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gloomwitchwrites · 1 month ago

Note

you've done 'in the rain'...what about "snowed in"?

I know snowed in during a mission is a pretty popular trope...but what about also a 'snowed in' while on base and everyone else is out or while on leave together.....or like neighbors who decide to keep each other company while they wait it out

Could be platonic, romantic or even a teammates who didn't get along till they actually talked kinda thing?

Jokes on you! I made the whole thing naughty! Sometimes, I really cannot help myself, and the idea of being "snowed in" with the 141 made the smutty gears turn. Some of it is cute and romantic, some of it borders on dubcon. Either way, this was completely self-indulgent.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: 141!reader, apocalypse au (Ghost’s), making out, dry humping, unprotected piv, intimacy, hurt/comfort, friends with benefits, neighbor!Price, oral sex, dubcon (Ghost), creampie, shower sex, mechanic!Gaz

Word Count: 3.1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

“Stop your banging!” you shout as you wrap a blanket tightly around you. “I’m coming!”

Someone is at your front door, their knocking insistent and loud, stirring you from your mini-coma on the sofa. It’s late in the evening, bordering on bedtime, and there’s a goddamn blizzard outside. A brutal one that’s knocked out the power.

Flipping the deadbolt, you yank the front door open, ready to berate the person on the other side. As your eyes adjust to who stands in front of you, every snarky remark evaporates into the air like steam.

“John,” you breathe, startled that it’s him.

John Price.

The man who lives next door.

The man you’ve been hooking up with but aren’t actually dating.

Without asking—or even speaking—John steps forward, forcing you to move back as he enters. Grasping the edge of the door, John shuts it behind him. Closing out the cold does little to warm you. The power has been out for hours and all the head in the house has evaporated.

“What are you doing here?” you stammer.

John tugs on his scarf, revealing his mouth. “Came to check on you.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you murmur, stomach flipping over in excitement. “Thank you.”

He glances around, frowning. “It’s bloody freezing in here,” he mutters.

“Powers out,” you reply.

“It’s out for the whole damn neighborhood.” John returns his attention to you, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “You should come to my place.”

“I’m doing good on my own.”

John continues like he didn’t hear your passive rejection. “That’s where we’re gathering.”

“We?”

John turns away from you, heading for your entryway closet. “Where’s your coat?” he asks, reaching for the handle.

“We, John?” you prompt.

“The street,” he replies, peering into the closet. “Johnny and Simon have been going door to door. Taking people to my home.”

It makes sense. John’s home has several fireplaces and a large backup generator. No one needs to try traveling in this weather to a warming center.

“Hopefully the power won’t be off for long,” you muse.

John holds out a large coat. “This the one?”

“It is,” you answer.

He offers it to you with silence. This isn’t an optional request. He expects you to go with him.

The coat is taken, the two of you braving the blizzard together. John might be next door but the wind is brutal, creeping in to freeze your bones. By the time the two of you make it inside, you’re shivering. Inside, dozens of people loiter in the front room and kitchen, bundled up in blankets. Snow-damp coats, jackets, gloves, and scarves hang near the roaring fire to dry. On the coffee table is an arrangement of food that people pick at.

“You weren’t joking about the whole street,” you observe, fingers reaching to undo the front of your coat.

John beats you to it. “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, opening your coat and helping you out of it. “You should shower.”

You smile at him. “The power is out. Your water heater won’t work.”

He leans with a sly smile. “Hot water is a luxury I can’t live without.”

“It’s hooked up to the generator, isn’t it?”

His smile widens, and you nearly jump with joy.

It’s a sprint upstairs with John following. You don’t even care that you’re not dating him, or that there are people downstairs. The clothes come off quickly, and when you’re bare, you reach for him, urging him to join you with gentle tugs.

The hot water is delicious, but it’s John’s kisses that truly keep you warm. Pressing you against the shower wall, John holds you by your throat, seeking demanding kiss after demanding kiss. Your pussy aches with the desire of wanting him inside you. Grasping his cock, you stroke until he’s hard in your hand. John groans, nipping at your neck.

With a little shift of your hips and a lift of a leg, you guide him to your entrance. John grasps your waist, and pushes forward, sinking in until your bodies are flush. Pinned to the wall, you’re at his mercy, taking his cock as he rocks his hips forward and back. At this angle, his pelvis rubs against your clit. You keep kissing him, seeking tongue and lips, whimpering his name as John’s thrusting increases.

“Can I come inside you?” he growls against your mouth. He sounds desperate. Needy.

“Yes,” you breathe, surrendering to him.

A few more thrusts, and then John grinds forward, sealing your bodies together as he empties inside your pussy.

He goes in for a kiss. Another. Eases his cock from your body.

As the water starts to cool, John shuts off the tap, but you’re no longer shivering from the chill.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Can—can you help me?”

Your voice stutters in time with a shiver. A burst of cold air hits Kyle in the face as he opens the door wider, allowing you entrance into the shop’s small lobby.

Minutes ago, Kyle flipped the deadbolt, intent on closing up. A snowstorm rages outside, and all of his mechanics are stuck at home. He sees no reason to keep the place open in these conditions. But here you are, shivering and stranded, your broken-down car smoking slightly in the parking lot.

“Thank you,” you stammer, rubbing your arms. You’re not even wearing a coat, just a threadbare hoodie. “My phone is dead. I can’t call anyone.” You shake your head, clearly frazzled. “I pulled in here hoping someone would answer.”

“You’re lucky,” replies Kyle. “Planned on leaving.” Not that he has to go far. His house is attached to the car shop. “I have a phone you can use.

“And my car,” you gasp, pressing your hand to your forehead.

You’re a pretty thing, especially with the half-melted snowflakes covering your lashes.

Kyle offers a gentle smile. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring it into the bay.”

At the moment he might be a one-man show, but Kyle manages all the same, rolling the vehicle into the bay. It’s no longer smoking, but perhaps it wasn’t to begin with. There isn’t a burning smell that Kyle can detect. With how bad the wind is, it’s possible that the smoke Kyle glimpsed was just a trick of the eye.

While you stay wrapped up in blankets and warming your toes in front of the space heater in the lobby, Kyle checks the car over. Everything appears fine until he checks the oil level.

“When did you last get an oil change?” he asks as he takes a towel to his fingers, rubbing at a bit of grease.

“A what?”

Bloody hell.

Kyle tucks the towel in his back pocket. “Won’t take me but half an hour to do one. Should be fine after that.”

Your face falls. “I—I have no way to pay you.”

Kyle might think you a sweet thing but he’s not going to take advantage. You’re stranded and cold and he has nowhere to be.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies gently.

“Are you sure?” you ask, standing, moving toward him.

“Positive.”

“I can’t…make it up to you?” You lean into him, batting your eyelashes.

Oh. Kyle’s in goddamn trouble.

“You don’t—”

“But I do,” you croon, gaze roaming up and then down his body.

Blood rushes straight to his dick. How long has it been since he’s fucked something other than his hand? And you’re willing?

“Sit down,” you murmur, and Kyle doesn’t need to be told twice.

As he settles into the chair your just occupied, you allow the large blanket to slide off your shoulders, revealing nothing understand.

“Fuck,” he whispers as you kneel on the crumpled blanket before him. His legs spread and you settle between, hands sliding up his thighs to toy with the front of his jeans.

A quick tug. A pop. And then you’re reaching inside, fingers wrapping around his hard dick. Kyle groans. Your fingers are no longer cold from the storm. You’re warm, and it feels fucking good.

Kyle’s eyelids flutter, head tilting back as you stroke him. But it’s your mouth suctioning around the head, tongue lapping over his slit that forces his attention back on you. The snowflakes on your eyelashes have melted, leaving behind wet lines that make it appear like you’ve been crying.

You swallow him down, and Kyle’s ball tighten.

Grasping the back of your head to ground himself, Kyle watches your lips, how they move up and down his length, how to the vein disappears and reappears with each bob. It doesn’t help that you’re completely fucking naked, or that your hand is between your legs playing with your pussy.

You slowly ease your lips upward. Kyle’s dick pops from your mouth.

“You want to come inside me?” you ask, but Kyle can tell that you’re begging—that you want this too.

“Fucking know I do,” he growls.

With a lusty smile, you place your hands on his knees using them as leverage to stand up. Kyle takes in your naked body, and then your gorgeous backside as your turn around. Leaning forward, and spreading your legs just a tad, Kyle receives a clear view of your pussy. It’s glossy with arousal.

He grasps your hips, shifting you back, lining himself up, and then you’re sinking on him. Kyle watches as his cock perfectly pushes in, disappearing into warmth and snugness.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps as you take every fucking inch of him.

You rock back, and Kyle thrusts up, both of you groaning loudly. He doesn’t give a fuck that you’re a stranger—that he doesn’t know your name. Your pussy is perfect, and the snow is thick and raging.

Kyle’s release rises. His fingers tighten their hold, digging into your skin. You try to move, but he holds you fast, sealing your bodies together, filling you with his cum. As you keep still, fingers teasing your orgasm from you, Kyle knows that you could easily stay for the evening.

No one should be driving in this weather.

And he can do the oil change tomorrow.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost finds you in a net, snow-covered and half dead.

When he cuts you down, you hardly move. It’s a shift of the eyelids and a little puff of breath that tells Ghost anything. He puts you on his sled beside the stag he’s downed, traversing the cold and knee-deep snow back to his cabin. The years have melded together, becoming one continuous understand. Ghost hasn’t come across another human in ages. He hasn’t used his voice at all. He’s not even sure if he still knows how to talk.

Not that there are many humans left in the world.

Ghost hangs the stag in the shed behind the cabin, securing the door to keep out any hungry scavengers. You he brings inside, stripping you down until you’re naked, placing you in front of the fire on a nest of worn blankets. He wraps you up, taking extra care to look after your toes and fingers. Though your limbs are cold, you appear to have staved off frostbite.

It’s a lingering quiet where Ghost holds vigil as you warm.

And when you open your eyes, you peek out from your sanctuary of blankets.

You do not scream. You do not scuttle back and away like a beetle. There is…curiosity. Ghost’s cock twitches, wanting attention, liking the way you peer at him. It’s a staring contest, the two of you watching the other without speaking.

Another human. Life. Warmth.

The tips of Ghost’s finger twitch. He reaches out, but you do not flinch. His hand slips beneath the blanket, cupping your bare breast, fingers teasing the nipple. You remain calm, gaze fixated on Ghost. The nipple between his fingers hardens. Ghost moves to the other.

But you surprise him, finally moving, grasping his wrist.

Ghost stills, but you do not draw his hand away. Instead, you bring it down, down between your thighs. You guide his fingers to your pussy, thighs opening slightly to accommodate him.

Ghost strokes, teasing your clit. Dipping into your pussy, he spreads the growing slickness around, returning to your clit. Your eyelids flutter, mouth parting slightly. A shiver runs through you, and your thighs quiver against his hand. He’s already shoving his pants down, opening the blanket to come above you.

You blink slowly, shifting onto your stomach, resting your cheek against the blankets. Ghost settles, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. Without ceremony or warning, Ghost thrusts deep. The only sound you make is a small gasp.

Ghost grunts above you, hips snapping, your ass bouncing with each thrust. He loses himself in the warmth and tightness of you. With his face pressed to the back of your head, Ghost pins your wrists above you.

His pace increases, the need to finish a rushing, pulsing shiver beneath his skin. You spread your legs a bit wide, giving him better access.

He doesn’t ask—only grinds his hips against your ass, his cum oozing out around his dick.

The wind kicks up, rattling the covered windows.

A storm is brewing.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“He’s not coming.”

“Willing to put money on it?” asks Johnny, his mouth quirked into a sly smirk.

Matching his energy, you present a few pound notes. There’s a handshake. A verbal agreement. If Captain Price isn’t here by midday, he’d not coming in. And why would he? It’s a bloody blizzard out there. No one is driving in this.

“Without Price around to give orders,” muses Johnny, slowly counting the cash you handed him. “How should we…occupy our time?”

Johnny says occupy slowly—almost deliberately as if he already has something in mind.

You tilt your head to the side as if in deep thought. The two of you will have the run of base for the rest of the day, possibly even the next if the predicted snowfall is correct. You and Johnny can do whatever you want while everyone else is stuck elsewhere.

The soft smile on your lips widens. “I have a few ideas.”

Ideas can be foolish. Spontaneous. Silly.

Neither of you grab your coats. It’s a simple burst of speed and sheer joy as the two of you go rushing out into the blizzard with only your fatigues on. Snow crunches under your boots, and the wind kicks up white waves that stick to your clothes and soak in until the cotton adheres to your skin.

With a screech of glee, you dive into the snow, scooping up a massive clump. Hurriedly, you shape it into a ball. Turn. Hurl it at Johnny. It strikes the back of his head, and he stumbles forward.

“Fucking shit!” he laughs, launching a snowball right back at you.

This one you dodge, giggling hysterically as the two of you dart and dance in the falling snow, slinging heaps of it at each other.

When your fingers grow cold and your cheeks burn, you somehow manage to drag Johnny inside with you. Snow-covered and shivering, it’s all warm smiles, a hot shower, cards in the rec room with the kettle on. It’s shitty jokes and board games with missing pieces. It’s an old television with poor satellite reception and a communal oven that doesn’t want to hold temperature.

“It’s a ghost town out there,” observes Johnny, glancing out the window.

There are no moving cars. No planes or helicopters taking off. All is silent and still. It’s odd really, like the two of you are locked in a snow globe.

“Yes,” you agree, shuffling the deck of cards.

With a heavy sigh, Johnny walks over to his bed, flopping down onto his side. The neat stack of cards explodes, scattering everywhere.

“Really, Soap?”

“I’m bored,” he replies, falling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Your only response is a muted grunt. Johnny turns his head to look at you directly. “Want to make out?”

You freeze; fingers just shy of lifting some of the scattered cards. “Do I what?”

With a mischievous grin, Johnny turns on his side, leaning on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Just a snog. Won’t mean anything.”

You flick a card at his face. Johnny retains that flirty smile.

“Come on,” he croons. “Just one.” You roll your eyes, then give him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Not what I meant, lass.”

As you draw back, Johnny grasps the back of your neck, tugging you to him. At first, you resist, but then Johnny’s lips meet yours, and you realize it’s not so bad after all. It’s slow and sweet. No tongue. No shoving. It’s passionate but with a hint of restraint.

“Like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You don’t resist when Johnny goes in for another, or when he pushes you onto your back. The fatigues are gone, replaced with sleepwear. Johnny’s fingers slide beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He pebbles one nipple and then the other, eliciting a little moan from you as he seizes yet another kiss.

There is nothing gentle about these. Johnny demands, and you surrender, allowing him everything. Boredom is melting, turning into lust, turning into panting heat. Shirts are gone, and then pants. His lips move down to taste and tease. Your thighs fall wide, and Johnny kisses your pussy before tonging it. Your fingers thread through his mohawk, and Johnny groans as your nails scrape across his scalp.

The snow falls in thick sheets outside, crusting everything in a damp cold.

But your blood is heated, and Johnny is warm.

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?”

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson.

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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rhiannonsknife · 4 months ago

Note

HAVE YOU SEEN THAT ONE CLIP WITH GHOST JACKIE GOING “It’s just a cut, don’t be such a baby” HEHDBEBEBEVE– this has got me thinking of mean dom! Jackie 😔

- 🐑

— YELLOWJACKETS S3 SPOILERS (mdni)

this is also for the anon who sent me this ask: ‘would it be weird if i said that i would let jackie spank me with that pride snap bracelet? 😔’….nsfw content, so mdni.

“aw, does that hurt?” comes the low rasp, close enough that her breath skims the shell of your ear while her fingertips soothe over the pulsing red mark on your flesh.

this isn’t jackie.

you know, deep down, that the real jackie never looked at you like this, never tilted her head in a way that suggested she actually enjoyed your suffering. this jackie, the one standing behind you now, is different. she’s smiling like she’s savoring every second of it.

she didn’t demand that you strike your own skin like she did with the others, so the sting turned raw, and blood gushed from a wound caused by the impact. no, she’s holding it now, tapping it idly against her wrist as if debating when to use it.

the other girls are gone. maybe they were never here to begin with, only a part whatever it is that you're seeing. either way, it’s just you and her left now.

jackie runs the edge of it down your spine, and you shudder at the sharp contrast of cool plastic against fevered skin. you’re too hot, the room is too close, and the anticipation coils tight in your stomach as the bracelet glides lower, over your shoulder blades, down the curve of your back. “what’s the matter?” she pouts, voice as soft as it is mocking. “i thought you could handle this…?”

you grip the edge of the desk beneath you, hoping that it’ll make the throbbing between your thighs go away. it’s too telling, too exposing to know you’re absolutely soaked from the slaps against the swell of your ass. “you’re not real,”

jackie hums as she smooths a hand down your spine. it’s solid, nothing like a hallucination should feel. “maybe not. but i’m here, aren’t i?”

the bracelet hits against your skin, sharper this time, and your breath shudders out of you in a high-pitched whimper.

the jackie you knew would never do this. she was sharp-tongued, sure, but never outright cruel. she never wanted to hurt you.

this jackie?

this jackie likes watching you squirm and shift, rubbing your thighs together like that will make the sensations any more bearable. she can see the wet patch against the fabric of your underwear from where she’s standing, evidence enough that she never stopped having this effect on you.

“you always were my favorite,” jackie muses, leaning forward with a hand on your hip. “bet you liked when i was mean to you, didn’t you?”

you shake your head, but there’s no denying it when she trails her fingers higher, pressing them against your cunt through the thin lace.

“liar”

she doesn’t give you time to answer or to process the sensation of her sudden touch. with her free hand, she snaps the bracelet against your thigh, making you jolt against her fingers. your body clenches, so painfully aware of the lack of relief, and jackie chuckles as she traces the mark where the bracelet last struck.

“tell me to stop,” she rasps, challenging.

you don’t.

her hold on you tightens, and she lets the bracelet slap against your skin again, this time just a little harder, a little closer to where you need her touch. any touch, really. your clit throbs as you try to rut against the table’s edge, a futile attempt to find relief. you cry out in something between desperation & pleasure.

“don’t be such a fucking baby,” jackie hisses.

you should be afraid after seeing what she was capable of with it. instead, you arch into her touch.

#jackie taylor Ღ #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x female reader #jackie taylor x fem!reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you #🐑 anon

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gghostwriter · 9 months ago

Note

i saw you opened your fluff requests so how about this: reid recieves an invitation to a high-school reunion back in Vegas but he doesn't want to go because of his bad childhood. but his best friend (who is completely in love with him) convinces him to go, and offers to be his fake girlfriend to hype him up and make him feel more comfortable. he agrees and ends up confessing his love on the same football field he was bullied on

please feel no pressure to write this, it's just an idea i thought was cute

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to lovers; Fluff with a mix of pining wc: 2.1k A/N: Reader is not part of the BAU, but she just still work for the FBI. By far, this is my longest request written (it's a chapter length) and I don't know how it became so long but I hope you enjoy it still! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Rewriting History. // Spencer Reid

It was the heavy scent of books and wood that welcomed you home. Street lights reflecting off the emerald green walls, bathing the apartment space a warm golden hue. There was peace and stillness, your roommate of two years, Spencer Reid, nowhere to be seen—a usual occurrence that came with his and your job too, being FBI agents under the BAU and CACU, respectively.

You sluggishly made your way to your bedroom, adjacent Spencer’s closed door. Flipping open the switch, your worn body collapsed on the plush vanity chair as thoughts about the darkness of your job slip away and get replaced with melancholy on your connection with the boy genius. It was a relationship nurtured by grueling times in the academy—a connection forged out of convenience at first before becoming this convoluted and intimate bond all because you ended up falling for him.

It wasn’t a conscious choice and Spencer didn’t make it any easier. He was a closed off castle complete with a moat and a secret password—painfully shy and awkward in nature. If it wasn’t for required partnership in physical classes, you doubted you’d get as close as you were now.

A beep brought you out of your musings.

And as if he knew you were thinking of him, it was a text message from Spencer informing you of his return home in a few minutes.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of the chair and changed into a set of clothes—a faded Caltech tee, that you never returned, and a pair of black leggings

Padding across to the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator and silently thanked your past self for prepping dinner for two in advance. With how irregular both your schedules were and Spencer’s apparent lack of skill in cooking, it fell upon your shoulders to make sure he isn’t living off of cold pizzas and Chinese takeouts.

As the second plate of food was heating up in the microwave, the chiming of keys softly echoed from outside the mahogany door.

“Hey Spencer,” you called out from the kitchen counter.

A series of rustles and a soft hey answered back.

You tilted your head to the side in contemplation, something was wrong and as he turned the corner, shoulders curving in on itself and brows furrowed, something must definitely be wrong.

“Tough case?” You asked, bringing both plates to the rounded dinner table.

“Yeah—” Spencer shook his head. “Actually no, not really but I got an email from Las Vegas.”

Your spoonful of soup hung midair, immediately concerned with the email contents. “Is it your mom? Is she okay?’

Having visited Diana in numerous occasions with and without Spencer, you’ve learned to love that woman fiercely too. She was a breath of fresh air—blunt during her lucid days and smart during her academic lectures.

“It’s from my high school, an invitation for the reunion.”

Ah. “And you’re not sure if you want to go?”

He shrugged, chewing his slice of chicken before answering. “There’s really no one I want to reconnect with, you know. No happy memories really.”

“That’s true,” you nodded along.

During the first few nights moving in the apartment, Spencer had shared the lows he had to go through just to get to where he was now at such a young age—endlessly mocked for being a geek, no friend group or single confidant to watch his back, and the utter humiliation of being tied naked on a football post. You had an inkling that the genius had gone through bullying, it was a sad norm in all schools, especially in public, but hearing it first hand had brought home just how much of his closed off and shy personality was a product of his trials.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “I think you should go.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah. To show all those mean bullies where you are now,” your back straightening from the idea. “They’ll talk about you in passing anyway, whether you’re there or not so might as well be there to show them up and defend yourself plus—” you paused, taking a sip of water before barreling through. “—you’ve become quite handsome since then. Don’t you think?”

His hazel eyes widened in surprise, further adding to his appeal. Spencer was so innocent that he didn’t know the effect he had on women—first evidence was yourself and the second was Lila Archer. “Y-you think I’ve become handsome?”

With warmth spreading on your cheeks, you nodded. “You’ve always been handsome to me.”

Spencer started coughing, hand beating on his chest as the food threatened to go down the wrong tube.

Alarmed, you quickly stood up and started patting his back for assistance. How embarrassing was this—the first time you blatantly flirted with the man you formed intense attraction for ends up with him almost choking. Was this a sign maybe to not push your luck? You’ve done just about anything to nudge Spencer��s mind in acknowledging your feelings, from remembering all his little quirks (all were just so cute), actively listening to his tangents (all very informative and interesting), and even sometimes delivering a box of donuts to his team (all in the name of seeing his face brighten up) but none seemed to have worked. So, you opted to tell him in words and look what that did to him.

You gnawed on your lower lip. Maybe it was best to pull back, maybe it was best to throw in—

He cleared his throat before his hand reached yours situated on his shoulder. There was a slight tremor before it closed around your all of a sudden clammy palm. “I’ll go if you go with me.”

Filter off your brain. “As a fake girlfriend type of thing?”

You shut your eyes closed, promising to yourself to stop reading those unrealistic romance novels that Penelope lends you.

“If—if you want,” his voice shaky and soft as rustles could be heard in the background.

Opening your eyes, Spencer was now fully facing you. Eyes roaming your face and body—profiling you.

A small smile graced your lips. “Okay.”

———

The second thing your brain thought of was how oddly fitting that the reunion was held at the school gym, located beside the football field. The first thought being how Spencer looked devastatingly handsome in his suit and tie.

His attire wasn’t that different from his usual in the FBI but there was a hidden meaning behind his choices. The patterned brown blazer was a gift you had given to him for his first anniversary working at the FBI and his tie matched the color of your dress.

It made you feel warm even though a shiver went down your spine as a sudden gust of wind passed by.

Spencer slid closer towards you. “Do you want my coat?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking Spence,” you looked up, smiling in reassurance. The fairy lights hung in rows emphasized how structured his face was. A high nose bridge, similar to his mother’s, and high cheekbones that made your fingers twitch in want to caress. He was stunning to look at—a view you feared you’d never get enough of.

“Spencer Reid!” A booming male voice shouted from across the gymnasium causing a few heads to swivel. Based on the other attendees reactions—giving them ample space as they passed and the stares tracking their every move, you knew who he was right away. A former bully.

“How are you?” he reached out his hand for a handshake. One that Spencer stared at before bringing his hand up to a wave, lips in a tight lipped smile.

“Hey Paul, nice to see you.”

“Is it?” He chuckled before turning his eyes on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You stated out your name, tone very similar when you’re on the field—cold and professional.

“Look at you, Spencer, having such a pretty girlfriend. Heard you work for the FBI now, is that how you two met?”

A saccharine smile spread across your lips. Your boy genius had been stiff ever since Paul called out his name. Having have heard how Spencer once reacted to a case where the unsub was a high school victim, you knew where his mind was at the moment. Grappling with the hurt from the past and trying his best not to lash out from the scars it had left behind. “Yeah, we met at the Academy and just clicked. He was such a gentleman that I couldn’t say no when he asked me out for a date.”

“That’s good to hear. Listen, man, is it alright if I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

You brushed the back of your hand with his, bringing his attention to you. There was a slight furrow in between his brows and his stature was taut, like a stretched out bow that needs to release it’s arrow. This was one of the few times, you could tell, that Spencer was unsure what to do. There was no malice behind Paul’s request and although you weren’t a profiler yourself, the slight hunch on the former bully’s shoulder silently communicated his remorse.

Spencer’s eyes trained on yours and as if he found the answer within the depths of your gaze, he slightly smiled, squeezing your hand in his before turning back and nodding to the interloper.

“I’ll go get a refill,” you lifted your empty cup to excuse yourself.

In truth, you stood idly near the punch bowl and kept your eyes glued on the male duo. Paul was looking down, shuffling his feet, before taking a deep breath and looking straight at Spencer. He uttered a few words you couldn’t make of and in turn, Spencer’s body relaxed and he nods once. With an offer for a handshake, one that Spencer shook, Paul walked away as you made your way back to your partner’s side.

“Good talk?” you asked.

“He apologized,” Spencer muttered, eyes studying you before grasping your hand back to his. “No refill?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it anymore. Say Spence—” he titled his head as an answer. “Want to get out of here?”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with relief. “Thought you’d never ask.”

———

The cicadas were singing their tune as you and Spencer stepped out to the football field. The grass lush in color and the faint smell of wet earth wafted around. Grateful that you opted to wear sensible flats rather than the high heels Penelope was bartering you to wear, you held Spencer’s hand tight as he started recollecting the worst bullying that happened in the same place many years ago.

“That—” he pointed at the goalpost on the far right. “—was where I was left tied up. I remember feeling worried that I would catch hypothermia as the rain kept coming and going that day and I remember feeling sad when I got home and my mother didn’t notice me missing.”

Your voice caught in your throat.

He continued on. “They say people forget events as they grow older and I wished I had the luxury of that.”

“Because of your eidetic memory,” you sighed. It was a blessing and a curse to have.

“But I was thinking, maybe I could rewrite it instead?”

There was a thick layer of hope behind his words causing you to turn, fully facing him this time.

“I—I’ve been keeping a secret from you for 24 months and 182 days and I don’t know if this would change our relationship or ruin it but you’re my person, my best friend—” he took a deep breath. “—and I’m in love with you.”

People say there are moments in your life that would upend everything as you know it and tilt everything to an axis, you never understood what they meant by that, up until this moment. The twinkling night stars suddenly appeared brighter, the temperature warmer, and the force that tethered you to Earth was no longer gravity, it was now Spencer Reid.

You smiled, eyesight blurring from tears. His trembling fingers reached out to wipe the droplets making its path down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with you too, Spencer Reid, since the beginning.”

And as if the world needed more proof, he smiled—his bright, full teeth smile and you felt your heart halt before starting back up again.

It was proof that he owned the beating organ in your chest and all the emotion that came with it.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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reidmarieprentiss · 10 months ago

Text

Home From The Bar

Summary: Y/N goes on the town with the ladies from the BAU, she calls Spencer to pick her up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: flirty fluff

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, getting drunk, doing embarrassing drunk things, suggestive content (16+)

Word count: 2.8k

a/n: can be read alone but it is a blurb from Finding Home Again !!

main masterlist

Y/N had grown a lot closer to the BAU ladies over the past few months. JJ, Emily, and Penelope had become more than just Spencer’s coworkers—they were her friends too. So when they invited her out for a girls’ night, she eagerly accepted. The evening had been a whirlwind of dancing, laughter, and more than a few drinks. Now, they were sat at a table, cooling off after dancing their hearts out and sweating through their clothes.

As the night wore on and the drinks kept flowing, the conversation inevitably turned sideways, as it always does when good friends and alcohol are involved. And unfortunately for Y/N, everyone was curious about her sex life with the good doctor.

“So… how is he?” JJ asked, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous grin.

“Be honest,” Emily chimed in, leaning forward with a sly smile. “Was he a virgin?”

“Is he a pillow princess?” Penelope added, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Their questions came at her in rapid succession, leaving Y/N no time to prepare. Under the influence of alcohol, she could only laugh at the absurdity of it all, her cheeks flushing with both amusement and embarrassment.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Y/N giggled, trying to deflect the attention. “You’re terrible!”

“C’mon, we’re dying to know!” JJ teased, nudging her playfully.

“Yeah, spill the tea!” Penelope added, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N shook her head, laughing harder. “I’m not giving you all the details, no way!”

“But he’s so… proper,” Emily said, leaning back with a smirk. “I just can’t picture him getting all… you know.”

“He’s definitely not a pillow princess,” Y/N blurted out, the alcohol loosening her tongue. The words were out before she could stop them, and the shocked expressions on the other women’s faces sent her into another fit of giggles.

JJ’s jaw dropped. “No way!”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “You’re kidding!”

Emily grinned wickedly. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear.”

Y/N held up her hands in surrender, still laughing. “Okay, okay! Look, all I’m going to say is that he’s… full of surprises.”

The women burst into laughter, clinking their glasses together in celebration of the newfound knowledge.

“Who knew the good doctor had it in him?” Penelope mused, still giggling.

“I always knew there was something underneath that nerdy exterior,” Emily added with a wink.

JJ shook her head, smiling. “Well, Y/N, you’re one lucky woman.”

Y/N smiled back, her heart warming at the thought of Spencer. “Yeah, I really am.”

Of course, the conversation didn’t let up—it just took different paths. JJ shared some funny anecdotes about Will, Emily regaled the group with wild stories from her past, and Penelope brought up that infamous “one time” with Derek that always got everyone laughing. The evening was a blur of laughter, camaraderie, and just a little too much alcohol, which led Y/N to realize that she needed Spencer to come get her—now.

She fumbled for her phone and dialed his number, her fingers slightly uncoordinated from the drinks she’d had. After a few rings, Spencer’s voice, thick with sleep, answered, “Hello?”

“Hi baby!!” Y/N yelled into the phone, her voice louder than she intended.

“Ouch…hi, Y/N. Are you okay?” Spencer asked, wincing at the volume, his concern evident even through his sleepy haze.

“Physically? Yes. Well, no actually,” Y/N slurred slightly.

“No? What’s wrong? Do you need me to come get you? Are you still at the bar?” Spencer was instantly more awake, worry creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Can you please come get me?”

“Of course, I’m on my way,” Spencer replied, already throwing on his clothes and grabbing his keys.

His mind raced with a million possibilities—had Y/N hurt herself? Had she drunk too much? What could have happened? When he arrived at the bar, his anxiety spiked when he saw Emily smoking a cigar outside, a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with panic.

Emily took a slow drag from her cigar, exhaling the smoke before she responded with a smirk, “Oh, she’s fine… go get your girl, Doctor. She’s been waiting for you.”

Spencer nodded in confusion, rushing inside to find Y/N. He barely made it through the entrance when Y/N came barreling toward him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug and planting a huge, sloppy kiss on his neck.

“Spencer! You’re my fiancé, isn’t that just insane?” she laughed, her eyes sparkling with the joy and inebriation of the evening.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, wrapping his arms around her, holding her steady. “Well, I did propose. I’m still amazed you said yes.”

Y/N’s expression turned serious, or at least as serious as she could manage in her current state. “I will never say no to you, Spencer. You are my best friend.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, touched by her words. “And you’re mine. But are you okay? You said you weren’t physically well?” His gaze quickly scanned her for any signs of injury.

“Oh…um, I have a problem,” Y/N mumbled, looking up at him with wide, drunken eyes.

“What kind of problem?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“The kind only you can fix,” she whispered, leaning in closer.

Spencer’s concern grew as he looked Y/N over, trying to assess the situation. The dim lighting of the bar didn’t help, but from what he could see, she seemed unharmed—just a bit tipsy. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and the corners of her lips twitched in a way that told him she was up to something. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or more concerned.

“What kind of problem?” Spencer asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “I’m horny.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in shock, and he instinctively pulled back to look at her, making sure he’d heard her correctly. She looked back at him with the most innocent expression, as if she hadn’t just dropped that bombshell.

“Uh… what?” Spencer stammered, his voice going up an octave.

“I said I’m horny, Spencer,” Y/N repeated, a little louder this time, clearly not aware—or not caring—how public they were.

Spencer’s face flushed a deep shade of red as he glanced around, hoping no one else heard. “Y/N, we’re in a bar,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent.

“I know, and that’s why you need to fix it!” she declared, her hands fisting in his shirt as she tried to pull him closer.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Okay, let’s get you home before you say anything else that’ll make me die of embarrassment.”

Y/N giggled, holding onto him as they made their way out of the bar. “You’re the best fiancé ever, you know that?”

Spencer shook his head fondly, his heart swelling with affection despite the situation. “Yeah, yeah, let’s just get you home, okay?”

As they stepped outside, Emily caught Spencer’s eye and gave him a knowing wink. “Take care of her, Reid,” she said with a smirk.

Spencer simply nodded, still blushing as he led Y/N to the car. He managed to get her into the passenger seat and buckled in before they were on the road. Y/N immediately began fiddling with the radio, her intoxicated focus darting from station to station until she found something she liked.

“Oh!!! I love this song!” she exclaimed, as Lollipop by Lil Wayne started playing.

As the music filled the car, Y/N began to sing along, her voice a little off-key but full of enthusiasm. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at her antics, but when she started doing a tipsy dance in her seat—more of a rhythmic humping, really—his eyes widened.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he sighed, trying to keep his eyes on the road while his very drunk, very sexy fiancée put on quite the show next to him.

Y/N laughed, rubbing her hands over her body in a playful, exaggerated way, even groping her own chest. “See something you like, doc?” she teased, her voice dripping with sultry mischief.

“See something I love,” he grunted, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. It frustrated him knowing he couldn’t act on his desires while she was in this state. He loved her too much to take advantage of the situation.

Apparently, Y/N didn’t share that restraint. Before Spencer could process what was happening, her hand was reaching over, grabbing at his crotch without a hint of subtlety.

“Y/N,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as he tried to keep control of the car—and himself. “You have to stop that, sweetheart.”

“But Spence,” she pouted, continuing her mischief, “you’re so sexy when you’re all serious like this.”

Spencer’s heart raced as he gently removed her hand, placing it back on her lap. “We’re almost home, okay? Just hold on a little longer.”

Y/N huffed, leaning back in her seat with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, but you owe me.”

Spencer laughed softly, shaking his head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With that, he focused on getting them home safely, all the while knowing that the real challenge would be keeping Y/N at bay until she sobered up.

When Spencer parked the car and rounded it to get Y/N, she was ready. The second he opened the door, Y/N sprang into action, pulling him down for a heated kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she pressed herself against him with all the intensity of someone who had waited far too long.

“Y/N…” Spencer mumbled against her lips, trying to regain some composure before gently pulling back. “Upstairs first.”

“You are no fun, Spencer Reid,” she whined, pouting up at him.

“Hmm, I know, love,” he laughed softly, shaking his head at her antics.

Getting Y/N up the stairs proved to be another challenge entirely. She insisted on trying to walk behind him, grabbing his ass and making it clear she was enjoying the view. Spencer, on the other hand, was trying his best to keep them both moving without succumbing to her teasing.

“Hey, grab hands,” Spencer said sternly, taking her wrists in one hand and holding them behind her back, guiding her up the stairs with a firm but gentle push. “Get your drunk ass into the apartment before I drop you off at the firehouse.”

Y/N groaned, clearly turned on by his no-nonsense demeanor. “Fuck, this is so hot, Spence.��

“Shut up,” Spencer muttered, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

“Take me like this,” she purred, her voice low and sultry.

“I’m going to take you to bed,” Spencer replied, his tone exasperated but with a hint of amusement.

“Yesss,” she moaned, clearly misunderstanding his intentions.

“To sleep,” he clarified, his voice firm.

“With you,” she added, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I will sleep on the couch if you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he threatened, though they both knew it was an empty threat. Still, the seriousness in his tone made Y/N pause, her eyes widening.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Y/N mumbled, her voice small and contrite.

“Nope, not starting that,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head as he continued to guide her up the stairs.

Y/N finally shut her mouth, pouting as they reached the apartment door. Spencer unlocked it with a practiced ease and gently pushed her inside, relieved to have made it this far without any further incidents.

“Alright, water, bathroom, bed, got it?” Spencer said, his hands on his hips as he looked down at Y/N with a mixture of amusement and determination.

“If I do it, can I get a kiss?” Y/N asked, her voice slightly slurred but filled with playful intent.

“Yes, you can have one—one—kiss if you do it all,” Spencer agreed, knowing it was the only way to get her to cooperate.

With Spencer’s assistance, Y/N managed to drink a full glass of water, albeit with a few spills. She then, somewhat successfully, removed her makeup, though Spencer had to point out a few missed spots. She brushed her teeth, giggling at the sight of herself in the mirror, and finally slipped into bed in her pajamas, looking pleased with herself.

Spencer turned off the light, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as he returned to the bed. He was ready to give Y/N her promised kiss, leaning down with a soft smile on his face. But as he approached, he realized she was already passed out, mouth open, snoring softly.

“Thank god,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head with a fond smile as he pulled the covers up around her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, the affection in his heart swelling.

As he settled into bed beside her, Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, thinking about how unpredictable and wild life with Y/N could be—and how much he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

When Y/N woke up, she immediately regretted every choice she had made the night before. Her head pounded like a drum, her mouth felt like sandpaper, her stomach churned uneasily, and her body was too warm under the covers. She groaned, kicking the sheets off in frustration.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Spencer said, his tone gentle but laced with amusement.

“No,” Y/N grumbled, pulling a pillow over her face.

“No?” Spencer echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Not good morning. Bad morning,” she corrected, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Feeling the effects of last night?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, nodding slightly under the pillow.

“Want me to get you some water?”

“And meds,” Y/N added pitifully.

“Be right back,” Spencer said, pressing a kiss to her head before heading off to the kitchen. He returned shortly with a glass of water and some painkillers. “Sit up and drink,” he instructed, holding the glass out to her.

“You’re bossy,” Y/N sassed, though she reluctantly did as he asked.

“You liked it last night,” Spencer teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What?” Y/N froze, her eyes widening as she looked at him, horrified. “Oh my god, what did I do?”

“Oh, do you not remember trying to mount me on the staircase? And then moaning when I told you to stop?”

“No! Oh my god, that is humiliating,” Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It was pretty funny,” Spencer said with a snort, clearly enjoying himself.

“What else did I do?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper, terrified but too curious not to ask.

Spencer grinned, clearly holding back a laugh. “You called me ‘daddy.’”

Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Spencer sat down beside her on the bed, his expression softening as he watched her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” he said gently. “We’ve all done stupid things when we’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think most people try to seduce their fiancés on the stairs while calling them ‘daddy,’” Y/N muttered, setting the empty glass on the nightstand.

Spencer laughed softly, shaking his head. “Maybe not, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. You were just being… affectionate. In your own way.”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers, still covering her face. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, not at all,” Spencer reassured her. “I found it kind of adorable, honestly. You’re always so confident and put together, it was nice to see you let go for once.”

“Adorable? I’m pretty sure ‘adorable’ wasn’t the vibe I was going for,” Y/N said, finally lowering her hands, though her cheeks were still pink.

Spencer smiled warmly at her, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay. I love all your vibes.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, finally starting to relax. “Thanks, Spence. You’re too good to me.”

“Only because you deserve it,” he replied, stroking her hair gently. “Now, why don’t you lie back down and rest? I’ll make you some toast and coffee.”

“Toast and coffee sound like heaven right now,” Y/N sighed, leaning into his touch. “But only if you bring it to me in bed.”

Spencer grinned. “Deal. Anything for you, even after you tried to seduce me on the stairs.”

Y/N laughed, her spirits lifting as she watched him head to the kitchen. Despite the embarrassing memories, she felt grateful to have Spencer by her side—someone who could make even the most mortifying situations feel a little less awful.

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

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unseenbuthere · 3 months ago

Text

Almost, Maybe, Us

Solivan Brugmansia x Fem! Reader

Content Warning(CW): Mild language & teasing banter, Romantic tension & physical affection, Light suggestiveness, Fluff, slight slow burn (not really)

Summary:

After weeks of teasing and unspoken tension, Solivan finally takes MC on a proper first date. Over dinner at a cozy restaurant, their usual banter gives way to something softer—confessions, quiet moments, and the undeniable pull between them. When Solivan walks MC home, the teasing continues, but beneath it lingers something real. A challenge, an invitation. And when MC finally closes the distance, meeting him in a slow, heated kiss, it's clear—this was never just a maybe.

Word Count: 1,500–1,700 words

Reading Time: Slow readers: (8–10 minutes)

Fast readers: (5–6 minutes)

Almost, Maybe, Us

It’s already January, and somehow, Solivan is still here.

MC doesn’t know when it started. The late-night arcade runs. The too-long glances. The way he always manages to be in the same place, the same time, with the same easy smirk like he planned it all along. Maybe he did. Maybe that’s just how he is.

They’re at a café today, tucked into the corner near the window where condensation clings to the glass, blurring the world outside. The city looks cold, but in here, it’s warm, the scent of espresso and cinnamon thick in the air.

MC stirs their drink absently, watching Solivan across the table. He’s scrolling through his phone, one hand curled around his mug, steam rising in soft tendrils. He hasn’t looked up in a while.

Which is fine. Totally fine.

MC shouldn’t care.

"You’re quiet today."

MC blinks, jolted out of their thoughts. Solivan’s looking at them now, head tilted, eyes sharp but amused. Like he knows something MC doesn’t.

"Not that you talk much anyway," he adds, lips twitching.

MC scoffs, rolling their eyes. "I talk plenty. You just don’t listen."

"Mmm." He hums, noncommittal, but his smirk deepens, and suddenly, MC is very aware of the way his fingers tap lightly against his mug, the way his gaze lingers just a beat too long.

It’s annoying. It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

They’ve been teetering on the edge of something for weeks now, maybe months. Solivan is always there, slipping into their space with effortless ease, a constant presence that never feels unwelcome but always feels deliberate.

And MC—MC doesn’t know what to do with that.

"You gonna stare at me all day, or did you have something to say?" Solivan teases, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.

MC feels heat creep up their neck and immediately looks away, focusing on the window. The blurred outline of the streetlights, the soft swirl of frost against the glass.

"You’re deflecting," Solivan says, and MC can hear the grin in his voice.

"I’m ignoring you," MC corrects.

"Sure." He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching them over the rim. "But you’re bad at it."

It’s so obnoxious, the way he always seems so sure of himself. But maybe what’s worse is that he’s not wrong.

MC exhales, fingers tightening around their cup. "Why are you still here?"

Solivan doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then sets his mug down with a soft clink.

"You make it sound like I should’ve left."

"Most people would have."

"I’m not most people."

MC looks at him then. Really looks at him. The easy confidence in his posture, the way his fingers drum lightly against the table, the flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

Solivan holds their stare, unblinking. Waiting.

And suddenly, the weight of it all—the months of lingering glances, the teasing, the way he never leaves—feels unbearably heavy.

MC swallows. "So why are you still here?"

Solivan leans back, stretching lazily, like the question doesn’t shake something deep beneath the surface.

"Dunno," he muses, but the smirk that follows is slow, deliberate. "Maybe I like watching you pretend you don’t like me."

MC’s heart stops.

And then, like the absolute menace he is, Solivan just grins, tilts his head, and adds—

"Almost as much as I like knowing you’ll eventually give in."

The worst part?

MC isn’t even sure he’s wrong.

---

MC swears they aren’t blushing.

They refuse to be blushing.

And yet, the warmth creeping up their neck betrays them, sinking into their skin like an awful, humiliating confession. Solivan sees it. Of course he does. His smirk deepens, sharp and knowing, like he’s just won a game MC didn’t realize they were playing.

MC huffs, grabbing their drink just to have something to do with their hands. "You’re insufferable."

Solivan hums, as if pleased by the comment. "You say that like it’s news."

"No, I say it like I’m regretting every life choice that led me to sitting here with you."

"Mm." He taps his fingers against the table, considering. "And yet, here we are."

God, he’s the worst.

MC doesn’t reply, choosing instead to take a slow sip of their drink and avoid his gaze entirely. Outside, the city hums with early evening traffic, headlights flashing through the frost-laced windows. Inside, the café is still warm, still soft-lit, the low murmur of other patrons blending into a steady backdrop of white noise.

They should leave.

They should.

And yet—

"You’re thinking too hard."

MC startles slightly as Solivan’s voice pulls them back. He’s still watching them, but something’s changed—his smirk is softer now, his expression less teasing, more thoughtful.

MC sets their cup down carefully. "That’s a dangerous assumption."

"Not really," he says, tilting his head. "I just know you."

The words are simple. Casual.

They shouldn’t make MC’s stomach twist the way they do.

Solivan exhales, stretching again before shifting in his seat, propping an elbow on the table. "Tell me what’s got you all moody, and I promise I won’t laugh."

MC narrows their eyes. "You’ll absolutely laugh."

"Only if it’s funny."

"Solivan."

He grins, unrepentant. "Fine, fine. I’ll be serious. Go ahead. Floor’s yours."

MC hesitates, fingers ghosting over the edge of their mug.

There’s a thousand things they could say. A thousand things they want to say. But they don’t know how to put any of them into words.

Because the truth is, they don’t understand why he’s still here. Why he keeps showing up. Why he teases and lingers and looks at them like that, like there’s something unspoken between them and he’s just waiting for them to catch up.

And maybe—maybe they’re afraid to ask.

Because what if the answer isn’t what they want?

MC exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table. "It’s just… I don’t get you."

Solivan raises a brow. "Mm. Not the first time I’ve heard that."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

MC groans, dragging a hand down their face. "God, you are so annoying."

"And yet, here we are," he repeats, voice smooth, teasing, just shy of fond.

MC lets their hand fall away, eyes narrowing. "Do you ever stop?"

Solivan pretends to consider, then shrugs. "Not when it’s fun."

"Unbelievable."

MC moves to stand, exasperation outweighing their patience, but before they can push their chair back, Solivan shifts, reaching out—

His fingers brush lightly over MC’s wrist, warm and fleeting, barely there but enough.

MC freezes.

And when they look up, Solivan’s expression has changed again.

The teasing edge is still there, but there’s something else now, something quieter, something… expectant.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t have to.

The moment stretches between them, fragile and weighty all at once.

MC could pull away.

They should.

But they don’t.

And Solivan, the absolute bastard, just smiles.

Like he already knows how this ends.

MC should pull away.

That would be the smart thing, the reasonable thing.

Instead, they stay frozen, caught between instinct and something softer, something dangerous. Solivan’s fingers rest lightly against their wrist, his touch barely there, but it roots them, keeps them tethered to this moment, to him.

And then, slow and deliberate, he moves his thumb in a small circle against their skin.

It’s ridiculous how something so simple can send a spark down MC’s spine, a quiet kind of warmth that has nothing to do with the café’s heater and everything to do with him.

Solivan watches them, expression unreadable but intent, like he’s waiting for something. A reaction. A push. A pull.

MC exhales, voice coming out quieter than they meant. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" he murmurs.

MC swallows. His grip is loose enough that they could pull away, walk out, pretend this moment never happened. But their pulse betrays them, a slow, steady drum against the warmth of his touch.

They aren’t running.

And Solivan notices.

Of course he does.

His smirk tilts just a little, edges softer now, something knowing in his gaze. His fingers shift, moving from their wrist to their palm, tracing absentminded patterns, like he’s testing how much he can get away with.

MC should tell him to stop.

Instead, they say, "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when I want something."

His voice is low, amusement curling around the edges, but there’s something else beneath it, something heavier. MC feels it settle in their chest, a weight that’s been there for months, unspoken but felt.

And now—now it’s real.

MC doesn’t realize they’ve been holding their breath until Solivan’s fingers tighten, grounding them.

"Tell me to stop."

It’s not a challenge. Not a taunt. Just a quiet offering, the final chance to back out before they step over a line they can’t come back from.

MC exhales slowly, heart thrumming against their ribs.

"I don’t want you to."

The shift is immediate.

Solivan’s smirk melts into something else, something warmer, surer. He leans in slightly, just enough to erase whatever space was left between them, and MC suddenly realizes they’re gripping his hand just as much as he’s gripping theirs.

Then—

"Finally."

His voice is barely a murmur before he moves.

It’s not rushed, not eager, just easy, like this was always the next step, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. The press of his lips is warm, steady, a quiet confirmation of something neither of them had been brave enough to say out loud until now.

MC feels themselves exhale into it, something inside them loosening.

And when they pull back, just slightly, just enough to catch their breath, Solivan grins, thumb brushing against their palm like he knew this was inevitable.

"Took you long enough."

MC rolls their eyes, but they don’t let go.

They don’t want to.

And Solivan?

He never even tries.

---

Solivan doesn’t let go.

Not even when the café door chimes, signaling someone coming in, not even when MC shifts slightly, their fingers twitching in his grip like they’re considering pulling away. He just holds steady, thumb pressing against their palm, grounding, there.

MC lets out a slow breath, blinking at him. "You’re not letting go, are you?"

Solivan grins. "Nope."

It’s ridiculous. It’s so ridiculous, but MC doesn’t pull away.

And that’s how they end up leaving the café together, hands still linked like something out of a stupid rom-com, stepping into the biting January cold with the taste of coffee still lingering on their tongues.

The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky in streaks of orange and deep blue, but the wind nips at their faces, a sharp reminder that it’s still winter, no matter how warm MC feels.

Solivan’s hand is warm too.

"So," he drawls, giving their fingers a slight squeeze as they walk. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

MC huffs, breath fogging in the cold air. "Talk about what?"

Solivan raises a brow. "Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you."

MC kicks at a loose bit of ice on the sidewalk, watching it skitter ahead. "I don’t know. Maybe I want to be mysterious."

"Mysterious, huh?" His voice is teasing, but there’s a certain kind of patience in the way he says it, like he’s giving them time.

Which is annoying.

Because now MC has to say something.

They sigh, glancing at him. He’s watching them with that same easy confidence, like he knew this was coming, like he knew they’d end up here, walking side by side, fingers laced together like it’s nothing.

But it is something.

MC exhales. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

"Start with the truth."

MC bites the inside of their cheek. It’s so stupid that he’s making them say it, that he’s waiting for them to say it. But fine. Fine.

"I like you, okay?"

The words slip out in a rush, like they’ve been waiting to be spoken, like they needed to be spoken.

Solivan’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it softens, shifts into something just a little smug, but mostly—warm.

"I know."

MC glares. "Then why’d you make me say it?"

"Because you needed to."

MC groans. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he says, grinning, "you like me anyway."

MC groans louder.

Solivan just laughs, swinging their hands slightly as they keep walking. "Guess that means I should take you on a real date, huh?"

MC blinks. "Wait, this wasn’t a date?"

"Nah." He smirks. "I can do better than a lukewarm coffee and existential staring out a window."

MC snorts, shaking their head. "God, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?"

Solivan squeezes their fingers again, that same steady warmth still there.

"Nope."

And the worst part?

MC believes him.

---

MC isn’t nervous.

They refuse to be nervous.

And yet, as they stand outside the restaurant Solivan picked—a cozy, hole-in-the-wall place tucked between a bookstore and a record shop—their fingers twitch at their sides, resisting the urge to check their phone for the millionth time.

"You know, if you hesitate any longer, they might think you’re casing the place."

MC jolts, whipping around to find Solivan standing behind them, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, head tilted with that look—amused, knowing, like he expected this.

MC scowls. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to enjoy the show."

MC groans, dragging a hand down their face. "You’re the worst."

"And yet," he drawls, stepping closer, "you’re still here."

MC doesn’t have a comeback for that. Mostly because he’s right. Again.

Before they can overthink it, Solivan nods toward the door. "C’mon, before you talk yourself out of it."

MC huffs but follows, letting him hold the door open as they step inside. The restaurant is warm, the air thick with the scent of sizzling meat and spices. The hum of quiet conversations and clinking dishes fills the space, intimate but comfortable.

It’s… nice.

And, weirdly, so is this.

Solivan gestures to a booth in the back, letting MC slide in first before sitting across from them. The moment he’s settled, he leans forward, chin resting on his hand, watching them with that lazy smirk.

"So, tell me, what’s your biggest fear?"

MC blinks. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. First date icebreaker. Let’s go."

MC squints at him. "You’re supposed to ask something normal, like, I don’t know, favorite movies or worst high school memories."

"Boring." He waves a hand. "I wanna know the real you. What keeps you up at night?"

"You, apparently."

Solivan snorts. "Flattered."

MC sighs, picking up the menu just to have something to do with their hands. "Fine. Dying alone, I guess."

Solivan hums, considering. "Bleak, but valid."

"And yours?"

"Mmm… probably accidentally sending a text meant for someone else and ruining my life in under five seconds."

MC stares. "That’s it? That’s your biggest fear?"

"Do you know how much damage a single misfired text can do?" Solivan leans in. "One wrong message and boom—reputation destroyed. Embarrassment permanent. Can’t come back from that."

MC shakes their head, trying not to laugh. "That’s ridiculous."

"Oh? You’ve never sent a risky text and immediately wanted to evaporate?"

MC opens their mouth, then closes it.

Solivan grins. "Thought so."

Before MC can argue, the waiter arrives to take their orders. They fall into easy conversation after that—teasing, bickering, slipping into the same comfortable rhythm they’ve always had, except now there’s something more.

Something in the way Solivan’s foot nudges against theirs under the table.

Something in the way MC catches him looking at them when he thinks they won’t notice.

Something in the way the check comes, and before MC can even think about grabbing it, Solivan slides his card onto the tray, quick, smooth, like it was never a question.

MC raises a brow. "So that’s how it is?"

"Obviously," he says, sliding out of the booth. "I’m trying to woo you."

MC snorts, standing. "God, don’t say woo."

Solivan grins, nudging them toward the exit. "What, too old-fashioned? Would you prefer I say rizz?"

MC groans. "You are so embarrassing."

"And yet—"

"Shut up."

Solivan just laughs, but it’s warm, light, settling into the space between them like something easy.

Outside, the city hums with the quiet lull of winter, streetlights flickering to life as they start walking, hands tucked into their pockets, shoulders brushing now and then.

For a while, neither of them speak.

Then, soft—

"This was nice," MC admits.

Solivan glances at them. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He hums, thoughtful, then—"Guess that means we should do it again."

MC exhales a quiet laugh. "Guess so."

Solivan bumps their shoulder lightly, smirk tilting just a little softer.

"Good."

And maybe, just maybe—

MC doesn’t mind the idea of more.

---

The walk back is easy.

Their hands brush more than once, neither of them mentioning it. The cold nips at their cheeks, but the warmth between them lingers, settled in the spaces where words aren’t needed.

Solivan walks MC to their door like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he’s been doing this forever, like he plans to keep doing it.

"So," he drawls, leaning against the doorframe. "Rate my first date skills. Be honest, but not too honest—I am fragile."

MC scoffs. "Please. If you were fragile, you wouldn’t be standing here fishing for compliments."

"Caught me," he says, shameless.

MC pretends to consider. "Solid seven out of ten."

Solivan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. "A seven? I paid for your food and everything."

"Yeah, but you also said ‘rizz’ unironically, so."

"Wow." He shakes his head. "Harsh critic."

MC bites back a grin. "You’ll survive."

Solivan hums, then tilts his head slightly. He’s close, not quite crowding, but enough that MC can feel the warmth radiating off him, enough that they’re suddenly aware of how much they don’t mind.

His gaze flickers, down to their mouth, back to their eyes.

"You know," he says, voice quieter now, "I’d have aimed for a ten if I thought I’d get a reward."

MC exhales a laugh, rolling their eyes. "So transparent."

"You love it."

And the worst part?

They do.

MC shakes their head, but their fingers twitch at their sides, resisting the urge to grab the collar of his coat and pull.

Solivan notices. Of course he does.

He lifts a hand, slow, deliberate, brushing his fingers lightly along their jaw, barely there but enough to make MC’s breath hitch.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.

He always does this. Always gives them an out.

MC doesn’t take it.

Instead, they lean in.

That’s all it takes.

Solivan meets them halfway, closing the distance with a kiss that starts slow, measured, a quiet test—until MC presses back, fingers curling in the fabric of his coat, and then it shifts.

He makes a quiet sound, something pleased, something warm, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His hand slides down, settling at their waist, not pulling, just holding.

And god, it’s good.

It’s dizzying, the way he moves, the way he tastes, like coffee and something sweet he must’ve swiped off their plate when they weren’t looking.

MC sighs into it, letting themselves melt a little, just enough to feel the press of his grin against their lips, smug and so him.

"Finally," he murmurs when they pull back for air, voice rougher, breath warm against their skin.

MC huffs. "You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

They roll their eyes but don’t let go. Neither does he.

For a moment, they just stand there, the cold forgotten, the night stretching ahead of them, quiet and waiting.

Then—

"So," Solivan murmurs, smirking, "does this bump me up to at least an eight?"

MC groans. "Oh my god, shut up."

Solivan just laughs and kisses them again.

----

♡♡♡

#katb vn #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back sol #tkatb #tkatb fanart #tkatb mc #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #yandere vn

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hazymoonlinh · 3 months ago

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I have a good one,I'd like to use the chef mc again but this for mydei and she offers to cook for the chrysos heirs,one bite for mydei and he just instantly snatches her up no explanation and literally goes mine,like head over heels fallen in love with her cooking and wants to marry her and she finds it amusing despite the shocked reactions from the trailblazer and dan heng and the others

enjoy!

I hope you enjoy this. 😉 (lemme cook)

Cooking for Mydei

(Pure fluff. Mydei x reader.)

⸻

The first time Mydei tasted her cooking, he barely reacted.

The Chrysos Heirs had gathered for a meal, drawn in by the rare chance to taste a dish prepared by someone other than Mydei. Some warriors took one bite and let out content sighs. Others immediately dug in, savoring every bit of warmth and flavor. Mydei? He ate in silence, the same measured pace as always, as if he were merely refueling his body for battle.

She noticed.

She always noticed.

From across the table, her eyes lingered on him—not out of expectation, but curiosity. She wasn’t waiting for praise or approval, just watching. Observing.

It happened again the next time she cooked.

And the time after that.

Each time she prepared a meal, Mydei would sit down with the rest of them, plate in hand, and eat in that same composed manner. No exaggerated reactions, no unnecessary words. But she kept watching him, and over time, she started catching the shifts—the way his grip on his utensils eased, how his brows twitched slightly in interest, the way he held a spoonful of broth just a second longer before taking a sip.

He was getting used to it.

He was enjoying it.

And before he even realized it, he had started waiting for it.

—

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about the food.

He started seeking her out, lingering where she was without a real reason to. When he walked into a room and saw her, something in his chest settled. And when she laughed—actually laughed, not just the quiet amusement she usually had—it felt like something rare and warm, something he wanted to keep hearing.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not even to himself.

Until one night, when she served a dish and immediately turned to watch him. Not the others—just him.

She always did that, he knew. It was a habit of hers, watching for reactions. But this time, it felt different. Like it was his reaction she cared about the most.

And it struck him, then.

He wanted her to care about his reaction the most.

That realization lodged itself deep in his chest, stubborn and unshakable.

—

One evening, as the sky faded into deep orange, she stood in the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. Mydei lingered at the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re early.”

“You’re predictable,” he countered. “Same time. Every night.”

“And yet you still come,” she mused, turning back to the stove. The gentle clink of utensils filled the air. “You sure you’re not just curious?”

“Curious?”

“About how it’s made.” She stirred the pot, steam rising. “Or are you the type to only care about the final result?”

He approached, standing just beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of the fire. “…Both matter.”

That earned him a pleased hum. “Good answer.”

For a while, they simply stood there. She cooked, and he stayed, watching her hands, the way she measured ingredients, the way she tasted and adjusted without hesitation. It was a kind of confidence he respected. No second-guessing. No doubt.

He was aware of how close they were. How her presence had become something steady in his routine, something he looked for without thinking.

When she finally served the food, Mydei took his seat as usual, but this time, she sat beside him.

And she watched him.

He didn’t need to ask why. He already knew.

So when he took that first bite, he let himself react. Not much—just the faintest slow exhale, a pause, a second longer than usual.

It was enough. She noticed.

Her smile was knowing, but she didn’t say anything. She never did.

Until tonight.

“I know you can cook,” she said, soft and certain, “but while I’m here, I want to cook for you too.”

Something settled in him at those words. Warmth, unexpected and steady.

For once, Mydei didn’t have a response.

He just took another bite.

Then—

A loud clatter.

The Trailblazer had dropped their spoon. They stared between the two of them, eyes wide with suspicion. “Wait. Wait. What’s happening here?”

Dan Heng, ever the composed one, narrowed his eyes slightly before rubbing his temples. “Oh. So this is happening.”

The Trailblazer pointed an accusing finger between Mydei and MC. “Since when? How?”

“Since now,” Mydei answered smoothly, taking another bite, unfazed.

Dan Heng sighed. “I knew something was off when he started sitting closer at dinner.”

“I thought it was just because the food was good!” the Trailblazer exclaimed, looking scandalized. “Not because he was simping!”

Mydei finally looked up at them, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he put his chopsticks down, leaned back, and smirked just slightly.

“Would it make you feel better if I said it was both?”

The Trailblazer looked ready to explode. Dan Heng just sighed again.

Meanwhile, she only laughed.

Mydei glanced at her, watching the way her shoulders shook, the way her face lit up with amusement.

And then it hit him—he wanted to keep making her laugh.

He wanted to keep watching her like this.

He wanted her.

———

Well, since it’s pretty much go against my impression of Mydei (no offense) cuz it would take a whole different personality for him to do this or a whole more chapter.

So I kinda make it a bit slow burn, add a little (a lot) of sweetness, but still makes it as quickly as possible

#hazymoonlinh #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr mydei #mydei x you #honkai star rail mydei #mydei honkai star rail #mydeimos #mydei x reader #mydei #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader

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story-magic · 4 months ago

Text

@xxcolorfulmusesxx asked: Roxanne had her hands on Chica's face cheeks and kissed her on the beak.

🍕 Chica was in her Mazercise putting the weights away and was humming happily. She tuned on her heels and saw Roxanne. Before she could say anything, she blushed from the kiss stropping the prop.

#🍕#📚 Glamrock Rockin Pizza Lover: Glamrock Chica 📚#corruptedbunnymultimuse #Table of Content: New Chapter #Table of Content: Muse's Answers

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fawnistry · 2 months ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ dead dove: do not eat.

content warnings: noncon/dubcon, medical experimentation, forced arousal, body betrayal, sensory manipulation, physical restraint, pain-play, overstimulation, forced orgasms

▷ preview: zayne is a morally bankrupt scientist testing a new aphrodisiac drug, and you are his unwilling subject.

the cold metal table bites into your bare skin as you struggle against the restraints. zayne watches, his dark eyes gleaming behind those round glasses, fingers tapping against his clipboard.

"subject 47," he murmurs, voice smooth as poison. "let’s see how you handle this."

the syringe glints under the harsh lab lights, the unknown liquid inside a sickly, iridescent pink.

"new formula," he explains, almost conversational. "designed to amplify nerve sensitivity by… oh, about 300%." the needle slides into your arm before you can scream. "side effects include—" he pushes the plunger, and the burn floods your veins, "—inescapable arousal."

you gasp as the heat spreads, your body betraying you instantly. every brush of air against your skin feels like a tongue, every shift of fabric like fingers dragging too hard. zayne smirks, pulling out a recorder.

"subject exhibits rapid onset of symptoms: dilated pupils, increased heart rate, flushed skin." his gloved hand skates up your inner thigh, and you jerk, a whimper tearing from your throat. "ah, and heightened sensitivity to touch. excellent."

you beg him to stop, but he only tilts his head, amused. "scream all you want. no one can hear you down here." his fingers dip between your legs, and you sob—the contact is agony, pleasure, too much, not enough.

"fascinating," he murmurs, watching your hips buck involuntarily. "the drug seems to override conscious resistance." he circles your clit with clinical precision, scribbling notes as you writhe. "tell me, does it feel good? or does it just feel inescapable?"

you can’t answer, your mind fraying under the onslaught. he adds another layer—a blindfold, noise-cancelling headphones—plunging you into darkness, where the only sensations are his hands and the drug’s cruel insistence.

"let’s test pain thresholds," he muses, and then his teeth sink into your shoulder. you arch, a scream locked in your chest as pleasure-pain blurs into white-hot need.his fingers push inside you, fucking you with brutal efficiency.

"vocalizations increase with penetration—interesting."

his grip on your hips is bruising, his pace relentless. you come without permission, your body seizing as he hums approvingly. "orgasm achieved in under three minutes. dosage may need adjustment."

but he doesn’t stop. he unzips his pants with one hand, still jotting notes like you’re nothing more than data between his brutal thrusts. your body convulsing with unbearably pleasure as his heavy cock kisses the walls of your soaked cunt.

when he finally unplugs your ears, your voice is raw from screaming. he just smiles, wiping his hands on a towel. "wonderful results. we’ll continue tomorrow." the door clicks shut, leaving you trembling, aching, and already dreading the next experiment.

#𐔌 . ⋮ lads .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱#zayne smut #zayne x reader #zayne x reader smut #zayne x you #zayne lads #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads smut #lads x reader #zayne fic #zayne drabble

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mistiell · 1 year ago

Text

We Keep this Love in a Photograph

summary: since Joel gifted you a polaroid camera for your birthday, you've developed a habit of sneaking pictures of him whenever possible. He doesn't think he's worth the film "wasted" (His words, not yours), but after catching you looking over your accumulated gallery, you manage to win him over.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Joel's a little self conscious, Reader's gender isn't specified, and they have hair but the length isn't specified either. If I accidentally did use a gendered term, lmk and I shall fix it. <3 NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: HOLY SHIT I'M BACK!!! This fic was inspired by this TikTok. I saw it and the Joel obsession possessed me so viscerally I had to make a comeback lmao.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

It started on your birthday.

You’d shared with Joel one evening, wrapped warm and snug in his arms within your soft haven of sheets, during one of those late night conversations where vulnerability doesn’t seem like a thing so daunting, that you used to love photography. Loved immortalizing things you loved or things you found beautiful. He’d asked what kind of camera you’d had, what kind of things you usually took pictures of.

“Polaroid.” you’d told him softly, fighting you keep your eyes open with his tracing shapes into the curve of your waist. “And I already told you. Whatever I found beautiful.”

The morning of your birthday, you woke to the smell of coffee and a clumsily wrapped box sitting on your bedside table with a note taped to the top; Happy birthday, honey. Love, Joel. And in smaller print near the bottom left corner; P.S. Wait until I’m here to open it. Wanna see your face.

You’d smiled, bashful, brushed your teeth in record time, scooped up the box, and made your way downstairs towards the sound sizzling and the tapping of a spatula on a pan. He gave you a good morning kiss, pretended to make a fuss about waiting until after breakfast to open it and watched with a smile as you carefully tore it open, popped off the lid, and visibly softened at first sight of the contents.

It was a polaroid camera. Coincidentally, the very same one you’d had twenty years ago.

You’d cried, he’d panicked. You hugged him so fiercely, any worry that he’d fucked the whole thing vanished as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you close.

That was months ago, and in the time since, you’ve accumulated quite the gallery. You take pictures of just about anything and everything, but your main muse is Joel.

Which is what’s led you to have half a shoe box full of polaroid of mostly him. He’s no idea of your little stash, and you intend to keep it that way. You’ve come to learn he’s got a thing about being photographed. Always nitpicking his appearance no matter what you say. He asks sometimes when he catches you why you don’t choose something nicer to look at, and your answer is generally always the same. There is nothing nicer. He walks into a room, and all you want to look at is him. Yeah, he’s got some more lines, got some more meat on his bones, his hair is a little more grey than it is brown these days. But he doesn’t see it the way you do.

He’s got crows feet and smile lines etched almost as deep as the crease between his brows. He looks healthy now that he’s actually got food to eat, meals you’re both sure to share every morning in your kitchen and every evening in the dining hall. His greys are a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s survived, and that he now gets to live, and you’re incomprehensibly grateful for every russet strand turned silver. He’s all the more beautiful for all of it. And here, tucked into your armchair, polaroid pinched between thumb and forefinger, you get to commit every little detail picked up by your camera to memory.

Your gaze follows the sloping curve of his lovely nose, profile softened by the sun shining white behind. It’s only one half of his face, but the beaming smile he’s sporting makes you feel whole. His hair was just starting to get longer, then, curling near his nape and flicking round his ears to kiss his jaw.

“What’s all this?” You startle, head leaning into the plush back of the chair to look at him upside down as you press the pictures into your diaphragm. He seems curious, if a little confused.

Caught, you swallow, “If I said nothing, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second.” He smiles teasingly, bending to give you a quick peck, bottom lip warm where it slots between yours. Your hold on the photos loosens, and when his gaze dips to them, the smile shifts into something closer to a frown, a little cagey, “S’ that me?”

“Yeah.” You answer simply, before joking tentatively, “Swear I’m not a creep. You’re just pretty.”

“See now, that’s exactly what a creep would say.” He teases, and you’re glad for it – that he’s not upset. Rounding the chair, he sits on the arm, elbow propped up on the soft back of it and knuckles warm on the nape of your neck.

“Pretty.” He echoes, blowing a short puff of air out his nose, “Never been called that before.”

“Well, you are.”

He smiles again, bashful and a little disbelieving. There’s a short moment where he just looks at you like that, backs of his fingers sliding down your spine a few notches then back up in a tender line before he juts his chin toward your collection. “Show me?”

Warmth blooms in your stomach and fizzes up behind your sternum. You grin, handing him the one you were holding before sifting through the shoe box for your best works. He accepts your compliments and sweet talking reluctantly, but hangs onto your every word as you describe where you were, what you were doing, what made you sneak the picture in the first place.

You start to worry his limited responses mean he’s gotten caught up in his head until his hand slides up the side of your neck and settles over the side of your head, the warmth of his calloused palm encompassing the entirety of your ear as he guides your temple to his lips.

“Love you.” He murmurs into your hair, and the warmth sizzles like its carbonated, bubbling and burbling within the cage of your ribs.

You turn your face, slip your fingers beneath the curtain of hair at his nape and lift your chin to kiss him soft and slow. He rubs an affectionate line into the soft skin behind your hear as he hums, vibrations thrumming against your lips.

You lean back just enough to murmur, “I love you to.”

He smiles, kisses you again. And again. And once more. He asks you to show him more of your pictures, and you oblige. It’s early evening when you’re finally through, at which point Ellie’s come home and Joel’s started on dinner. You let her sift through the polaroids while you move to join Joel at the counter.

You won’t realize until later that she’s snuck a photo of the two of you by the stove, Joel’s large palm on the small of your back where you’ve taken over stirring a pot, gazing at you like you’re the only thing he’d like to listen to for the rest of his days as you talk and talk and talk.

That one, he hangs on the fridge.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #soft joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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Steadfast 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I've wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we're all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however... I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The shanks of brown hair rests between your fingers as you angle the shears. The snips is precise and careful. You work diligently, wordlessly, as the duke stares at his reflection. He’s lost in thought as you are cautious of his mindless tilts and tweaks.

“It is looking rather better since Kennick’s butchering,” he muses. “I feared I might sport a monk’s pate anon.”

“Your grace,” your keep your focus set, not looking up as you snip away another length of hair.

“Not much shorter than that. Winter will be here soon enough,” Lord Rogers girds. “What of the beard? Shall I keep it for warmth as well?”

“Your grace,” the reply rises again, a different lilt to it which says, it is upon your prerogative.

“Hm, many other lords I’ve seen as late sport the like. As our king does,” he continues on. “Is it very common of me to do the same?”

You draw a lock away from his face and stretch it above his forehead. Your voice does not rise as you bite the tip of your tongue with great concentration. You think of Kennick and the lashes on his palms. He is only a young boy; how could he be asked to do such a delicate task?

A knock rattles the door. The lord’s eyes flash in his reflection as you peek at the mirror. There isn’t alarm, only attention. He flicks his fingers.

“Please, pip, see to it,” he commands.

You lay down the shears and leave him. You go to the door and draw it open. It pushes from the other side and you stumble back behind it. You nearly fold completely as you recognise the bearing of the broad shoulders. It is hardly a surprise for the king to appear, only that you forgot yourself in the calm of the previous moment.

You keep your knees bent and head down as King Bucky strides towards the duke at his looking glass. You gently close the door as the liege receives barely a glance from the man at ease on his cushioned chair. He huffs and tugs his ear.

“Is that how you receive your king?” King Bucky taunts as Rogers swats away his hand.

“I wouldn’t want to make a mess,” the duke retorts and gestures again, “pip, it is still uneven.”

You set your chin and return to the vanity table. You pick up the shears and nod your head, “your highness.”

The king does not answer and he leans on the other corner of the table. He crosses his arms, the deep blue leather of his jacket straining. The duke tufts his chin again, paying heed to the patch of silver there.

“I see you’ve recovered from your recent bout of baldness,” the king mocks. “Your head is much too lumpy for it.”

“Have you come only to jeer me?” Rogers asks dully.

You measure another shank and trim carefully. Often, you’ve done similar for your fellow servants. Usually with duller blades or a razor to the scalp. The duke usually only requires a tray or a flagon of you. The request was unexpected but undeniable.

“Forgive me for disturbing you and your barber. I’ve a fine man from Rivard who sees to my own. A gold coin would’ve brought him to your stead,” the king suggests.

“A waste of good coin,” Rogers sniffs. “Looking at you, I’d never assume any barber saw to that nest.”

The king takes affront and smooths his dark tresses, a subtle wave near the bottom of his strands as they frame his chin. “Eh, you speak treasonous words. To insult a king’s hair is next to blasphemy, duke.”

“Shall I take the cattails in hand?” Rogers counters.

King Bucky chortles, “if I didn’t fear you’d aim them at my hide, I’d agree to it.”

You peek up at the noise of his laughter. You’ve not heard it often from the king, not that you are often in his presence. He seems of a bright disposition that day. Even so, you flinch as your eyes snag on his. You quickly put your mind to the shears.

“Mm, and what has brought on your good mood?”

“Why shouldn’t I be in fine spirits?”

“I ask why you should,” Rogers, turns his head and you recoil. A dusting of hair falls from the towel around his shoulders.

“I should ask why you seem rather the opposite,” the king mutters.

“I am not... unhappy. Pensive,” Rogers admits. “You’ve heard from Stark.”

“Aye, whoever doesn’t hear him when he opens his mouth?”

“Hm, I would think a rasher response of you,” Rogers intones as he turns to the mirror again and you comb your fingers from his hairline to his crown to compare. The king shifts as you sense his observation of your reflection.

“Isn’t it what he intends? What good is it to feed his pride? If he should like to put on this display, then he shall make himself a fool. I’ll be all the more pleased for it to be at my hand.”

“You don’t think it is some ploy?”

“Of course it is? A tournament of kings? For what purpose but to put to mind the matter of war? To suggest that should we not play nice, a horse and shield might be appropriate.”

You shift around to the back of the duke’s head, the king leans in. His movement draws your gaze and you find him watching your hands. It makes them more prudent.

“I would not speak it into this plain, but do you not worry for his machinations? At any tourney, there are those who might take a deathly blow, or slip beneath their steed’s hooves--”

“When did you grow so cautious? I can lift a sword and sit a horse--”

“Should either be sabotaged? Should your plate be poisoned at the feast--”

“Is there something you are aware of that I should be?” The king challenges.

“Only that he is his father’s heir, in many ways,” Rogers harrumphs.

“You think I should fear a dagger up a sleeve when you’ve a servant with two so near your eye?”

You pause and the duke tuts, “keep on, pip,” Rogers orders as he waves off the king’s devious suggestion.

“Ah, gentle hands, I see, forgive the poor humour,” he unfolds his arms and grips the edge of the table as he leans. “Rogers, you will be close. Vigilant as ever.”

The duke sighs, “the winter nears.”

“Is that it? You never liked the cold, I should’ve guessed it.”

“I can bear the cold, but travel would be arduous.”

“You would wait for the spring?”

“Perhaps,” the duke slides a ring to the tip of his finger and spins it. “And Thor? Has he sent his agreement to this Field of Silk?”

“I was to ask you the same. I presumed with how you get on, he might prefer you as his messenger,” the king says. “Very well, I will think on your concern.” He clucks and stands, moving closer as he watches you with intent. “I am surprised, I thought you would be most eager for a tournament. You were the Knight of the Lilies for years anon.”

“A time ago,” Rogers rebuffs.

“And time is still left,” King Bucky reaches again to tweak his ear, “I know they are rather big, but try not to snip them off, eh?” He japes as Rogers tilts away from his touch with a growl. “I shall leave you to your grooming, though perhaps next time you should just call the stabler.”

The king strides away as the duke pushes his ring to his knuckle. The shears continue to snip noisily in the silence. The door announces the king’s departure with a sonorous echo.

“My luggage will need prepared,” Rogers resigns.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #medieval au #knight kings and knaves #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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redvexillum · 8 months ago

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I wasn’t planning on posting any stories this month since I’m still on a bit of a break, but with everything going on in America right now, I just felt the need to reach out. I know there’s nothing I can do to change things, and this may seem small and silly, but writing is what I know how to do. And if even one story can bring a smile or a bit of comfort to my friends, then I want to share it with you. Please hang in there. You’re not alone.

PART 01. CATASTOR AND HIS NEW DO

|| TABLE OF CONTENT

The mirror reflected back a tired version of you, someone with hair that seemed almost weary itself—dull, brittle, lifeless. It felt as if it siphoned off the vibrance around it, capturing any glimmer of light and snuffing it out. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes in concentration, pondering whether today might finally be the day to give it a fresh look, a touch of sparkle.

“Nyaahh,” came the unmistakable squeak from behind you. There was Catastor, your mischievous little companion, perched primly on the dresser. From his place in the reflection, his big, round eyes stared outward in comical opposite directions, his pink tongue lolling out as he mimicked your tilted head with an exaggerated, inquisitive look.

“Baby!” you called, your heart swelling with warmth as you spun around, arms open wide. The sound of your voice was enough to make his tail wag wildly, his body nearly vibrating with excitement. Without hesitation, he launched himself at you, his small, warm body landing like a soft, cozy blanket against your chest, his form molding against you with the comfort of melted cheese.

A purr reverberated through him as he nestled closer, pressing his face into your neck, his ears flattened in absolute contentment while his tail swayed in erratic, delighted rhythms. You ran a hand absentmindedly over his back, savoring the soft fur beneath your fingertips. His warmth seeped into you, a soothing weight that melted the day’s tension as his purring grew, a low, comforting rumble.

“I’m thinking of getting my hair done,” you mused, fingers trailing through his soft coat. His purrs only deepened, and the faint tug of relaxation settled over you like a spell, easing every muscle into stillness.

Catastor blinked up at you, each eye fluttering in its own haphazard rhythm. You chuckled at his antics, reaching down to tap his little nose. “What do you think? Should I cut my hair?” You knew he couldn’t actually answer, but you enjoyed these small conversations; there was a special solace in talking to him, as if he understood more than he let on.

In response, he stretched his neck, bringing his face to yours, then gave the tip of your nose a tiny lick before plopping his head over your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook between your neck and shoulder. A small laugh bubbled up as his soft fur brushed against your cheek, the feel of his familiar warmth filling you with a calm contentment.

After a moment, you lowered yourself onto the bed, trying to peel him off of you, but Catastor flopped onto the mattress with an exaggerated stretch, limbs splayed like a second blanket, his belly exposed and tail twitching in lazy arcs.

“Well, I’ll be getting my hair done today, so I’ll need you to watch the house while I’m gone,” you murmured, giving his soft belly a gentle scratch. His eyes drifted shut, head lolling back as a new wave of purrs filled the room, his front paw giving a contented twitch.

“I’ll even bring a treat back from Cannibal Town,” you promised, your heart melting as his purrs softened, his form going limp, edging on sleep. Catastor always struggled with separation, and more than once you’d found him nestled secretly in your hair after shrinking himself down to follow you. So, you’d learned to wait until he was fully asleep before attempting a quiet exit.

As his breathing deepened, his little paws twitching as if in a dream, you held back a giggle and rose carefully. Holding your breath, you tiptoed to the door, gently closing it behind you. Outside, you finally released a long sigh, the crisp air filling your lungs. You loved his protective nature, but he’d once torn apart a whole street after a gang had tried to hassle you. As grateful as you were for his fierce loyalty, his fervor sometimes led to more trouble than you bargained for.

Keys and wallet in hand, you glanced back toward your room, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Sweet dreams, baby,” you whispered softly. “I’ll be back soon.”

At the salon, you were greeted by Mel, the ever-charming Poodle Sinner who had a reputation for her wickedly red lipstick and long, flirtatious lashes, popping her gum with every word. She tossed her towel over one shoulder with practiced ease, flashing you a wide grin.

“Darling!” she greeted, smirking as she chewed her gum. “’Bout time you came back, hah!” With a wink, she gestured toward the chair, deftly laying out her trays of potions and lotions, each bottle filled with promises of shine, volume, and glamour.

“What’re we doing today, hun?” she asked, fingers weaving through your hair as she examined it with a critical eye. “My, you’ve let her grow!” She gave an exaggerated cluck of her tongue when she caught on a knot, making you wince. “Now, don’t you worry, we’re gonna make you shine like a star again.”

As you settled in, you couldn’t help but imagine Catastor napping peacefully at home, dreaming of treats and waiting loyally for your return.

You laughed nervously, watching Mel's smirk in the reflection as she raised a brow, eyes full of mischief. The cold mist from her spray bottle caught you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine as your shoulders jolted. Slowly, you settled back into the chair, letting yourself relax as she worked her fingers through your hair. “I was thinking…maybe some curls?” you mumbled, cheeks warming as a certain image flickered to mind—one of a tall, red-haired demon with that wily smile and fluffy ears.

“Oh my!” Mel snickered knowingly, brushing through your hair in slow, precise strokes. “There’s a new man in your life, isn’t there?”

Immediately, your cheeks flamed, and your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers twisting together as you stammered, “N-no! Nothing like that, really…he’s just, uh…just my boss.” But your heart betrayed you, racing faster with every word. The thought of admitting any hint of interest, even to your friend, left you shy and tongue-tied.

“Say no more, sweetheart,” Mel trilled in a sing-song voice, dismissing your excuses with a wink. “I’ll make you look like a knockout!”

A tiny squeak escaped you, your face now red as a tomato. “It’s not—it’s really nothing like that!” You tried to argue, though the grin tugging at Mel’s lips made it clear she didn’t buy a word of it. Before you could protest further, she gave your head a light pat, her smile bright and warm. You couldn’t help but smile back, the joy in her laughter lifting you from your shyness.

As Mel worked, the usual salon gossip filled the air, talk of the latest mischief and drama from the East Side of Pentagram. She’d been one of your first friends in this strange place—a friendly face in the chaos of Hell. You remembered that first day, scared and alone, stumbling into her salon. Now, as you sat there, chatting and laughing with her, you felt a happiness and warmth that chased away any lingering loneliness.

The smell of her berry-scented products wrapped around you as she applied them, each brushstroke feeling like a balm. And despite yourself, your thoughts drifted back to your boss—the Radio Demon. Would he be surprised to see you tomorrow, all dolled up with new curls? Maybe he’d even…like it?

Your hands pressed together, a hopeful smile spreading across your face as you imagined the look on his. You could practically see his eyebrow raise, his grin widening in that sly, amused way.

After what felt like hours, a sharp gasp broke your reverie. Mel had jumped back, a look of shock on her face. “Oh, honey, there was a…pest in your hair!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Confused, you frowned, tilting your head. A pest? Before you could ask, a loud, indignant yowl rang out from behind you, and you felt something shift in your hair. In a flash of pink, something furry tumbled forward, landing on the floor in a poof of exaggerated volume.

Your mouth dropped open as you stared down. There, standing in a mound of fluffy, pink fur—puffed out so large he looked like a living cotton candy puff—was Catastor. His fur had poofed to double its usual size, the familiar outward-pointing eyes and red monocle nearly swallowed up by the mass of fluff. His wide grin only made the sight more ridiculous.

“Catastor!” you gasped, dropping to your knees as he waddled toward you, his puffy paws kneading at your knee in that familiar, pleading gesture for comfort.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, scooping him up and pressing him close. His fur was so soft and squishy it felt like sinking into a plush cloud, your arms disappearing into the sheer volume of fluff. He burrowed his head against you, the tremble in his yowl finally quieting as you gently stroked his back.

“Oh, my, Satan,” Mel laughed, eyes twinkling. “You’re holding a walking ball of cotton candy!”

You looked down at Catastor, his little face half-buried in his own fur, his yowl softening to little meows. The sight of him, so utterly ridiculous and adorable, sent a wave of giggles through you. “Looks like we both got a spa day today,” you teased, scratching under his chin. His eyes drooped, his purrs growing content and low.

“I know just the thing!” Mel said with a playful wink, disappearing behind the counter. She returned with matching ribbons, one for each of you. Gently, she tied a little bow around the small, perfect curl atop Catastor’s head, then expertly fastened the other bow in your newly styled curls.

Turning back to the mirror, you burst into another fit of delighted giggles. Your hair looked amazing, vibrant and full, bouncing with every movement, and in your arms was Catastor, fluffy and bow-adorned to match.

You cradled him close, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a happiness that lifted you. Tomorrow, you would see your boss…Alastor, with your new look, confident and refreshed. And maybe…just maybe…he’d notice.

But for now, you were content to just sit here with Catastor, your matching bows and poofy styles reflecting the joyful, silly energy you felt bubbling over.

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daddydoddsjr · 4 months ago

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Moustache - One Shot

Pairing || Season 16!Sonny Carisi x Female!Reader

Contents/Warnings || Smut, P in V, face riding, dominant reader and submissive sonny, nipple play, rough sex, semi public teasing

“look at his stupid moustache” i say as i rewatch season 16. so silly… i love it. we’re going to pretend that he didn’t shave it after like two episodes okay. i miss it. i have an essay and a presentation due tomorrow yet i decided to do this first at 9pm :D

The “experienced, empathetic detective” that Benson put a request in for was… interesting, to say the least. Moody, maybe overly confident, definitely opinionated. You didn’t care at first, you didn’t have to deal with him as often as the rest of the squad did. Though with you being the ADA, you did sometimes have to deal with his remarks and trying to show off what he was learning in law school whenever he had a chance.

Most of the time you brushed off whatever he said, but at some point his stupid remarks and big blue eyes got to you, though. You found yourself eyeing him when you were in their squad room discussing case evidence, drinking in the sight of his lanky frame, the swoop of his hair, the little curls at the nape of his neck, and that stupid, stupid moustache.

After a big case you won for SVU, you all went out for dinner and drinks at a nearby restaurant. It was you, Sonny, Olivia, Amanda, Fin, and Nick sitting at a round table laughing and talking in pairs. Lucky you, you were sitting beside Sonny and easily able to get him into a conversation by bringing up a vague law term and sending him into a tangent about his night classes. You weren’t really listening to anything he was saying, your eyes drifting to his moustache and wondering what it would feel like on your thighs and neck.

You took a long sip of your martini as your eyes moved lower and your free hand shifted, itching to touch him. You set your glass down, your tongue running over your bottom lip before you carefully scooted close to the edge of your seat. Not that Sonny noticed, too busy stuffing his face with pasta and going on about one of his teachers.

You built up the courage for a moment, wondering if it was really a good idea to make a move now, around the squad. You glanced around to make sure that no one was looking at the two of you, and luckily everyone was still engrossed in their separate conversations at the table. Your hand slid onto his thigh, a gentle touch as you interrupted whatever thought that he was coming up with between bites. Sonny looked like he had just short circuited, his mouth full of food and cheek puffed out like a chipmunk while his face reddened, his eyes meeting yours.

You tilt your head to the side, looking over his face, “You look real cute like that.” That short and sweet statement only made Sonny’s face redden deeper. He swallowed carefully before taking a gulp of his drink to calm himself down, “…cute?”

“Yeah, cute,” You answered, your hand sliding further up his thigh as he nearly dropped his glass as he shakily set it back down. “You seem surprised,” You mused.

“I just… I didn’t know you thought of me that way,” The words tumbled out of his mouth, his attempt at trying to stay calm failing miserably. You smile a little, “If you want me to stop, I will,” you say as your hand slid up to his belt, giving it a gentle tug. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man get hard so fast before.

“No, I wouldn’t tell you stop,” He squeaked out, his eyes darting around the table to make sure no one else noticed. You hum softly, letting go of his belt, “Well, I will for now. But maybe you’ll want to come over after dinner and taste something else?”

He nodded quickly, like he didn’t even have to think about it. The rest of the dinner was relatively normal, except for you giving Sonny’s upper thigh or bicep a gentle squeeze once in a while just to tease him during conversation. He was mostly quiet now, but his eyes were definitely on you more often than not. You loved knowing the effect that you had on him, and he was just adorable with those bright puppy eyes and the tent in his pants.

When dinner was over, you were normal, saying goodbye to the rest of the squad. Once the others had walked off or gotten into their own cabs, you pulled Sonny into one with you. The ride to your place was a blur of kisses and whispered flirtations, mostly from you as he tried to keep up with your straightforwardness, but was clearly unable to. You lead him into your apartment with a frenzy of kisses, his hands on your hips as you pulled him in by his tie. You didn’t bother leading him to your bedroom, opting to just pull him to the couch. Both of your sets of clothes were tossed all over in a matter of minutes, leaving him in just his boxers and you in your bra and panties. He was straining against the fabric of his boxers, a small wet spot forming from pre cum just as you had a damp spot on your panties.

You look him over for a moment and took in the sight of his soft stomach and fuzzy happy trail disappearing under the waist band of his boxers. You gently bite your bottom lip as you look back at his moustache, the thoughts of what it would feel like against you returning.

“Lay down,” You commanded lowly.

“Yes, ma’am,” He mumbled oh so politely as he laid on his back and made himself comfortable. You watched him as you slid your panties and bra off, tossing them somewhere else. You straddle his face, but don’t lower yourself completely yet to see what he would do. His arms hooked around your thighs and he was looking at you in almost a trance, his head moving to press against one thigh, his lips ghosting against it and his moustache gently tickling your skin before he left a gentle kiss, his wide eyes looking up at your face.

You sit fully, careful not to completely crush him. He grunts softly, quickly diving into you as his nose bumped against your clit. You felt his moustache rub against you just the right amount to heighten your pleasure. You slowly grind against his face while your fingers snaked into his hair. He was lapping at you like a man starved, his arms around your thighs keeping you from squirming too much. It didn’t take long for your breath to quicken and your stomach begin to tighten before you burst, shuddering and tugging at his hair as you came hard on his face. He dragged your orgasm out as much as possible before you bat at his arms and moved, shakily getting off of him. You quickly noticed the tent in his boxers still standing as he sat up, this time guiding you to lay down. You also noticed the massive wet spot.

“Did you…” You ask but are interrupted with a quick nod. He came just from eating you out? You were flattered, and impressed that he was hard again so easily. He yanked his boxers down, letting his cock spring out. “Tell me what you want me to do…” He whispered in a needy tone. He knew exactly what he wanted to do yet he wanted you to command him again. You lay on your back, spreading your legs open but raising one up, resting it on his shoulder. His head immediately tilts and rests against it as you tell him, “I want you… hard and fast.”

He nods quickly, wasting no time before moving flush against you, kissing the leg on his shoulder before aligning himself and plunging into you, holding your hips down on the couch. You let out a shaky sigh at the feeling of him entering you before he set a pace exactly how you requested.

Your bodies moved in unison, and you were practically dizzy from how fast he was moving inside of you. You felt his moustache drag against your calf as he nipped at your skin before looking down at your breasts. His hands slid up from your hips to them, kneading the soft flesh before tweaking your nipples, making your back arch off of the couch a bit. You were letting out a moan or huff at every thrust, only getting louder as he toyed with your nipples and kept his pace steady. He played with your nipples almost carefully, testing what every different tug did to you like it was an experiment. His eyes were locked on your face, taking in every moan and gasp, every change in look.

Your entire body felt like it was on fire, your nails digging into his thighs and stomach beginning to tighten once again after only a few minutes. He noticed immediately as you tensed, your back arching further off of the couch.

“F-faster…” You stuttered, knowing that it would push you over the edge. Sonny obliged, picking up the pace the best he could as his hips stuttered, his own orgasm close behind yours.

“Fuck, Sonny!” You cried out, your vision nearly going white as your walls spasmed around him from an intense orgasm. Your legs twitched, barely able to keep your body from convulsing as he kept his pace fast for another few moments before his own orgasm hit. He let out a low moan, his eyes shutting tightly as he spilled inside of you, weakly giving you a few more thrusts before stilling. His eyes opened again, meeting yours, “That was amazing…”

You nod in agreement, your leg sliding off of his shoulder before you sat up, feeling his release begin to leak out of you. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting yourselves bask in the remnants of your coupling. Your head leaned back against the back of the couch, your eyes closed as he did the same. The silence was comfortable, and rare from him for the short time that it lasted.

“Should I shave my moustache?” Sonny suddenly asked, as if he hadn’t just made you scream beneath him a few minutes before. You rolled your head to the side, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. He was looking at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought about his simply question. You sigh, reaching over and gently touching the end of his moustache, silently reminiscing about how it felt against your leg, “Don’t.”

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