum it up perfectly for her uncle. “Yes.” Ford said just as quietly. “And I don’t want him meeting you.”

“Why?”

Ford hesitated. But being blunt and honest seemed to be working, and it was best for Mabel to prepare herself for the lion’s den they were walking into. “I don’t want him to hurt your feelings.” a bit elementary, but it was the best way to explain it to a child without scaring her too much.

Mabel, however, grinned. “Grunkle Ford, no one can resist the Power of Mabel.”

Ford smiled and ruffled her hair softly. “We’ll see…”

“So, if you don’t like Mr. Sanchez, then why are we going to go see him?”

“He’s an expert on interdimensional-travel.” Ford informed her. “He might know how to get us home.”

Mabel’s eyes widened and she “oh”ed as she realized what was going on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The garage door was open to let in good lighting and fresh air. But that wasn’t an invitation to come in whenever people feel like it; Rick will have to work on a security system to keep nosy neighbors away. He was opening a box and getting organized when he heard his daughter’s car roll into the driveway. He didn’t bother to look up, instead waited for the sounds of car doors opening to say something.

“Hey sweetie, welcome back.”

“Dad,” Beth said, sounding giddy. Rick hated giddy. But he had only been here for a week and he didn’t feel like making his daughter hate him just yet, so he settled for rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Wow! You have a nice house! Cool garage, too!” A young voice said.

Rick was halted. He turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow to find a young girl with short brown hair and braces holding hands with an old nerd with fluffy charcoal hair, glasses, and six fingers.

“Oh my God!” Rick laughed. “Holy-...” A dark look from the old traveler made Rick stop; he can piss him off later. First he needs to figure out why the hell he is here and what the hell he wants. “Jeez, you look terrible, Fordsie.” The mad scientist snorted as he leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes and said, “And you still look like a soft breeze will blow you away, Sanchez.”

Mabel bit her lip and quietly, “Oooooh”ed, like she was listening to a rap battle.

“So,” Beth stretched, clearly hoping for more information or a more satisfying reunion, but she wasn’t getting it naturally, so she decided to push a little. “How do you two know each other?”

“The Multiverse is a pretty big place, sweetie.” Rick answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll have this nerd gone before you finish unloading the car. Don’t want to risk another mass genocide.” He sneered.

Ford’s face turned red and he yelled, “I didn’t know it was a planet! It looked too similar to a sandwich for it to be a planet!”

Rick laughed and looked at the little girl. She looked maybe a little younger than Morty. “Who’s that you got with you?”

Ford closed his eyes, debating if he should tell Rick it wasn’t any of his business, or get the introduction over with. But before he could make a decision, Mabel beat him to the punch.

She let go of Rick’s hand, hopped to him, and looked up at his bean-pole stature and smiled and waved. “Hi! I’m Mabel! You’re a scientist, too? Cool! I like your hair! How old are you? Have you ever met a dinosaur? What’s your favorite food?” 

Rick blinked like a startled lizard at the girl, glanced up at Ford, and then looked back down at Mabel. Rick smiled and sat in his chair to be closer to her level, and held out a hand to shake, which she happily accepted and shook a little rough. “Hey there, I’m Rick. Yes, I’m a scientist. Thank you, I like your hair, too. Yes, I’ve met a dinosaur, several in different dimensions. And, pancakes.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “I love pancakes, too! Maybe we can make some together!”

“Maybe, but I’ve got the feeling that’s not why you’re here.” Rick suggested kindly. And no, Ford wasn’t at all suspicious that he was being kind to Mabel.

“Oh! Yeah! Grunkle Ford thinks you can help us get home.”

“Huh. You’re great-uncle, huh? Sure, okay, let’s get started.” Rick rolled over to a cabinet and took out an odd machine. It came with a tiny needle and was attached to the machine by a small black wire, and the boxed machine had a screen of some sort on the side. “Mind if I prick your finger?”

“Sure!” Mabel held out her finger to him and Rick carefully held her wrist and pricked her finger, so small she hardly noticed it. “What for?”

“I need a blood sample to find your home dimension. Gotta send you to the right dimension.” Rick explained. “Fordsie, lemme get yours, too. How’d you two find each other, anyways?”

“I was in the Nightmare Realm when some idiot opened a portal and this little starshine fell into my arms.” Ford explained, stepping forward and giving Rick his finger.

“Okay, got it.” Rick said. “Well, there’s a possibility that you two come from different dimensions. Nothing too different about your homes, but there’s millions of dimensions. The probability that you two came from the same timeline and reality… there we go. It’s a match. That makes things easier.”

The small heart attack Ford was having went away. The idea of his starshine not being his was a nightmare. His life was complicated enough; he didn’t need his girl to not actually be his.

“Dimension 41’\. Huh, okay, gimme two seconds…” Rick pulled out his trusty portal gun and plugged it into the machine. A long list of dimensions popped up, and Ford prayed 41’\ would be on the list. “You two are lucky. I can go as far as 42’\, but the other 40s are out of range. Huh, i’ll have to work on that.”

“So,” Mabel grinned. “You can get us home?”

Rick smiled smugly and shrugged as he stood. “Yeah, sure.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered and hurled herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! I’m gonna see Dipper again! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

Ford smiled softly. He couldn’t believe it. It was all happening so fast and effortlessly. He was going to get Mabel home. They were both going home. Suddenly the idea of seeing Stanley again, meeting his grandnephew and all of Mabel’s friends and her pet pig sounded… a lot. He didn’t realize it, but he was becoming anxious and spacing out. But Mabel noticed, and she kissed his stubbly cheek and brought him back to reality.

Rick shot at the wall with his gun and an oozing green portal appeared. “There we go, 41’\. Wait, sh-oot, gimme a location.”

“618 Gopher Road.” Ford stated as he let go of Mabel. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. USA.”

“Got it.” Rick made the last portal disappear and shot a new one. “There. Now get-... Go on home.”

Mabel stepped up to Rick and said sincerely, “Mr. Sanchez, thank you for helping us.” And she hugged him around his tall skinny legs.

Rick pursed his lips awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such positive energy and kindness. The old scientists looked at each other, Ford giving Rick a warning look, but something hidden in his face or eyes told the drunk that the nomad was actually grateful for his illegal device.

“Uh…” Rick settled on patting Mabel’s head and said, “Y-Y-You’re welcome.”

Mabel let go of Rick and held out a hand to Ford. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Ford took her hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

And without another word, the Pines walked through the green portal.

[roanniom]

Requests just in time for Valentine’s Day! 💘

I’d like to request a Valentine’s Day to remember with Clyde, please. Thank you for doing requests again!

Sure thing, anon <3

Deserving 

Clyde Logan x Reader

Word Count: 3,388

Note: This serves as Part 2 for what I’m now calling Hello Darlin’, a Clyde and Darlin’!Reader series that began with First Conversation Jitters.

Read Part 1 Here

Warnings: NSFW, phone sex, masturbation (f/m), unprotected PIV sex, oral sex (m receiving)

You run your finger over the rim of your lemon water as you watch your bear of a man serve drinks with his sweet and steady charm. It’s the night before Valentine’s Day and he’d asked you to hang out at the Duck Tape during his bar tending shift, something you were more than happy to do. You’d camped out on the last stool on the right with a book, waiting for the moments between orders when Clyde would sail down to your corner of the bar and romance you.

It had been about a month or so since you had begun dating but everything still felt so new. When you’d walked away that first night after leaving your number on the napkin – a move you’d only ever seen in movies before – you had half worried that Clyde would be too nervous to call. And he was nervous, a fact he’d confided to you on the fourth date, the first night you two had spent together. As he held you in the dark, a finger tracing the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck, he’d muttered quiet words into your skin. They were vulnerable but hopeful. That was the thing that struck you most. The hope in his deep, drawling voice as he recounted the way that his heart had stopped when you’d answered the door earlier in your pretty dress. The way your laugh had soothed him instead of increasing his anxiety.

The timing of your courtship had not been ideal as the holidays had rolled in pretty rapidly after that, meaning you had a lot of prescheduled traveling to do. You’d bitten your tongue to refrain from inviting Clyde to Thanksgiving dinner, knowing he had a close family of his own and also knowing that the pressure of meeting yours might be too much to take so soon. Similarly, Christmas and New Years were a wash. You’d spent these days texting Clyde rapidly under the table, sending him sweet messages and well-wishes which he reciprocated to the best of his abilities – Clyde was not a great texter.

What he was good at, however, was talking on the phone. You waited all day every day of your holiday trips for the moment when you could steal away to your guest room in the evenings and wait for his call. It always came, and the deep, rumbling “Hello darlin’” was something that you realized quite quickly had emblazoned itself on the surface of your heart.

“Hiya, handsome,” you’d reply and he could always hear the smile in your voice. Sometimes you’d facetime, but often you would just stay up late with your phone pressed to your ear, whispering into the night. Because like that first night together when Clyde had been emboldened by the dark, Clyde was equally emboldened by the barrier of distance and technology. You weren’t sure if missing you had brought something out in him or just that with time he’d become more confident in your budding relationship. All you knew is that he was no longer holding back and you couldn’t be happier.

“I dreamt a’yer mouth last night, darlin’,” he’d told you on Christmas Eve after you already had caught up on what you both had done all day. His voice was quiet but sure as he said it. Not timid as you’d expect. Heat had immediately rushed to your core and you’d gotten comfortable on the bed, tucking the phone under your cheek on the pillow.

“And what exactly was my mouth doing in this dream of yours?”

“Lookin’ nice an’ pretty…” You were about to thank him but he surprised you by continuing. “…around my cock.”

“Clyde Logan, you dog!” you whisper back at him, trying to contain the excitement that bubbles up from the newness of being dirty on the phone with your sweet man.

“Lips all stretched ‘round me. Almost prettier than yer beautiful smile.”

“I wish I could have left you with memories of the real deal so you didn’t have to just dream about it,” you’d said wistfully, suddenly saddened by the distance between you and all you had yet to experience together.

“There’s plenty’a time fer that when ya get back,” he’d comforted you. “Don’t ya worry yer lil head about that.”

“Clyde?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Can I give you a new memory right now?”

He’d been surprised to see you’d switched over to facetime but had been quick to accept the call. You still think sometimes about the expression on his face when you’d popped on the screen topless and touching yourself already. It was the face of a man who’d been granted a glimpse at heaven but still wasn’t sure of his worthiness.

You intended to prove to him just how worthy he was.

“Get nice and comfy – I want to cum while watching you stroke that beautiful cock, handsome.”

Clyde’s smile had been a mile wide as he’d dropped down on his bed to oblige you.

“Yes ma’am.”

By the time New Years eve rolled around, the two of you had become experts of how to drive the other crazy, often with words alone.

~*~

In the present it’s close to midnight when you glance up from your book again to find Clyde grabbing your empty water glass and bringing it to the sink. He’d gotten caught up with a particularly needy group of out of towners who’d required more service than the average customer. You didn’t mind. It had given you a chance to watch him in action from afar, taking in his large frame as he moved behind the bar. The small smile as he listened – really listened – to his customers. Every once in a while he’d looked up to catch you staring, shooting you a wink from across the way. It always sent the butterflies in your stomach into a flurry when he did that, especially in the bar which had been the setting of his first fumbling advances toward you. His growing confidence was sexy and though you were feisty and more than capable of taking care of him, it burned you up inside even more to know he was able to take care of you, too.

“Grab yer stuff, darlin’, we’re headin’ out,” Clyde says coming out from around the bar. Your eyes shoot to your watch.

“But last call isn’t for a few more hours!” Even as you say it you notice Earl take his place behind the bar, sending a wave your way. Clyde helps you into your coat and pulls you to the door as he explains.

“Earl’s got me covered. No need for m’girl to hang ‘round a seedy bar all night.” You laugh because it’s a regular occurrence for you to spend your nights there with him, but you play along while he helps you into his truck.

“My Prince Charming,” you coo. Clyde gives you a little bow before jogging over to get into the driver’s seat. He starts up the truck and immediately turns on the heat, watching you with a smile as you appreciatively warm your hands against the vent. You catch him watching you and suddenly get suspicious, narrowing your eyes with humor. “What are you looking at, Charming?”

“The most beautiful girl in West Virginia,” he says without missing a beat before shaking his head. “No – in the world.”

You laugh. It’s the full-bodied sound that he loves with his whole being.

“Now that might just be a bit of an exaggeration, Mr. Logan, but I think I’ll take it anyway.” You lean over the truck’s center console expectantly. Clyde leans forward immediately to oblige you with a kiss. His lips are soft and taste of lemon, or maybe those are your own lips, but either way, it’s warm and tangy and everything you’ve been waiting for all these hours at the bar. You try to deepen the kiss and are surprised to feel him pull away, your head moving forward to chase his lips when he breaks the contact.

“We’ve got somewhere to be, darlin’. You’re gonna make us late,” he chides you playfully, throwing the truck into gear and pulling out onto the dark road.

“Where could we possibly need to be? It’s almost midnight,” you reply, surprised.

“Exactly,” he says with a wide smile.

~*~

Clyde won’t let you look out the window as he approaches your destination. You tease him because it is night time in rural West Virginia and it’s not like you would be able to see anything through the darkened windows anyway, but you humor him by keeping your eyes squeezed shut. When the truck cranks to a stop he jumps out and makes his way to help you out, pulling you down with his metal hand and covering your face with his massive, warm flesh one. His prosthetic presses into your waist to guide you forward and you grin, happy about the contact.

“Am I allowing you to lure me deep into the woods, Mr. Logan?” you sing out, hearing him chuckle behind you.

“I’d say yer right on the money, sweetheart.”

“Trying to have your way with me, are you? Is that what Prince Charming would do?”

“If he had a girl as pretty as m’girl he sure would, you bet yer ass.” His hand abandons your face for a second to drop light little slap to your backside and you let out a laughing squeal, sure to keep your eyes closed of your own accord.

“No peakin’,” he says, quickly putting his hand back over your eyes.

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t – I’m a good girl,” you say, know the implications of the statement. You hear Clyde swallow thickly behind you. Bingo.

“Ya sure are, darlin’.”

Just as you’re about to ask if you’ve almost arrived wherever he’s taking you, Clyde pulls you to a stop. You feel him lean down low to meet your height, his chin dipping to rest on your shoulder, both his facial hair and his breath tickling your ear and making you shiver.

“Open yer eyes.”

You do as he says and immediately let out a gasp. In front of you lies a picnic blanket set up with a comfy assortment of pillows. The space is illuminated by a mix and match assortment of camping lanterns which cast a soft glow about the scene. A basket of fruit and cheese sits open beside a bottle of champagne that sits chilling in an ice bucket with two delicate glasses.

“Clyde!” You turn and throw yourself at the satisfied looking man behind you, curling around his body and kissing every part of him you can reach. His watch beeps and he looks at it with a broad grin on his face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” He pulls you down to recline with him against the gathered pillows. You blink hard to hold back the tears that form unbidden.

“You planned all of this? For me?”

“Well I’ll be honest. Mellie and Jimmy helped,” he admits, running a hand up and down your back and pulling you into him to press a kiss to your forehead. “I had ‘em set all this up during my shift.”

It’s the most overtly romantic thing that anyone has ever done for you. You glance around and take in all of the details again, now with his warm skin under your fingers, his chest to your chest. It’s like something out of a romance novel, and you would know, you’ve sure read your fair share. Looking back down you see him watching you, registering each of your tiny reactions. He’s nervous, trying to make sure he’s pleased you. But he’s also hopeful. And that’s what breaks you.

Suddenly you launch yourself at him, pushing him down so that his back is pressed into the cushions and you are now straddling him. You pepper his face with kisses before arresting his mouth in a desperate lip lock. Though you are often the one who is chatty in the face of his pensive, thoughtful silence, you now find yourself at a loss for words. How do you tell him that you’re not used to being cared for in this way? How do you tell him that his sweetness sets your long-neglected soul on fire? That the string of meaningless relationships littering your past suddenly had meaning if only to lead you directly into his arms?

You don’t have the words to tell him these thoughts. So instead you tell him with your lips, your hands, your body. You run your hands down his t-shirt-clad chest, reveling in the thickness, the fullness of him, before drawing your hands down the length of his arms. You grab his wrists, sure to be gentle with his prosthetic, and urge them to settle above his head. It is only at this point that he resists, pulling out of a kiss.

“But darlin’…I need to touch you…” He’s breathless and you want to keep him like that forever. Keep his voice ragged and chest heaving so you can be his oxygen. Breathe life into him over and over.

“Let me do this, Clyde. My Valentine’s gift for my handsome man.” You grind down onto his hardening length at the end of your statement and his eyes roll back. When you feel him stop resisting the press of your hand on his wrists you know you’ve gotten him right where you want him.

You take your time. You kiss every inch of him over his clothes before crawling back on top to gyrate on his now straining member. His heavy breathing has made way for small, unabashed whimpers that are your new favorite sound. Clyde has been getting more dominant with you and you are excited to explore that new facet of your relationship. But for tonight you want to translate your emotions by riding him for all he’s worth.

After teasing him for long enough with your swiveling hips, you finally relent and pull his cock out of his dark jeans.

“Look at this beautiful cock. All hard and swollen just for me.” You double over to press a sweet kiss to his weeping tip.

“Only for m’girl,” Clyde nods feverishly below you. “Can ya…”

“What would you like, Clyde?” you ask, moving your hand steadily up and down his cock with languid strokes.

“Wanna be inside’a ya darlin’. Wanna feel if yer wet fer me.”

“Oh, baby…” you trail off and guide his cock to your pussy lips, your skirt long hiked up over your hips. You slide him up and down the seam of your opening, gathering your slick to coat him. He lets out a deep moan at the feeling. As you line him up you rake your nails over his soft belly with reverence. “You turn me on more than I’ve ever been turned on in my life.”

“Fuck,” comes Clyde’s muttered reply, his eyelids fluttering shut. You take this opportunity to lift up and then ease yourself down on him, letting his cock breach you with a slow ease. He’s large but you weren’t lying. You’re dripping for him, aching and desperate for the fullness that only he can provide you.

“Yer perfect. Feel so good,” Clyde forces out through clenched teeth.

You begin to ride him in earnest after you adjust more to his size, letting the muscles of your thighs propel you up and down to take him at an angle that causes you both to let out steady strings of moans. Clyde’s hips begin to work in tandem, thrusting up to meet you and making the slide of his cock through your pulsing walls that much more delicious. When a particularly good thrust topples you down to grip his shoulders, your breasts push down into his face, spilling from your bra cups and up through the wide neck of your shirt.

“Oh darlin’. Oh darlin’darlin’darlin’,” Clyde breathes out, straining his neck to push up into your cleavage. His flesh hand, which had up till now dutifully remained above his head, comes now to cup the side of your breast but you don’t have the presence of mind to reprimand him. You wouldn’t even if you did, his touch feels too good.

You gasp when he plants one foot flat on the ground for more leverage and spears up into you more aggressively than before. You shudder around him, cunt spasming on his cock with euphoric tension.

“Right there, baby?” he growls. He’s gazing up at you with a sweet intensity that you want to drink in forever, but the sensations in your cunt are overwhelming and it takes everything in you to simply nod. Your eyes screw up and your jaw drops, mouth forming a little “o” in response to another punishing thrust. Clyde chuckles below you. “Oh yeah. Right there.”

You cum shortly after but, as you had promised yourself silently the moment you had mounted him, you drag yourself down his body immediately, ignoring his groaning protests and gripping hand. When you take him in your mouth he’s already partially gone. He props himself up on his good elbow and alternates between gazing at you worshipfully and wincing in pleasure.

You suck on him, knowing how close he is and knowing he likes it when you get sloppy. He’d told you so over facetime on Christmas eve as you’d sucked on the fingers of one of your hands while riding and cumming on the other for him, your phone propped on the pillow. You gurgle as you take him deep into your throat, moaning around the fullness, the thickness of this perfect man below you. When you reach down to gently fondle his balls, Clyde lets out a deep-throated groan. His balls draw up from your hand and his hips pivot up, driving him deeper into you as he paints the inside of your throat with his cum. You welcome his orgasm, drinking him down until there’s no more, holding firmly at his hips as shudders wrack his body.

When you finally pull off to rock back on your heels you take in the sheer debauchery of this whole experience. Clyde lies sprawled out on the pillows below you, hand running through his sweaty hair, chest heaving, softening cock still poking out of his jeans. A giggle bubbles up from inside you and you let him pull you down where he silences you with a hard kiss as deep as the rumbling of his satisfied groan.

After a few seconds he rolls you so that you both are on your sides and he’s quick to bury his face in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. His customary place immediately following an act of intimacy. You’ve learned to recognize this and you don’t push him. Instead you welcome the tight clutch of this, the largest yet kindest man you’ve ever met, dragging your fingers up an down his cheek in a light caress. Moments pass in silence, save for your slowing breaths, until he speaks up, words muffled by the way he whispers them into your neck.

“Yer too good fer me, y’know.” He says it as a statement, not a question. There’s a weariness in his voice that doesn’t stem from how hard he’s just cum. Only now do you grip his jaw lightly, coaxing him from his hiding place against your flesh. You look him in the eyes, though he tries to avoid you. Instead you hold his gaze, finger swiping along his jaw. He sighs and adds. “I don’t deserve someone like you, darlin’.”

It’s your time to silence him with a kiss, but this time you don’t let actions do the talking. Clyde needed to hear you say the words that your clenching heart beats out, like some anatomical morse code. You grip his jaw tight and speak loud and clear.

“You deserve the world, Clyde.” His eyes melt, soft and full of adoration. You press a kiss to his forehead, one to each cheek, and then a chaste one on his lips before finishing. “And I’m going to give it to you.”

You may have spent the first three holidays of your relationship apart, but this Valentine’s Day you spent together in every way that mattered – mind, body, and soul.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @emeraldsiren20 @maryforyou @aloneandsleepless @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @leather-flannel-liquor @soggywhore @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess

[modernpaw]

It's a Beautiful Day for a Wedding (Part 3)

Charlie Barber x Female Reader

Summary: When your ex-husband shows up at your cousin’s wedding, old wounds can’t help but resurface. Lucky for you, a certain theater director is also in attendance.

Notes: I had to write this whole thing twice because right after finishing it the first time, I accidentally pressed something and deleted much of the text, with no way to undo it. My last draft had been hours ago and so much had already changed in the scenes. You guys have no idea how much I wanted to cry, so I'm just glad someone's reading this. SNIFF. Lesson learned.

CW: N S F W, SMUT, swearing, unwanted advances, PIV sex, divorce, painful breakup, implied past infidelity, unprotected sex, AFAB reader

Words: 4.3k

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

The sound of knocking brings you back to your senses, and you push Charlie away in alarm. A look of hurt crosses his face, but it only lasts for a second. Before you can even open your mouth to apologize, however, the knocking starts again, and your attention returns to the door.

"Hellooooo," the person on the other side calls out. "Anyone there?"

"Sorry, occupied!" you shout, voice hoarse.

Aren't there other bathrooms in the house?

"Oh, honey! Are you okay?" You now recognize the speaker as one of the bridesmaids. "We haven't seen you since the reception began!"

"Y-Yes!" you answer, looking around for an alternative way out. Your eyes land on the frosted glass window on one side of the wall, which you know for a fact faces the back of the house.

You look back at Charlie. You may need him to climb out that way, but you're not sure how you can ask him to do so without offending him more than you probably already have.

"Are you sure? You sound like you're coming down with something!" the bridesmaid replies. "Let me in! Maybe I can help!"

The doorknob jiggles.

Panic surges in you, and you feel like throwing up. You're going to have to choose between making Charlie leave, knowing full well that you're the one who pulled him in here in the first place, or getting caught in a compromising situation. Either way, you're going to have to deal with the fallout.

Fortunately, Charlie seems to have come to the same conclusion. He taps you on the shoulder and points wordlessly to the window.

You nod at him before opening the faucet, hoping that the running water will help mask the sound of his escape. As he slides the glass up, you flush the toilet and slam the seat down, trying to make as much noise as possible.

For good measure, you shout back at the bridesmaid. "Uhm, on second thought, you might be right. I think I might have caught a bug or something."

"Oh dear!" she cries out. "You know, there's a stomach bug going around! Half my family is coming down with it!"

You say something in reply, rambling on and on about how sick you feel, while leaning your forehead against the door. Much of what you're saying probably doesn't make sense, but it only helps sell the idea that you're not feeling quite like yourself.

"Do you think you're well enough to come out? Perhaps you need to drink some water," she says helpfully.

You look behind you to check if it's safe to open the door. Charlie is nowhere to be seen, the open window the only indicator that he was ever there in the bathroom with you.

Aside from the taste of his lips on yours, of course.

You let out a sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror, recomposing yourself as best as you can. You fix the smudge of your makeup and rearrange your dress, all the while thinking about how his absence doesn't make you feel relieved, only hollow.

From experience, you know that you need to talk to Charlie right away. So many things have been left unsaid, and the longer you leave things unresolved, the harder it will be to sort out later.

You open the door abruptly, surprising the bridesmaid waiting on the other side. She takes one look at you and shakes her head. "Honey, you look so pale. I think you need to lie down."

You admit that you feel faint, but you also know that you need to go back to the reception to find Charlie. "I'll be fine," you say with a placating smile. "I just need to get something to eat."

She doesn't look like she believes you, but escorts you back to the garden anyway. You station yourself right by the dessert table, so you can nibble on a slice of cake while you scan the crowd for any sign of Charlie.

The party is still in full swing. From your vantage point, you can see your cousin and her husband engaged in an animated conversation with another couple. Everyone else is either talking, laughing, or eating, all having a good time.

There's no sign of the theater director anywhere though, and you blink your tears back, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

It's very likely that he's already left the party.

He probably doesn't want to see you again.

You really fucked this up.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice your ex-husband approaching you until he's right by your side.

"Look, I'm not really in the mood for you, Steve," you say when he calls your name. You keep your face turned away, eyes still searching the crowd for Charlie. Maybe if you don't look at him, he'll go away.

"I just want us to talk, sweetheart," he says, using his pet name for you.

The urge to vomit returns in full force. "D-Don't call me that," you say, putting your plate down when you feel a cold chill seep through your bones. Your hands turn cold and clammy, and it feels like you've actually caught a bug.

"You used to love it when I called you that," he continues, moving closer to you, lips brushing against your ear. "Remember the first time I called you sweetheart?"

You know where this story is going, but you don't want to hear it. "You lost the right to call me that a long time ago," you say as firmly as you can, finally looking him in the eye, and pushing him back. "Please just leave me alone."

Steve doesn't seem to know how to take no for an answer. "That wasn't the case a few months ago," he presses. "Weren't you my sweetheart when we spent that whole weekend in bed?"

You feel a dizzy spell coming on, and you sway a little where you stand. You steady yourself, trying to block Steve out as he recounts the details of your time together. Does he really think that reminding you of that weekend would make you want to jump back in his arms? If anything, it only reinforces your decision.

You've just about had enough, but when you try to walk away, he takes your hand and pulls you back. "Let me go, Steve," you hiss quietly, not wanting to call any attention by struggling harder, not that you have the energy to.

At this point, a stiff breeze would blow you over.

Before he can answer, you feel a strong arm curl around your waist, freeing you from Steve's grasp.

"Baby, here you are," Charlie says, putting himself in between you and your ex-husband. "I couldn't find any meds for your nausea, but maybe this watermelon drink will help."

On instinct, your body curls around Charlie's, one hand resting on his back, the other on his chest. He holds the glass before you and gently lets you sip from it, much to Steve's bewilderment.

Improvisation isn't necessarily your strongest suit, but it's not difficult to play along when your partner is Charlie.

"Better?" he asks.

You nod. "Can we go?" you ask in a small voice.

Charlie deposits the glass on the table. "Of course, babe," he says, before giving Steve a smile. "If you'll excuse us," he says before gently walking you back to the house.

You don't spare your ex-husband a second glance, choosing instead to focus on Charlie's arms around your waist and the feel of his body so close to yours. His presence is warm and comforting, and you feel the symptoms of what might have been a panic attack recede.

As you lean closer to Charlie, you think you feel his arm tighten around you, but you're not certain. It might have just been your imagination. You keep your hands on him anyway until you're safely inside the house, only letting go when he breaks away from you.

"There's a guest bedroom upstairs where I'm staying," you say as soon as you're out of anyone else's earshot. You don't want to risk getting interrupted or Charlie leaving before you get a chance to explain. "Do you think we can talk there?"

Charlie considers you for a second. "That depends. Am I going to have to climb out of a window again? Because I don't know if I can manage it quite as easily as from the second floor."

Guilt floods you and you look down on the floor. "No, it's my room. No one will—" You cut yourself mid-sentence, realizing that you couldn't, shouldn't, impose this conversation on him if he doesn't want it. "But if you don't want—"

Charlie sighs and gently cups your face. "I'm sorry. I meant it as a joke, but I think it came out the wrong way."

You blink up at him in surprise. "So you're not... you know...angry?" you ask.

He bops his forehead gently to yours. "No, c'mon. Let's talk."

+++

Upstairs, in your room, you sit on the side of bed, while Charlie, after unbuttoning his coat with one hand, takes the desk chair right beside it.

You take a deep breath, not really sure what to say first.

Do you say that you're not normally that promiscuous? That that thing in the bathroom was your first time acting on your desires so indiscriminately? Do you apologize for pushing him away earlier? For making him leave through the window as if you're embarrassed to be caught in the bathroom with him?

Once again, however, Charlie beats you to it. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," he says.

"No!" you say, quick to contradict him.

You don't want him to think that you didn't want any of it or that he was alone in his actions. You're just as responsible for what transpired. "I wanted it," you say. "And I'm sorry for pushing you away. I was just surprised."

He studies your face for a moment, wanting to make sure he doesn't miss any important non-verbal cues from what you're saying, that it's not just wishful thinking on his part. "I understand," he finally says.

And he does. While he did feel hurt earlier, it was more of a reflex than a conscious emotion, and it wasn't something he would allow to take root without talking to you first. After escaping through the window, he went in search of another bathroom where he could compose himself and make himself more presentable before rejoining the reception.

That was when he saw you standing by the dessert table with whom he assumed was your ex-husband. As a director, Charlie is very used to reading body language, and he could tell within a second of watching you that you were very uncomfortable in the other man's presence.

He had already been on his way over, but when Steve pulled your hand, Charlie had to stop himself from making a scene. He grabbed a drink on the way, so he wouldn't accidentally break your ex-husband's nose for putting his hands on you, knowing that that last thing you wanted was to call any attention to yourself.

Now that he has you all to himself, all sorts of thoughts are running through his head, such as the fact that he probably should have asked you to dinner first, and he says so as much.

"But I can't say that I regret what I did either, unless, of course, you do," he says, watching your face carefully.

You stare back at Charlie in awe. "I-I don't regret it either," you say. "I like you Charlie."

Charlie smiles as he holds his hand out to you. "Well, just in case it's not obvious, so do I."

You reach out to place your hand in his, returning his smile. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"

He squeezes your hand. "I think we deserve a break."

The break is apparently a nap, which, according to Charlie, you desperately need. You don't have the energy to argue, especially not when you know he's right. Your emotions have been running on high since earlier this morning when you heard that your ex-husband was attending the wedding.

Charlie admits that he may have exacerbated the situation.

"Exacerbated," you yawn, "is one way of putting it."

Now, lying on your side, you feel your eyelids start to get heavy. The bed is so soft, and Charlie is so warm. He's taken his coat off and is positioned right behind you, one arm slung over your body, pulling you close to his chest.

You put a hand over his and hum in contentment. Charlie smiles when he hears it, likening it to a cat's purr.

He drapes one leg over yours. "Sleep now," he commands, and you find yourself obeying without question. His weight is a welcome anchor for your frazzled emotions, and soon, you find yourself dreaming.

You're on a boat, bobbing up and down, in the middle of the ocean. There's nothing but water for as far as your eye can see, no other person around you, not even land on the horizon, but you don't feel scared or alone. You just feel at peace.

When a large wave rocks the boat gently, you rush over to the side of the craft, only to realize that the wave is actually a blue whale. Its sheer size should have been overwhelming, but its presence only calms you.

Then the dream changes, and you feel lips pressing against the back of your neck and hear sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

You're gorgeous.

Stay here.

I'll be right back.

You try to shift closer to the warmth behind you, and that's when you wake up.

Blinking your eyes open, you register the fact that you're alone in bed, alone in the room, in fact. You push yourself up on your forearms. Charlie's side of the bed is still warm, so he probably hasn't been gone for long.

Before you can even speculate about his whereabouts, however, the door opens to reveal the man himself with a plate of food in one hand and two bottles of water in the other. "Hey," he says, placing them all on the desk. "Thought I left you sleeping."

You crawl over to the edge of the bed before standing on your knees before him. While you appreciate him taking the time to bring you food from the reception, it's not exactly what you're hungry for. You reach for his belt, pulling him towards you, before laying gentle kisses on his stomach.

Charlie swallows. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, cradling your face.

You look up at him and nod. "Very sure."

Charlie leans down to kiss you softly on the lips before joining you on the bed. You move back to make room for him, until your head hits the pillow and the entire length of his body covers yours.

"You look so beautiful," he says, before gently parting your legs. He nudges your left leg to the side, and slides his hands up the smooth expanse of your skin, bringing your dress up as he does.

Your breath hitches in anticipation when he raises it to your waist, revealing your seamless underwear. A new wet patch is already forming on the crotch.

Charlie gives you a heated gaze before devoting his attention back to your core, his undivided attention making you feel even more aroused.

"Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted earlier?" he asks softly. Before you can even comprehend his question properly, however, he leans down to sweep his tongue across your slit through the jersey fabric.

"Oh f-fuck," you whimper as soon as you feel him on you, the panties barely a barrier from the warm, wet, and firm assault of his tongue. The soft, sensual motions of his mouth make you hotter and wetter, and one of your hands lands on his head, while the other clutches wildly at the sheets.

As he proceeds to lick long stripes up and down your core and lap at your clit through your panties, your desperate pants and gasps redirect blood flow to his cock, filling it up even more. He groans against you as he palms himself through his trousers. He can't wait to be inside you, to plunge himself in so deep, he'll never find his way out again.

Charlie moans against your pussy and wonders if you know just how much more depraved his thoughts about you can get. He's never felt this way before, has never wanted to give in to his desires as much as he does with you.

Leaving one last kiss on your pussy, he pulls away to make quick work of his pants and his shirt.

Despite feeling lightheaded, you sit up to follow his lead, pushing the straps of your gown down until the entire dress slides off your body. Without breaking eye contact, you stand back on your knees, and reach behind you to unclasp your strapless bra. Before you completely release the band, however, you hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It's ridiculous, you know, but even though he's already had his lips on your most intimate places, this is the first time you're going to be baring yourself to him.

Will he like what he sees?

Before you can back out, you remove your bra and lower yourself to sit on the backs of your legs, hands on your lap, inadvertently squeezing your tits together.

Charlie is silent for a moment, staring at you unabashedly, and you wonder if you're not what he expected.

Finally, he kneels down on the bed before you. "How are you even real?" he whispers, reaching out to touch your chest. Your hands fall to your sides, as he caresses your tits up and down, over and under, tracing their natural shape, letting them bob against his palms. At his ministrations, your breasts start to swell. They become heavier and seemingly fuller in response to the largeness and roughness of his hands. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him, as your pussy quivers and flutters in anticipation.

He has yet to touch your nipples, but he doesn't have to, they're already hard and swollen, waiting for him to lavish his attention on them. Charlie licks his lips. You can tell—or maybe you hope—that he wants to lick them, suck them, but that can wait another time. There's something else that needs attention.

You reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down. Charlie helps you pull them off, and you barely contain your excitement when the head of his cock slips out and the rest of his length is finally unsheathed.

It's big, bigger than what you're used to, and it looks—fuck—it looks so hard and heavy, the head barely managing to lift itself. The tip is shiny with pre-cum, the balls drawn tight and large. Your mouth waters at the sight. You've always had a bit of an oral fixation if you're being honest, and you can't wait to have his cock between your lips.

Charlie groans as he watches you watch him with undisguised desire. He gives himself a few strokes, but you stop him before he could get anywhere, pulling him down to the bed. He soon finds your positions reversed, him with his back against the headboard, you right between his legs, kneeling down on all fours.

Seeing your ass up in the air and hearing your delicate moans as your nipples rub against the sheets—it's all nearly too much for Charlie, and more pre-cum gathers at his tip. He stops breathing altogether when you hover your mouth over his cock and raise your head to look up at him. He feels like he knows what you're about to do, and he's not disappointed when you hold his gaze as you give his head several experimental licks.

"Ungggggh!" he moans, his hands digging into his thighs at the sensation. He doesn't want to rush you, not yet, but god does he want to thrust up into your mouth.

"That's it—fuck—take it," he groans when his cock finally slips between your lips. Holding the base of his erection with one hand, he pulls your head down with the other, gently feeding you his length one inch at a time.

"C'mon, baby girl," he groans encouragingly as you take in more of him. "You can do it."

You close your eyes in pleasure, and you take him in further, sucking softly as you do. You're not a world champion at deep-throating, but you do enjoy giving head. In fact, you enjoy it so much, your pussy's already salivating.

"You feel—fuck—you feel so fucking good," Charlie says. You moan in reply, and he involuntarily tightens his fist in your hair when it sends vibrations through his cock. You hardly feel it, however, focused as you are on the singular task of taking in as much as you can of his length and the sheer pleasure you get out of servicing his cock.

Charlie nearly loses it when he looks down to see your eyes half-lidded and strands of saliva around your mouth. You look so thoroughly debauched, so fucking dirty and unrestrained in your pleasure, that he can't help himself. He begins to face-fuck you, hand urging your head to keep up with his thrusts.

You gag slightly, eyes tearing up immediately when Charlie's dick hits the back of your throat, but you try to relax your muscles, taking what you're given. You love how he sounds above you, his groans raw and broken, his growls bordering on animalistic.

Just as you think he's about to come, however, he pulls his dick out and pulls you onto his lap. You place your hands on his shoulders, moaning when you feel the full extent of his hardness against your core. You feel your cunt throb, swelling up at the prospect of having his cock inside.

"Y-You want my cock?" Charlie asks with a hiccup, still breathless after nearly coming in your mouth.

"Mmmhmmm," you answer, as you lean back, hands on either side of his hips, indulgently rubbing yourself against him. Charlie allows it for several seconds, knows how much you deserve it, before lifting you back up on your knees. You're still wearing your panties, but he doesn't care. He simply pulls the crotch of the fabric, wet as it is, to the side. As he positions his cock right under your pussy, he inhales sharply at the sight if your glistening folds. Slick. Sopping. Dripping. He can't wait to get inside you, can't wait to feel your wet pussy ride his dick.

Slowly, you sink yourself on him, and although he's larger than what you're used to, your cunt instinctively makes room for his cock. Not enough that he can just slide all the way in, but just so that you're taking more of him with every move. It's a tight fit, but it's comfortably snug, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at how good it feels.

"Mmmm... yeah," you cry out. "F-Feels so good."

Charlie groans as he watches your pussy swallow him down. "Fuckkkkkk," he swears. One of his hands hovers just over your shoulder, resisting the urge to push you down. "So damn greedy for this cock."

He's not wrong. You gasp when you finally seat yourself fully on his lap. You've never felt this full or this close to bursting before.

While he waits for you to get used to his size, Charlie distracts himself by running his hands all over your body and leaving feather-light kisses everywhere—on your shoulders, your neck, your ears, your breasts.

"Oh, Ch-Charlie!" you cry out when he catches one nipple in his mouth, the suction of his wet warmth making the already sensitive bud ache. The delicious throbbing causes your walls to contract, which then squeezes his dick in a solid grip.

Charlie lets your nipple go with a raspy plea. "Baby, need you to move now," he says urgently.

You lift yourself back up and try to find a rhythm, but when Charlie sees how much of your slick is covering his dick, he decides that you can go a bit faster. Grabbing you by your waist with both hands, he takes over the pace and starts bouncing you on his dick, the constant fwap-fwap-fwap sound of your fucking filling the air.

"L-Look at how well you're taking me, baby girl," he groans, watching as his cock disappears in and out of your pussy.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh!" you moan as his thrusts repeatedly hit your g-spot and your clit rubs against his pelvic bone. "Ch-Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!" you chant his name as if it's the only name you've ever known.

"Th-That's right—fuck!" Charlie exclaims, thrusting upward frantically now. He wants to leave his mark in you, wants to ruin you for any other man, wants you to know only his touch.

He's so, so close, he can taste it. "So fucking good!" he groans.

You're not that far off yourself, but then Charlie lets out a deep, rumbling growl and bites down on your shoulder.

Oh fuck.

You let out a high-pitched whine as pleasure sweeps through every cell in your body. You feel yourself literally crying out in ecstasy. Without a doubt, this is the best orgasm you've had in a long time.

Charlie grits his teeth when he sees the tears in your eyes and feels the exact moment you reach your peak. His balls draw themselves up, and his cock prepares to ejaculate. He wants to come in you, but you haven't had the chance to discuss anything, so he lifts you up and pulls out at the very last minute.

"F-Fucking—"

As soon as his hand touches his dick, it spurts out gobs of semen, painting your pussy, your stomach, and even his chest and your breasts white. Some even land on your face.

Charlie groans when he sees you slip your tongue out to lick the spot near your lips where a bit of come landed. He doesn't have it in him to get hard again, but his dick still twitches at the sight.

"Come here," he says, pulling your head close, so he can kiss you. Chest still heaving, you part your lips for him, letting his tongue in. Charlie kisses you tenderly and lovingly, and then pulls you closer so he's cradling your body on his lap sideways. You two remain like that for some time, kissing away the aftermath of your orgasm, oblivious to the rest of the world.

When you two eventually break apart, it's not because you two get tired of kissing, but because your tummy finally makes its hunger known.

"Looks like someone's finally ready to eat," he says, chuckling.

You smile back at him. "Well, I'd say we deserve it."

END

Tagging: @cornmousequeen, @fizzywoohoo, @paper-n-ashes, @morby, @shygirl268

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[thewickedkings]

Between the Two of Us ~ Chapter 10

Masterlist || AO3 ||  Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Summary:  Jurdan High school AU. Rivals Jude and Cardan are forced to partner up  for a history project, and drama ensues. Filled with banter, pranks, an unhealthy amount of pining, and Jude being clueless as usual.

Trigger Warnings: Mild cursing. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed!

~~~

A/N: This chapter is even longer than the last one, at 4k words. Also, you’re welcome in advance.

That Sunday was one of the busiest at the café. Students were streaming in to work on all their assignments before Thanksgiving break, and by the time they caught a break, Jude was out of breath.

“Damn, I don’t think it’s ever been this busy,” Lili said, wiping her forehead.

“No wonder no one else wanted this shift.”

Lili groaned. “I have to go home and write not two, but three essays. I know I shouldn’t have procrastinated, but it was my birthday week.”

“I’ll help you edit them if you want,” Jude offered. For some reason, she actually enjoyed editing essays, and Lili had definitely taken advantage of that in the past. “And you know it’s called birthday, not birth week,” Jude snarked.

“Shut up, Ms. I-made-googly-eyes-with-Cardan-all-night.”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did. Now please tell me what happened, because I know something did. The sexual tension when you guys came back down was disgusting.”

Thankfully, Jude was saved by a customer who had walked in. But Lili was stubborn, and after Jude took her order, she pressed, “Nope. Spill.”

Jude grimaced before recounting the incident, which she now referred to in her head as ‘the bathroom incident.’

Lili gasped comically. “Oh my God. Cardan has more game than I expected. Kissing your thumb after band aiding it? Hold on.” She called out the customer’s name, leaving the drink on the counter, before returning. “Damn, that’s smooth.”

Jude groaned. “I know.”

“Wait, did anything happen when he drove you home?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Jude blushed even more as she remembered the drive. They had been bickering as usual, as if that could stop them both from thinking about the increasing tension between them.      

And then the silence they’d both been avoiding like cowards descended. The painful, awkward as hell silence.

By the time they got to her house, Jude was anxious to get out of the car. She reached for the door handle right as Cardan spoke, staring straight ahead. “So we’re really not going to talk about it?”

She froze, not expecting them to address it. “Talk about what?”

“Jude.”

“Cardan,” she mimicked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine then.” He pushed his door open at the same time as Jude.

“What are you doing?” “Walking you to your door.”

“I can walk to my door by myself.” Her foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk, and she’d stumbled before righting herself.

“Righttt,” Cardan drawled and followed her up the sidewalk.

She ignored him, pulling out her keys and unlocking the front door. “Okay, you can go now, loser.”

“Weirdo,” Cardan said.

“You’re a weirdo.”

Cardan snickered. “Nice comeback.”

“Shut up.” She felt his gaze on her back and was thankful for the dark, because she was blushing for no reason.

“You shut up.”

They both snickered like the immature idiots they were, and Jude knew she had steered clear of the conversation for now.

When Cardan reached his car, he hollered. “We’re going to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she hollered right back.

Cardan just grinned. “See you tomorrow, Duarte.”

Her expression must have been doing something weird at the memory, because Lili snorted. “You’re in deep shit.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Um, maybe first off, actually admit you like him?”

“I do not.”

The Bomb raised her eyebrows.

Jude groaned. “I can’t like him. Not him of all people.”

“But you doooo,” the Bomb sing songed. “You and Cardan are in-”

“Lili, I will not help you edit your essay if you don’t shut up right now.”

She went silent immediately. “That’s just cruel.”

Jude grinned. “So… how’s Van?”

Lili glared. “You’re not subtle at all.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

She wiped down the counter, silent for a beat before she sighed. “Fine. He’s just- I think I need to move on.” Jude opened her mouth to interrupt, but the Bomb continued. “I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, I think he likes me like that, but I don’t know… he’s always so skittish when I try to take things further. And I don’t want to ruin things between us.”

Jude knew there was more to the story, but before she could say anything, a group of girls entered the café, and Jude had to take their orders. She dismissed it, figuring she’d bring it up later.

 ~~~

Jude didn’t see Cardan at school the next two days. Meeting her college application deadlines took up most of her time, and before she knew it, it was Thanksgiving Break. Vivi came home from college, and suddenly their house was much more lively than usual.

Before Thanksgiving dinner, Vivi stomped into Jude’s room and shut the door behind her. “I know I haven’t visited much, but what’s going on between you and Taryn?”

Jude pulled out her headphones from her ears. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“That’s what she said too!”

“Viv, just leave it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure it out, because even Oak’s annoyed at this point.”

“He is?”

“You are all idiots,” Vivi mumbled on her way out of the room, before popping back in. “Oh, by the way, I think your mac n cheese is burning.”

“Shit! Why didn’t you say that first?”

Throughout dinner, Vivi proceeded to force Jude and Taryn into conversation. The ease at which Vivi slipped back into their dynamic was uncanny after so many months away, but Jude supposed that was the way with family.

Madoc and Oriana carried the turkey to the table while Jude prepared for the grand reveal. Oak bounced in his seat in anticipation of what had becomes Jude Thanksgiving tradition. When Jude pulled back the foil to reveal her mac n cheese, it looked perfectly fine. Except for unmistakably charred edges

Taryn snorted. “It’s definitely better than last year’s.”

Jude cracked a grin. Maybe there was something to say about Thanksgiving in bringing the family together.

 ~~~

Jude spent the end of the break hanging out with Lili, Van, and Garrett. The weird energy between Lili and Van was palpable, and Jude instinctively looked for Cardan to raise her eyebrows at before realizing he wasn’t there. Cardan had texted that he was busy with family stuff on the group chat, and Jude couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding her. Logically, she knew she was being self-centered and he probably was busy, but the thought stung more than it should have.

Monday came far too quickly, and Jude rubbed her eyes as she walked to her first class, bumping into the last person she expected to see: Locke. For the past few weeks, she’d been messing with him, but not too obviously that he would suspect she knew about what he did. Her revenge plan was still brewing, but until then, she could have some fun.

She and Lili made a game out of replying to his texts with the weirdest responses, just to see how much he could take. Her favorite was when she had ‘accidentally’ sent him a picture of two tampon boxes, asking which one she should get. When he had responded with a ‘whichever one fits??’ Jude had exploded with laughter before clarifying that it wasn’t meant for him, except that it definitely was.

When she’d asked him if he wanted to come to dinner to meet her sister and her parents, with an emphasis on her dad, he had avoided her for the next two weeks.

Which made it even harder to control her laugh when his face paled when he saw her. “Sorry, I’d better get going. I’m going to be late.”

“Right. Let me know if you can make it to dinner. My dad really wants to meet you.”

Locke practically tripped as he ran away from her.

“Damn, Duarte, what did you say to scare him?” Cardan’s familiar voice drawled out from behind her, and a grin escaped her lips, a small part of her relieved that he sought her out. She hadn’t realized how ingrained he was into her routine until she hadn’t seen him for a week.

His pace matched with hers until they were walking side by side, falling into their familiar groove.

“Just mentioned how much my dad wanted to meet him for dinner.”

Cardan grinned and handed her a cup full of coffee.

“What’s this for?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s black. I don’t know why you would willingly drink that, but you do you.”

“Yes, okay, but why’d you get me coffee?”

“Consider it me paying you back for accidentally spilling your coffee that one time.”

“Accidentally, my ass.” She frowned at her cup. “It’s not poisoned is it?”

“Fine. If you don’t want it, I’ll find some other psychopath who likes black coffee.”

Jude hugged her coffee protectively to her chest. “No. Mine.”

“I figured. Also, we need to finish our project. It’s due…“

“Next week, I know,” Jude cut off. “We still haven’t bought a poster.”

Cardan groaned. “We should have gotten one from Dollar Tree.”

“Well maybe you could’ve gotten that instead of a tiara,” she said, grinning up at him as they stopped in front of her class.

Cardan rolled his eyes. “So are you free Thursday night?”

“Yeah. Text me when later.”

“Good. We’ll talk then,” he said, with an extra emphasis on the word talk. His eyes dropped shamelessly to her lips, long enough that it was anything but unintentional, before he smirked and strode away.

Jude called after him, unwilling to let him get the last word. “About the project!”

“Of course. What did you think I was talking about?” He disappeared before she could respond.

Kissing. She was thinking about kissing him. Ugh.

She grumbled angrily to herself as she placed her bag next to her desk. When she caught Taryn staring at her, she snapped, “What?”

Taryn opened her mouth to speak, but the bell interrupted her. “Nothing.”

 ~~~

After soccer practice on Thursday, Jude went home to take a shower. While blow drying her hair she texted Cardan to figure out when they were meeting up. He immediately responded with ‘can’t do my place,” and Jude frowned. After a couple messages, they ended up deciding to go to the library at Cardan’s suggestion.

Oak was throwing a fit over something or another as she headed out the door, and Oriana paused their argument to place a hand on Jude’s shoulder. “Heading out?” It wasn’t in an overbearing tone, just gentle.

“Yeah. To the library.” Jude hesitated, battling the urge to say something more. Oriana might not have been her real mother, but Jude realized what a blessing it was to have someone that checked up on her and cared the way Oriana did. She swallowed and said, “I’ll be back soon,” and headed out.

By the time she got to the library, Cardan had already texted that he was there. Seconds after she turned off her car, a knock sounded on her window, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Cardan grinned sheepishly when she opened her door. “Sorry.”

She shrugged it off and handed him the poster she from the passenger seat. She glanced around the parking lot for his car. “Where’s your car?”

“I walked.” At the shock on her face, Cardan added, “Don’t look at me like that. Just because we live in a suburb doesn’t mean I have to drive everywhere. Plus, it’s only a fifteen minute walk.”

“Okay, but… car. Fast. Walk. Slow.”

Cardan rolled his eyes and tugged her wrist impatiently. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

They walked through the archway that opened up into the entry area of the library, ‘welcome’ inscribed into the stone. The wall behind the front desk was patterned with hexagons of different pastel colors, and the librarian behind the desk gave them a friendly smile. Her dark brown hair was tied up into a ponytail, strands of gray beginning to appear.

“Cardan, nice to see you. I see you’ve brought a friend,” she said to Cardan. Her honey-colored eyes glanced at Jude with curiosity.

“Um, yeah. Mel, this is Jude. We’re doing a project together.”

Jude introduced herself, trying to hide her own curiosity.

Mel smiled at Jude warmly. “It’s nice to meet one of Cardan’s friends.” Turning to Cardan, she added, “The back room is empty, if you two want to head there.”

Cardan thanked her and gestured Jude to follow him. They passed the kid’s section, which was littered with bright signs and seating, and when they were out of hearing distance, Jude asked. “So… you come here a lot?”

“Um, I guess. I came a lot when I was a kid, so sometimes I stop by.” The tips of his ears turned pink, and damn, Jude felt something squeeze in her chest at the sight.

“Cool.”

His head jerked up at her response, and whatever he saw in her expression had him reaching for her hand and twining their fingers together. He tugged her hand, and she followed him through the stacks, the only sound their footsteps and the comforting hum of the library.

She grinned at the floor. This boy never ceased to surprise her.

They stopped in front of a room divided from the rest of the library by a wall of glass, and Cardan pushed open the door. The opposite end of the room was also completely glass, and the window looked out over the lake behind the library. A table with four chairs was on the left, and a cozy armchair sat on the right.

Cardan let go of her hand, and she ached to pull it back to hers, feel the warm callouses of his palm against hers. Instead she put the poster on the table and pulled out her laptop. “This is nice. I’m surprised no one else took it.”

“Mel saves it for me sometimes.”

Jude snorted. “You really do charm everyone, don’t you?”

Cardan sat down across her, humming in agreement. “It’s only a matter of time before I charm you too.”

“Keep waiting.”

Cardan kicked her leg under the table, and she bit back a smile. If his leg stayed there, pressed against the side of hers while they worked, neither of them mentioned it.

 ~~~

“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Jude said, as she looked down at their poster. Yes, it did feel like a fifth grade science fair project, but Jude was still proud of it. Something about cutting and gluing things together made it seem so much more satisfying.

“Not bad? This is fucking gorgeous.” Cardan pushed his curls off his forehead, his silver rings catching the light. Jude’s brain automatically snagged on how unfair it was that guys could have such attractive hands. Like how did that even make sense?

Her gaze caught on them now, eyes tracing the veins and the flex of his fingers where they tapped against the edge of the table. She’d noticed that Cardan always seemed to fidget with his hands, unable to keep them unoccupied.

“Jude?”

“Hm?” She pushed her thoughts away and tried to focus. “Yes, gorgeous,” she agreed.

He gave her a strange look, and she felt a flush creeping up her neck. She started hastily picking up the scraps of paper and tidying up the table. When she dared to meet his gaze, he looked like he was battling himself with something.

“What’s up with you and Locke?” Cardan blurted a few seconds later.

“What do you mean?”

This time, his words were a little more deliberate. “I know you’re messing with him, but does he think you’re… dating?”

“I don’t know. We only went on one date, and I pretty much scared him off when I mentioned my dad.” She shrugged, confused as to why he was bringing up Locke. “Does it matter?”

His hand stilled. “I guess not.”

Silently, the two of them worked until they had finished gluing on all the information. They cleared up the excess papers and started cleaning up.

“So when are you going to break it off with him?”

“Well, I was planning to do a whole revenge prank thing, but I haven’t fully planned it out yet,” she said contemplatively, scraping off the dried glue from her fingers.

When she looked up, Cardan was looking at her with a devious smile. “What?”

“I have an idea.”

 ~~~

The sky was dark when they arrived at the grocery store. As they placed their items on the counter to check out, the cashier gave them a strange look. Jude simply smiled and said, “Isn’t it such a wonderful night?”

At Cardan’s direction, Jude drove to a neighborhood a few minutes from Cardan’s, and they parked in a darkened spot on the side of the street.

Jude’s nerves thrummed in anticipation. She hadn’t been this excited in so long, probably since the last time she had pranked Cardan. She had to admit that scheming with someone made it all the more fun.

Cardan pulled on a black sweatshirt, and his eyes met hers as he pulled up the hood to cover his curls. The wicked grin he sent her made her stomach squeeze.

“You take the right, and I’ll cover the left?”

She nodded, and silently opened the door and stepped out as Cardan did the same.

They crouched on the sidewalk next to some trees and silently made their way towards the lone house at the end of the street. Thankfully, Locke’s car was parked out front. They hadn’t exactly planned for it if his car had been in the garage.

A car door slammed across the street and Jude looked at Cardan. “Where-”

He clapped his hand over her mouth before she could finish, and he pointed across the street. A car was reversing out of the house next to Locke’s, its headlights nearly passing over them. Her heart beat furiously against her chest.

The car drove away, and Cardan suddenly dropped his hand from her mouth. Her lips burned from the ghost of his hand, and her heart sped up for a completely different reason.

“That was close,” she whispered breathlessly, and Cardan nodded, his eyes darting away from hers.

They crept up his driveway, and Cardan passed her three rolls of plastic wrap from his backpack. Slowly, Jude unfurled the plastic wrap, and pushed it over the top of his car until Cardan caught it. He wrapped it over his side before rolling it under the car back to Jude. She hadn’t realized how painstaking the process would be, but they kept at it. The sound of the unfurling wrap seemed too loud against the silent night.

Twenty long minutes later, Jude passed the last of the last of the final roll of wrap to Cardan. She waited for Cardan to secure it into place, shifting impatiently on the balls of her feet.

A gentle whirring sound cut through the night, and Jude’s eyes flew to Cardan, who was tip-toeing back towards her from around the car.

“Run,” he whispered urgently.

She grabbed Cardan’s backpack from the ground right as a spray of water hit her arm, drenching her and the side of the car. She glanced behind her and almost laughed, realizing the sprinklers had turned on, not some sort of security device like she had thought in her panic.  

Cardan looked at her, his eyes glinting with laughter. “Come on, let’s go.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her.

They ran across the sidewalk like criminals fleeing from a crime scene, narrowly avoiding the sprinklers, and Jude felt giggles breaking out of her chest. Her heart pounded against her chest, her breath coming out in pants. The cold water pressed into the skin of her arm, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Cardan’s hand in hers.

They ran all the way back to her car, and they finally stopped to catch their breath. Jude leaned back into the car, panting, her hands braced on her chest to hold her heart in.

Her eyes met Cardan’s, who was panting as if he had just been in a police chase, and a giggle escaped her mouth. And then another. And then both of them were laughing like maniacs.

“Who the fuck-” she laughed, “turns on their sprinklers-” another fit of giggles overtook her. “-at midnight?”

Cardan laughed harder, leaning into her, a palm bracing himself on the car behind her. “Your face,” he wheezed, “when the sprinklers turned on-”

She could barely breathe in. “The way you said run, oh my god.” She broke into another fit of uncontrollable laughter, clutching her stomach. Cardan wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to regain his composure.

Eventually, Jude’s laughter slowed. The sound of crickets chirping and cars whizzing by on the street behind the neighborhood settled into the air as they caught their breaths. Jude leaned back against the car, tipping her head back up to the night sky.

Cardan was still leaning into her, the moonlight casting a faint glow over his face. When she met his eyes, his lips tipped up in a little smile that sent warmth to her stomach.

With a will of its own, her hand reached up to push back his hoodie, cradling his jaw, and he swallowed, his expression sobering.

A breeze blew over them, lifted a strand of her hair from her face. Her heartbeat thudded against her chest, a different type of adrenaline shooting through her body as his eyes darted to her lips.

In an unspoken agreement, Jude leaned up, and Cardan’s head bent down to reach hers.

Their lips brushed hesitantly, a barely-there kiss, before Cardan pulled back slightly.

Oh. Oh.

“Jude.” His voice was hoarse, a question, a plea exhaled across her lips, and she silenced it with her mouth.

Their resolve snapped, and Cardan’s hand slipped to cradle the back of her head as his head dipped and his lips pressed into hers, again and again and again, warm and soft and desperate. Jude buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, until she was pressed against the car, his forearms caging her in.

She had never been kissed like this.

It felt as though they were running past the sprinklers again, a rush of adrenaline running through her body. Her lips parted under his, and he made a noise in the back of his throat that set her blood on fire. Her thoughts fizzled into nothing, everything except the two of them fading away.

When they pulled back for air, Cardan’s lips were swollen, and both of them were panting. He rested his forehead against hers, one hand still tangled in her hair, and Jude‘s eyes finally fluttered open.

“That,” Cardan rasped, “was worth waiting for.”

“Shut up.” Her voice was a little too breathless for her liking.

“Jude, Jude, Jude,” he murmured as he nuzzled the side of her face, and she felt goosebumps erupt on her arm. “Now you know exactly how to make me shut up.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, barely close enough for another kiss, before shoving him back, hoping distance would help her regain her composure. “You wish. There are other ways to shut you up.”

He stumbled back with a breathless laugh. “I do wish.” He glanced around at the street, as if just remembering where they were. “We should probably go.”

“We should. Wouldn’t want to get caught.”

“Okay, right.” His hands spazzed at his side for a moment before he spurred into motion, opening her door for her with a roguish grin.

Jude didn’t exactly know what she was getting herself into, but she couldn’t bring herself to put an end to it.

~~~

A/N:  And there you have it, the scene that inspired this whole thing. It’s the first scene I even wrote, and everything else was just fun to write to lead up to it. I was about to cut this chapter off before the last scene, but I decided to keep it in because it takes me forever to update. Like I said at the beginning, you’re welcome 😌  I hope it’s as good as it was in my head 😭

Okay, but the fact that this is the tenth chapter and people are still reading?!! Thank you all so much for reading this and supporting this!! I probably would have abandoned this if not for you <3

As usual, let me know what you think in the comments!! Reblogs are appreciated :)

Check out my masterlist for more of my writing!

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[erin-bo-berin]

Hands

MASTERLIST

Happy Monday! What better way to start the week than with some Spencer smut? Huge thanks to the anon who requested this based on a Spencer’s hands post I reblogged. WHEW did I get a bit carried away with writing this though, not that I regret that. His hands are just amazing aren’t they? Hope this fic makes you guys’ Mondays, just a bit better. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 3,821

Fidgeting.

Tapping.

Pointing.

Motioning.

Never staying still.

Repeat.

Spencer Reid had the most glorious hands, ever.

When you first started your job at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, the only thing you’d anticipated was the hard work you’d have to do to fill big shoes.

You had been hired as the Unit’s Press Liaison after Jennifer Jareau, the Unit’s previous Press Liaison, decided to become a profiler. It was an overwhelming offer because JJ had been one hell of a wonderful liaison. The only thing you’d been worried about was living up to the expectations she’d left behind.

What you didn’t expect was your gradual sexual attraction to and crush on Dr. Spencer Reid. Or an intense appreciation for his hands.

You couldn’t believe you had such a thing for them. It was incredibly difficult when you worked with him, as well.

They always managed to attract your attention.

He was always doing something with them. Whether it was fidgeting with a pen, fingers playing with a rubber band, hands gesturing while he explained something or sliding down a page of text as he read, your eyes always returned to them time and time again.

You didn’t have small hands by any means, but his hands were large, most likely twice the size of yours. You could hold your hand up to his in comparison and he’d be able to engulf his in yours.

There were prominent veins on the backs of his hands, something that was incredibly sexy although you couldn’t say why. His fingers were long and slender, clouding your thoughts on the daily, no matter how much you tried to stay professional.

Just the other day you had been presenting a case to the team.

“Chandler, Arizona needs our help.”

You clicked the remote, grisly pictures appearing on the screen.

“Two bodies have been found, exactly one month apart.”

“They look like they’re sleeping,” JJ noted with a frown.

“No blood, no wounds, it all looks relatively clean,” Spencer added, twirling a pencil in his fingers.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to look away. You wished like all get out that he’d stop doing that.

“Wait a minute, is that frostbite on the edges of their fingers?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah, I see it too,” Spencer said, looking back at the pictures in his file. 

His fingers tapped the areas where the frostbite was most present, absentmindedly gliding over the pictures.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t had constant fantasies about those hands on you, those fingers tangled in your hair, his fingers buried—

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, facing your boss Emily Prentiss who had asked you a question that you’d completely missed.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I asked if the coroner had identified the marks on their chest. It looks like it’s from a defibrillator.”

You peered at the notes you’d jotted down, not before noticing Spencer quirk a brow in your direction. He’d most definitely caught you staring.

“That’s correct. By the coroner’s reports, both victims had been resuscitated multiple times and not at the same time either. Over a period of time.”

“What the hell is this unsub doing to these people?” Luke Alvez muttered.

“That is what we’re going to find out. Wheels up in thirty,” Emily said, standing, gathering the case file.

You expelled a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding as the team left. You needed to grab your go bag as well before meeting the team at the jet.

But first, you needed to get it together.

•

Your fantasies had returned, unsurprisingly.

You’d given a press conference earlier, met with family members and now was sitting against the edge of the table as the team were recounting what evidence they’d found. Most of it was the beginnings of their profile forming, tossing theories around.

You were only half listening, your mind wandering.

“This unsub’s torture is his twisted sexual fantasy. You know how normal people fantasize about normal sexual things? Whether it be exhibitionism, a certain kink, maybe even a certain part of another’s body, perhaps one’s hands.”

You had to stifle the guilty gasp that had risen in your throat. You felt your face heat. Either Spencer was messing with you or he had ironically and unintentionally somewhat called you out.

He hadn’t even glanced in your direction though. Even then, you weren’t sure what to think. Spencer Reid was definitely one smart cookie, both book smart and common sense smart. He caught on to more things than some gave him credit for.

“This is his sick unnatural version of that. It’s what arouses him,” Spencer continued, oblivious to your inner thoughts.

Well, Spencer certainly did that enough for you. You groaned internally, trying to focus on the case and not your gorgeous coworker. There would be plenty of time to release your sexual frustration later, at home, away from him and the rest of the team.

Although it was such a shame it couldn’t be his own hands caressing you as he fucked you against a wall.

Oh god, you really needed to get some fresh air.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You turned at your name, seeing the local detective approaching you.

“We have an out of state family member that’s just called and would like to talk to you before he flies out.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. At least that would preoccupy your mind for a short while.

“I’ll be right there,” you nodded.

You turned back to the team.

“Keep me updated on what you find out,” you said before leaving to take the phone call.

You crossed your fingers in hopes that they wouldn’t send Spencer again to fill you in. That was the absolute last thing you needed.

-

It’s official, your coworkers hated you.

Spencer sat on top of the desk you were sat at, filling you in.

You were trying hard not to, but your body was reacting to him. You could feel the tightness of your breasts under your blouse, your center beginning to throb as you attempted to focus on what he was saying.

It wasn’t just his hands that got you hot, but they were a wonderful addition to an already impressive package. 

He was attractive. He was tall and slender, light brown curls that were most likely always in a disarray. He would often push stray curls out of his eyes with a hand, oblivious to the fact he even did it.

He had a jawline as sharp as a razor and cheekbones any woman would envy. His lips were full and a naturally opaque medium pink hue. He had a habit of biting them or licking them when he was deep in thought. He also had this cute habit of poking his tongue out of his mouth while he thought. It was sexy and utterly adorable at the same time.

His smile could literally make a woman’s panties drop and give them butterflies simultaneously. His smile was as big as his brain and just as bright as him. When he smiled, it lit his whole face up, showing a row of perfectly straight and white teeth. His eyes occasionally crinkled at the corners and scrunched up when he smiled real big or laughed. 

His eyes were so intriguing to you. Some days they looked brown, other they looked more green. You would guess they were a shade of hazel by how they seemed to change in different lights or depending on different colors he wore.

One thing about those eyes, they never missed anything.

His brains were just as attractive as he was. With his genius and his knowledge and experience of the job, he had become an amazing profiler over the years. It amazed you how he could process information and have a breakthrough in a case that none of the rest of the team could’ve ever thought of.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” he asked.

Once again, you forced yourself out of your head to struggle to listen to what he was saying.

“Huh what? Oh yeah, I- okay maybe I missed that last part,” you admitted.

“What’s got you so distracted today?” he asked, curiously.

“Just tired,” you lied smoothly.

Tired of imagining you half naked and sprawled across any of the nearby surfaces.

You shook the thought loose from your head. Focus, focus. You could do that.

“Just quickly run that by me one more time, please?”

•

You tossed a stack of files on your desk, sighing.

It had been a long week. 

You’d made it through the last case—it successfully solved and the unsub in custody—within a few days. The team you were a part of were just that good.

You, along with the team, had arrived back at Quantico late last night. Today was a day full of paperwork, wrapping up the loose ends of the latest case. That had to be your least favorite part about this job. 

You’d finish your paperwork earlier, also trying to avoid Spencer as the last few days had spiked your sexual frustration. You weren’t sure just how much more one could take.

Luckily—or unluckily, considering how you looked at it—you had a stack of cases to go through. You were going to be staying later than usual, that’s for sure. 

Everyone was heading home for the day, but you were just getting started. You were anticipating going through the case files with Emily, when there was a knock at your door.

It wasn’t closed, so the knock was more of a formality than anything.

You looked up to see Spencer in the doorway.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

You had to bite back a groan. This man, you swear.

“Oh, no, thanks though. Emily and I are just staying a little later this evening to knock out some cases,” you motioned to the stack you’d been compiling.

“Actually that’s why I’m here,” he said, stepping in, putting his hands in his suit pants pockets.

“Emily had a personal emergency and asked me to help you out in her place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I can get it done myself, it’s no problem,” you offered.

“Well you know how fast I can read. Besides, it’s no problem. What, are you trying to get rid of me?”

A small smirk graced his lips.

“Uh, okay. Let me just grab these and I’ll meet you in the briefing room. It’ll have more desk space than this mess.”

You peered at your cluttered desktop, making Spencer chuckle.

“Here, let me help.”

He grabbed the stack of case files and was out the door.

-

You closed another file that you’d just gone through and sat it on the chair next to you, the table clearing and the pile in the chair, growing.

Turns out, Spencer was right. His quick reading came in handy with going through these potential cases. It’d only been an hour and you’d flown through three quarters of the files.

“Done with this one,” Spencer said, sliding it your way, “Tell the detective to look into the brother of the suspect, he seems promising.”

You raised a brow, but said nothing as you jotted the note down to add to the file, closing it and adding it to the pile.

He was already on the next case, reading it. His fingers scanned down the pages as his eyes took in the information. As much as you tried to resist, your eyes fell to his hands. You just couldn’t help it.

The amount of dirty thoughts you’d had involving them in the last few years was insane. It was hard not to imagine those long, agile fingers buried deep inside you, driving you crazy.

You shifted in your chair, trying to avoid the arousal that was creeping upon you, its fingers just starting to grab a hold of you. You could just imagine those fingers gently gliding over your bare skin, hands gripping your curves, melding into the form of your hips as he held tightly onto them while he thrust deep inside you. You bet he’d feel amazing.

If his big brains were any kind of indicator of his nether regions then you were positive he was well endowed.

The words in front of you in the file were blurring, you couldn’t keep focus. Your mind was a fog that was filled with nothing but Spencer Reid in the most compromising ways.

You blinked to clear the blurring words, reaching for your water bottle to drink some. It had been at least ten minutes since the last time either of you had spoken, so you were startled when you heard him speak, breaking the silence in the room.

“So what’s got you so aroused?”

You almost choked on your swallow of water. You sputtered a bit, wiping your mouth and swallowing the liquid, screwing the cap back onto the bottle. He hadn’t even looked up from the file in your direction when he’d spoken, he was still studying the case in front of him. You stalled, putting your water bottle back in your bag before answering.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re shifting in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs uncontrollably and clearing your throat. Your breathing seems to be a little more accelerated than normal and your heart rate has probably spiked. Plus, your face is flushed.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to desperately deny it, but you knew Spencer was too good at his job and knew better.

He shifted in his seat, turning to look at you.

“Why are you always staring at my hands? Are they what gets you this worked up?”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly.

“Answer me, please,” he said not in an unkind tone, but a gravelly element had slipped into his voice.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His teeth raked over his lower lip as his hand pushed your hair back behind one ear, softly trailing down your cheek before grasping your chin with two fingers, pulling you into a kiss.

You were surprised at this turn of events, but returned the kiss, his lips soft against yours. He deepened the kiss, his hand gliding over your cheek, fingers tangling into your hair.

He pulled away from you, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse.

“Wanna see exactly what my hands can do?”

You were dreaming. You had to be. There was no way this was actually happening or the fact that Spencer was trying to seduce you. At some point in the last couple of seconds, he’d pulled you to a standing position, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the table.

“Please,” you murmured, watching him.

His fingers brushed an area of exposed skin with every button he’d opened, making you shiver. Finishing the last button, he pushed the shirt back over your shoulders and you let it fall off your arms and to the floor. You were quite literally sitting on the edge of the table in just your lilac lacy bra and work skirt.

His hands glided up your arms, giving you goosebumps. Although that partly could’ve been because of his intense gaze locked on yours. His hands reached towards your back, unhooking your bra then sliding the straps down your shoulders. When your bra fell in your lap, you pushed it away, hearing it hit the floor. You also thought you heard a deep groan, die in his throat.

You felt suddenly, extremely exposed as his eyes roamed your bare top half. 

“Tell me. What kinds of things have you imagined me doing to you?”

At this point, you couldn’t determine if he was just a really good profiler or a mind reader. Your face flamed, realizing he’d probably caught on long ago.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” his lips brushed against yours, his fingers like feathers across your collarbones, before he whispered in your ear, his scruff tickling the side of your face in a pleasant way.

“I like you too. For a long time, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, watching him pull away, the smirk back on his lips.

“Now, tell me. What have you imagined me doing?”

His hands cupped your boobs, squeezing them gently. If your nipples hadn’t already hardened from your arousal, they most certainly would be now.

“Have you imagined this?” Spencer whispered.

The pads of his thumbs moved back and forth over your nipples causing you to gasp. Your core had already been throbbing from earlier but now it had become ten times worse, including the slickness between your thighs as well.

“Or maybe this?”

On one side, his fingers twisted your nipple just slightly and on the opposite side, his hand kneaded your breast more firmly. The whimper that left your throat obviously pleased him.

His fingers found the zipper of your skirt, located at your side, along your hip. He pulled it down slowly. All you could hear was the slow descent of the zipper and your sudden, ragged breathing.

His hands brushed your hips as he pulled the garment off, letting it drop where it may. 

With a hand gentle on your back, he pushed you down to lay against the table top then his hands continued their exploration. They glided up over your stomach, fingers tapping down your sides.

You’re pretty sure he could make you orgasm just from his playful touch. You were propped up on your forearms, watching him. Your skin was cool against the tabletop.

“You still haven’t told me what you’ve imagined me doing,” he said slyly, hands just beginning to reach the tops of your thighs.

Without even thinking, your legs immediately parted, ready for his hands between them.

“Nuh uh,” he replied, closing your legs, gripping the sides of your thighs roughly, “I need to be told.”

At this point, you were positive you’d soaked through your panties. You were dying from his touch, yet craving it where it mattered the most.

“I want you to touch me,” you croaked.

“Touch you? But I have been,” he grinned mischievously, rubbing the sides of your thighs, “In fact, I’m touching you now.”

You wanted to groan. Fucking Spencer Reid.

Either you were out of your mind with your current state or just completely lost all will to keep up your sexual frustration for the words out of your mouth were something you wouldn’t normally be so brazen to say. At least not without blushing. 

“I want you to use your hands on me until I’m gripping the table and screaming your name,” you gritted out through clenched teeth.

The only reaction you saw from him was the slight squint of his eyes and you felt the grip on your thighs tighten. If it hadn’t been for that, you wouldn’t have thought your words had affected him at all.

He nudged your thighs apart, fingers slowly stroking the insides of them. You were practically quivering with need by this point, your core throbbed for his heavenly touch.

When it came, a feather light brush through the silk material of your underwear, you hissed, the feeling just barely a taste of what you knew was to come.

“Eager are we?”

He could feel how wet he’d gotten you and the wolfish grin on his face, you knew, was because of it.

He remained teasing you, thumb pressing your clit through the thin fabric.

“Fucking hell Spencer, either you do it or I’ll do it myself.”

His deep chuckle sent electricity to your core.

“Why Y/N, I never knew there was this side to you.”

His fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties, pulling them off. He wasted no time getting down to business.

His touch trailed down your slit and a low moan came from you. You couldn’t help it at this point. Months—hell years—of sexual frustration were coming to the surface and you were quite willing him to wreck you.

A finger slid in you easily, obviously with the help of your arousal. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes taking you in. You needed more and you told him so. More digits were added and you easily became a moaning mess.

His knuckles gently rubbed your walls, giving you shock waves of pleasure all through your body. He was as good with his hands as you’d imagined, but the real thing was so much better than your fantasies.

His pace alternated between slow and gentle to rough and quick, keeping you on your toes. Small whimpers and moans were coming from you quickly and you leaned your head back, hips arching into his touch.

You were certain you were going to explode when his thumb circled your clit.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling yourself inadvertently tighten around his fingers.

You were positive he’d felt it too when you heard his own groan come from above you. His beautiful hazel eyes were piercing you, lust filled and prideful that he was the one making you moan and squirm under him.

“Spence,” you whimpered.

Your high was so close, your blood was roaring in your ears and all you could think of was him making you cum harder than you’d ever have before. Your hand gripped the table, your breathing coming in sharp gasps.

One hand gripped his wrist as the coil of pressure that had been growing in the pit of your stomach, exploded. You cried out, pretty sure his name was on your lips repeatedly as your previously tensed muscles, relaxed and you came all over his fingers.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, as you were recovering, your chest rising and falling.

He helped you up, kissing you once again, gently before gathering your clothes and handing them to you with a grin.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized you’d quite literally just came on the round table—where the entire team was briefed on cases, might you add—and because of Spencer.

It was only when you’d gotten your undergarments back on that you noticed him trying to discreetly rearrange himself, that you realized he was trying to hide his own raging arousal.

You don’t know how you’d missed the fact that you’d gotten him incredibly hard. Maybe because you were too busy dying repeatedly over his touch. 

“Spencer,” you motioned him over.

You reached for his belt buckle when he walked into reaching distance, fully intending to return the favor.

He stilled your hands, shaking his head.

“Another time.”

You looked at him, confused. His eyes twinkled mischievously, though.

“Next time, I want to show you what other parts of me can do.”

You had to hand it to him. That was one side of Spencer Reid you would’ve never expected.

As he left, you were sure there was going to be a cold shower in the very near future for him.

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[poptod]

Hi! Can I have an enemies to lovers fic between Ahkmenrah and a Nubian Queen, where their territories are at war with each other (as in a war is literally taking place) 😇😇

notes: man, ive been integrating nubia/kush into my ancient egyptian stories for How long now and i havent thought of doing this? damn. anyway i sort of changed the prompt a little cause i didnt want to get too much into the politics between ancient egypt and nubia cause holy fuck was that a hyperobsession of mine for a bit WC: 1.8k

+

This was... unconventional, to put it lightly. You and a Pharaoh inherited a war from your parents – a longlasting conflict between Nubia and Egypt, and having it end up this way was something no one could have prepared for.

You had directed armies yourself; put yourself in battle, ridden hordes of bulls through encampments and foreign soldiers. It was a purposeful tactic to incite fear in those who opposed you, a lesson in the dramatics handed down to you by your father. He always had an eye for showmanship.

Ahkmenrah conducted undercover operations and covert raids and, at times, led his armies into battle. He was renowned for his work with swords and daggers, often using fire to get his way. By lighting your cities aflame, he weakened the power of Nubia, and destroyed precious resources and lives.

Both of you had earned your share of scars, up and down your arms, puncturing your chest and slashing your skin. You personally fought one another on several occasions – the month-long conflict in Semna, the burning of Buhen, the advance on Aswan. Your officers attested to your hatred of the man, and the people of Egypt were well in the know of the Pharaonic family's distaste for Nubians.

"That bastard cut two of my fingers off," you often recounted, and often (and coincidentally) on the same days the Pharaoh would say, "that little shit ruined my perfect skin."

What he meant by this remained, for a good while, unknown to those who heard it. His officers and advisors had asked him several times, but he never gave a straight answer. He kept it a nice secret till it was inevitably discovered to be long, numerous scars ranging all up his back. From his shoulder blades to the small of his back, scars had ruined the once smooth skin, a gift from you to him.

How you gave him these scars was also unknown, and continued to be so forever. He never answered how it happened and you never spoke about it.

However, the answer became clear, though not officially confirmed.

You looked off the side of the bed, listless eyes drifting between the different paintings lining the bedroom's walls. Unlike the grandeur of the court room and dining room, the images were not of the Pharaoh, instead displaying the wealth of a happy garden. It was art you had somehow come to miss in your time away from Egypt.

Kisses landed on the back of your neck before hands travelled to your waist, squeezing the supple skin as the kisses grew lower. You attempted to shake the touch off but he was persistent.

"No," you said, squirming in place but not bothering to leave your spot on the bed. "I came here to settle my debt and I should return to that."

"Lie here with me and your debt is settled," he murmured, lips moving against your skin as he spoke.

"That is not even close to –"

"Shhh," he said softly, and his movements continued without pause, searching the body he had gotten to know uncomfortably well.

Unbeknownst to the populace and to many of your officials, the two of you exchanged letters. Nothing of fantastic importance nor hatred, but instead a communication between two people who had no one else to relate to besides each other. Where else would you find a King or Queen embroiled in conflict?

So you related to one another, and the information you relayed in your letters was always thrice-checked, a tactic to keep Ahkmenrah from using anything against you. He did the same with his own letters, which you expected him to.

Your worst enemy and closest friend continued to kiss you as you lay in his bed, his hand wandering lower till he tugged at the hem of your skirt.

"I'm going to kill you one of these days," you said as you rolled over, facing him head-on. As usual, your words were curt, to the point, and spoken in a nearly monotone voice with complete seriousness. As usual, his eyes were glittering with the excitement you often sparked in him, the most bittersweet of smiles always tainting his lips.

"You've tried six times and you've been unsuccessful thus far," he said in a teasing manner, his grin spreading.

"Well then," you said as he moved to hold himself above you, one hand planted on either side of your head as he sat between your legs, "one more try won't hurt."

"Please don't try to kill me while I'm having sex with you," he groaned.

"I don't want undead dick in me, so I thought I'd do it before or after," you said, something he apparently found amusement in.

"If you weren't the one that destroyed my alliance with Punt, I would marry you so hard," he admitted before diving in to kiss you, aligning perfectly with your lips. You tried two times to reply, but you were entirely muted, and eventually you gave in.

You hated him from the moment you met him. Was that still true, though? Did you still hate him, the man who had taken so much from you, gifting it back in the form of a physical love. His actions in the throes of passion did not suffice as an apology, so you assumed yes––you still hated him.

After all was said and done, you didn't dare to linger. Being absent more than a day from your country never boded well, though the journey back would take up the rest of the day, as the sun had risen a short time ago. You dressed yourself and bid a hasty good-bye to the Pharaoh, who asked you to stay longer.

"If I stay any longer I'm going to suffocate you," you said as you adjusted your belt.

"Have you ever stopped to think maybe I want that?" He asked, and in pure confusion you turned to him, your expression contorted. He explained further, "I've heard choking can be very good during sex."

"Shut the fuck up," you sighed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to your reflection. He just chuckled, flopping back down on the bed.

You paused for a moment––stopped dressing yourself, and instead unwillingly turned your attention to Ahkmenrah's reflection in the mirror, his curls a mess as he stared up at the ceiling. The slow rise and fall of his chest did not match the heavy blush on his cheeks. As he turned to lay on his side, you caught sight of his back, and the numerous scratch marks lining up and down it.

"Do they hurt?" You asked softly, and though you didn't realize it at the time, they were the first soft-spoken words you had shared with him.

"Do what hurt?" He asked in return, rolling back over to face you with a curious smile.

"Those marks on your back," you said, though you didn't turn to face him, instead locking eyes with him in the mirror. "I never mean to give you them."

"You don't?" He asked, quirking one of his brows. "I've always thought of them as a memento. I mean they hurt, but... most things you do hurt me."

For as right as he was, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment for your actions. You had done many things to him and around him, and by both of your accounts, none of the things you'd done had helped him in any way. Except the sex, but neither of you thought of that as your own actions. But he was handsome, and he was kind to his people. Despite the mutual hatred between you he always ensured you were alright with what he was doing in bed. It was two different versions of yourselves––the battlefield, and the home. He was a perfect lover and a ruthless King, and you never bothered to be anything but a spiteful ruler on and off the battlefield.

"Put some lavender oil on it," you said, fixing your collar. "It helps get rid of scars.

"We don't have any lavender oil ever since you cut off our trade network," he said flatly.

"Oh," you paused, "right."

You took one more moment to watch him through his reflection before you took a deep breath.

"I have to leave now. Try not to get into any trouble, or start any, before I get home," you said.

"When will I see you next?" He asked, his cheek squished into the mattress.

"Probably when you wake up at midnight with a knife above your head."

He laughed, but before he could properly respond, you left out the door with your veil concealing your identity. So instead he sighed, turning back to the ceiling as the image of you imprinted itself behind his eyelids. He would miss you no matter how hard he tried not to, and he knew this because every time you left him in his bedroom, emptiness replaced the warmth in his chest. Your warmth.

The moment he passed the threshold of his room, however, he fell back into his natural state––the one he held around his palace officials and citizens. The man who burnt down cities. Very rarely did he ever let this facade fall, and in the following weeks he kept up with it, only breaking it for a split second on a humid evening.

Mail had come into his study, full of letters, plans, and maps all addressed to him. Usually he went through them with his advisors and vizier, but tonight was a holy night, and many of them had asked for the day off, which he of course granted.

The last piece of mail wasn't a scroll or a letter, but instead a small package with a note inside. He frowned as he tore open the sealing, curious to see its' contents. Out fell a sturdy glass bottle, followed by a slip of paper, and the bud of a dried flower.

Get a pretty girl and have her use this on you.

Signed, your friend

He twisted the cork off the bottle. The scent inside was strong enough to reach him without him having to bring it to his nose, and instantly he recognized the source.

Lavender.

He grinned, a grin that only grew larger as he thought of what to say in return. In a flash he grabbed his own papyrus and pen, scribbling down a neat response.

Use it on me yourself, coward.

Signed, your love.

A week later the mail came into your home, and for a good while you sorted through it, though what first caught your attention was the insignia Ahkmenrah planted on each of his covert letters. A lotus. You set that aside––it was not as important as other matters, and it could wait until a little later.

When you did open it, however, you went into such a fluster that a blush coated your face for a good three days.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Blood Hungry: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

“The guy the kid described definitely sounds like a tweaker,” you say once you, Spencer, and the cops show back up at the police station.

“Pull the files of all the methamphetamine arrests in the past six months,” the sheriff asks of the deputy.

“Will do.”

“We should narrow the suspect list down according to the guy's residence. Crimes like these are always crimes of opportunity,” Spencer points out.

“So the first guy on our suspect list will live in the closest proximity to the victim.”

“Do you have a place where we can set up?”

“You can use Simpson's desk. He's out. You got a phone there and a computer. Meantime, I'm gonna narrow down that list,” Sheriff Hall says.

You and Spencer walk over to the desk, and you take a seat on the edge of it while Spencer sits on the actual chair.

“You know, that house was full of chaotic energy. I saw Annie walk around her house, and I felt Wally’s energy as well as both unsubs. One was violent and angry while the other was jittery and nervous. There was only one killer, and the other guy didn’t even know what he was doing.”

“That can help us when we determine who’s on our suspect list,” Spencer nods.

“Hey, you guys find anything?” Derek asks as he and Hotch enter the station.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Y/N found an eyewitness. A little boy who saw someone in the driveway.”

“That's more than we got at Thompson's place,” Hotch shrugs.

“We got two suspects,” JJ and Elle make their way over to everyone else. “Judd Franklin and Domino Thacker.”

“Can I see them?” you ask, and JJ hands over the files.

Both men are equally suspicious, but Domino is the one who screams at you to catch him. You hand over the file to Derek who reads it.

“I know Domino. He's bad news. Serious tweaker. Cooks his own stuff,” Sheriff Hall butts in.

“Does he live near the crime scenes?” Elle asks.

“Almost directly between them.”

“Robbery, armed robbery, possession, and possession with intent. This guy's been hospitalized for overdoses and attempted suicide,” Derek reads.

“What do you think?” Hall asks.

“We need to find Domino,” you conclude.

Derek and some burly cops went to get Domino which was the best idea they had. According to Derek, this guy ran and tried to fight back. However, due to his small stature and nervous outlook, he was easily caught and brought back to the station where Sheriff Hall placed him behind bars. This guy is wearing nothing but his underwear, so he was given a blanket due to him shivering like a Chihuahua.

“Hey, Hotch, I think it’s best if I talk to this guy. His energy is spiking in every direction, and I know I can make a connection with him easily.”

“Okay,” he nods.

Him, Derek, and Elle want to see this pan out, so they follow you to where the suspect is. From only one glance, you know this guy is the thief and not the killer. His energy matches the nervous energy you saw at the house. He is the one who robbed Annie, not killed her.

“I’m freezin’,” Domino complains as he scratches at his head.

You, Hotch, and Sheriff Hall are the only ones inside the cell while Derek and Elle are hanging outside of it.

“Domino, what were you doing at Annie Stuart’s house?” you ask gently.

“I didn't do nothin'. I got the flu. I'm sick is what I am,” he sniffles.

“We know you were there, boy,” Hall glares.

“Sheriff,” you whisper and shake your head when he looks at you.

“In the driveway. I was lookin' at that car, but I never stoled it. I was thinkin' about it, but I left. I seen that kid.”

“The blood found on the bottom of your boot is Annie Stuart's. The tread from the bottom of your boot is the same as the tread found all over the crime scene. Inside!” Elle yells.

“Elle, stop,” you snap and glare at her.

She is not helping this situation.

“Deputy. Coming out,” she sighs and leaves since she knows she won’t be of any help here.

“I didn't do nothin',” Domino whimpers.

“Domino,” you sigh and bend down so he doesn’t have to look up at you. “Look at yourself. You have a record and the blood of Annie all over you. How do you think that’s going to hold up in court? Think about that.”

“I... I… came back. I came back to her house. But he was leavin'.”

“Who?”

“Some dude, man. I don't know.”

“What was he wearing?” you ask.

“He had a hood. A black hood.”

“Domino, look at me,” you order gently, and he just shakes his head. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is. I just want to talk to you. Come on, look at me.” He finally does and you can see just how scared he was. “You didn’t do this, did you?” He shakes his head. “Okay, if that’s true, then you gotta help us out here. Talk to me. You left. You saw him leave. Then what?”

“Went in and--and she's lying there. You know, um, I needed money real bad so... she was already like that.”

“She was like what?”

“You know, she was all cut up,” he starts to cry.

“She was all butchered up and you robbed her anyway?”

“It ain't right!” he yells, and you stand back up. This interview is done. “It ain't right! I'm sorry! It ain't right. Oh, god, forgive me. Oh, god... It ain't right! I'm sorry!”

“We’re done here,” you say to the Sheriff and Hotch.

It’s time that Domino is left alone to think about what he’s done. When you get to the main part of the station, you turn to the Sheriff.

“He didn't do it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He was pretty freaked out just thinking about what was done to Annie,” Derek points out.

“People pretend,” he shrugs.

“Anybody delusional enough to eviscerate Annie would not be lucid enough to recount it the way he did. Trust me, he didn’t do it. He robbed her, but that’s it.”

“Alright. I'll have him taken to detox and then I'm gonna arrest him for robbery.”

“In the meantime, I'd have your men canvass the neighborhood again to see if they saw a guy in a hooded sweatshirt,” Derek orders.

“Will do,” he nods.

Once you and the team had a rough idea of what to look for, it was time to give the profile. Every single cop in the station gathered around to hear what your team had to say. According to Gideon, he discovered that the unsub is drinking and eating the blood and organs after placing them in round containers. It’s why there were bloody rings on the coffee table. You have enough to put together a profile.

“We are looking for a twenty to thirty-year-old male,” Hotch begins.

“The unsub engages in anthropophagy. It's a psychotic conviction that he must drink human blood and possibly eat human flesh,” you add.

“For Richard Rrenton Chase, the vampire killer, he drank his victims' blood because he believed that aliens had invaded his body and were slowly drinking his blood,” Spencer spits out facts only he would know.

However, you knew about this too.

“If he didn't get the blood he needed, he'd die. Anthropophagy suggests such an extreme level of psychosis and disorganization that he couldn't have ventured very far from home to commit these crimes. This guy lives or has lived in this town. He knows the territory.”

“You've all seen him,” Derek takes over. “Maybe at the ballpark or riding his bike home from the grocery store. He wasn't always a threat. He could have been your neighbor. He might have been your friend. We think something about his delusion is keeping him here in town.”

“So, we're gonna start at Annie’s house and we're gonna spread out there in quadrants. We're gonna eliminate all of his hiding places,” Hotch determines.

“Paul Thompson's funeral is this afternoon. A lot of his neighbors are gonna be there,” Sheriff Hall mentions.

“Then that’s where we start,” you nod.

The funeral is in full service, and you’re scanning the area to see who might be at all suspicious. Most everyone is passing your tests, but there is one woman wearing a lacy black veil that raises a bunch of red flags. For some reason, she has a tint of that angry red energy you saw back at the house. There is something not right with her.

You go to mention this to Hotch who stands next to you when JJ and Elle walk over with a bunch of case files.

“So, we got some names of unsubs. Farrell Belvedere, twenty-three. He, uh, took a little too much LSD and flipped out in a Winn Dixie and tore up a cheese counter.”

“It’s not him,” you shake your head.

“Okay, show her Mark Ward. He's twenty-one with five counts of petty larceny. Attempted suicide, committed for a year, but now he's living back with his parents.”

“Nope,” you shake your head.

“The last one is Oley Maynor, twenty-five. He was institutionalized for severe manic-depression. He has violent mood swings. When he was eighteen, he got arrested for biting the heads off chickens.”

“He matches what I saw. It could be him, but it ain't the other two. I know it for sure,” you say.

“Gather as much information as you can about him,” Hotch orders.

“You got it,” you nod and leave with Elle.

Derek catches up with you and Elle to gather information on Oley, but you have one woman in mind. By the time you got debriefed, the funeral was over. The woman in the lacy veil was leaving, and you rushed over to her to see what she knows. You really want to get a feel about who she is and what she’s hiding because you know she’s hiding something.

“Ma’am, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” you ask and flash her your badge.

“Of course, what do you need to know?”

“Do you know a man named Oley Maynor?”

“Of course. I just saw him the other day,” she nods without looking at you.

“You saw him where?” Derek asks.

“He was with his brother. In fact, I think it looked like they didn't want to be seen because he took Oley out of the car and went straight into his house.”

“When was this, Mrs. Mays?” Elle asks.

She must have known who this is because you didn’t know her name.

“Three days ago.”

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