#alcohol usually just depresses the shit out of me

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VIII

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, here's the next part!! happy reading <3

masterlist!

Pedro hadn’t expected his career to take another sharp turn so soon after The Mandalorian. The call he received that night in January, while lying in a dimly lit hotel room in London, still felt unreal. Hazy, thanks to the Ambien coursing through him, but real enough to make him sit up in bed after the line went dead.

Something big was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would change everything—if things weren’t already good enough as they were.

A few weeks later, he was back in London to film The Bubble. Everything seemed to blur by—filming, meetings, and the quiet rhythm of his life with Julia. He hadn't expected to fall into a relationship so effortlessly, but here he was.

She was a producer he’d met during a project in Budapest, though nothing had happened between them until months later.

Late November, to be exact. By then, things had shifted.

Pedro was never good at deciphering if someone liked him or not, and maybe that was why, when she suggested coffee, he didn’t think twice. She was lovely—kind in a way that didn't feel overwhelming, and he liked the way it felt safe, uncomplicated. When she reached for his hand, the world didn’t spin beneath his feet, and that was comforting. It was normal, and maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

After that first coffee, there were more—turning into casual dinners, casual sex, easy conversations, and eventually, a steady progression toward something more.

By December, things had gotten serious, though Pedro still sometimes woke up disoriented, feeling as if he was living in someone else’s life. Julia kept him grounded. And though it wasn’t the kind of love that made him lose his breath, it was steady.

One morning, in early December, he woke to find a message from you. You’d mentioned him in an upcoming Vogue interview, a brief nod to his help in keeping you sane during those first chaotic months of the pandemic. Your publicist thought it might make a fuss for a while, and you didn’t want him to wake up and think someone had died or something.

Nothing too big, P, just the usual storm. Call when you’re back in the States. Miss you.

Pedro stared at the message for a long time, debating. You’d always known everything about him. Every high, every low. But now? There was Julia to consider. He sat on the edge of the bed, Julia still asleep next to him, the London sky a dull gray through the curtains. He’d thought about telling you about her for weeks—maybe he should’ve before New Year’s—but it was easier to let the conversation slip away.

Until it didn’t.

That night, at Oscar’s New Year’s party, when you found out about Julia, he could see it in your eyes—the hurt, the shock, the confusion. You didn’t say much after that. Just told him you hoped he was happy, and if he was, that would be enough.

But it didn’t feel enough.

Not then, not now.

•••

Back in London, the routine of it all began to suffocate him. He spent his mornings reading lines, drinking bitter coffee, and answering the inevitable buzz of questions about his relationship status. He didn’t care to comment. He didn’t want to make it official in a way that felt like another announcement to the world. His job was to act, not live his life on a stage. Still, the headlines rolled out, and his relationship with Julia became another topic of conversation.

The days passed in a blur, but something bothered him. You had gone silent. Completely. Not only from his life but from social media, from the public eye, from everywhere. He called on your birthday. Oscar had mentioned you hadn't planned anything for the day, not that he knew off, and Pedro found himself standing on the cold balcony of his hotel room, dialing your number with a strange urgency.

You picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice sounded far away, thin and almost unfamiliar, like a melody he had forgotten.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause where recognition should have clicked into place. Instead, you sounded distant, hesitant.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Did you delete my number?”

A soft shuffle on the other end, like you were shifting in place, caught off guard. “No, uh, I just picked it up without looking who it was.”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter as if it could bridge the distance between you. The cold metal beneath his fingers bit into his skin, grounding him, though your absence felt like it was growing by the second. "Happy birthday, mi amor."

“Thank you, Pedro.”

The way you said his name, the clipped tone, made something stir in his gut, but he shook it off.

“You doing anything? I heard you didn’t have plans.”

“Nothing really, maybe over the weekend,” you replied, but there was a softness in your voice that didn't match the words, like you were choosing them carefully, holding something back. “I know you’re in London; that’s why I didn’t—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call,” he interrupted, leaning against the cold railing. His free hand found his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, trying to steady the unease creeping in. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been... You know how it is.”

Another long pause. For a moment, all he heard was the faint rustling on the other end, like you were curled up somewhere small, the space between you both stretching impossibly wide. He didn’t notice the silence for what it was—didn’t notice the way it wrapped around your words, cloaking the pain underneath.

“I do,” you whispered. It wasn’t an agreement; it was resignation. "Listen, I have to go. Say hi to Julia for me."

You hung up quickly, the words leaving him cold. The last part stung in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Days turned into weeks, and though you stayed in touch here and there, your conversations felt different. Lighter. Less personal. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. The less he tried to think about you, the more you occupied his thoughts, living in the corners of his mind where you had always been. It felt like torture, the way your presence always lingered even in your absence.

When Pedro finally posted about landing the role of Joel Miller, the flood of congratulations came pouring in, but only one comment left him reeling.

So happy for you!!! You’re gonna kill it.

It was from you. Simple, encouraging, and yet it twisted something inside him.

His birthday arrived not long after, and he found himself back in LA, where his friends greeted him with a backyard party under the stars. Sarah held a cake with a single candle, and as everyone cheered, Pedro smiled, but there was an immovable weight in his chest.

Later that night, after the crowd had dispersed, he and Julia escaped upstairs to his room. They ended up half-dressed, tangled on his unmade bed. She smiled at him afterward, her gaze hazy with affection. “Happy birthday,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest.

Pedro wanted to stay in that moment, to let it be enough, but his mind wandered. He had that feeling of wanting to be trapped in one place, wanting to dig his heels in. It didn’t need to matter that that reality was waiting for him outside the door. It didn’t need to matter that you hadn’t called.

April 11, 2021

London, England

Pedro’s mood had been darkening for weeks now, but if Julia had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

She’d taken on a slew of new projects, coming home late most nights, leaving him to his thoughts and the silence that clung to their flat like fog. Pedro found himself pacing the empty rooms when she was gone, unsure where to place himself in her absence. He felt the weight of insomnia closing in again, the recognizable ache behind his eyes making the hours stretch painfully long.

That day, however, his focus had shifted. He was set to present Best Foreign Film at the BAFTAs, and his stylist had dressed him in a Prada tuxedo coat, a crisp white shirt, and skinny-fitting suit trousers. He looked sharp, elegant even, and for the first time in days, Pedro felt something close to confidence.

He and Julia arrived at the event together, but they didn’t pose for pictures side by side. Still, photographers captured fleeting moments—Julia holding his hand as they stepped out of the car, a quiet laugh between them under the canopy of flashing cameras. By the next morning, their images were all over social media, sparking the inevitable buzz about their relationship.

Pedro ignored most of it.

Two days later, while sharing a quiet breakfast in a cafe with Julia, he opened Instagram out of habit, and your face appeared.

There you were, standing in the middle of some forest, your expression serene. The caption read: Surprise. A new album drops at midnight. In isolation, my imagination ran wild, and this is the result—stories and songs that flowed like rivers. I hope you love it.

The post had already gathered thousands of likes and comments, and Pedro’s chest tightened as he stared at the screen. The timing of it all was almost cruel, but it was the impact of your sudden reappearance that left him reeling. You had vanished from the public eye for so long, and now, with no warning, you were back.

That night, Pedro lay awake next to Julia, the persistent itch of insomnia dragging him out of bed. He moved quietly so as not to disturb her, slipping his earbuds in as he stepped onto the hotel balcony. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled up your new album. He hesitated for a moment, but he pressed play anyway.

For ten songs, Pedro was transfixed. Your voice wrapped around him, haunting and familiar, weaving tales of heartache and isolation. There was a rawness to your words, an unflinching honesty that pierced through the midnight air. He listened intently, picking apart the lyrics, wondering if they were about him, if the pain you sang about was shared between you. It felt like an open wound, and yet he couldn’t stop listening.

Each song was a confession. Each melody a letter never sent.

When it ended, Pedro sat in the dark, overwhelmed. The emptiness gnawed at him, and all he wanted was to call you, to talk, to hear your voice. But he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, he found himself shamelessly googling you again, hoping for something—an interview, a post, anything—but there was nothing. You had gone silent after the album drop.

No promo, no press. Just the music and then nothing. He congratulated you once, a brief message saying how beautiful the album was. You replied with a simple, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

That was it.

July 10, 2021

Alberta, Canada

Pedro arrived in Alberta at dawn, the skies painted in soft hues of pink and orange. The cab ride to the hotel was quiet, his agent and hairstylist riding with him as they prepared for the long months ahead. Filming for The Last of Us was finally starting, and though Pedro was eager to begin, a deep nervousness tugged at him.

Julia hadn’t come with him this time, staying back in London for her own work. She promised to visit, but Pedro wasn’t sure how often. In her absence, he felt that familiar loneliness creeping in, the kind that terrified him, mostly because it left him alone with thoughts of you.

He checked into his room and sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision blurred. He needed to eat, to call his family, to ground himself in something, but instead, he grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and settled back into the couch. His fingers hovered over his phone again, the compulsion to check your Instagram pulling at him like a bad habit.

But, like always, there was nothing.

Your only other post had been a month ago, thanking your fans for the love on the album. He had messaged you a couple of times—small, inconsequential exchanges that left him unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was searching for in those brief interactions, but whatever it was, it felt futile.

Then, ten minutes later, like a sign from the universe, you shared an interview. A video with you talking about your creative process. Pedro couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his laptop, another beer, and settled in.

As he watched, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You looked radiant, sitting across from the interviewer in the backyard of your California home. The conversation was easy at first, touching on the album’s success, but then it turned more personal.

"The pandemic was really rough, and also life in general, I guess," you said, your voice quiet. "I found myself post-breakup, isolated in a cabin in Calgary, and writing was all I had. But the inspiration wasn’t just from that breakup. It came from years of… things."

The interviewer asked gently, "You mean the breakup with your most recent ex specifically?"

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes dropping for a second. "It wasn’t entirely about that. I pulled a lot from my imagination, I guess. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred, and I found myself writing from perspectives that weren’t always mine."

Pedro’s heart clenched.

"There’s a song on the album," he continued, "the final track. It’s haunting. You sing about being hurt by someone you love but being unable to let them go. Can you talk about that?"

You paused, taking a breath before you spoke. "It’s a quiet resignation," you said. "That person and I, we hurt each other, but I love them. So, I guess that’s it. It felt like the right way to end the album."

Pedro’s world stilled. He realized, in that moment, what he had been searching for all this time. He had wanted confirmation, a sign that you still loved him. And with every word you spoke, you gave it to him.

Filming for The Last of Us began a couple of days later, and though Pedro threw himself into the work, your voice lingered, ghost-like, at the back of his mind. Days turned to weeks, and as production moved into September, the physical toll started to wear on him. He spent long hours on set; the Canadian cold started biting into his bones. Bella, his co-star, became a bright spot, their energy infectious, and though they bonded quickly, Pedro felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

In the early mornings, when the world was still asleep, he would take walks to clear his head, the cold sunlight grounding him. Julia came to visit now and then, joining him on these walks, but they often ran out of things to say. He could feel the quiet disintegration of their relationship, like watching ice slowly melt into water. He didn’t know what they were holding onto anymore.

•••

When October rolled around, Pedro’s schedule clashed with the start of The Mandalorian’s third season, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to join the production on time. His agents scrambled to find a solution, but when Pedro’s stunt double was suggested as a replacement for the early scenes, he was left with an odd sense of detachment. And when his agent told him it had been your suggestion, something in him cracked.

The anger simmered for weeks. He felt foolish and abandoned, wondering if you had pushed him away to keep your distance. But then, just as the resentment began to harden, you showed up on set with two coffees in hand, flashing him a smile. "One iced caramel macchiato for me and one large quad over ice for you," you teased.

Pedro blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected your warmth. "Thanks," he managed, taking the coffee.

"You’re welcome," you replied brightly. "We missed you here."

"Did you?" he said, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his tone. "Because I heard it was your idea to keep me away."

Your expression twisted into confusion before you laughed. "I was just trying to make things easier. You were still filming, and I figured rushing back here would be a nightmare for you. I wasn’t plotting anything."

Pedro felt a wave of relief wash over him, mixed with the faintest trace of regret. "Well, in that case, I missed you too."

•••

For two seasons, your character hadn't seen his without the helmet. Today you were shooting the scene where, out of necessity, he reveals his face to you. It was written as a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship.

The moment the director called action, the air on set felt different. It wasn’t the usual hum of crew members shuffling in the background or the low murmur of cameras whirring. Instead, a heavy, almost sacred quiet descended, blanketing everyone as the scene unfolded. Pedro’s mind mirrored that stillness, a sudden and unnerving hush. It felt like everything outside of this moment ceased to exist, like time itself had bent inward.

And then—nothing. No words. No script. Just you, standing so close to him, your face inches from his, hands cradling his jaw.

You widened your eyes, a silent prompt, urging him to speak, to remember his lines. But all he could do was stare. He hadn’t been this close to you in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of your touch or the soft presence of your breath in what felt like a lifetime. His throat tightened, his words trapped somewhere deep inside. He knew the scene needed to move forward, but for one fragile moment, all he wanted was to keep you there, locked in this pocket of stillness, as if holding onto you would stop everything else from slipping away.

You read him, like you always did. You settled in, your hands still on his face, fingers pressing gently into his skin as if anchoring him. Then, softly, you filled the silence with a line—one that Pedro was sure wasn’t in the script, but it was perfect. You carried the scene, leading him back into it, your voice becoming the tether that pulled him out of the stillness and into motion. Pedro blinked, refocusing, forcing his body and mind to follow your lead as he finally delivered his line.

The scene moved on, but something lingered, thick and unsaid.

When filming wrapped for the day, the tension still simmered. You caught him at the edge of the lot, your expression unreadable as you approached him. Maybe you'll ask him why he froze like an idiot during that scene, or maybe you'll just walk past him without a word.

Instead, you simply asked, "Dinner?"

Pedro couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to you.

You ended up at a small sushi restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. The space was warm, softly lit, a sanctuary from the noise of the outside world. Pedro sat across from you, picking at a piece of sashimi, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it hard. You talked about the year you’d spent away from the spotlight and how you’d pulled back from everything.

"I mean, I’m doing this because I signed a contract," you said, lightly joking, but your eyes flickered with something that gave you away. "Disney has snipers; you know how it is."

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Pedro chuckled, though he could hear the sadness in your voice, the weight behind your words.

"If I could’ve gotten out of it too, I would have," you added, your tone quieter, more reflective. "I guess I just needed to slow down. I’m tired of it all."

"You even skipped the Oscars," Pedro replied, taking a sip of his drink. "That's how you know it's serious."

"Yeah, I love the Oscars. Excellent champagne."

Pedro watched you closely, wanting to dig into your words to pull apart the layers of exhaustion and sadness you were burying beneath the surface. He wanted to offer you some kind of comfort, to tell you that he understood—that he, too, had been feeling the weight of it all. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, the two of you ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but spoke volumes.

There was something about being with you, even without words, that felt…right.

Later, as he lay in bed, his mind kept returning to you, to your confession. He wondered what you weren’t telling him, what you were holding back. But as much as he wanted to reach out to ask, he couldn't.

The next morning, Pedro was on a flight back to Canada. The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of cold, grueling days on set and long, sleepless nights. He threw himself into The Last of Us, trying to lose himself in the work, but no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of you crept back in. You were there, always, lingering in the corners of his mind, and Julia could sense it.

She didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro could feel it—the slow unraveling of their relationship. It wasn’t sudden, like a crash or an explosion; it was quiet, a gradual dissolution. Every day, a little more slipped away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this relationship, from this life they had built together. Did he think they would buy a house, start a family? Had he ever really seen himself in this life with her, or was it just easier to disappear into hers?

Finally, Julia said it. Brightly, almost too casually. "I think maybe we’re done."

Pedro didn’t fight it. He didn’t have the energy. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think that was my fault."

•••

Christmas and New Year’s came and went in a blur. Pedro went to Chile for a few weeks, seeking the comfort of home, of family. There, surrounded by his siblings and nephews, he found a brief pause, a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. But even in the warmth of his childhood home, memories of you still haunted him. He saw you in every corner, heard your laughter in the echo of the hallways.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, he called you on a whim. It wasn’t about anything important—just small talk, catching up. You sounded good, better than the last time you spoke, but there was a distance in your voice, a kind of finality that made Pedro’s heart sink. For some reason, he didn’t tell you about his breakup. He kept that part of his life hidden, not out of secrecy but because it felt irrelevant at that moment.

What would it change? What did it matter?

You didn’t talk much after that. Your silence felt deliberate, not like a missed connection but a closed door. It was as if you were telling him, without saying it outright, that this was where it ended.

In the days that followed, Pedro did his best to push you out of his mind, but it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep back in. They always did. Anger. Sadness. Regret. They whispered in his ear, insidious and unrelenting, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he could never quite hold on to.

February 7, 2022

Los Angeles, California

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, with clothes spilling over the edges like an unspoken reflection of your mind. Each item you folded and placed inside felt heavy, as if carrying pieces of the last year with you. Taylor sat cross-legged in the chair by the window, scrolling through her phone while talking, but her words barely reached you over the noise in your head.

“I’m surprised you said yes, that’s all,” she said, her voice light with curiosity. “You’ve basically been a hermit for a year now.”

You laughed softly, your hands smoothing over the fabric of a sweater. “I needed the break, you know that. ”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push yet. You were grateful for the acceptance, even if you knew she was waiting to bring it up again, the same way she always did.

“One day, you’ll tell me what really happened,” Taylor continued, her voice taking on a familiar teasing edge. “You'll tell me what had you sulking at home like a sad Victorian poet for a whole year.”

You folded another shirt and placed it in the suitcase before responding, “I’ve told you countless times. Nothing happened other than…he got a girlfriend, and I stayed out of the way. That’s it.”

Taylor squinted at you as if she didn’t quite believe it, her eyes narrowing with the kind of suspicion only a close friend could afford to show. “Aha,” she said slowly, drawing out the sound.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I wasn't sulking,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. “I was…relaxing. It was my year of rest and relaxation.”

She chuckled at that. “Good one, smarty pants."

Outside, a breeze rustled through the palm trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of LA traffic. You imagined the street below, the shuffling of photographers leaning against their cars, lighting cigarettes, and murmuring to each other. They had become a permanent fixture, appearing gradually over the months, staking out your house like ghosts waiting for you to return to life.

It never ceased to surprise you how much people cared about what you did off-screen. You couldn’t just let your work stand for itself. No, you had to prove yourself over and over again, reminding the world that you were still an asset, still someone worth admiring.

You shrugged, half-smiling, but there was something sad in it. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this because I've been dying to work with this director, and it’s a closed set. Once those eight weeks are up, it’s back to my hermit status.”

Taylor shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “So we’re missing the Oscars again this year?”

You threw a pair of socks at her, chuckling. “Seems like it.”

But inside, everything wasn’t as lighthearted as your words. Last year, you’d taken a step back from the spotlight, and while you didn’t want to attribute it to the hurt you were feeling over Pedro, the truth was, it had everything to do with him. Well, at least a huge chunk of it. It hurt not to have him. It hurt to see someone else kiss him, hold his hand so freely, so easily. The pain wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

The world expected you to bounce back, to emerge from this self-imposed exile with a smile and a perfect soundbite. But the truth was messier. You had spent a year nursing a heart that hadn’t fully healed. You loved Pedro in a way that still hurt, in a way that sometimes made you feel like a child who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted most. You wanted to be the bigger person, the one who could let him go gracefully, but instead, you had hidden.

You were blue all the time. Some days were okay; some days you barely got out of bed.

There were moments it felt paralyzing. The weight of the world outside your window, the expectations, the love you still felt for him—all of it crushed you. Some days, you simply couldn’t move. You stayed curled up in the safety of your blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t long before someone intervened. Your PA was that someone.

She didn’t push you at first. She’d just knock on your door, leave food outside, and ask if you needed anything. You’d spent three weeks in your room, moving only to get water or occasionally sit by the window.

One afternoon, Renata came in and found you in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She placed a sandwich she brought on the counter and looked at you, her voice careful, but firm. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water.

“No, you know what I mean. A professional. It’s okay if you don’t feel…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” you said, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“You’re not going to eat?” she called after you.

“Not hungry, but thanks,” you mumbled, disappearing into your room again.

But Renata didn’t let it go. She pushed gently, week after week, until finally, you let her schedule an appointment. She promised not to say anything to anyone, especially Taylor. You didn’t want to worry her.

The word depression had seemed too big to say aloud, too heavy, but that’s exactly the word your psychiatrist had used.

“You’ll need to take these every morning,” he said, handing you a small prescription bottle. “And it would be good to write how you feel. Keep track of things.”

You sat there, legs crossed in an oversized chair, staring at the prescription bottle in your hand.

•••

You watched from the sidelines as Pedro continued to rise, landing roles in The Last of Us, becoming the face everyone adored. You were thrilled for him, of course, but the distance between you felt insurmountable.

The only interaction you had was through a comment on his Instagram post, and even then, you weren’t sure if it meant anything. You didn't dare to call him on his birthday; you didn't want to stain his day with sadness. Every time you looked at your phone, tears threatened to spill. You felt as if the moment he spoke into the phone, you might collapse.

He's better off; he might not even notice.

The album you dropped in the spring had been a release of every emotion you hadn’t been able to speak aloud. Each song was laced with love and loss, heartbreak and longing; every note was a confession you’d never let yourself voice. You wondered if he listened to it—if the lyrics registered with him, if he knew they were about him.

That same week, you saw photos of him in London, holding her hand. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The months passed in a blur of avoidance. You busied yourself at home with anything you could find that didn’t involve thinking about him. You did the one interview your publicist insisted on. It was with Zane Lowe; you liked him, so it was mostly okay. You found yourself talking about the songs you wrote during that time. As you listened to your own words, you realized that the music had given you a voice when you felt silenced by heartache.

It was a bittersweet realization.

By October, filming for The Mandalorian had loomed on the horizon, and when you found out Pedro was still tied up in Canada, you suggested beginning production without him. It felt easier that way, like a reprieve. But when he finally arrived on set, the connection between you two still crackled beneath the surface. There was an unspoken understanding in the way he looked at you during that intense scene—the one where your character saw his face for the first time. He froze, and you wondered what was running through his mind—what thoughts had stopped him from continuing.

You hesitated, but after the scene wrapped, you found yourself asking him to dinner. It was a slippery slope. You could pretend you were okay all you wanted in the brief moments between takes, offering coffee and smiles, but no one saw right through you like him.

Still, you asked. It was a small gesture, just a way to extend the fragile thread of connection between you, to hold onto him for a little longer before he left again.

But you’d learned how to stay in your lane. You’d learned how to love him from a distance, how to let him be happy with someone else. It was an act of love, really—letting him go, stepping aside to give him the space to live a life that didn’t include you. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Taylor’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Do you think you could be a hermit in Greece next? I could use a vacation.”

May 29, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Between promoting The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and wrapping up the final scenes of The Last of Us in Canada, he had little time to do, well, anything else really.

It was late May, just after the Star Wars Celebration. He’d worn a blue two-piece set that felt more like pajamas than anything formal, which was fine by him. Comfort was the priority these days.

But something was missing. You. You hadn’t been there. Out of everyone from the cast, you were the only one absent, and that absence settled like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"She’s just taking time off," he’d tell himself, repeating the words like a mantra. “She’s probably busy; she's okay.” But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

Pedro had even caved one evening, calling Taylor. It had been late, after a full day of press, his voice rough from interviews and late-night whiskey. He had only meant for it to be one drink. But then he thinks back to the fact that you've plagued his dreams every night this week and that there was a song he kept hearing repeatedly that reminded him of you, and one drink had turned to three, and now here he is.

“Taylor?” He had sounded more vulnerable than he intended. “Is she... I mean, everything’s okay, right?”

Taylor had reassured him, of course, her voice patient, telling him you were fine, that you just were busy. Pedro wanted to believe her, but it gnawed at him. Something felt off.

He still woke up some mornings with the urge to tell you something, a joke he heard or a weird dream he had.

•••

By August he found himself in Spain, the arid heat of the desert sinking into his skin as filming for Strange Way of Life began. The project felt like a strange departure—something raw and gritty, something that required his full attention—but even then, in quiet moments between takes, his mind wandered. He’d sit in his trailer, his phone in hand, thumb hovering over your contact name, but the messages stayed unsent.

The days passed in a blur of rehearsals, early morning call times, and late-night script revisions. He spent his downtime with Ethan, exchanging stories over beers. But there was a quietness to Pedro that hadn’t been there before—a missing piece of him he couldn’t quite place.

•••

November 22, 2022

Miami, Florida

The night was sweltering; even by late fall standards, the air was thick and humid. Pedro was grinning, wearing a loose-fitting animal print shirt that made him feel playful, like he was stepping into some exaggerated version of himself for the evening. Lux was by his side, vibrant as always, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses as they arrived at a wine event.

But it didn’t take long for Lux to notice the shadow that hung over him.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, side-eyeing him as they sipped their drinks by the bar.

“I’ve been busy,” Pedro answered vaguely, swirling his glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light.

“Sure,” Lux replied, smirking. “And when are you both going to stop being idiots? It’s getting tiresome, hermanito.”

Pedro nearly choked on his drink, laughing in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Lux’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through his defenses with that typical bluntness only siblings could pull off. “You and her. It’s obvious. To everyone.”

Pedro sighed, leaning back against the bar, the Miami night buzzing around them. “It’s not that simple.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both so afraid of what might happen that you’re stuck in this limbo. It’s ridiculous. Why let it get this bad?”

Pedro stared into his glass, her words echoing in his head.

"Because I love her," Pedro finally admitted, his voice quieter, weighed down by the truth. He stared down at his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. "I love her so much I’m willing to let her go."

Lux didn’t say anything.

Pedro shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I would only hold her back. I know her so well. She’d sacrifice things just to be with me, and I can’t let her do that. I would only hold her back. She deserves so much better."

Lux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if what she wants is you? What if she’s out there feeling the same way, thinking she’s the one who isn’t good enough for you? Do you ever think about that?”

Pedro let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "Of course I’ve thought about it. Every day. But what if I’m wrong? What if she gives up things she shouldn’t for me? I can’t let her do that, Lux."

Lux leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe it’s not your decision to make. Maybe she deserves the choice. Don’t you think it’s a bit arrogant to assume what’s best for her without even asking?"

Pedro met her gaze, feeling exposed. “I just... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to ruin her life.”

Lux smiled, but it wasn’t pitying. It was knowing, soft around the edges. "You’re not ruining anything by loving her. But keeping it to yourself? That’s where the damage is, hermanito. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is pushing her away. And trust me, that hurts more than anything else."

He had always been so afraid of losing you, so terrified of not being enough, that he hadn’t even realized how much distance he had created.

Lux’s voice softened again, the words cutting through the noise in his mind. "She deserves better, Pedro? Maybe. But who says you don’t deserve her, too?"

a/n: please like, reblog and comment! i love reading your thoughts!! next part will be posted in a bit ;) aaaand something might be happening ;)

[one-winged-dreams]

I'm definitely going to have to add Wedge as a platonic after that dream I just had.

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It��s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[oversensitiveandoffputting]

I love the idea of Blitz, Stolas, Angel Dust, and Husk all meeting, but it’s even funnier because Stolas and Husk are more similar and Angel and Blits are more similar.

Stolas and Husk are both functional, depressed alcoholics. They both are too old for your nonsense. They both enjoy the performance arts, particularly, ahem, classier than what Hell usually has to offer. They’re both subdued and introverted. Both are very smart, Husk emotionally and Stolas intellectually. They would have a lovely conversation over jazz music in the human world with a whiskey neat and a questionable amount of absinthe.

If Blitz and Angel Dust ever meet…oh god. No one is safe. No one. Run for the hills, because the unhinged chaos duo is coming and they don’t take prisoners. The “Blitz is a jealous freak” crowd was right- we’ve seen him literally growl like a possessive dog over a “bird-stealing cockbag” and I imagine Angel would be just as unhinged, if not even more so, if he thought someone was coming into Husk.

I want to see Blitz get so upset at this cat-griffin thing for being able to sit down and have a conversation about books he and Stolas have both read or black-and-white films they enjoy (‘how dare that stupid fucking pussy with wings think he’s smarter than me’) and I want Angel to lose his shit over a tall, skinny submissive with an accent speaking with Husk about jazz music and fancy cocktails (how dare that pompous fucking bird think he’s sexier than me’)

Meanwhile, Husk and Stolas have, like, zero sexual or romantic interest in each other and are just happy they can info dump about their interests to someone who won’t make it weird. Bonus points if Blitz and Angel get mad at each other for insulting their respective crushes.

“Who does that motherfucking pussy think he is?! He looks like he shot out of a blender and talks like he has a refrigerator level IQ! He can’t hold a conversation about anything that isn’t goddamn magic tricks or how much he likes cheap booze!”

“Excuse me?! Your lanky fucking bird is LUCKY to be talking to someone as smart and sweet and sexy as Husk! Your bird brain of a man can’t string a normal sentence together because he’s too busy showing off! By the way, that slutty romper?! Ugly as sin!”

Meanwhile, Stolas and Husk are both deeply confused and a weird combination of insulted and turned on.

[norrizzandpia]

She Doesn’t Know Who I Am (LN4)

Summary: Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Warnings: nothing really, the vaguest inference to alcohol consumption? If that, man, but lmk if i missed any ofc

Lando was always weary of the United States. From the intrusive people to the crazed, horrific politics, he always tried to stay away. However, once a year, or season, he had an obligation to make an appearance in one of the fifty maniacal states. This year, the region in which would be graced with his chaotic presence was that of New York.

Y/n was the typical college student, ruthless and stupid as she went through her days at NYU. Crazy parties and a lack of sleep filled her days as she struggled to get through her second to last year in school. While part of her hated the way New York operated and how unsafe she felt, there was nothing like the beauty of the city. Her whole life had been spent in a small town where she felt trapped and alone, but in the big city, she felt a part of something, almost as if she was finally contributing to something. What she was contributing to, she didn’t know, but, in her mind, that didn’t really matter.

What did matter, however, was her friends dragging her out of bed and forcing her to go out with them whilst on two hours of sleep.

“I can get bagels literally any day. Please,” She put her hands in prayer as she pleaded with her best friend, “Paige, let me go back to bed.”

Paige looked back at her as if she had grown three heads, “No way. You go back to bed now, you’ll sleep all day and then be screwed up tomorrow. Then, you’ll complain about your sleep schedule being off and get mad at me for not waking you up. This is a much easier Y/n to deal with, thank you very much.”

Her response seemed to shut Y/n up as she hung her head low and trotted behind her brunette friend.

—

The walk to the bagel place had been longer than usual as they ran into George, a homeless man who lived at the end of their street and they had come to love. He had been there since the moment they moved in, coming and going as he moved to different places to sleep. After a few years of becoming friends with him, they learned he was a veteran who came back with severe PTSD, and, in turn, had to deal with tumultuous debts for his tries to stop the depressing spiral. While he had successfully gotten over the painful flashbacks, he never came back from the money he owned, the main reason why he ended up on the streets. The girls had found sympathy for the man and whenever he was there, sitting at the end of their block, they gave him fifty dollars each, whether they were struggling with their own financial burdens or not.

His smile had sent them into the rest of their breakfast with happier attitudes as Y/n’s annoyance for being conscious disappeared. However, they returned for the entire duration they spent waiting in the long line in the cramped, stuffy deli. Nonetheless, once she had scarfed down her bagel sandwich and chugged some water, she found life to be much lighter.

—

Lando, on the other hand, had been wandering around Central Park aimlessly with Max and a few other McLaren PR employees. The group had been out shooting content for both the racing company and his own company, Quadrant. Checking out different sights and throwing middle fingers up when they crossed the Trump building, the two boys found themselves having lots of fun in the country they thought so little of.

“Maybe this shit isn’t that bad?” Max chuckled as they stared at the lake that stretched across the park, a piano sounding lightly behind them from a street performer.

Lando nodded, liking the way no one was recognizing him and he could just be, “Yeah, maybe it’s just the politics that dampens the whole thing.”

—

“I’ll seriously never get over how stunning it is in here,” Y/n whispered as she and Paige strolled through a particularly secluded area of Central Park.

“Mhm, me neither.” Paige smiled as the two girls cherished the moment together.

Y/n turned her head to catch the brunette’s brown eyes, “Ever think about what would have happened if we never met?”

Paige pulled a look, “Absolutely not. That sounds like hell.”

“You’re not wrong.” Y/n laughed, “But, seriously, like, how would we even be surviving right n-”

Her abrupt stop to her sentence had Paige turning to look at the girl. With Y/n’s jaw dropped and cheeks ablaze, she followed her best friend’s eyeline, stumbling upon two boys who looked about the same age as them.

“Wow.” Y/n said aloud as she stared, mesmerized, at the man.

“Which one are you looking at?” Paige tried to decipher.

“Brown curls,” Y/n responded immediately, allowing her best friend to finally hone in on the boy of her friend’s choosing.

Paige smiled softly as she pictured Y/n with the boy standing in front of them, a cute couple they would be.

“He’s cute. Go ask for his number!” Paige said excitedly as she pushed Y/n in the direction of the particularly striking young man.

Y/n instantly paled, “What?! No way! Absolutely not!”

“Why?! Y/n, you literally haven’t dated anyone since freshman year. Come on, you’ll never even see him again if he rejects you. Please? For me, at least?” Paige pleaded, giving her best friend a look that she couldn’t turn away.

Huffing, Y/n began walking away, muttering, “The things I do for you.”

—

Y/n first caught Lando’s eye in his peripheral. The quick flash of y/h/c had him turning around to quickly glance at the newfound presence.

He almost lost his footing at the sight of her.

Black leggings and a sweatshirt never looked so good on someone as she approached him. His eyes were followed by Max, the boy laughing at a Lando who was clearly very taken by the girl coming up to them.

“If she asks to take a picture, I’m going to be so devastated,” Lando whispered as she smiled at them, the sight making him want to melt to the ground and beg her to go out with him.

It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her name yet, but that was a passing thought as she came to stop in front of him.

“Hi,” She stared up at him, clearly nervous, “My friend is forcing me to do this, so don’t think I’m doing this willingly.”

Her next few words Lando was already preparing himself for. Either her sentence could send him into a euphoric orbit or she could crush his dreams by being a fan.

She took a deep breath, Lando smiling at her cute demeanor, before she continued, “I just thought you were really cute and thought that, maybe, I could get your number? My name’s Y/n, by the way.”

Max was quick to jump infront of his lovestruck friend, not trusting the girl’s intentions.

“Sorry, he doesn’t give out his number.” He shot out, Y/n grimacing as she took in the embarrassment.

“Is he a celebrity or something?” She tried to recover with jokes, but it just made the faces of the two boys pale more.

The one that she liked, the one with the soft curls, stepped in front of his friend as he shook his head, “No, no. He’s just overprotective,” He sent his friend a threatening gaze, “I’m Lando and I would love to give you my number.”

Y/n was too caught up in the meaning behind Lando’s look to catch the way he was staring down at her, brown eyes big and round as he shot her a toothy grin. Their eyes met, and she flushed under his stare.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she quickly got out her phone, “Oh, cool! Here you go.”

Lando’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in his work phone number, not his personal. While he wanted to trust in her cluelessness, he couldn’t be that reckless.

Sliding her phone back to her in a way that allowed for their fingers to brush against each other, Y/n beamed triumphantly, something Lando knew he was going to grow to love.

She stood there for a few moments before nodding her head and beginning her walk back to her friend, “I’ll call you soon. We’ll figure something out.”

Lando nodded eagerly at her, a sign that he liked her just as much as she liked him. When her figure was a dot in the distance, Max turned to him and smacked him on the chest, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You can’t just shovel out your number like that! That was way too dangerous, Lando.”

His stern lecture had Lando rolling his eyes, “Max, two things. 1) I gave her my work phone, and 2) I’m willing to bet my seat in McLaren that she has no clue who I am.”

His best friend shifted on his feet as he looked at him, “You really think so?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen fans try to play it cool, and even then, when they outwardly say they know my favorite flavor of ice cream, I can tell they’re freaking out on the inside. Her nerves seemed more to be the type of just asking a random stranger out rather than meeting her idolized driver.”

Max shook his head, “If you insist.”

—

Paige smiled proudly at her best friend as they began making their way out of the park, “So, what was his name anyway?”

Y/n thought hard for a moment before guessing, “Land? Lanyard? Something like that. I can’t remember. I was too caught up in his biceps to comprehend anything he was saying to me. I just hope he isn’t a murderer.”

NOTE: lmk if you guys want me to make a part 2 to this where they go out on a few dates and a month in or so she finds out or he tells her (something roughly like that)

[x0xomady]

the after party

pt. 2 - 🌟

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆

summary: 1 month after the breakup you go to a frat party with your best friend. of course it’s harry’s frat.

warnings: smut, p in v, dirty talk, kinda public sex (car), degradation, MANIPULATION! cursing, TOXIC love bombing, alcohol. 18+

song inspo: ✧˖°.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆

“please don’t make me go” i groan. my best friend, y/bsf/n, is running around my room trying to find a cute dress and heels for me to wear.

“shut the hell up y/n you’re going” she rolls her eyes and continues shuffling through my closet. i sigh in defeat and lay down on my bed. maybe if i play dead…

“oh my gosh this is perfect! harry is going to lose his shit when he sees this!” she squeals and pulls out my navy blue, satin, mini dress. i had bought it for harry and i’s 2 year anniversary, but obviously we didn’t make it there.

“no. i’m not wearing that.” i roll my eyes and shake my head at my best friend. “plus im not trying to make harry jealous or upset. this isn’t about him.”

“ugh! come on y/n! you have got to move on! it’s already been a month. besides, i know you want to get laid… this could be your opportunity!” she smiles and tosses me the dress while walking back to the closet to find me some heels.

i sigh and look down at the dress on my lap. it is really pretty i have to admit it. the dress has little sequin details and is strapless.

“cmon y/n you know this is important to me! we can’t miss a party like this. especially this one.” she smiles and tosses me matching navy blue heels.

y/bsf/n is right… this is THE party. every year harry’s frat throws a big blow out party right after we get out for spring break. everyone goes and tries to get in… but usually only people that know the frat get in.

“i’m just worried. what if it’s awkward when i see him? the last time i saw harry was 3 weeks ago and we didn’t even make eye contact.”

“babe don’t worry! you guys didn’t end on bad terms there’s no reason for it to be awkward. just be yourself and talk to people.” she gives me an encouraging smile and walks to the bathroom to do her makeup so i can get dressed.

one night out couldn’t hurt…. could it?

✧˖°.

we arrived at the party at 10:30. it was the perfect time to go to a frat party. everyone was already there and drunk. seeing as this is the biggest frat on campus and the most anticipated day of the year for most guys, it was packed to the brim.

as soon as the door opens we are met with hundreds of people crammed in the large house. there’s music playing loudly and music booming throughout the room. i despise frat guys. it all seems like one big cult to me. so why did i date one for two years? good question. i have no fucking idea.

we walk through the familiar large house together. there’s bottles, bags, and trash scattered across the floor. people are dancing, making out, and drinking.

ugh kill me now.

it’s so dirty. i carefully step over broken bottles in my stiletto heels. usually for frat parties i would just wear a jean miniskirt and a cute top, but tonight was different. it was like prom for college students.

y/bsf/n has already run off to find her current boyfriend, zayn. he’s one of harry’s good friends.

ugh. harry.

the nagging in my stomach and anxiety in my mind was slowly creeping up on me. harry and i hadn’t ended on the most amazing terms but we hadn’t ended badly either.

it’s a weird situation.

harry and i have a bit of a toxic cycle we like to go through. every couple of months harry gets distracted or bored so he dumps me. then about a month later he comes crawling back begging for me to take him back because he ‘loves me’. it’s not all his fault, no matter how many times this has happened, i go back to him each time.

my eyes are eagerly scanning the room. maybe it’s in hopes of seeing the curly headed boy. maybe it’s dread of seeing him. either way i just wanted to get this long night over with so i could lay in bed depressed about the break up.

usually when i come to frat parties i would make a b-line to the couches where all the frat members and their significant others sit and drink. wouldn’t it be weird if i did that now though?

however, it’s only been 10 minutes and my feet hurt like a bitch. i need those couches.

i make my way past the dance area and bar towards the living room.

there, i see y/bsf/n and zayn talking and drinking, as well as our other friends talking, but no harry.

my eyes scan the large room quickly but i see no sign of him.

“hi petal”

my heart stops. harry.

i would recognize his deep voice anywhere. my breathing catches in my throat as i turn around to see him.

there he is… harry. after 3 weeks of no contact and trying to get over him, it all hit me like a bus again.

“hey”

“you look-” harry stops and looks down at my dress. “really fucking perfect”

blush instantly paints my cheeks as he compliments me.

fuck fuck fuck! no don’t fall for his bullshi-

“seriously… this dress- fuck.” harry smirks and carefully lets his hands rest on my hips.

“harry…”

“hm?”

“don’t.” i push his hands off my sides and take a step back from the oh so tempting man in front of me.

“don’t what?” he smiles at me innocently and steps towards me again.

no y/n. NO.

i’ve worked so hard over the last 3 weeks to forget him and move on… if i gave in all of that would go to shit and i’d be right back where i started… desperately in love with harry.

“i’ve missed you so much” harry leans down and whispers in my ear, his cheek brushing mine.

“well that’s too bad” i roll my eyes and avoid eye contact with him.

“cmon petal look at me.” harry grabs my chin gently and moves my head to look at him. reluctantly i sigh and look at harry. his piercing green eyes meet mine and it all comes back to me.

“what do you want harry?” i ask while looking into his eyes.

“you.” harry smiles and nudges my nose with his. his ring adorning fingers make their way from my chin across my face. harry holds my jaw and cheek gently.

“well that’s too bad. you had me and you fucked that up.”

“i know i did… im so sorry y/n.” harry looks into my eyes innocently and caresses my face carefully.

suddenly the room feels 10x hotter and my dress feels so constricting. i needed to get away from harry.

i step away from harry and walk out towards the large main room. people are everywhere, so it’s not hard to escape from him.

“y/n wait-”

i ignore harry and continue walking. my body carefully brushes past people as i maneuver my way through the dancing and drinking. my eyes spot the large front doors and i sigh in relief.

without hesitation i push myself through the front door and walk out onto the large lawn. the cold air instantly hits my body and i feel a huge relief run over me.

there’s still a line of people trying to get into the dumb frat party. i pass them and head down the street. the street is almost empty… it has to be at least 12:00 right now so it’s not surprising the streets are clear.

my feet mindlessly make their way down the sidewalk towards the familiar park. seeing the big empty park ahead of me brings a smile to my face.

i walk into the park and make my way over towards one of the benches. it’s as beautiful as i remember it. the large trees cover the sky making it look dark and eerie. the only light being the small lampposts that line the path.

my body finally relaxes when i sink back against the chair and let out a breath i didn’t even realize i was holding in.

however, that peace is ruined when i hear the familiar roar of a certain someone’s car.

“y/n! what the hell?!” the car shuts off and i hear the crunching of footsteps make their way towards me.

i don’t look up at him and instead continue looking down at the ground. harry steps in front of me and squats down so he’s in my eye line.

“why’d you run away petal?” he asks while looking at me from where he’s squatting.

“it was hot in there.” i roll my eyes and lean back against the bench. “did you follow me? that’s creepy”

“i didn’t follow you.” harry shakes his head with a smirk. “i just knew you would be here. you would come to this damn park after every argument we had.”

fuck. he looks so beautiful like this.

the moonlight was peaking through the tops of the trees carefully painting his face. harry stands up from where he was sitting and plops onto the bench next to me.

“why did you come after me? you should’ve stayed at your party.”

“because i love you.”

there it is.

i don’t respond at first. my eyes continuing to make their way throughout the park, in a desperate search for escaping this.

i wanted nothing more than to scream and yell at harry. i wanted to hurt him because he hurt me, but the fact was i couldn’t. i could never yell at harry… i love him just as much as he loves me, probably even more.

“don’t say that.” i glare at harry and then look away quickly.

“why not? you love me too. we both know it’s true.”

yeah. he’s right. it fucking pains me to say… but harry is right.

i loved harry more than anything and anyone on the planet. him simply existing made me more madly in love with him every single day.

“cmon petal… come back to me. you know i love you.” harry whispers into my ear and kisses my cheek.

goosebumps fill my skin as his soft lips trace my cheek. harry’s warm breath danced across my skin making my heart flutter.

“harry stop it. you can’t do this.” i put my hand on his cheek and push him away from my face gently. “you always do this! you break up with me and then come back trying to hook up a few weeks later."

harry pushes out his bottom lip playfully and puts his hand on my waist.

“please baby? i miss you so much. i was so stupid i'm sorry.” he whispers and wraps his arm around my waist. the internal conflict starts swirling through my brain.

on one hand i know that harry just wants to fuck and then date for a few months before dumping me. however, on the other hand, i want nothing more than to jump on him and forget we ever had a fight in the first place.

harry can sense my temptation because he grabs my hips and pulls me towards him so i’m sitting comfortably on his lap.

“see? we can have our own little after party.” harry smirks kisses me right below the jaw.

i know i should shove him away and run, but i REALLY don’t want to.

harry puts one hand on hip and the other holds my jaw tightly. the cool of his rings against my flushed skin makes shivers run down my spine. he pulls me against him more so our lips aren’t more than few centimeters apart.

fuck it

i grab harry’s face and pull him to me. the second our lips touch my entire body erupts and i feel the love i have for harry rush back to me. i feel harry’s cocky smirk against my lips last only for a second before he’s pushing his tongue into my mouth.

the kiss is intense, three weeks of pent up anger and frustration sits in my stomach as i run my hands through his curls.

harry holds my jaw tightly while kissing me thoroughly. i tug lightly on harry’s curls resulting in him releasing a whimper.

i move my hips forwards so i’m sitting right over harry’s prominent bulge. harry lets out a breathy moan and kisses my neck.

“h-harry” i sigh and wrap my arms around his neck.

“hm?” he doesn’t bother pulling away from my neck, instead biting my shoulder softly. i moan and press my core against harry in a desperate search for release. harry smirks and kisses my collarbone. “so fucking needy petal. thought you hated me?”

i roll my eye my eyes and lean into harry’s kisses. as much as i hate to admit it, it feels so fucking good to have him kiss me like this.

“just shut up and take me to your car curly."

“as you wish.” harry grins and scoops me up. my legs are wrapped around his hips for stability.

harry quickly walks down the path and towards his truck. we get situated in the backseat of his car quickly. im laying on my back on the seat as harry slams the door and crawls over my body.

in no time harry’s pants are off and my dress is hiked up to my waist with the top of it pulled down to expose my tits.

harry grabs my thighs pushing them open and looks down with a strained facial expression. he moves his head down towards the spot between my legs but i stop him.

“don’t harry. just fuck me already i need it.” i whine and wrap my legs around his hips.

harry chuckles and pulls my panties down my legs. “see? so fucking needy. such a pretty little slut hm? i missed you.” he kisses my neck hiking my hips up to rest on his thighs.

i moan softly as harry presses the head of his cock against my folds. harry, being harry, has to tease me before he can do anything. “so fucking wet. s’ pathetic baby. i haven’t even touched you properly yet and your little panties are soaked to the core."

harry runs his tip from the bottom of my slit to my throbbing clit. i whine and buck my hips up to get some sort of relief from harry. he grabs my hips and holds them down.

“shh need to make sure your little pussy can take me baby. i haven’t filled you up in so long. might not be able to fit it all.” harry smirks and nudges the tip of his cock in my sopping hole.

“stop it h! just hurry up and fuck me!” i whine and try pressing my hips up but harry’s strong hands are holding them down against the leather seats of his car. harry continues teasing me by slowly inching his cock in.

“yeah? okay baby i’ll stop teasing you.” harry punctuates the end of his sentence by bucking his hips up into me pushing his cock to the hilt. i groan and grab harry’s hair tightly as he fucks up into me.

harry is quickly in a rhythm of fucking me hard. the sounds of his hips hitting mine and breathy moans from the both of us are the only thing heard in the tiny confines of the car.

“harry need more please.” i groan and wrap my arms around harry's neck as he fucks me harder.

“do you have any idea how much i missed you? your little pussy does fucking wonders on me i swear- ” he lets out a muffled groan while he pushes his face into the crook of my neck.

i try to ignore it… but i can’t. the flutter in my heart grows as i look at harry who’s busy keeping the pace of his hips steady. he has no idea how much i love him.

“how are you this damn tight? it’s like i’m fucking you for the first time all over again. gonna have to loosen up this sweet thing all over again.” harry moans while increasing the speed of his hips. his pelvic bone hits my clit perfectly and i buck my hips up in desperate search for stimulation.

“yeah? my baby needs me to play with her little button, hm?” harry smirks and snakes his hand from my jaw to rub tight circles on my clit.

the stimulation from harry’s thick cock fucking me deeply and his rough fingers playing with my sensitive spot, i feel my orgasm approach quickly.

“harry!” i gasp as he deepens his thrusts pushing all the way to the hilt.

“cmon petal cum for me. i can feel you clenching. milk my cock.” he squeezes my hips and continues thrusting into my warmth relentlessly.

i’m too fucked out to even respond. i just sit there and let harry continue the sweet assault on my pussy.

“oh that’s it cum for me baby.” harry groans as i cum around his cock. he looks down at our adjoined body and watches the milky ring of my cum sit at the base of his cock.

harry thrusts a few more times before pulling out and releasing his cum across my chest.

we both lay there and harry grabs his shirt wiping up the mess between my thighs and on my carefully. i sigh and sit up slowly pulling my dress up to cover my top again. the guilt of what i just did slowly starts creeping up on me.

“harry-"

“don’t baby just let me love you okay? i’m sorry for everything. i love you.” harry kisses my cheek and fixes his pants.

i pause for a moment thinking about everything that just happened but reluctantly i nod. “okay… i love you too."

the cycle always repeats itself and i let it

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆

we love some toxic harry

-xoxo ⋆⭒˚.⋆

[literallylexa]

Dean x Reader: SMUT

“Stopping the Hunt”

Prompt: Dean shows up every time you finally “get over him.” Sam goes to hell and Dean comes to you for refuge. However, you already have a boyfriend. Dean gets jealous and you get angry.

Warning: angst, smut, depression, Dean being jealous

Dean’s arms just do something to me

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

The hunting life never has been your thing. Ever since you were one of the victims of a vampire attack, you’ve kept an eye out for the supernatural. That’s how you met Dean Winchester. He was everything you wanted in a man. Protective, strong, caring, he’d do anything for you or his brother Sam. However, you knew that you could never have a relationship with Dean, just due to how his life is. He’s always on the road and put into dangerous situations. He’s nothing but a phone call and a fuck buddy every now and then. You always wanted more though. He was irresistible. Little did you know, Dean felt the same way.

You’ve moved on from Dean Winchester though, you think to yourself. Sometimes..well all the time you think about him. Sometimes romantically, sometimes not. After you started dating your current boyfriend, Edward, you decided it was time to move on from Dean. You’d never be able to have a relationship with that man. Never more than just an occasional booty call.

Tonight is date night. You shouldn’t be thinking about Dean Winchester anyways. You’re going out to have fun!

-I’ll be there in 10

Edward- Okay, I’m at the bar meet me there. Usual spot

You sigh and look into the mirror while fixing your hair. Today you decided to have it down, natural. You glance over your body, making sure the little black dress doesn’t have any stains on it. You decided to wear makeup tonight, wispy lashes, eyeliner, and some faint red glossy lipstick. You pucker your lips together, checking for any cracks and then reapplying some more. You rub your lips together making sure they’re covered. You take one more look at yourself before you grab your heels and purse.

The nightlife was always fun. You always like to try a new drink everytime you go, you’re very adventurous. On the day to day life your more to yourself, but once the alcohol comes out you’re very extroverted. Making new friends, meeting new people, dancing and singing the night away. Sometimes a drink fixes your worries, washing them away as the night goes on. Washes away Dean, all the supernatural shit you’ve seen, all their deaths. If you could take it all back, you would. You never wanted to be a hunter, you never wanted to know about the supernatural. You’ve never wanted to meet Dean.

As the night goes on the more progressively drunk you get. Heels come off, and no fucks are given. You grind against Edward in the bar, dancing along with some friends who stopped by. Edward grabs your hips, swaying them side to side against his cock. Maybe other things were taken that night other then alcohol, but it sure as hell felt amazing.

The night always ends in your bed, skin slapping and moans fill the air. Sheets on the mattress had lifted up and pillows fallen off the bed.

The morning always ends the same too. Alone.

You look over next to you in bed and Edward has already left. He never stays around anyways. Life sometimes gets lonely. Your parents aren’t around anymore, few friends live in the same state as you. Before Edward you were hanging out with random girls at the club and bringing home one night stands. Going to work, eating, drinking, fucking, then sleeping. Sometimes you’d occasionally look at a case online, send it to some hunters and go on about your business. People like you..who know what’s out there aren’t meant for happy endings.

You finally get out of bed. Sliding into some ugg slippers and long tee shirt with nothing underneath. You head over to the kitchen and begin to brew some coffee when a knock at your door gets your attention. Heart pounding you head over to the door. You look out your peep hole and gasp. Before you open the door you go to your pantry and grab some holy water along with a silver knife. With shaky hands you unlock the door and open it. Immediately you throw the holy water and cut the person.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yells out, “I’m not a damn demon. Or a shapeshifter. It’s me!”

“Dean what the fuck are you doing here?” You demand. Last time your encounter didn’t go well with him. You were stupid enough to tell him how you felt and he left the next morning. Typical.

“It’s a lot but I promise to explain if you let me in.” Dean says, hope glistening in his eyes.

You could never resist him. As much as you wanted to you couldn’t. “Fine. I’m making coffee. Sit your ass down and tell me what the fuck happened.”

Dean smiles and sits down at the dining room table. “Same as I remembered it. A little updated though. Looks good.” Dean looks around your house.

“Where’s Sam?” You ask Dean, setting down a cup of coffee in front of him. Dean immediately takes a sip, groaning as he swallows, “So good (Y/N).” Dean groans, “I’ve been all over the country but they never make coffee like yours.”

You laugh to yourself. It’s nice for someone to appreciate you once in a while. Even if it’s Dean doing the appreciating. “I let you in so now you have to tell me what’s going on. What did you and Sam get yourselfs into now?”

Dean takes another sip and sets the mug down, his demeanor changing. He begins to tell you the story about letting Lucifer about the cage, Lilith, Sam being Lucifer’s vessel. “Sam is in hell, (Y/N)..with the devil himself.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh my god-goodness Dean.” You correct yourself. Maybe God shouldn’t be mentioned in this senerio. “Whats the plan to get him back?”

“There’s no plan.” Dean says looking down.

“Where do you plan on staying?”

“I have Baby.”

“Dean…” You say, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. “Why don’t you just stay with me for a little. I have a comfortable couch, Baby has a parking spot.” You smile down at him. You could have sworn that his emerald eyes were tearing up. Before you could look at him better, Dean turns his head away, wiping his face. “So what’s going on with you?” Dean asks. You weren’t going to admit you already had a boyfriend just yet. “Oh just the same old shit.” You chuckle, looking around nervously.

“Don’t tell me you’ve met someone?” Dean says, “I can tell when you’re lying.” 

“Ok yeah I met somebody. But it’s no big deal.” You say.

Dean seemed almost irritated when you admitting to it. “I shouldn’t stay.”

“Dean, no I insist.” You plead. As much as your and Dean’s relationship is strained, you never want to see him hurt. “How about we get some breakfast?” You ask, trying to change the conversation. Dean thinks for a moment but ultimately said yes.

•••

After breakfast with Dean, everything was back to what it was. Laughing, flirting a little bit, telling stories. Sam wasn’t mentioned during that conversation though. You know Dean will bring it up when he wants to.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” You tell Dean. “And let’s have you take a shower huh?” You squeeze your nose in between your fingers and Dean pushes ur arm jokingly. Dean brings his belongings out of the impala, just two duffle bags and some guns.

“We can buy you a little dresser so you can put all your shit in. Sorry I don’t have another room for you.” You say to Dean as he begins to walk up the stairs.

“No (Y/N), you’ve already done a lot. No need to worry about that…well maybe I could use some soap. I don’t want to smell like flowers and rainbows.” Dean laughs.

“It’s mixed berry, asshole!” You yell at him going up the stairs.

Moments later you hear the water turn on. You smile to yourself. Dean Winchester living in your house. You began to imagine yourself with him, but those thoughts are quickly wiped away when your phone buzzes. Edward. Right. You’re dating Edward, you have been dating Edward for the last couple months. Edward is normal. Edward has a future for himself. A stable job, family, friends, a home. Edward is good for you. You sigh out loud, frustrated with yourself thinking about Dean. Dean will eventually leave anyways. Unless he’s done hunting. But he won’t ever stop hunting. Your mind races back and forth. You decide to answer your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby. The bar is having some event tonight, rock and roll music and shit. Want to come? Just meet me there.” Edward says.

“Oh sure. I’ll be there tonight.” You say and end the phone call. Fuck. Maybe you can just leave Dean here and go out.

You decide to clean up to distract yourself from thinking about the two men. You hear the stairs creek as Dean comes downstairs. You turn around and look at him. The sight of him made you breathless. Combed, wet hair dripping onto his tight grey shirt. He’s not wearing a flannel, so his large muscular arms are showing, veins going down them to his hands. His jeans fitting him perfectly, you could see every inch of him. Your eyes wander to his groin area, slightly seeing a bulge through the jeans. For once you don’t see him wearing shoes but only white socks.

“I definitely used up all your hot water.” Dean laughs, running a towel through his hair to dry it.

“What a gentleman.” You say to him. Guess you’ll have to wait to take a shower too.

“If you would have joined me you could have had some hot water too.” Dean winks at you.

“Uh huh in your dreams.” (Or maybe yours) “Soo..” You begin to say, “Tonight at the bar they have a rock and roll night. Want to join? Get some drinks, meet some girls?” You say.

Dean thinks for a moment before saying yes. “Is your little boyfriend going to be there?”

“Yeah he is, but he won’t be a bother. He usually talks to his friends anyways.” You say.

The rest of the afternoon is going great. You do some errands with Dean and Baby of course. It was nice not to drive all the time. It felt nice having Dean drive you around, taking you wherever you wanted. You get some burgers for a quick lunch and head back home. Dean turns on the TV while you put away the groceries and clean up around the house. Dean walks over to the porch and looks at to your backyard. “You need to cut the grass. Do you have a lawnmower?” Dean asks.

“I usually just pay somebody to do it. Clearly it’s been neglected.” You say, standing out on the porch with him. Your yard was fenced in, perfect for a dog.

“Guess I’ll just have to do it tomorrow.” Dean says.

A warm feeling goes through your body as Dean says that. You could imagine him cutting the grass, getting all sweaty and you throw him a beer. When he comes inside you make him some food and make love in the shower after-

“If you do that I’m going to pay you.” You say to Dean quickly.

“You’re already letting me live here. That’s the least I can do for you (Y/N).” Dean looks down at you. The sun shines on his skin perfectly, making it golden. His green eyes have little bits of yellow and blue in the suns rays. You notice Dean looking at your lips, traveling down to your collarbone, and down to your breasts. You get embarrassed from him looking. He’s already seen you naked before, many times. Dean licks his lips as he looks back up into your eyes.

“I’m going to get dressed.” You leave him there on the porch. You run back up to your room and shut the room quickly. Your heart races. You cannot get involved with Dean again, at least romantically. He will leave. He always does. Tears begin to form in your eyes but you wipe them away quickly. Maybe you did love Dean, but you could never admit that- not even to yourself. If you did you’d just get hurt.

You put on some makeup once again. Wispy lashes, eye liner, lip gloss, highlighter and blush. You put on a small dress again, with some heels. As you begin to walk down the stairs you get nervous about Dean seeing you. “Are you ready to go Dean?” You yell out as you walk down the stairs.

“Yeah I’m-“ Dean stops in his tracks, mouth wide. You could have sworn to see his bulge grow through his pants. “Goddamn (Y/N).” Dean practically drools. He eye fucks you with his green eyes, not missing a single inch of your body. Your hair to your plump glossy lips, breasts pushed up from your dress, your legs and thick thighs exposed, he was even infatuated with your beautiful feet in those sexy, scandalous heels. Dean gulps multiple times, hands beginning to sweat, increasingly getting aroused by your figure. Dean grabs your purse for you along with his leather jacket. You guys get into the impala and head to the bar.

It was already packed by the time you two got there. Music loud, tables filled. You lead Dean over to your usual spot at the bar and order drinks for the two of you. “(Y/N)!” Edward comes over, obviously already drunk. He slings his arm around your shoulder and slyly squeezes your left boob. You jump in your seat, startled by the sudden grope. Out of the corner of your eye you see Dean’s nostrils flare, lips puckered in annoyance.

“Edward uhm, this is Dean Winchester. He’s my friend from a while back.” You say.

Edward makes an effort to be touching you. He sets his drink onto the bar counter, standing behind you while you sit in the chair. One hand on your shoulder, and one on your thigh, almost completely underneath your already short tight dress. “So you’re the one (Y/N) used to talk about huh.” Edward chuckles.

You mentally face palm. Fuck you forgot you told Edward about how Dean left you once. Dean clenches his jaw, passes a side eye to you. He takes a sip of his drink and sets it back down. “And I haven’t heard anything about you.” Dean pulls an angry grin.

“Ahh alright how about we have some shots!” You yell to the two of them. “3 shots please!” You call out to the bar tender.

“We’re about to start another game of pool. Dean, you wanna join?” Edward asks.

“I’d be happy to.” Dean takes the shot like water. Edward also takes it, slightly grimacing at the taste. You shake your head and take your own shot, immediately ordering another one after.

Edward takes you by the waist and walks you over to the pool table, Dean following behind. Some of Edward’s friends join in, along with some strangers to watch. Rock and Roll plays, Eye of the Tiger starts up, getting the bar riled up. Edward starts first, getting a ball into the hole. He grabs you by the hips afterward, standing behind you he presses his clothed cock against your ass. You intently watch Dean durning his turn. His muscles flex when he moves, shirt fitting him tightly, riding up his back as he leans over the pool table. You knew Edward was no match for Dean playing pool. Dean hit three balls in durning his turn. He turns around, smirking at you and glares at Edward. Edward goes next. Dean stands close to you durning your boyfriends turn. You could smell his cologne, god he always smells so good. The side of your hip brushed against him a couple times as you move around a bit, each time you touched slightly you felt shivers down your entire body. Maybe it was the alcohol hitting.

As they play, the more increasingly angry Edward gets. As they play, the more cocky Dean gets. Edward begins to not notice you anymore. Durning one of Edward’s turns, Dean wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “You’re beating his ass.” You whisper over to Dean, standing on your tippy toes to reach his ear. He chuckles, looking down at you and smiling. “We need to play again sometime.” You laugh and bump him with your hip, causing his hand to fall and wrap around your waist instead. You felt dizzy from Dean’s touch. “I guess you just want me to beat your ass again.” You jokingly tell Dean. Everytime you play, you would always beat him and Sam. They would always say that you’re cheating. Dean slightly squeezes your love handle as he begins to pull away, “How about you grab us some more drinks, huh sweetheart?”

Shivers get sent down to your pussy. His husky voice never fails to make you wet and horny. When you get to the bar, you take two shots of your own, and bring a tray to the pool table. Dean and Edward finish the tray themselves, trying to out do each other.

Everything is blurry at this point. Dean, Edward, and you were clearly wasted. The pool game finishes, and of course, Dean wins. Everyone cheers out for Dean, including you. Without thinking, you jump into his arms and hug him. Dean holds you up by your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. “Shots for everyone!!” Dean yells. Everyone heads over to the bar. Besides you. When you get off Dean you begin to walk with him and the crowd, however Edward holds you back into the crowd. He grips your wrists tight, causing it to hurt. “What the fuck was that (Y/N)!?” He yells at you.

“Get the fuck off me! You’re drunk!” You yell at him, trying to swat his hands away. His grip only tightens and he begins to pull you to the bathrooms. “Get off me!” You yell at Edward, trying to pull away. He slams you against the wall, head facing it. “Why the fuck are you hanging out with Dean Winchester?” He spits, grabbing your hair into a ponytail. Panic spreads through your body. Fight or flight. Well, you ain’t no bitch, you’re a fighter. You slam your head backwards, head bumping Edward. He falls to the floor dizzy. For a minute you could have sworn his eyes turn black. Doesn’t matter if it was your eyes playing tricks on you, you were out of the bathroom in a second. Hurriedly, you squeeze through the crowd in the bar, trying to find Dean. “Dean!” You yell out. You can’t find him. You exit the bar and begin to call Dean. No answer. Fuck fuck fuck. You take a breath to calm yourself. Putting your hair up into a ponytail, you begin to head back into the bar. Before you even step foot, the door opens, revealing Dean.

“(Y/N)! Where were you? Are you okay?” Dean asks worriedly. He grabs your shoulders and look down at you, scanning your face. He looks down at your wrists and they are red. “That motherfucker.” Dean grits his teeth. He gives you the keys to Baby. “Sit down. I’ll be back okay?”

“I feel like I saw black eyes.” You say.

“I’ll go in there with that expectation.” Dean says, looking at you. He stops for a second before pulling you into a tight embrace. “I’ll be back okay?” He repeats. You nod your head and begin to walk to Baby.

Not even 5 minutes later Dean comes out the bar, fists clenched. A pissed off expression covers his face. He slams the door when he enters the impala.

“Stupid ass fucking piece of shit Edward Cullen is not going to contact you again.” Dean murmurs. He steps on the gas and drives you back home. The car ride was quiet. Somehow along the way Dean had placed a gentle hand on your thigh. You accepted it, placing your hand ontop of his. You let down Baby’s windows, needing to feel the fresh air.

You and Dean enter your house. He helps you take off your heels and makes you sit on the couch. He takes off his jacket and sits next to you. You lay your head down onto his shoulder, sighing. “What is this, Dean? What are you and me?” You ask. The alcohol is still making you bold. Dean must still be feeling the alcohol too. Your glossy eyes look at each other for a little bit too long. “I want you, (Y/N).” Dean says. “Dean…I can’t do this if you are going to leave again.” You whisper. Dean’s eyes shine, a sorrow expression on his face.

“He wasn’t a demon, (Y/N).” Dean says. “For once, I’m thankful it wasn’t. I’m tired, (Y/N). I’m done hunting. I want to start over. I want to start over with you.”

Your lips crashed against his wet, plump lips. He gently grabs the back of your head, pulling you in closer. You moan into his mouth. Your tongues dance together and you French kiss. Dean lifts you up and places you into his lap. You grind down onto his already hard bulge. Your dress has already lifted up all the way, exposing your black lace thong. Dean moans at the sight of you. He lifts your dress off your body, immediately kissing and licking the top of your breasts. You grind down harder on Dean, needing to feel more friction against your clit. Dean takes your bra off, exposing your breasts to the cold air. He takes one nipple at a time, licking and sucking, swirling it in his mouth getting it hard. He massages your other boob in the process. You beg Dean to take off his shirt. He obliges, exposing his abs and muscles. Dean kisses all over your neck, collarbone, and down to your titties. You needed more of him. “Dean, baby, please I-“ He cuts you off with a kiss, his fingerings beginning to trail down to your soaking wet pussy. “Baby you are so wet for me.” Dean groans. You grind against his fingers, trying not to moan loud. Dean lays you down onto the chaise of the couch, while he is on his knees at the bottom of it. He pulls your thong to the side, exposing your pussy to him. His thumb slowly and gently rubs your hard clit, circling it. He begins to taste you, moaning as he does so, lapping all your juices like he’s thirsty. You swore you could have just come undone by him tongue fucking you. When he adds a finger into your soaking wet hole you scream. “Fuck Dean!” You feel as his thick, long fingers fill your hole. He curls them, hitting your spot. With his other hand he continues to rub your clit. One hand grips onto his dirty blonde locks, while the other is trying to grab onto the couch. Dean chuckles watching you unfold in front of him.

“Dean I’m going to cum.” You cry in urgency, moaning out his name. Dean decides to add another finger inside you, stretching you out with his three fingers. With another flick of your clit, you tense up and shake, and cum with a cry out. He doesn’t stop though, he rides out your orgasm, fucking you with his fingers and playing with your engorged clitrous. You body feels warm, like you’ve been sweating. Dean pulls his fingers out of you and gives you a long lick, your hole to your clit. You shudder.

However Dean is not finished with you. He unbuttons his pants, pulling down them along with his boxers, his cock popping out. Dean gives it a couple strokes, looking at your body. “Come here baby.” Dean instructs. He has you sit up on the couch while he stands. You greedily lick his cock from his balls to his tip, swirling your tongue around the tip of his penis, then planning your lips around it, sucking it to the base of his cock, choking at the length. Dean moans your name and gently holds your hair up for you, out of your face. You massage his balls with your hands, while you fuck him with your mouth. Dean cusses and shivers as you deep throat him. Dean makes you stop, pulling you up to kiss him, tasting his own cock in his mouth. Dean smacks your ass a couple times and swings you unexpectedly over his shoulders. He carry’s you up the stairs and lays you down onto bed, missionary style.

“I’ve missed you.” Dean moans into your ear, stroking his cock. “I’ve missed everything about you.” He kisses you, placing a hand on your neck, holding you in place.

Dean puts your legs over his shoulders and slowly slides his large cock into your vagina. You feel your walls opening up around him, gripping his cock tight. He begins to pump you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, telling you how sexy, and beautiful you are. How much he cares for you, how much he loves you. He’s making love to you. You moan his name out, his dick pumping deep inside of you, making your toes curl. “Dean you feel so good inside me!” You cry out, your nails trailing down his back making red marks. Dean groans into your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and hickeys along it. “If you keep on talking I’m going to cum.” Dean chuckles, making his pace faster.

“Cum for me Dean. Please cum for me!”

With that, Dean pours his cum straight into your pussy, you could feel his dick twitch strongly inside of you. His pulls out, and his cum leaks out of you. He gets off of you, and lays down behind you, pulling you into an embrace. He snuggles his face into your hair, breathing in your scent. “I won’t leave you, (Y/N).”

•••

The birds chirping in the morning wake you up. You roll over to find the bed empty. You sigh, typical. You throw on an oversized tee and head down the stairs, however a smell of fresh coffee, bacon, eggs, and pancakes fill you senses. There Dean is making some breakfast for the two of you. He didn’t leave.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Dean smiles at you, bringing you over a fresh cup of coffee. He places a kiss on your forehead as he does so. “So I’m thinking today I can go and buy that lawnmower…”

The end

Or is it?

[ssentimentals]

Hi from the prompt 44. With Wonwoo 😉thank you

hi, pumpkin!💜 thanks for the request, hopefully you will like it!

44. kiss out of lust (jeon wonwoo)

tw: alcohol consumption, wonwoo is drunk!

wonwoo is usually not easily swayed but tonight he's been feeling all types of way and all of them were sad and depressing, so vodka and redbull it is. minghao warned him to take it slow to which wonwoo simply shrugged - what's the point of takign it slow if everything is falling apart? the thing is - he saw you. with another guy. and it's supposed to be fine cause you two are not together anymore and you are free to date whoever you want, but no one said that it'll hurt like that. he's pretty sure his heart already bled dry and that's not blood pumping through his veins but water from his tears. fuck, it hurts, just seeing you talk to another guys, it hurts.

'it didn't have to be a date,' minghao shouts in his ear, trying to be louder than edm track dj turned on right now. 'maybe they were just talking and that's it.'

how is that supposed to make me feel better? wonwoo thinks but doesn't ask. his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, he can't formulate any sentences once his mind grows hazy. and whoever said that alcohol numbs the pain is a liar because wonwoo feels everything even more, every single memory of you turns more vivid in his mind. he looks around the club, squinting at the mess of people on the dance floor. at first he thinks he's hallucinating but loud 'shit' from minghao proves that he's not. it really is you. out there, dancing with your girls, looking absolutely sinful and - wonwoo swallows that bitter pill - looking like you're having time of your life. someone pats him consolingly on the back and wonwoo only growls at that in annoyance. alcohol burns inside and he moves before he can think, gos straight to you, pushing away all other people. your eyes widen when you notice him and you say something to your friends, who all scatter away.

'wonwoo?' you mouth, raising your eyebrows.

so, so beautiful. wonwoo can't think of anything else, his brain is hung up on how beautiful you are and how you are not his anymore. he has no rights on you anymore and it hurts and he's drunk and his body doesn't listen to him anymore. why can't he have you back? why can't you just take him back? don't you know how it hurts? wonwoo steps closer, looks at with like a man obsessed and when he kisses you firmly, the only thought on his mind is how right that is. your lips against his, your body close to his, your hands on his chest pushing him away... what?

'no.' you pull away, eyes blazing with anger. 'no, jeon wonwoo.'

he is drunk and while alcohol burns, your rejection burns even stronger. your gaze softens and you slowly shake your head, looking at him. 'no,' you mouth back at him. and wonwoo knows when he's not needed but he never knew it from you.

'i'm sorry,' he mutters, barely breathing. 'i'm so sorry.'

he moves, every step he takes away from you weakens his bones, makes it harder for him to breathe. he leaves you, lets you be and goes back to vodka and redbull, mourning his main loss of his life.

[leonskennedysfavoritewife]

Sobriety - Part 2

DILF!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k PART 1

MINORS DNI! 18+

WARNINGS: depressive themes, creampie, praise kink, age gap relationship, slight mention of su*cide.

Other: No use of Y/N, aftercare, Leon is acting like a boomer that he is- surprise (not), him and Chris being my favorite pair of friends that definitely have had experimental sex at some point (I consider this canon but it’s not apart of this story)

The sun shone through the blinds- Leon’s head pounding harshly as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

“Fuck.” He grumbled- shifting in his bed- wait. This wasn’t his bed. It smelled of perfume, floral fabric softener- and the sheets were silky on his naked form. He had slept so well he had forgotten he had even… shit.

You laid on your stomach- peacefully sleeping with your hair in your face- naked.

Cute. Is what Leon had thought before realizing everything that happened last night. You two hadn’t been drunk- but definitely tipsy and equally horny. It slipped his mind that the two of you had even fucked twice.

‘Cuddle with me?’ you had asked lightheartedly after everything. Leon already knew that- 1: You were up to no good. And 2: He too was up to no good. It was hard to not be hard around you.

Though- the two of you did get a nice cuddle session in. He both loved and enjoyed affectionate things like that.

Before he could move or snap from his thoughts on his own- you grumbled something and lifted your head- hair a mess and your body halfway uncovered as the sheet slid off of you.

“I’m leaving the whiskey to you ‘old farts’ from now on…” you murmured- Leon smiling at your jest. He put a hand on your back- rubbing soothingly.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, taking a moment to admire how pretty you were even in this state.

You mumbled a soft mhm, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your back. He slowly removed his hand after a few moments, leaning over to check his phone on the nightstand. 10:23 am, along with missed calls that must have been silenced.

Fuck! he had forgotten he had work today.

He jumped up, getting into his boxers and looking for his jeans- frantic.

“Woah, what is it?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Late for work.” He responded, throwing the rest of his clothes on.

“You can’t shower first?” You asked facetiously.

“This kind of job doesn’t exactly allow much room to be this late.” His tone was a bit harsh- but you just tried to assure yourself he was just stressed right now.

He grabbed his keys and his phone, walking towards the door of your bedroom.

“I’ll text you, okay? I’m sorry to leave like this.”

You smiled, your reply lying within your face. He smiled back for a moment, before going down the hallway and letting himself out.

“Leon. Where the hell have you been? We tried calling you. The damned D.S.O. Was ready to come knock down your door.” Chris whisper-yelled, walking alongside Leon.

“I was busy.” Is all he replied, settling himself in front of the office’s coffee machine- pouring himself a steamy black cup.

“Busy? What the hell can you be busy with that you don’t answer your phone for once. I almost thought-“

“That I had offed myself? Yeah- as much as I’ve worried you and Claire before, I’m fine. It’s just life stuff.”

Chris scanned Leon’s face, looking him over. He didn’t smell like alcohol, which was a constant recently, and his clothes weren’t straightened and presentable like they always were.

“Oh.” Is all he said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Leon knew Chris well enough to turn when he said that- practically hearing his smirk loud and clear.

“What’s that look for?”

“You know- you’re never usually this calm. Normally you’d be arguing back with me. That’s all.” Chris chuckled, amused.

“No- what’s so funny?” Leon pressed the issue further.

“You got laid, then?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Leon could swear he felt visible heat coming off of his face and he turned back to the counter, sipping his coffee.

“You fucking did! Well- that explains a lot recently.” Chris added.

“Keep your voice down. Jeez.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“Who is it?”

Leon sighed- realizing he wasn’t exactly in a bad mood- even with Chris grilling him.

“She lives in my apartment building.”

Chris’s face turned somehow even more intrigued.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He uncrossed his arms and patted Leon on the back, walking off.

“I’ll come finish pestering you later, buddy.” He teased, his voice a little too loud for Leon’s liking.

Idiot.

Finally- the last few reports were out of the way and he could relax. Leon had a few interns around to help manage his workload anyways- being the D.S.O. ‘Golden Boy’ (he hated that nickname), it was a given.

He closed the door to his office, sitting down at his desk and pulling his phone out. No text from you. He assumed the worst, and figured you probably hated him for leaving so abruptly.

No. Stop that.

Yeah. His abandonment issues ran deep.

He sighed, typing up a message for you. He hated spilling his feelings over text- which he barely knew how to text in the first place- but it felt so… in-personable.

“Hey- sorry to leave so suddenly. I can’t exactly disclose my work but I just hope you know last night meant a lot to me.”

Send.

He leaned back in his chair- anxious. He didn’t care about how mushy it was- he just wishes he could give a better explanation. To tell you about everything. This job. The bullshit. But he’d rather be sure he can safely tell you without getting a bullet to the back of the head for saying it.

Buzz.

He picked up his phone from his lap, quick.

“I understand. It meant a lot to me too- but I wouldn’t be mad at you for having work. I just hope you’re doing alright, is all. 💕 “

Leon’s heart fluttered for a moment, relief flooding his veins. You were understanding and actually giving a shit- despite most people doing the opposite.

He smiled wide to himself- his fingers typing.

“Yeah. I’m perfect- thanks to you, anyways.”

You both sent a few more back and forths- Leon so invested he didn’t even realize Chris had entered his office and was standing behind him- watching him text.

“Damn- look at you being all tech savvy. You two are cute.” Chris interrupted.

“Redfield. Get out.”

“Woah- your best friend comes to tell you that you can leave early and this is how you treat him?”

Leon cocked his head.

“Leave early? Why?”

Chris walked around the office- looking at the decor briefly.

“Oh, nothing much. I just might have.. put in a word that you needed a short vacation.. pulled some strings here or there.” He mumbled the last part, turning to Leon again.

What?

“Vacation?” Leon stood up, pushing his chair back.

“What did you say? Do you know how fucking long I’ve been trying to get a damned vacation- and they just listen to you over m-“

“Woah- woah. All I said was… well.. mentioned your little girlfriend. That’s all.”

God dammit.

“Chris. Her and I are not dating, and you can’t just go around-“

“Leon. Just take the damned leave and go home.”

Leon went straight back to his apartment- needing some time to himself. Apparently, before- he hadn’t been a priority for a vacation, being a single man and all. But now that they suspected he had a relationship- they were more willing to give him time away. After all- the single men at the D.S.O. were always the ones picking up the toughest, dirtiest jobs and heavy workloads. It also helped that Chris was oh-so-convincing.

Asshole.

He shrugged off his leather jacket- tossing it on the back of the couch.

The more he thought about it- the more a relationship didn’t sound bad after all. Then again- his previously mentioned abandonment issues ran too deep.

On top of all of that- you guys only fucked after getting tipsy. Sure, it was obvious why you invited him, but was it really all that romantic and a calling for commitment? He did like you. A lot. More than a lot. Otherwise he wouldn’t have slept with you. His mind flooded with overwhelming thoughts about everything going on right now.

A date!

He wanted to properly take you out. Make up for this morning a little, too. If he was being honest- he’d buy or do whatever for you at this point.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, sending you a text.

He placed a hand on his chin- hoping that the text was okay. He was still getting used to the whole dating thing- especially with someone who was younger than him and more… caught up on things. He might as well live under a rock.

You looked over the last bit of your report before hitting save- your phone buzzing and bringing you from your school-work induced trance.

Glancing over Leon’s text- you couldn’t help but giggle.

He’s such a boomer.

You respond back with how much you’d love to- another text chain continuing for a bit.

It’s settled. Tonight Leon plans on taking you out for a date, details and time left secret to you as a surprise.

Leon feels the wave of excitement radiating through his nerves- barely able to contain it. He was happy to finally be able to get to know you a little more. Being friends- he knew plenty about you already- but now he could find out the personal details. Things the two of you wouldn’t tell most people. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself- but he hadn’t connected with someone in so long.. or ever. So he wanted it to go smoothly.

He showered- spending his usual 30 minutes after to style his hair. He wore a navy-blue suit and a white button up underneath, not bothering with a tie (He didn’t know how to tie one). He secured his watch back onto his wrist before spritzing on his cologne- going all out.

Not giving you a specific time- he decided to wait a while before showing up- figuring you might be ready by now. When he finally knocked on your door, you got up from the edge of your bed- nervous- wondering if you had dressed appropriately for this mystery date. You chose a short, simple but form-fitting black dress, heels to match, and your hair styled nicely to go along with your dark makeup.

You pulled the door open- the two of you equally blown away by the other.

Fuck. I want to tear that suit right off of-

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, almost entranced.

“And you look… handsome.” You say- almost feeling guilty by how horny looking at him made you. But if it was any constellation- he felt the same about you.

“Something wrong?” He hummed, gesturing for you to step out into the hallway with him.

“No- it’s just. You look really good.” You smile- hiding the fact you think he looks a lot more than just ‘good’.

He grins, smile lines and all.

“Shall we?” He asked- holding out his elbow for you to hook with his.

You respond by doing so- Leon leading you down the hallway and helping you carefully down each step of the stairs. The trek to the parking lot was almost too long- the two of you now outside his car. and boy, was it nice.

“I thought you had a motorcycle?” You inquired, cocking your head.

He chuckled.

“Yeah- well it’s just for when I’m out on my own. I’d rather not risk something happening to you- especially since neither of us are dressed for the off chance we encounter road rash.”

“Ah- you’re right.” You hadn’t thought about that- then again you weren’t the most educated on motorcycles and riding as a passenger on one.

He pulls his keys from his suit pants, unlocking the vehicle and opening the door for you. You stepped in- sitting down on the shockingly comfortable leather seat.

Leon himself gets into the driver’s side- pressing the push to start button- roaring the smooth, quiet engine to life. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard people breathe louder than this car makes noise.

“So…. Mind me asking what you do for work? Drug lord? Pimp?” You tease- already figuring he won’t want to talk about it. Though, you still have some unease about his mystery job.

He sighs, a hand on your seat as he looks back to reverse the car.

“You’re cute. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Well- I can’t exactly give you details. Let’s just say I work for the government. At the most- all I can tell you is I work alongside the president.” He tries his best to give you as much as he can. He knows how unnerving it might be to go on a date and screw around with someone who you don’t even know where they work or how they get all of the money that they have.

Plus- he figures he owes you that much

“I see- so… if you work for the president- why are you living here? Wouldn’t a nice house or somewhere in Washington suffice?”

“Yeah- I suppose it may seem that way. But considering what I do, I’m always on the move. Not to mention- I don’t have time to be a homeowner. Repairs, upkeep. It’s a hassle. And sure- maybe I could hire someone to look after it- but again- with what I do, I can’t ever bring myself to feel comfortable with a complete stranger in my home. I like to keep things under my watch in the places I sleep. That- and I feel less unnerved on high ground.” He explains- every bit of it makes sense. Whatever he works with must be awful.

“What about me- I’m a stranger.” You add- mostly teasing but a little serious.

“Not… entirely. I trust you.” He says- turning to look at you for a moment before focusing back onto the road

You smile.

“I trust you too.”

The night continues- full of banter and you learning more about Leon- and vice versa. He had taken you to dinner in the city’s nicest restaurant- managing to score a last minute reservation thanks to, once again, his job title. It really did make you more and more curious now- but you knew better than to pry- especially after getting that much detail from him earlier. After dinner, the two of you were back in his car- satisfied after an expensive, filling meal.

“So…” he says, turning to look at you.

“Did you have a good time?” He asks, this not being the question you expected.

“No.” You start, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I had a great time.” He leans his head back on the seat with a thud, sighing

“You know- I’m practically a fossil. My heart could easily give out at this rate when you scare me like that.”

“Sorry- sorry. Maybe I should be carrying around a defibrillator?”

He chuckles, pushing his hair back for a second with relief.

You both make eye contact- silence strong.

Leon clears his throat, once again starting the car with a press of a button. A few minutes down the road and with soft rock music- courtesy of one of the ‘dad rock’ CD’s you had given him, an idea crossed your mind. Fuck. Maybe you should just go for it.

“I’m really glad you invited me out. I was starting to think I scared you off with the whole riding thing.”

You saw him visibly perk up, shifting in the drivers seat.

“Well- if that scared me off, I’d have to be a little fucked up in the head. I mean, it was-“ you interrupted him, a hand on his thigh- the fabric of his suit pants soft on your fingers.

He glanced at you, your face full of that usual mischievous look you gave before doing most anything at all. He knew it well at this point.

“Shit-“ he mumbled, feeling your fingers creep up his leg. He kept driving- his blue eyes scanning for somewhere to pull off. It didn’t take long.

You’re a little surprised by this- but the idea of fucking him in his car isn’t the worst idea. It actually starting to turn you on a lot.

He parks the car, one hand on the steering wheel.

“I can see what you’re doing, you know.” He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and a throb to your pussy

“Yeah?” You ask, a slight bite to you lip.

“All I’m going to say is…” He leans in, just a tad.

“I wanted tonight to be special. So, when we get back to mine, I’ll give you exactly what you want. We can fog up the windows another time.” He smirks, knowing he had misled you indefinitely.

You go to stammer something- but the car is already back on the road. But now- the anticipation and horniness are tenfold.

He shuts the door apartment door, turning to you. Without a word, he leads you off to his bedroom.

“Why don’t you go ahead and sit down for me, hm?” He asks, going to the bathroom and returning with two matching candles. He sets them both on the nightstand- lighter in hand as he ignites each wick. Then, he cuts off the light- leaving the room flickering with a sunset glow.

Leon kneels down in front of you, slipping off your heels and setting them aside- his hands trailing up your bare legs.

“You’re beautiful- you know it?” He asks- huffing a quiet breath as he says it.

“Stand up for me, baby.” You waste no time- letting him guide you up before he gently turns you around with his hands on your shoulders, moving his fingers to pull the zipper of your dress. Leon gently tugs the fabric down your body, letting it fall before you step out of it.

You feel his lips make contact on the back of your neck, hair brushed aside as he lavishes the area with care.

“So… so beautiful.” He mumbles against your soft skin. He again turns you back to face him- eying you over. “God…” is all he can say- urging you to lay down on the bed. He unbuttons his suit jacket- laying it in a nearby chair, his white button up joining it. His muscles tense as he moves, his hands finding their way to hook around your thighs and pull your butt to the edge of the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of your clothes pussy- the fabric of your black underwear hugging your puffy lips in a way that makes him let out a low groan.

Leon’s rough digits glide over your hips and descend to your waistband- tugging the lace garment down those pretty legs and off into the corner of his room.

“God- I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He murmurs- his breath now fanning your bare pussy. He takes two fingers- spreading you out and exposing your clit perfectly- swollen and aching to have any contact.

He trails kisses along your thighs, the present stubble tickling you before he makes his connection with your pussy- his tongue dragging flat against your clit- making you buck your hips suddenly. He takes the liberty to snake his arms around your thighs to keep you still while his mouth sucks at your clit for a moment- alternating between those gentle suckles and licks. Leon tries his best to apply his memorization from how you liked him touching you last night.

Your moans quickly pick up in pace and volume from his ministrations- never having felt something this pleasurable before. It’s almost too much- along with the vibrations as he hums in delight against your throbbing center.

Or, well, moans against you- his cock strained in his layer of boxers and tight suit pants created a delicious friction for him as he ate you out- his hips moving lightly to situate the ache.

His right hand creeps from around its place on your thigh- loosening the hold on your flesh and moving to your already soaked cunt. His index finger gathers some of your wetness before pushing in- curling gently after letting you adjust to the feeling.

He pumps his finger in and out- adding a second which gives a nice stretch- being that his fingers aren’t exactly small.

Your back arches against the bed, hands clutching his sheets and perfect, genuine moans escaping your lips which only spur more reverberated noises from Leon against your clit. He more than eagerly laps at you- still flicking his tongue against your puffy, overstimulated bud.

You prop up on your elbows, watching him go at you like he’ll never get another chance to do so. His eyes flicker up for a moment- a sort of grin on his face without stopping what he’s doing. His other hand on your thigh creeps along your stomach to your chest now- pushing you to lie back- a silent agreement that he wants you to relax and enjoy it. (Which would be impossible not to)

You can barely get any other thoughts in- your orgasm so, so close. And it takes just a few more precise licks and a curl of his fingers and you’re in heaven- moaning and whining out for him while tugging on his soft hair.

But he doesn’t stop just yet- he runs his tongue along all of you- tasting every bit that he may have even missed before giving a last gentle suck to your overwhelmed bundle.

Now- here he was positioned on top of you, your thighs on either side of his hips as he stared down at you and unhooked your bra. He set it aside- his hands gliding over your stomach.

“God- where do I even start..?” He murmured, raising up on his knees a bit- his cock already poking at your puffy lips. You could feel him twitch slightly- his face conveying that he was thinking.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I enjoy looking at that pretty face when I’m in you.” The butterflies in your stomach soar with glee.

He reached one hand down- guiding himself against your entrance and pushing in slightly.

“Fuck-“ He looked down at himself sliding into you- his face proud and his cheeks tinged red while his hair covered his face.

“This what you wanted, baby?” He asked, bottoming out with his hips flush against your butt- his hands moving your legs onto his shoulders. The nickname is still making your head feel light and airy- it’s almost absurd how endearing he is despite the two of you still not being official.

You nod, a small ‘yes’ escaping quietly.

“Oh, I know. You’re cute. Thinking I couldn’t tell how badly who wanted it in the car. If I’m honest- I almost caved right there.” He huffed towards the end of his sentence, pulling out and slamming back into you with a good bit of force but not roughly. He wanted to keep things a tad bit sensual- unless you begged otherwise.

He began moving in and out slowly- your walls dragging along his cock.

“Jesus…” he mumbled, his hands coming up and caressing your thighs gently as he moved his hips- no guidance from his hands.

“Leon-“

“Hm? What is it, baby?” His voice is so low and gravely that you swear it even travels through you- striking every chord of pleasure.

“Faster- please.”

A soft smile played on his lips- and he stopped for a moment's time, turning to kiss gently on the leg that rested on his left shoulder- the familiar tickle of his stubble making you squirm a little.

“You know… I think I might be able to do that. Maybe hearing a ‘pretty please’ might help me decide, though.” .

“Pretty please.”

“Pretty please what?” He grins, his brown strands feathered messily across one side of his face.

“Pretty please… fuck me faster.” You muster- any embarrassment fading.

He turns, letting out a low laugh of amusement.

“When you ask like that- I’ll give you what-“ he slams back into you fast, punctuating his words. “-ever you want.” He warbles the end of his sentence, and his movements are fast now. Leon bites his lip- his own hushed noises coming out louder than he intends. Grunts and low, throaty moans.

“God, baby.” He gently guides your legs off of his shoulders, leaning forward onto his palms by either side of your head so he can be closer. Your lower limbs lock around him eagerly, making him chuckle.

He keeps his weight on his palms, bending his arms a bit so we can lower down enough to kiss you while his cock plunges in and out of your wetness.

The kiss itself is slow and sensual- for a moment he bites your lower lip gently before pulling away.

“You feel so fucking good…” he picks up one palm and trails a finger over your lower lip- puffy and swollen from his earlier nibble. “So pretty… You like when I fuck you deep like this?”

You nod.

“Yes- Leon. ‘Ts so good…” you mumble hazily, drunk off of him.

He’s eating up everything about this- your face, your noises, the way your body reacts. Even better is how infatuated he is with you.

“Glad to hear it, pretty girl. Fuck- you want me to cum in you again?” A broken ‘yes’ escapes you- barely- and he thrusts a little harder, clearly trying to give you exactly what you want.

“Oh my god…fuck- you feel so…so good.” He groans, clashing his lips to yours as he cums in you- buried as deep as he can possibly be with one arm hooked under you to keep you close. His body is tense for a moment and he gives you a soft, lingering kiss before pulling out and sighing.

He rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him- his muscular arms wrapped around you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face- appreciating the afterglow and crimson flush on your face.

“I really like you.” He says- out of nowhere.

“Mmm… I could kind of tell. But I really like you too.” You respond, the way he looks at you makes you melt.

“Good, because uh.. that leads me into my next proposition. I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

You’re taken aback for a second- you had figured with his job he wouldn’t exactly be open to a relationship- but your heart flutters.

You return his earlier gesture- brushing his hair out of his face.

“Well- consider me your girlfriend.” He smiles- pulling you closer to him to kiss you once more, before patting your back. You groan, not wanting to leave your spot on top of him, but you know he wants you to pee and clean up. And you know better than to not do so for your own sake.

He helps you to the bathroom just like he had the night before, sitting you down on the toilet. He walks out, pulling the sheets off of the bed and putting them in the hamper- and you can’t lie- you take a moment to appreciate his ass. It’s…really nice. Probably better than mine.

You giggle internally, finishing up in the bathroom. Leon’s already putting on new sheets- spreading the comforter back over the bed.

He looks over at you, smiling.

“Hey- uh… maybe you’d want to stay over? I can make us breakfast tomorrow.” He asks, saying it carefully as if you’d decline.

You smile. Once again- your answer lying within your expression.

[eldritch-spouse]

I want to know how many monsters spend their paychecks at Gallon's bar crying because they developed feelings for Santi 💀

" I just... He's so amazing man. I don't even know why I'm crying, I don't deserve him. "

The latest sad sap cries onto his precious counter. Gallon circumvents them to give Fasma a shot of plain whiskey.

" You really don't. " He mumbles.

" H- Huh? "

" Nothing. Say champ, why not have another night with the hunk if you like him so much? " The bartender tilts his head, trying to cheer up the loser, or get them off his metaphorical nuts.

The monster sniffles, looking into the distance, where none other than the incubus is seen on his knees, hands on his thighs and tongue out as he apparently waits for a woman to squirt in his mouth while her hammered friends cheer her on. Gallon follows their gaze. Yeah, seems like a standard night for the resident manwhore.

" Just look at him, so radiant, so perfect. I don't want sex, dude- I want to love him! "

Fasma grimaces, definitely not because of the alcohol. He's seen Santi effortlessly do some of the dirtiest shit he could ever imagine, the thought of kissing those lips could send the old geezer into an early grave.

Gallon continues to work. " Oh boy. " He hopes this one makes a scene. It's a bit fun when they break down and throw a tantrum because the incubus won't give them the light of day unless they're putting out.

The depressed sod sniffles. " Do you think I have a chance? I... I have his phone number. "

Everyone and their mother has Santi's phone number. Maybe their father too.

Gallon grins creepily wide. " Suuure buddy, give it an honest shot. The worst he can say is no, right? " Fasma wordlessly shakes his head in disapproval of the slime's cruelty.

His client starts clumsily tip-tapping at their phone, likely typing something extensive and heartfelt, and now Gallon has to admit he's invested. If only because he knows how it'll end, and he likes to see the light fade from a hopeless romantic's eyes.

A phone eventually pings on the opposite corner of the counter, Santi's. It prompts the incubus to come over, still sucking the cuntjuice out of his fingers, some coating his chin. He doesn't bother to look around as he unlocks his device and squints at the notification. Gallon, Fasma and the client are eerily silent while he opens the text.

The incubus reads about the first three lines, frowns, then looks up. " Gallon, are you busy? "

" Uhh... Not any more than usual, why? "

The phone is slid his way. " Write me a rejection message here, please. I don't want this one coming back. "

And just like that, he turns back around, likely to see if any of the other girls can play with him too.

Gallon has to contain a maddening bark of laughter that is slowly turning him orange. He didn't even recognize the mess of a monster looking so hopefully at him from just across the counter. Oh that has got to sting!

He absolutely loses his cool and has to muffle his cackling when the monster in question wails brokenly and buries their head in their arms, sobbing like a dejected baby.

Fasma pats their back twice. They need that whiskey more than him.

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity part.6

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: fluff, some angst, ooc simon, virgin! reader, 18+ smut, cunnilingus, piv, praise kink, this a softer smut, degrading terms are still gonna be used but in a praising way because i think after everything that's happened her first time shouldn't be too much, he still gets rough though. size kink, overstimulation!receiving, some masochism!receiving on simon's behalf, some sub!ghost, cursing.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count:

The last half a year wasn't as bad as she thought it'd be. Turns out she wasn't a sociopath, she had some tendencies sure, but in reality she was just broken from years of unresolved trauma. She had a long way to go, but according to the reports sent to HQ by her therapist, Ms. Maeve Riva, she was making excellent progress.

Price moved out halfway through her leave, and at first she was happy about it, the flat was a lot cleaner, quieter, she had more space for herself and she could decorate it in peace without hearing him grumble about how feminine her decor was.

But she got lonely within a week, and adding on the depression from reliving her worst traumatic experiences, she'd end up calling someone to talk to, which was more often than not, Price. She trusted him enough for that, and she knew he wouldn't tell the team. She wanted them to think she was getting better, and in a lot of ways she was, but some aspects of recovery couldn't be helped.

It was the last day before she was officially off leave and back on call, and she wanted to make it memorable. She sat down in her usual spot in front of Maeve who smiled warmly at her.

"Last day! I brought.." She pulled out two half liter bottles of cherry coke, handing one to her with a cheeky look in her eyes.

"These, to celebrate you! Look how far you've come!" Her therapist gushed emotionally. She chuckled, cracking it open and taking a sip. She sighed at the burn of the carbonation as it slide down to her stomach.

"Thank you Maeve. Couldn't have done it without you and you're weird obsession with tea." Maeve rolled her eyes, snickering as she took a swig from her bottle. Normally she'd do this with alcohol, but knowing her client it was best not to.

"So what's on the agenda for today. Party your heart out, one night stand." She hummed, shrugging her shoulders.

"I was actually gonna call a friend of mine."

"Oooooo one night stand with a friend then. Those are always interesting." She laughed and looked at her incredulously.

"No no no just for some time to reconnect. I'm getting tired of being alone all the time." Maeve nodded, tilting her bottle towards her in agreement.

"Who's this friend of yours? Are they hot?"

"Name's classified, but damn straight he's hot. Shit. I wanted to climb him like a tree when we first met." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Alright then. So have you asked him out yet?" She sighed, leaning back on the couch.

"Nope. Don't even know where he is right about now. Haven't tried to call in the last 6 months either."

"And why is that?" Here the therapy session truly started.

"About 2 weeks before I was put on leave we had an.. altercation. Meaning a knife to my neck and some hurtful words. He apologized, we moved on, but a part of me still feels like what he said was true." She knew what she was referring to, and she leaned forward and put her hand on her knee gently.

"You then and you now are two very different people. Yes your occupation requires more, gruesome methods of getting information out of people, but you feel remorse, you do it out of necessity. You can't keep beating yourself up about it." Y/N nodded, looking down at her phone for a second in contemplation.

"Give him a call. I'll be here with you." Her eyes flickered to Maeve's, only seeing comfort and reassurance. She sighed, her tongue poking at the side of her cheek for a moment before she picked up her phone and looked in her notes. She'd asked Price for Simon's number before he left, and she saved it for when she got the courage to actually contact him. She took a deep breath, hitting the call button and listening to it ring in her ear.

"This is Ghost." Her heart was beating out her chest, the sound of his voice causing her eyes to water involuntarily. Maeve noticed the immediate panic in her eyes and reached over to squeeze her hand, gesturing her to respond. She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could tell by her facial expressions the idea of what was going on.

"Uh-, hey, it's Y/N." All the air left his lungs for a moment, his throat dry as he sat up from his bed. It was his off day, so he back at his flat, watching some old crime movie that he'd seen a while back and took a liking to.

"I just wanted to ask if you um, if you wanted to just ya know, hang out with me later. If you can." She hated how she sounded. Her voice was shaky and she was having a hard time getting the words out. The silence was killer, and it was because he was shocked. 6 months of no contact and suddenly she's asking him to dinner.

"...Yeah. Alright. Time?" Her eyes blew open, Maeve cheering her on as she forced herself to remain calm.

"Does 6:30 work for you? I know you prefer staying in so I can-"

"S'alright I'll come to you. I know where you live anyway."

"Oh alright." It went silent for a bit, and she shrugged at Maeve's curious look.

"...You doing alright then?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it when I see. I don't have alcohol so if you plan to drink you'll have to bring your own. Oh, and no masks. Bye." She hung up quickly, taking a deep inhale as she looked at Maeve with wide eyes.

"So you have a date then."

"I guess so. He's coming to me... fuck." She realized she had no idea when he was going to show up.

"We can cut this one short. I got you covered." She thanked her, seeing it was 4 and she needed time to get ready. She rushed home, cleaning up before racing upstairs to change where she was suddenly at a loss. What the hell was she going to wear?

Simon was in no better situation either, staring at his closet that consisted of hoodies, cargo pants, black t-shirts, and mostly work attire. What did a hang out at her place constitute? Nothing formal surely, casual? He decided on a black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of black shoes he had that weren't too worn out.

The idea of no masks surprised him, but he didn't care too much. They'd known each other for years and he'd been meaning to find a reason to show her his face, and seeing her own. Then realization struck him.

Did that mean she's not wearing one either?

He couldn't help the sudden bloom of excitement in his chest and stomach at the thought of it. He sprayed on his cologne and grabbed his keys before heading to his car. He had memorized the way there, having driven by sometimes to catch a quick glimpse at her as a way to check in.

She sighed, looking in the mirror at her final look, fear and overthinking plaguing her mind. She didn't wanna look like a bum in her own house, so she put on a nicer pair of clothes, which was really just an all black, long sleeve two piece. She looked comfortable but put together at the same time, even if she was anything but the latter.

What if she just called him and said something came up? What if he's already driving over here?

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, mentally cursing herself as she sprayed herself with her favorite perfume and scurried downstairs while adjusting her hair. With a deep breath, the door opened and her eyes blew open, and so did his.

Fuckin' hell. I'm not gonna make it through the night. He thought to himself.

Her mask was off, revealing her perfect nose, skin, and god those lips. They were just the right size, shiny with whatever lipgloss she was wearing. She flashed him a smile that took his breath away. Her outfit hugged her curves in sinful ways that made him swallow his drool before it had to chance to run out of his mouth.

He was just as hot, the way his clothes perfectly hugged him figure, showing off the slim of his waist and broad, bulky shoulders. His pants accentuated his muscular thighs, getting just that much tighter around them as he moved in them.

His jaw was chiseled, as if sculpted by the Gods themselves, his scars added depth to his face with plump lips and a look that would make anyone's drawls or panties fall off. She's surprised hers didn't.

"You look great."

"You look beautiful." They said at the same time, their cheeks beginning to burn.

"Thank you Simon. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too Y/N, oh and I.. I brought these.. for you." He pulled out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, her eyes lighting up in surprise as she hadn't noticed his arm behind his frame in the first place. They were gorgeous. White roses with stems of lavender to compliment them.

"Awwww thank you. These are beautiful." She smelled them, humming at the aroma.

"Do you mind if I put them in a vase really quick?" He shook his head, watching her shuffle back into the flat as he trailed behind her, shutting the door. He took his time looking around, nodding to himself as he was impressed at how well decorated it was. He left his fairly bare, the walls were gray and he'd only furnished it with the necessities. He watched her walk back into the room, bending down to put the flowers on the coffee table in front of the couches.

He almost groaned at how perfectly those pants hugged her legs, complimenting the shape of her ass as she adjusted the vase to be at the center of the table. Her hair fell off to the side beautifully, her velvet locks entrancing him as this was only the second time he'd seen it naturally. He forced himself to look away as she stood back up, smiling at them before shifting her gaze to him. She noticed that he didn't bring anything other than the flowers.

"Not drinking tonight?" He shook his head, dropping his keys onto the table.

"Alright, do you want anything else? Water, I have some coke."

"Coke's fine." She hummed, quickly grabbing two bottles from her fridge and coming back to see him getting himself comfortable on her couch.

"Here." She passed it to him before taking a seat next to him, crossing her leg over the other as she grabbed the remote to put on a movie.

Fuck, those thighs of hers.

He couldn't help but let his mind drift off for just a moment.

How good they'd look locked around his head as he ate her pretty little cunt out until she was begging for him to stop. How'd they feel against his body as he fucked her through the night. Their smoothness, how'd they be shaking by dawn.

"Simon, you okay?" Her voice dragged him out. She looked at him curiously as he snapped out of it suddenly, embarrassed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She pressed, making him snicker to her surprise.

"I don't think we'd make it to the end of the movie if I told you that." Her jaw dropped for a moment, suddenly not sure how to comprehend his blatant statement as her thighs unconsciously pressed together.

"Don't do that." He commanded roughly, eyes flickering away from her legs and his hand squeezing the bottle in his hand a bit tighter. Suddenly she understood, and she couldn't help the grin stretching across her face making him roll his eyes.

"I know I know, I'm hot. Don't gotta tell me." She teased lightly, chuckling to herself.

"Don't get all cocky on me now. You were the one fantasizing about me while I was in the shower that one time." "Fuck yeah. Told my therapist about it too, she thought I should've shot my shot when I had the chance back then." He looked over to her for a brief moment, watching as she took in the look in his eyes before they flickered back to the screen.

"You could still shoot it." He suggested quietly, his cheeks burning red as he took another swig of his drink. He wished he'd brought the damn whiskey.

"Would I miss?" He huffed a small laugh at her uncertainty.

"You never miss." Her throat went dry, her eyes darting around the room in front of her before her hand reached out to the one he had on his thigh, grasping it in hers before resting it on the meat of hers.

She sighed lightly at the feeling of his hand squeezing her quads, her eyes shutting for a moment as she let her head fall back.

"Call it a miracle if we get to the credits Riley." He chuckled, his thumb stroking her clothed skin gently. They watched the movie in tense silence, their breathing a bit ragged in an attempt to not jump on each other.

"So, how's the team been?" She began, watching him shift in his spot.

"S'been good. Soap's still a shithead but what's new with that." He listened to her chuckle, missing the melody of it.

"Not surprising."

"How's therapy been? Honestly." He was looking for a genuine answer, turning his head and seeing her bite her inner cheek for a moment.

"It's been rough at times, but I guess I should've been expecting that." She avoided Simon's gaze for a bit while, feeling a bit odd talking about it. When she looked back up, she noticed his look focused on her neck.

Her hand reached up, feeling the unevenness in the area from the scar that was left after he pressed his knife against her neck.

"It's okay, forgot it was even there." She brushed off.

"No it's not." Every part of him regretted that, he never forgave himself.

"It was justified. I threatened you before that too. You were just scared, rightfully so." She had reached over to the other side of him, grasped his clenched fist and gently poking her fingers through the break it apart.

"Si, honey. Look at me." His eyes flickered to hers, his chest tightening at the tenderness looking back at him as she squeezed his hand. She was so close, he could smell her lovely perfume, one that made his head spin.

"I forgive you. Okay?" He hesitated, his hand slowly relaxing as hers slipped in, intertwining their fingers for a moment before she sat back. She noticed the dazed look on his face, his mouth slightly opened as his eyes flickered all over her body, from her face, to her waist, to her legs, and back up.

"So how long have you had a crush on me for."

"Oh fuckin' hell."

"What it's a fair question! I'll answer if you answer."

"I'm not answering that."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bloody stupid question that's why."

"No it's not! If we're gonna fuck then I should at least get to know how long you've been waiting." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his eyebrow and listening to her laugh.

"Well, hopefully not JUST fuck, but I'll take what I can get." She added on quietly, picking at her nails with a small smile on her lips.

"Since a few months after we met." He answered suddenly, looking back up at her. His stare was intense, as it always was, his amber eyes boring into hers.

"Yeah. About the same for me. I didn't understand it for a while until I went through therapy, a bit before that but I wasn't completely sure until I talked it out." He nodded.

"Thank you, by the way." She spoke up, her leg beginning to bob nervously.

"For?"

"Everything. Trying to help me when I didn't want it, coming back for me, fighting HQ for me. All that stuff."

"Of course I came back for you." She placed down her bottle with a shrug.

"I didn't think you would."

Sick, selfish bastard. I don't want something like that on my team.

Those words had stuck with her, and he could tell.

"Oh um, speaking of. We did this thing in therapy where I had to write a letter to the person I think I hurt the most and you were one of them. I was gonna mail it but I never found the courage. Can I just give it to you now?" His eyes widened for a moment, placing down his coke on the floor next to him and giving her a curt nod. She rushed upstairs, opening her drawer and taking out the singular letter she had kept, the rest already having been shipped out.

She stared at it for a moment. Was she ready to hand this to him? For him to read her thoughts and emotions during one of the most vulnerable times of her life? She could say she lost it, accidentally shipped it to the wrong address by mistake. She could've just wrote "sorry for being a prick my bad" and moved on, but she made it personal, emotional, she was pretty sure that there was a stain on it from a tear that had fallen as she wrote.

"Get lost?" Simon called out, noticing how long she'd been gone. She took a deep breath before going back down, staring down at it as she took a seat next to him. He could see her hesitance to hand it to him, her fingers tightly glued to the sides.

"Read it to me then." He offered, shifting his body to face her.

"I'm not sure if that'll be any better."

"I disagree. Go on. Take your time." She felt small in that moment, his intense gaze causing her hands to shake as her finger glided over the indents of his name written on the front. She turned it over, gently slipping her finger underneath the seal of the envelope and opening it, pulling out the letter.

"I tried to keep it short." She spoke, her heart pounding and her voice wavering. He nodded, though she likely didn't see it with how trained her eyes were on the letter. With a deep breath, she started, her voice being the only sound in the room as Simon paused the movie.

"Dear Simon, I dreaded writing your letter because of how personal it would be, but I managed to force myself to pick up my pen and put ink on the page. This letter has no goal, and my therapist told me it was supposed to make me feel better, but that isn't the case for this one."

She stopped for a moment, feeling her throat close up and tighten.

"Take your time lovie." He crooned softly, watching as her eyes darted around the page. She could do this, she thought to herself, clearing her throat and beginning again.

"We've known each other for a few years now, and at first I thought we'd be great friends. We were alike in some ways and even if some our conversations were painfully awkward, I looked forward to them. I was excited when I found out that I was being moved to team 141 because I'd see you again. I used to stay up sometimes and think about some bullshit future with you, where we'd live somewhere quiet together, getting old with a cat and a small garden in the back or whatever else I imagined. But then I actually got there."

She could feel the tears burning in her eyes. Simon didn't speak, instead he just continued to stare at her with a soft gaze, watching the emotions flicker in her eyes, like the candlelight he had seen all that time ago.

"I was confused. I didn't understand why I imagined these fantasies about us or why I wanted to be around you in the first place. I couldn't handle all of it at the time. I had done horrible things in front of you, tortured people in ways that now I can't stomach thinking about. There is no amount of money or apologies I can give to take my actions back, to bring those people back to life and figure out another way. And I did it because I'd seen it done before. I've watched the strongest of people break in Verdansk, and I replicated it because I knew it would work, and that's what matters right? That i got the job done."

Her voice had cracked, the tears that had once blurred her vision now streaming down her cheeks.

"I know that none of this is an excuse, and I won't ask for your forgiveness because I know that I don't deserve it. But I need you to know that I'm sorry, for hurting you, for scaring you, for failing you. Your face in that room is what I see when I close my eyes at night, consistently reliving it every chance of sleep that I get. You tried to save me and I didn't let you, and I'll always regret that. You words stuck with me, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make amends with myself and everyone else I've hurt. If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading, and for what it's worth, if anything, I'm truly sorry for what I've done to you.

Yours wholeheartedly,

-Y/N L/N."

He watched as she covered her face with the paper to try and hide her sobs, even though her body shook and convulsed lightly as she cried. His body moved before his mind did, getting up silently. She thought he was leaving, and she was okay with that.

"Hey, look at me." He cooed softly, gently taking the paper from her tight grip and placing it on the table behind him. Her eyes flickered to his, her cheeks red and puffy in his hands as he cupped her cheeks.

"I forgive you, Y/N." His voice was calm, even. She shook her head, her hands coming up to her face to hide her tears, only for him to pull her arms away and intertwine their fingers.

"What I said was fucked up. It's not true. You're not sick, you're not selfish. Do you hear me?" The resolve in his eyes only made her feel worse. She wanted him to hate her, to scream in her face and rip up her letter, but here he was. On his knees in front of her and holding her hands, doing the opposite.

"You're all I want, and you're all I'll need. I know that now, always have." He could still see the hesitance and disbelief in her wide range of emotions, so he did what he's been wanting to do for so long. His hands went back to her face, and with a gentle tug their lips met. It was almost too overwhelming, the sensations that flooded her senses soon overpowered her. She kissed back with the same fiery passion, sighing into his mouth as his hands dropped to her waist.

He rose, pushing her frame back into the couch, hovering over her. She was engulfed by him, he kissed her like it would be his last, pouring every ounce of his soul into hers, and she drank it gladly. She engraved the feeling of his soft lips on hers into her mind, feeling the roughness of his palms gliding under her top to feel her skin against his.

"Let me show you how much I need you lovie." He muttered against her lips, his eyes dark with lust, love, and desire.

"Let me take care of you."

Her throat when dry at his words as they sent shockwaves through her body, her thighs pressing together once more as heat gathered in the place she now needed him the most. With a single nod she was picked up in his arms, her legs wrapped around his middle as he began heading up the stairs to her room.

"Where." He followed her point to the right, pushing the door open with his hand and shutting it with his leg. His lips met hers again, moaning at the feeling of her hands combing through his hair. He tossed her onto the bed with a small umph, and she suddenly regretted wearing pants.

~ Oh we're switching to 2nd POV for this yall. Buckle up! Or should I say saddle up ;)))) ~

He settled himself between your legs, his hands squeezing the flesh of your plump ass as his lips hit yours, this time rougher and more needy.

"You ever done this before lovie?" He mumbled against your lips. Your breath hitched, your body tensing underneath his as you look away, embarrassed by your unspoken answer. He on the other hand, he loved it. His length grew impossibly harder at the idea of him being your first and your last.

He'd be damned to let you go again. You were it for him, it ended here, just you and him.

"Hey hey, look at me." Your eyes flickered to his, only to find fondness and excitement in his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours.

"It's alright love. I'm more than happy to be your first." He could feel you relax, his lips grazing over yours as he moved to your ear.

"I'll do it right yeah? I'll take my time with you, give it to you real nice and ruin you. You want that sweet thing? You want me to ruin you?" He could hear your uneven, shaky breaths as your legs pressed together, trying to relieve some of the pressure of your arousal. He groaned at the sight, of your small body under his and aching to be touched by his big, rough hands.

"Please Si." You whimpered, your eyes shiny with lust and need. He used his knee to push your legs open, his hand traveling down your body and cupping your hot sex. Your skin burned at him feeling how wet you were, the moisture pushing through your panties and just nearly to your pants.

"I know lovie. I got you, always have right?" You nodded vigorously, buckling your hips into his hand desperately for some friction. He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips before they traveled to your neck. You felt his tongue travel over your scar in a silent apology, one of likely many as his hand cupped your breast under your shirt. He loved how perfectly they fit in his hands, how soft and supple they were.

"How about we take some of these things off." His suggestion was more of an order, and you worked quick, pulling off your top and unclipping your bra as his knees sat on either side of your hips, watching with a raging hard on and sultry eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful love, so perfect for me." You felt vulnerable under his intense gaze, gripping the sheets to stop yourself from covering your chest. His head came down, swirling his tongue around your nipple as he teased and pinched the other one. Your breathy, soft moans were music to his ears, and they only grew louder as you felt him grind his clothed length against your core. He kissed and sucked, leaving marks all over chest to claim you as his.

"Simon" You whined, grabbing at his shirt, watching it ride a bit to showcase his lower back. With a smirk he lifted himself up for a moment, slowly peeling off his shirt as if he were giving you a show before tossing it somewhere in the room. Your hands began to roam, and he watched as you became entranced by him, your fingers delicately tracing his scars and running over his muscles.

You shivered, feeling his finger gliding underneath the waistband of your pants. You watched as he got off of you, sinking down to his knees as he began to slide them and your panties off of your legs. With a grip of your thighs he yanked you closer, amused by your small yelp as he examined your wet cunt.

Were you okay down there? Your thoughts began to race as he sat in silence.

"You... are a fucking goddess." His words caused you to gasp lightly, his hands pushing at your now arched legs to open them wider for him. You exhaled shakily at the feeling of him kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, leaving more marks he'd probably reencounter soon.

He was addicted to you already, fuck knows how many times he'll be in your room on base, doing just this.

He gripped your hips, cementing you in place before he licked a strip from your hole to your clit, listening to you moan as your head fell back against the bed.

"Eyes on me lovie. Want you to watch me eat this delicious fucking pussy." Once your eyes met his, he began eating you out like a starved man who had been deprived of a good meal for months. Your hands landed on his head in shock by his vigor and need as you moaned his name. He hummed, the vibrations adding to the hot pleasure that was coursing through your body as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck this is the best pussy I've ever had." He growled, his tongue entering your hole as he fucked you expertly. He forced himself to not thrust his hips into the bed for some relief, focusing all of his efforts into this moment. You moaned his name as you approached your orgasm, his eyes shooting up to look at you as he almost came from the way you said it. You felt his fingers replace his tongue, grinning at you as two slipped into easily.

"Gotta get this pretty cunt ready for me lovie." When his mouth attached to your clit and his fingers moved inside you, you saw stars, your hand gripped his free one that pressed flat of your lower stomach.

"Cum for me. Cum all over my fucking fingers." He instructed. He felt you clench down on his fingers, your head thrown back in ecstasy as your orgasm rocked you. He continued his motions until your whined, pushing at his head to get him off for a moment.

"You taste amazing, fuck I could do that for hours." He came up, pressing his lips against yours and shoving his tongue in your mouth, letting you taste your euphoria. You tugged on the belt loop of his jeans, feeling his chest vibrate against yours as he chuckled. He stood back up, your eyes trained on his body as he undid his button, letting his jeans drop.

Your eyes blew open, a sudden fear striking your heart. He was massive, his tip red in agony from the lack of attention.

"Si... that's not gonna fit." You told him. He brushed it off, stepping out of his pants and returning to his position, hovering over you.

"I'll make it fit. Don't worry." Shivers ran up your spine at his deep, raspy promise to you. You reached down, gathering some of your slick and beginning to slide your hand up and down his cock. his head hung for a moment, moaning your name softly. You sped up for a brief moment, only for him to yank your hand away with a shake of his head.

"This is about you love. Just do me a favor and say my name all pretty like you did earlier while I fuck you." You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck as he grabbed the base of his dick, slowly pressing himself into you with a quiet groan in your ear. You felt yourself stretching to accommodate his size, your eyes flickering down to watch as he slowly disappeared into your sopping cunt.

He bottomed out with a moan, looking down at you.

"Any pain pretty?" Your cheeks burned at the pet name, shaking your head as he shifted your hips to get comfortable, listening to him hiss at the movement. He gives you a moment to adjust, and with your signal of buckling your hips into him for friction, he began thrusting into you. His pace was slow, following through with his promise to take his time with you as he memorized the feeling of your pussy clamped around him, hot and wet and needy for him to fill you up.

You soon began moaning loudly, still sensitive from his tongue as your nails pressed into his back.

"You're taking me so well Y/N, swear your pussy was made just for my cock." He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fucked you.

"You were made for me love, made to be fucked like the pretty fuck toy you are." Your mind was sent into cloud 9, the feeling of his hips driving into you with purpose and need sending you over the edge.

"Oh fuck si right there!" He knew just how to fuck you, his length hitting the spot he knew would make you see stars, spots that had never been touched or stimulated in your life until now. He grunted at the feeling of your squeezing him again, kissing and sucking your neck as he pounded into you faster.

"Oh f-fuck yeah. Pussy feels amazing, so fucking good for me Y/N. I can feel myself, right here love" He took your hand and used his to push yours down on your lower stomach, feeling him fuck you with rhythm.

You were the best he'd ever had, and the best he'll ever have. No one could compare to you, nobody could moan his name like you could, make him feel good like you could. He was yours now, and he intended to let everyone, including yourself know that. The pleasure soon grew to be overwhelming, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades and making him shudder and whine into your ear.

"Fuck, do that again lovie. Mark me. Give me something to show off and let em know I belong to you." And you did just that. You left deep, red scratch marks on his back, kissing and nipping at his neck and his chest, leaving dark marks that he could flaunt later. His praises never stopped, him talking you through every orgasm you had and quickly slipping his cock back in when one had forced him out. He had no filter now, saying anything he wanted, which consisted of the filthiest words you'd ever hear him speak, and each time it would bring you and him that much closer to the never ending ecstasy you found in each other.

"S-Si I can't." You cried, tears rushing down your face as you pushed at his chest, the pleasure mixing with pain as your legs shook against his torso.

"One more for me. I'm so close lovie." Your want for him to cum was more than enough to help you persevere, his thumb coming down to rub your clit as he felt his orgasm approach.

"Where do you want me my love." He groaned, looking down at your fucked out face with his hooded eyes.

"In me. Please fill me up Si." You begged, your doe eyes big and watery. He let out a dirty moan you'd have to get out of him again later when you were able to move again as he let your legs down, fucking you fast in missionary, your legs locked around his middle.

"You want me to breed you huh. Dirty little girl, I'll give it to you. Fill that tight pussy up, you'll be full of me every day, walking around with my seed running down those pretty thighs of yours." His words sent both of you into a euphoria, your cum mixing together as he shot his load into you, your pussy having a vice grip around him as he shuddered. He managed to fuck you through yours, only stopping when you had begged him to with your pretty voice.

"Shhhh. I'll take care of you Y/N. Just trust me." He cooed in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and hearing you whimper from the loss of connection. He picked you up, bringing you to the shower that you lazily directed him to. He ran a bath, noticing how you were unable to stand up without his help. He scrubbed you clean, leaving loving kisses on your delicate skin, feeling you shiver as his tongue swirled over a few love bites he made.

When you were all clean he dried you off and helped you get dressed. You sent him to shower and managed to keep yourself up enough to grab some old clothes Price left behind that you cleaned and left in your drawer for whenever he came back for them, which was never. You laid on the bed, your eyes closing from exhaustion as you curled into yourself under your comforter, missing Simon's warmth and body heat. You were asleep by the time he got out, throwing his clothes into your laundry hamper and slipping into bed next to you, bringing your body flush against his.

"Goodnight lovie." He soothed, brushing your hair back and pressing a slow, loving kiss on your forehead before falling asleep with you, happy and content to have you in his arms.

That night was the first in 6 months where you slept through the night, no nightmares to plague your mind, no loneliness to keep you up in tears. You were in his arms, full of his love in every way, your closeness and proximity being the last identifier you needed to believe that life would get better.

And it would, you both knew it.

And that's it people!! It was my first time writing smut to be published so bear with me if it's bad. I might write a follow up chapter to this series but this is what I'll consider to be the last part! Thank you so much for your love and support and if you have an ideas for the next series, any hcs, preferences, smut etc let me know!

@thaprilks @bowtruckleninja @almightywdm @niallcozidonthavebettername @gothgirl6-6-6

[heartlilith]

My Placements and How They Manifest

Capricorn Ascendent:

My mother told me that when she gave birth to me, it was worse than my other 3 other siblings by far. She had to be induced because there was no sign of me wanting to come out into the world (lol). She said she was in labor for hours and when I finally came out, she started hemorrhaging. It wasn't fatal obviously because she's alive today but yeah, I kind of associate that with my Capricorn rising. Still to this day, change is very uncomfortable for me especially if I have no control over what's happening. My childhood was great until my mom divorced my dad and remarried, that's when shit went south! I had new siblings, a stepfather, and had to see my dad heartbroken while also battling melanoma and being laid off (2008 recession). My sister stayed with him and I went with my mom. They were always fighting and spiting each other but it was my sister and I that missed out. It was always "what is your father saying about me?" yada yada yada. Growing up, I was bullied by my sister a lot, in my opinion, it was more than the usual sibling fights. My mom also took a lot of her anger out on me; she ended up getting a divorce not too long after remarrying, became an alcoholic and filed for bankruptcy. Being a Capricorn rising and dealing with the backlash of that, I always have money saved, ALWAYS. I'm like a squirrel hiding nuts I stg. If I'm completely broke I'm an anxious mess. It's also why I strive to be independent and self sufficient. It's why I manifest being filthy rich. High school was terrible tbh and I battled with depression and anxiety. College was a lot better and moving away from my mom and chaotic family did me well, I went from a 2.6 GPA in high school to 3.85 in college. Rereading this it sounds kinda like a sob story and that's not what I'm trying to accomplish so I'm just going to move on.

1st House Neptune, Uranus, Lilith:

I made a separate post either on here or Reddit about how my features have changed so much over the years. As a child, my hair was blonde then it turned blonde/red in late elementary school. Since then, it's turned darker and darker through the years. Now it's dark brown. My eyes were dark blue as a child and now they're light green - I attribute this to Uranus and Neptune being on my Ascendent. In my opinion, I'm not photogenic at all (Cap rising?) and I think I look different in every picture I take or is taken of me. With Lilith being in my first house, I was sexualized a lot growing up by older guys/men. And also bullied by boys my age; I remember they thought I was "too girly". Guys, I shit you not after I had enough of it, I started showing up with boy shorts and those tank tops guys wear HAHAHA to be more of a "tomboy"... I'm not really sure what that is but yeah, I must've been 10 or 12 or something. People would always say "it's because they have a crush on you/because they like you!" and I would be so confused. Nowadays, I think I rub some people, specifically men, the wrong way and they dislike me for "no reason", or maybe they have a reason but they never come out and say it. My Uranus in the 1st shows up as being quirky I guess? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's that my parents were never disciplinary at all, I could do whatever I wanted. At the time I loved it but deep down I think I wanted to them to care, so I would act more and more reckless. Today, maybe that sets me apart. One last thing about Neptune/Uranus in the 1st is that I can't stand to see people treating people/animals/or what have you, the wrong way. I can't even watch Youtube videos of animals starting off abused... even if the videos end with them being happy and healthy, I CAN'T DO IT. It deeply disturbs me.

Side Note (1st House Lilith):

As a small child I was obsessed with being naked all the time and skinny dipping LMFAO like it was a problem. Luckily there were no creeps and I was fine but would this placement indicate that in anyway? Let me know because it doesn't really fit with my Capricorn rising.

(I'm really sorry this post is so long and detailed I think I'm having word vomit)

Virgo Moon:

As a child I was really reserved and "chill". I already talked about my relationship with my mom and she was critical and whatever. One thing that sticks out about this placement is that she would always push the idea on me to "stay pure" and to "stay innocent", especially when I was a teen. Always pushing this on me. Always telling her friends I was "naive" and yeah maybe I was in a sense. I don't know it's weird how that fits. My mom wasn't all bad though. She definitely had many faults but she was a great mom in certain aspects. Growing up, I realized she's just a human like me, with problems of her own. I don’t hold it against her. Today, my Virgo moon makes me sooo anxious and worrisome. I definitely see the negative qualities it brings but the good qualities out weigh them. I love buying people gifts and I'm a great gift giver if I do say so myself. With my Capricorn rising and Virgo moon, I hate PDA and it can be hard for me to be lovey dovey (even with all my Leo), so I show love by buying gifts - kind of like my dad. My parents were never there for me emotionally but they bought me great gifts hahaha, I guess that's why. Also I tend to "mother" my partners; I do their laundry, do the cleaning, make their doctor appointments, and take care of them in a sense - like my mom did for me. Writing this out I can now see why I am the way I am lol.

Moon square Jupiter, Pluto, and Saturn:

Ooooff. Well I won't dive into it too much. I will say it affects my mental health greatly and I've had a lot of trouble in that department. My Moon square Jupiter really makes my moods go up and down. Like high highs and low lows for sure. I try to look at it positively even though it's hard sometimes. Having the high highs brings out my inner child (Jupiter in the 5th). When I'm happy I'm really happy and giggling and silly. And of course the flip side is low low :( But I like the high highs so I deal. Also with this, I tend to avoid being sad at all costs. All costs. I'm a true escape artist when it comes to emotions. With Pluto and Saturn squaring my Moon, I am infact a MOODY BITCH. LOL, hey at least I can admit it. It brings intrusive thoughts, obsessive thinking, insecurity, and guilt with it too - all that great stuff. Moving on.

Cancer Mercury:

I like my Cancer Mercury a lot, even though it's paired with my all my Leo placements which can make me a ~smidge~ dramatic. I wasn't the best student in high school but I did take the hardest English courses they offered, which in hindsight saved my GPA lol. In college, I studied English with a concentration in creative writing. I mostly wrote and studied poetry which I loved so much. I'm a great listener and if I could write an advice column I would. I love how my Cancer Mercury makes me empathetic and how I'm able to put myself in anyone's shoes. One negative about this placement is that I get hurt easily (paired with Leo Sun and Virgo Moon esp), but I won't let you know I'm hurt, I'll just get angry and mean. I don't like that about myself and I wish I was more vulnerable in that aspect but it's easier to be angry than sad... right?

Leo Venus and Mars:

After talking about all the above placements, my Leo side is definitely my ray of sunshine in a way. I feel like with my Virgo Moon and the aspects it makes, it kinda settles my Leo ego. That's not to say I don't have an ego, I definitely do... just look at this post it's all about meee :) I have pictures of when I was 3-6 years old and flexing my muscles hahaha and I thought I was so strong I would go around and show everyone that I could pick my mom and older sister up. So weird. Other than that, when I dislike someone I tend to go on rant for awhile about everything I dislike about them. My least favorite thing is when someone makes me feel inferior or small, that will put me on 10 easily. I don't get mad all that much, it takes a lot but when I do get mad, I see red. Maybe cause I have Mars at 0 degrees. I do get over things quickly though, emotionally anyway, but I do hold a grudge. Also yesss, I have Leo hair. It's long and thick and hard to manage. Growing up, my mom would never let me color or cut it and I'm kinda glad now looking back on it.

8th house Moon & Venus:

This is why I hold grudges hahaha. In my opinion, the 8th house can be hard to understand/put into words until you experience it (in synastry, transit, natal, etc), then you just know. With Venus here, every person I'm romantically involved with transforms me but also takes a piece of me as well. In my experience with the 8th house, you can gain a lot of good things but it comes with a price. Whether its a mix of my placements or just these placements specifically, love really hurts! Break ups have put me in dark dark places. When I do love someone, I want to merge with them, like become "one" if that makes sense. So when it comes to an end, I have a huge hole left. In my life, this has manifested as when I ran away from home to a different state and ghosted my family and friends just to get back together with my boyfriend, all on a whim. I'd give it all up for someone I love. With Virgo Moon being in my 8th house, my anxiety mixes with my obsessive behavior which manifests as dermotillamania. I struggle with it so bad. I'm working on it but yeah that's kinda interesting looking from an astrological sense. Moon in the 8th house gives me great intuition though... I'm always right about the vibes. But this comes at the cost of feeling things extremely deeply.

Scorpio MC:

This is another placement that I like about my chart because my Capricorn rising makes me come off as intimidating and my MC makes people see me as powerful and mysterious. I don't know if people actually see me this way but even it being a possibility gives me like Olivia Benson vibes. I love her. Anyway, one thing I will say is I don't have social media anymore and haven't for years (besides Tumblr and Reddit) because I really value my privacy. I don't like people knowing things about me unless I decide to share it with them, even small things. Tumblr and Reddit are okay in my mind because I don't know anyone in real life. But even this post I'm already thinking of deleting and I haven't even posted it yet lol. When I did have social media, I would overshare and then delete the post an hour later. I was always deleting pictures and revamping my aesthetic. I became obsessed with likes and comments and scrolling that it was too much and I didn't like the power it had over me. Something else that I think manifests from my MC is that I love psychology, astrology, and things that tie into personalities.

5th house Jupiter & Saturn:

It always confused me on how to interpret having Saturn, the planet of limitations and responsibility, and Jupiter, the planet of expansion and luck, in the same house. I thought that they canceled each other out in a way, or level each other out... is a better way of putting it.  I actually messaged @astrosky33 and asked how they interpret it. Her (?) answer was interesting and made a lot of sense. Jupiter and Saturn in the same house gives off both energies at the same time (why didn't I think of that? lol). So for the 5th house, in terms of my hypothetical kids, I would be a parent that has fun and is silly but also strict in some ways and responsible. One way Saturn in my 5th house manifests is that I don't want to do anything creative unless I feel it's productive in some way, which I don't like about myself. Meaning, I don't want to read a book if the genre is fantasy, I would rather read non-fiction or a self help book; something that I can learn from. Also, I really like hobbies where I can produce something, like making candles or making spell jars. If I can make money from a hobby that I love then even better. Jupiter in the 5th house manifests as being child-like and also loving kids. If things are going well and I'm happy, then I can be excited and goofy like a child. If things aren't going well, then I can throw a tantrum like a child. I love kids because my early childhood was the best time of my life before life hit me upside the head (lol). This past Halloween, I made goodie bags for the trick or treaters and got so excited when the doorbell rang. I don't know, I just want to protect kids and shield them from the bad in the world. Kids, out of everyone, deserve to be happy.

Sun sextile Jupiter:

Things tend to work out for me, well, as of lately anyway. I struggled a lot growing up and I was always wishing my life were different. I couldn't wait to leave home. Now, I have a boyfriend who I love very much and we live very comfortably. I have a great job and I am so much happier than I was before. Of course, life isn't always perfect and there are problems at every turn. I wish I could go back in time and tell 15 year old me that everything is going to be okay, more than okay actually. I have a dog and two kittens who I love very much and I'm very fortunate to have the life that I do. I try to stay positive because there's no point in being negative and sulking all the time. Plus, you never know what can happen so be thankful for what you have, even if in your eyes, it isn't enough. I believe in being nice to people, you never know how far one act of kindness can go. Lord knows I needed it during some pretty tough times in my life.

Venus square Saturn (TW: Eating disorder, drug use, phobias):

Going back to having fear of abandonment and being uncomfortable with PDA... well here is the culprit. Or some of the culprit. Since Venus is in my 8th house, I feel like this aspect plays into my fear of my family dying, more specifically, my parents. Whenever I visit home and I see they look a little older, move a little slower, I get really sad. Their birthdays are supposed to be for celebrating but I can't help but get sad. It takes over me and I obsess about what I'm going to do when the day comes and they're not here anymore. I put on a brave face though and I buy them nice gifts and send flowers on holidays... but it's always in the back of my mind. This aspect also manifests as having low self esteem and growing up this was very prevalent. I didn't care about myself at all; I did drugs, I put myself into bad situations that I get anxiety just thinking about what could've happened. I had an eating disorder, dated boys that were awful. I'm fortunate that I made it out okay. I still have insecurities today but during that time in my life it was so intense because even as a teen without this aspect, you deal with insecurities. It was like double trouble.  

If you read this far, thank you. I hope it was semi-interesting and Im really curious to know what you guys think. Should I make a part 2? I’m feeling a little “out there” by posting this so I hope it's not too much. Thanks again for taking the time to read this.

(let me know what you think!)

[pimosworld]

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)

WC-5.2k

A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1 Love sick

adjective: love-sick

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.

  Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.

  He’s home now. 

  The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-

  How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’ 

  His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks. 

  The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs. 

  His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open. 

  You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment. 

  You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.” 

  “I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut. 

  Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment. 

  The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger. 

  “Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside. 

  “Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt. 

  ****

  The house looks relatively the same on the inside.

Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day. 

  “I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.”  You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite. 

  Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi. 

  “Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.

  He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress. 

  He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him. 

  His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is. 

  He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s  just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him. 

  Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table. 

  “They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue. 

  Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh. 

  “You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him. 

  As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this. 

  He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew. 

  It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home. 

  ****

  Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early. 

  He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer. 

  “Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal. 

  Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair. 

  “Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature. 

  “You never take naps.” 

  “I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.” 

  He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest. 

  He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.” 

  Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”

  “Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans. 

  Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly. 

  You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more. 

  ****

  Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him. 

He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began. 

  It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance. 

  He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?” 

  “No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions. 

  He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him. 

  “Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

  “No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering. 

  “A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity. 

  “You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start

  “You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.” 

  “Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look. 

  You’re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?” 

  You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women. 

  “Wait…how do you know my name!?” 

  “I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned. 

  It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history. 

  ****

  It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall. 

  Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you. 

  It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future. 

  “Do you love her?” 

  The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears. 

  “How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over. 

  “You didn’t answer the question.” 

  “Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice. 

  Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.

  Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.” 

  Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did. 

  “You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.” 

  Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.”  Fuck he’s back to Frank. 

  “I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes. 

  “You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face. 

  “You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it. 

  With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.” 

  ****

Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you. 

How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes. 

“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you. 

He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie. 

“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers. 

“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall. 

He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him. 

You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction. 

“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below. 

His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.” 

You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine. 

He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting. 

“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first. 

Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders. 

“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you. 

“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue. 

“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.” 

Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now. 

“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep. 

****

Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard. 

It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home. 

Next

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Taglist- @ghostslillady @criticalarchitecture @ael-xander @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @itsokbbygrl-library @mymo-n @lola-lola-lola @readingiskeepingmegoing

Tagging a few who might be interested:

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[luvv4j4ybe11]

With time

✧𝐓𝐰𝐢n 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤

✧Tw!!: mentions of death,sibling loss, lo’ak dies instead of neteyam, lots of crying, first time celebrating birthday without your twin brother, mentions of su!c!de, underaged dr!nking, mentions of alcohol,mostly angst with some fluff towards the end (if you squint),feelings of grief and depression and I think that’s all, enjoy this lil Drabble<33

✧Dividers by @benkeibear

✧ translation(s): Skxawng-moron,idiot , kuru-queue, hammerbrow fish- the goldfish that kiri was playing with in that one scene (idk how else to describe it😭)

(Listen to this to make it extra sad🥰)

You woke up feeling the weight on your chest being even heavier than usual. Your face still wet with tears from last nights realization. That realization being that today was your birthday but not just yours, it was his too. Ever since the night he died, you haven’t left your side of the marui since.

Even though it’s been four months since your twin brother died, that day just keeps replaying in your head, the sound of your mother screaming, the look of absolute devastation on your older brothers face, the blood on your hands, the sound of tsireya crying, lo’aks cold expression, the way your father looked at you with complete disappointment and spat out a cold, “you’ve done enough”

Every time you thought about it you felt sick.

And naturally, being Navi twins you guys were connected more than normal siblings were, you felt each other’s heartbeats, felt when the other was happy or sad, uncomfortable or frustrated. So when you felt cold and utterly alone, you knew he was gone.

But yet there’s still times you hear his heartbeat, you feel how lonely he is and how much sorrow he’s filed with. And it makes you weak with sadness every time.

Being pulled out of your thoughts by a small pair of hands on your bicep shaking you back and forth, you turn around to see your baby sister staring back at you with a smile on her face, her eyes still washed with sadness. Yes, she was young, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. She knew how to read the room better than kids your age did.

“Sis, come on, get up! It’s your birthday!” She says while climbing onto you to give you a hug, which was something she did every year, but this one was more gentle and genuine than the others. You break the hug to place a hand on her head, lightly ruffling her braids,“Maybe later tuktuk, I’m still a little tired.” You say,weakly trying to hide the pain in your features with a fake smile.

She frowns at this, making you let out a soft chuckle as you go to push her off of you. Making her cling onto you more. “That’s what you always say!, please sis, can you get up? For me? For lo’ak?” She says while looking at you with puppy dog eyes. The slight mention of his name brings tears to your eyes, not ready to start this day without him.

“Sister, leave her be, alright? How about you go see what kiri is up to?” Neteyam says as he lifts the curtain to get into your side of the hut, holding it open for tuk to run out eagerly to find her sister.

Closing it, he glances at you before siting on your sleeping mat, “Sister, I’m-” “Teyam don’t. I can’t go through today with this fake sympathetic bullshit!, you guys were constantly on both of our asses for everything! You guys never cared about how we felt! How he felt! You know how many times he came to me telling me how dad made him feel like shit? Or how kiri was pushing him about certain things? Or how he caught dad talking to you about how he’s, “too reckless” and he “wouldn’t be surprised if he got himself killed”?”

His ears pin back to his skull immediately, knowing the exact conversation you were referring to. “Sister, you think that didn’t bother me too? I told him that lo’ak only acted like that because he wanted to be like him. But of course he didn’t listen. And do you think I wasn’t aware of how you guys felt? Why do you think I’d always have both of your guys backs whenever you got into trouble? Why do you think I came up with lies left and right to mom and dad so you two wouldn’t get your asses beat? I wanted to avoid making you guys feel like that, but I only have so much control y/n..” he says as he squeezes his his fists in anger, his feelings from that night bubbling to the surface again.

You move from your comfortable position to sit next to him, bringing him into a much needed hug. “Brother, I know you did. I know you try every single day. And I look up to you because of that. You’re stronger than I am. You keep pushing forward even though there���s so much shit happening to you, I don’t understand how you do it.” You say as you feel tears flowing from your face, the hug reminding you of how lo’ak used to hug you whenever you were in a mood.

“I do it because of you guys. Because of him. You guys are the reason I keep pushing. And especially the both of your skxawng asses” he says with a soft chuckle before breaking the hug, placing his hand on your head softly, something he did with you and lo’ak that became a comfort thing for the both of you. “You can do this today sister, I believe in you, we all do.” His tone making tears automatically spill over your eyes, and causing you to notice his tear filled eyes.

Looking for some sort of grounding you place your hand over his and squeeze, taking multiple deep breaths before speaking. “Teyam.. I can’t, I miss him so much. Everytime I wake up I feel so alone and cold, but I can still hear his breath, and his heartbeat. My pain is not only mine, but his too.” You say in between sobs, watching neteyams breathing get more shallow as he tries to hold in his tears. His features covered in concern.

“Oh baby sis..” bringing you into another much needed hug. He places a light kiss on your forehead before rubbing your back and gently swaying you from side to side,trying to calm down your cries.

Kiri walks in quietly, the feeling of your pain drawing her to your room. Her whole body goes slack and cold when she sees your state, making her glance at Neteyam. That feeling intensifying even more once she saw the pain in his eyes. She takes her place behind you, quickly inserting herself into the hug. Wrapping her right arm around your waist and the other overlapping with neteyams so she can hold him too,her chin resting on your shoulder.

“You feel him don’t you? His heartbeat? His sorrow? His breath? Like he’s just a word about to be spoken?” Without lifting your head you nod quickly, too mentally exhausted speak anymore. “I know how you feel sister. Take that feeling as a way of him telling you to keep going. Keep breathing for him, keep your heart beating for him. That sorrow will be gone once he sees that you’re living for him.”

Her words make you sob even more. Knowing she’s right, he’s always hated seeing you cry, and he did anything to fix it. Purposely making himself look like a dumbass, making you go on an ikran ride with him, asking you to go exploring with him, taking you to you guys secret spot, pinky promises. He did anything for you. And so did you.

A wave of calm suddenly hits you, making your sobs come to a complete stop, and your breathing becomes more level. Feeling the change, your siblings give each other a confused glance before looking down at you. “Sister?..” they both say in sync as you break the hug and get up, your features going completely cold. “I’m going to visit him..if that’s ok with you guys” you say while lifting up a blanket, revealing a stash of alcohol you’ve been keeping ever since his funeral.

Quickly you take a bottle and cover it back up, grabbing your hunting knife and putting on both you and lo’aks matching bracelets you made on your 10th birthday. Walking towards the curtain to leave, you’re pulled back by a gentle pull on your shoulder.

“Y/n..don’t don’t drink today. It’s not gonna stop you from hurting, and you know that.” Kiri says while gliding her hand down to your hand that was holding the alcohol firmly. “Yeah, I know that kiri, but it dulls it somewhat. And it stops me from wanting to throw myself off of a cliff so I think it’s worth it. Plus it’s my birthday! I’m allowed to drink as much as I want today!!” You say in a fake enthusiastic tone, your sarcasm reminding them so much of lo’ak.

“Y/n.” Neteyam says in a soft but stern tone, the one that told you that whatever he was about to say was gonna be serious. “Don’t drink. I know you’ve been hurting more than we have but we need you here. Lo’ak needs you here. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt.” He says as his voice starts to crack slightly, remembering all the things the three of them would come up with whenever you were anything but happy and content.

Feeling the tears well in your eyes again, you squeeze the bottle tighter, fighting the instinct to drown your feelings in the burning liquid.

Glancing over at them, your heart breaks seeing the genuine hurt on their faces because of the realization you’ve been drinking this whole time and they didn’t know. Sighing angrily,you shove the bottle into neteyams chest. “Fine, but when I get back just save me a bottle, because I know it’ll be gone by the time I come back.” You say while turning out of your room swiftly, leaving kiri and neteyam there speechless.

Once you get to the spirt tree, you thank payakan and tell him that you’ll see him soon. Ever since lo’aks passing you’ve only really left your marui to go see payakan, knowing he carries the same weight as you do.

While swimming towards the tree, you mentally prepare yourself for this painful experience. You’ve been avoiding coming to the tree in the first place, because you knew how much it take out of you. And he knew the same.

Connecting your kuru to the tree, you’re brought to you and lo’aks secret spot back at your actual home. The only place that brought you two comfort. Tentatively, you walk through the clearing, lo’ak still not in sight.

“Lo?, where are you?” You call out, the sound of your own voice making you realize you weren’t 15, but you were younger. Walking towards a curtain of flora that led to a small river, you catch a glimpse of your brother, making you walk quicker.

Once you get there you see lo’ak sitting at the edge of river with his feet languidly swaying in the water, just staring into the water. Almost like he was waiting for something, or someone. You don’t say anything at first, just taking in the sight of him after not seeing him for months.

“Brother..” you say softly, not wanting to disturb his peace. His head whips in the direction of your voice, his expression lighting up as he gets up and walks towards you. “Sister!!, I thought you’d never show!” He says as he takes you into a hug, the sound of his voice making you giggle since he was also his younger self.

“Of course I did, it just took me a little time. You know I’d always come to see your skxawng ass” you say as you break the hug to shove his face with your pointer and middle finger. He giggles at that, his smile making the weight on your chest get lighter.

Grabbing your hand, he guides you to where he was sitting. Taking your seat beside him, you gaze out into the water with him.Nervously playing with your extra finger, you take a breath before talking about what you were avoiding for so long.

“Brother I’m-” you exhale slowly before continuing, noticing out of the corner of your eye how all lo’aks attention was turned to you. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here. It should’ve been me that got shot that night. I was the one that put the idea into your head to go save spider. I should’ve just told you and teyam to go so I could’ve got spider by myself-” “Sister,” he cuts you off, your rambling making the pain in his heart worse. “It’s not your fault. You need to stop hurting yourself like this. It’s not fair to you. You need to focus on now. Not ‘what if’. And plus, It’s not like I would’ve listened to you if you told me to go anyway, there’s no way in hell I’d let that happen.”

Both of you giggle at the last part, knowing that he’s not lying. Once your laughs die down, you look down at your hands, that feeling of guilt still lingering in your chest. Glancing over at you, he notices how you’re playing with your pinkies, a telltale sign that told him something was bothering you.“Sister, what else is it?” He says as he leans back onto his hands, noticing how your shoulders slightly go stiff from his question.

Turning your body to face him, you don’t fail to notice the genuine look of concern in his eyes. “You know what day it is today?” You ask, making his expression completely drop. “Yeah, I know.” The words feeling like a weight on his tongue. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do today without you lo’. I can’t. It hurts too much.” You say as the tears finally spill over your face, the grief crawling back up your throat once again. “No, y/n, you can and you will. For me. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can’t live out there. Live for me, y/n. Stop letting yourself be consumed by grief and guilt. I hate seeing you like this and you know that.” He says sternly, making sure you know he’s being serious.

All you do is nod your head, not trusting your voice with the lump in your throat and the never ending tears that keep falling from your eyes. The sight of your hurting form makes lo’aks heart twist in pain. And the fact he couldn’t really do much hurt even more. “Come here, sis,” Placing his hand on your shoulder he pulls you towards him. Giving you a much needed hug, immediately making you sob into the crook of his neck.

“I miss you, twin” he says while resting his chin on your shoulder, letting the tears fall freely from his eyes. You let out a broken, “i miss you more” as the void in your chest grows the longer you two hug.

Once you finally calm down,you break the hug, now seeing each other how you guys remember. “Well shit..” you both say in sync, making you both laugh. “You look so grown. I don’t like it.” Lo’ak says as he admires you a little longer, a feeling of peace swirling in his chest. “Yeah,me neither” you say in a soft tone, once again feeling guilty for moving on without him with you.

Placing left hand on your head, and his right on your shoulder he looks at you with a soft smile on his face, “Y/n,you’ll be ok. I’ll always be watching you, and I’ll always protect you.” The tone of his voice making you inhale sharply so the next wave of tears doesn’t come. He raises his pinky finger towards you, waiting for you to do the same. You let out a soft chuckle at his childish behavior before obliging.

Once both of you pinkies are holding onto one another, he grips your shoulder tighter. “Promise me, that you won’t give up on yourself, that you won’t push everyone away, that you won’t drink your feelings away. Promise me that you can get over this feeling. That you will live through this feeling.”

You squeeze his pinky even tightly as you feel the tears well up in your eyes, realizing that time will make no difference to how much you miss him. But it will for how much you will grow through this feeling.

Tugging his pinky towards yours, you nod your head ‘yes’ before saying, “I promise. I promise I’ll do my best for you. I promise that I’ll try for you.” The words making a smile appear on his face. He brings you into a loving hug, the warmth of comfort washing over both of you guys.

“Happy birthday,twin” you guys say in sync again, a soft giggle coming from both of you. Breaking the hug, he grabs your hands and squeezes them tightly “ow! That hurts!” “I don’t care! I want you to have fun for me today alright? Celebrate us! Spend time with everyone that loves you and gives a shit about you. You deserve it!” he says through his laughs, making you smile softly at his childish demeanor.

“Alright I will!! I’ll come visit you again tonight and I’ll tell you all about today!” You say in a giddy tone, noticing that this has been the first time you’ve been somewhat happy since these last 4 months.

“You better” he says while rolling his eyes dramatically, knowing he did it to make you laugh. Once your laughter dies down, you both look back at the water. Not wanting this moment to end already. “I love you,bro” you say while bumping your shoulder against his, making him laugh and do the same to you. “I love you more,sis” he says with a soft smile on his face, one that replaced the one on yours.

You two stay like this for a while, just basking in each others presence and invading each others space. Thoughts of leaving suddenly crowd your head and the second those thoughts occur, your brother says something about it.“Y/n go spend the day with them. You know how they get on our birthday, plus they’ll make you feel better.” He says in a delicate tone, a soft smile on his face from remembering how much they loved celebrating your birthdays. You sigh softly, before reluctantly standing up.

He gets up with you, bringing you into an affectionate hug. Without breaking it, he whispers “I’ll miss you,sister.” With complete sadness laced in his tone. A tear falls from your face from the sound of his voice,“I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know, brother.” You two stay like this for a while, until it starts getting harder to breathe, a harsh reminder of the truth.

Breaking the hug, you give him a look that lets him know that, making him hesitantly let go of you. “I’ll see you later tonight brother, I promise. I love you!” You say while turning around to leave, hearing him let out a little ‘I love you, too’ before you leave.

Once you reach the surface you catch your breath, calling out to your ilu and mentally going over your interaction with your brother to avoid acknowledging that void in your chest.

It’s a peaceful ride back home, until you start getting in your head about ‘having fun’ today without lo’ak. Because it wasn’t just your birthday, but his too. And celebrating without him just doesn’t feel right, even tuk knows that.

But right when you start having those doubts, a group of hammerbrow fish swarm around you and your ilu, stopping you in your tracks. One of them swims up to your face and flicks your forehead, making you furrow your brows and shove it away. They swim around you and you ilu for awhile longer before leaving, one of them staying back a little longer to look at you.

The whole interaction left you with a smile on your face, knowing that it was definitely lo’ak telling you to calm down, and to stop worrying about unnecessary things. Making hope swirl in your chest.

With time, you know you’ll be okay.

A/N~ this took SO LONG to write oh my fucking god. But we made it!! And I hope you guys enjoyed this (and this is my first angst fic so pls cut me some slack if some phrasing gets repetitive😔) because I did, didn’t enjoy the tears I cried while writing this but it was worth it🩷 if you made it to the end and you’re reading this I wanna thank you so much for reading this whole long ass fic, must really love me huh😏?? LMFAOO but anyway! Otw to write for kinkmas now🏃🏽‍♀️💨

Duces🫶🏽,

Luvv4j4ybe11

[anemonelovesfiction]

Kinktober 8- Voyeurism

Lo’ak X Human Fem Reader; Neteyam watching 👀

Warnings ⚠️: Fingering, Choking, P in V, voyeur Neteyam 😋, OC’s in the beginning for a smidge just for the plot.

I wanted to do something a little crazy and dedicate this chapter to @loaksulluyswife I see you liking and reblogging most of my posts and I wanted to show some appreciation to you as well, thank you for being you and thank you for liking my writing 😭

No use of Y/n in this so I’m happy! This shit is hard for me to do. Sorry for the late posts, I keep getting depressed asf (the weather aint helping) and I keep wanting to delete things.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Translation Station:

Syulang: Flower

Tewng: Loincloth

Word Count: 2.5 K

“What about you, who would you rather sleep with, Lo’ak or Neteyam?” One of my friend’s, Amber, asks me. We were sitting in a circle, taking swigs of whatever fermented alcoholic drink we were able to snag from the party the Omatikaya were having outside of the base of operations, between myself and the other two before me I shrug. Spider usually hung out with whenever he wasn’t partaking in their celebrations or hanging with the kids we were currently discussing.

“I don’t think either of them would be willing to sleep with a human.” I answered honestly and feel the two girls before me groan in frustration and seem upset at my answer.

“What?” I ask as my eyes widened, I thought being honest was the best route to go for me, but judging by the looks of distaste on both the girls face that wasn’t what they wanted.

“We wanna know whose dick you’re thirsty for, not what they want.” Ashley speaks this time.

“Why is that such a big deal?” I asked while attempting to take a swig of the drink, feeling it snatched out of my hands, and I sigh.

“You look like a Neteyam girl.” Amber, the one who’d snatched the drink from my hands speaks, the same person I’d known since we were in diapers

“No way, she definitely wants Lo’ak.”

“What if I said both? Would the two of you stop bickering and let me get a drink?” I ask as I hold my hand out, expecting her to hand the alcohol back and see her scoff, taking a drink herself and passing it toward Ashley.

“Come on, Amber, what the fuck.” I groan.

“That’s such a cop out, please tell me you’re a Lo’ak girl, you have to choose one.” Ashley asks with a hopeful tone in her voice and I about roll my eyes in her direction.

“Fine, Lo’ak, with Neteyam watching. Is that good enough for you?”

“In your face Amber, I told you she wanted Lo’ak.”

“She said she wanted Neteyam to watch!” She rebuts and I roll my eyes as she is givedn the drink again, having had enough I roll my eyes and stand, heading over to place a mask on my face and hearing the hiss signal that it was properly positioned, I didn’t feel like staying here and being denied alcohol. Plus I could hang out with Spider and his friends and it would be a nice change of pace from being stuck in here, Norm was in his link unit and I’m sure he’d be fine with it.

“Where are you going?” One of them yells out to catch my attention but I wave her off.

“Anywhere the two of you aren’t, that way I can get drunk.” I stated quickly and opened the door leading me into a small area for the oxygen to get neutralized, shutting it quickly to prevent the other two from seeking an invitation out with me, opening the second door out into the atmosphere of high camp.

It doesn’t take me long to spot out a table with a couple of drinks in the custom made jars they had, the intricate designs on them each meant the bottle held something different. I wasn’t in the mood to drink something that would get me drunk faster because the taste was usually worse, the phantom sting coursing through my throat at that moment made me shiver from the last time I’d drank from the jar with the purple designs on them. I wanted something painted in a turquoise and spotted several, they often incorporated their fruits into it and made it taste sweeter.

I smile and start setting a course to make my way toward the table, thinking of where I could enjoy the delicacy and figuring getting drunk in Pandoran atmosphere was probably not the best idea because I could end up forgetting to put my mask back on, but before I could even make it halfway to my destination, a tug pulls my concentration- and my body- off toward the left, my legs blindly following the semi familiar touch and my heart yearning for another drink.

“What the fuck-“ I stated before being shoved up against the slanted rock, my own breath coming out as a gasp at the feeling, eyes widening at the action as I stare at a pair of familiar eyes and feeling anger boiling over.

“What is wrong with you!” I stated angrily.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind if I brought you out here with me, syulang.” He lightly pinches one of my cheeks and lets out a chuckle as I swat his hand away angrily, all I wanted was to sneak some alcohol and enjoy it in a quiet place.

“You cost me some booze.” I stated as I crossed my arms and notice the smirk had yet to leave his lips, wanting to slap it off his face.

“I have an idea in mind on how I can make it up to you,” He offers and it has me raising a brow, eyeing him up and down, eyes squinting at his proposition.

“I might not be able to fulfill all of it but it might help, it’s up to you.” He shrugs smugly and I was starting to picture the different ways I could beat his ass at the moment, he was too vague for my liking.

“What are you going on about now?” I sigh.

“If my mind serves me right, You have to choose one, fine Lo’ak with Neteyam watching.” He tilts his head to the side, had this been a different circumstance I would have laughed along to his antics, but considering the situation I wanted Eywa to open up a hole in the ground to swallow me up.

“That’s not fuckin’ funny, dammit, you weren’t even supposed to be there-“ I cut myself off as a realization hits me.

“-What were you doing there anyway? Don’t tell me you were sneaking in to find Norm’s laptop so you could jerk off to some porn.” I began by letting a smile start revealing itself on my lips, watching his own smirk falter lightly, and feeling surprised at his reaction, ears drooping slightly before they pick up again.

“No bullshit?” I ask immediately and his eyes pick up again, eyes looking between mine before a smile settles on his features.

“To which one?”

“Your offer.” I crossed my arms, lifting my chin defiantly, not bothering to shy away from staring at his eyes.

“Can you even take me?” He crosses his own arms and looks down at me.

“I dunno, you seem quiet enough to make it seem like you have a big dick, do you?” I tilt my head slightly toward the side and watch him fight a smile.

_________

This isn’t the first time Lo’ak has been known to disappear, and as always, it had been my duty to retrieve him and bring him home, just for our father to reprimand him for his childish behaviors for disappearing. I’d seen him take off toward the link pods where Kiri’s mother was kept and had taken to peeking near the windows to only see two inebriated females laughing at something.

I must have mistook the sense of direction he’d taken, but even Spider had pointed toward where my brother went after I asked politely, both of them having pointed toward where the humans kept their machines to connect to their avatars. I head back to check and see if he’d been anywhere near the outer edged of the party where a lot of couples had taken to talk or sometimes decided it was appropriate to be intimate.

But I turn my head sharply once I catch the slightest whiff of his scent, taking a cautious step forward and sniffing the air around me, assuring that his scent is getting stronger, and slightly mingled with the other tawtute Spider likes to hang out with. I continue making my way down the path he must have taken earlier, wanting to know what the skxawng had been up to and why he thought he could sneak away when our father told him to stay near.

It doesn’t take long for me to find him, back facing me and he seems to be crouched down a bit, I want to yell out his name just as something lurches in my abdomen, a specific scent I’d only smelled a handful of times hits my nose and I stop myself from approaching him. Ears picking up the sound of his activities.

“See, I told you, you were worried over nothing.” He speaks in a hushed tone, almost soothing, something he rarely does.

“Look at how well you’re already taking my fingers.” I hear him mutter. I knew I should have left at that moment once I heard the sounds being made from the woman below him, her heavy breaths turning into soft moans, but I felt frozen in my spot listening to them, wanting to hear more as well.

“Your fingers are huge,” My eyes widen a bit as I realize whose voice it belongs to and feel my entire body straighten up once more, I really shouldn’t be here, and almost as if on cue, I can see Lo’ak moving out of the way just enough for me to see her facial expressions and blood was starting to pump toward my cock, hardening at the sight of her face alone.

“That’s not the only thing thats huge-“ He states and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, mentally rolling my eyes at his comment, but standing here while watching her face with the light of the moon and plants glowing in the dark of night had me palming my growing erection, begging to be released from the confines of my tewng.

“Go fa-faster, please-“ I can hear her breathing getting heavier and from the angle I can see her body at, I can tell she’s moving her hips against his fingers, hearing him groan as his gaze shifts downward.

“I could just watch you fuck yourself on my fingers instead, syulang.” He mumbles and she gasps right as I hear a wet squelching sound, indicating he’d started moving his fingers faster, I palmed myself faster, the slight pain of being kept hidden inside my tewng was making my stomach bubble with anticipation of needing to come.

“Fuck Lo, I’m close-“ She pants out and I watch as he withdraws his hands from her, her protests being louder than her moans from earlier, the fingers he’d been thrusting inside of her glistening with the light provided and my ears flicker back, a blush settling on my face, I stop the groan building in my throat and see Lo’ak bringing his wet fingers in his own mouth.

He groans at the taste and I can feel my jealousy grow, how lucky he must have been to get a taste of her on his tongue, my hands balled up into fists and I’m almost tempted to walk over and punch him, but I shamefully remembered the erection I was sporting, knowing it was between walking away and letting myself grow soft, or allowing myself the pleasures of watching their activities and coming while watching them, and I found myself sliding my tewng off, erection slapping my thigh and I look back up to find Lo’ak lining himself with her entrance.

“Fuck-“ I groan right when I see her face scrunch up as he inserts the tip, holding her up at the perfect angle to see every bit of her body, the eyes she had once shut had opened as she looks right at me, eyes widening a bit, taking in a breath as Lo’ak pushes in further.

_________

I bit my lip to stop myself from making any more noise and pawed at Lo’ak’s shoulder, I still kept eye contact with Neteyam and saw his hand gripping his already hardened cock, feeling myself squeeze around Lo’ak at the sight and seeing his green eyes look up at mine.

“This is what you wanted, no?” He asks me right as he slides in further and I gasp, a broken moan being ripped out of me and catching movement from the corner of my eye, snapping them back to the older brother and catching him stroking his cock.

“Oh fuck-“ I mutter as Lo’ak bottoms out, stretching my cunt wide just to fit himself in snugly, eyes on Neteyam, moaning at him, right as Lo’ak slides back out.

“Faster.” I command, watching as Neteyam picks up his pace and bites his own lip to keep his noise down, his shaft glistening as his precome seems to slide out his fat head like a river, allowing my pussy to flutter around Lo’ak. Feeling his pace pick up after I’d stated that and throwing my head back with a moan, hands gripping harshly at Lo’ak’s shoulders.

My eyes shut harshly right as Lo’ak places one of his hands around my neck, squeezing the sides gently, his cheek nuzzling mine.

“Open those pretty eyes syulang, let him know how good I’m making you feel.” He grunts in my ear before pulling his face away, squeezing on my neck more, my hips moving against his and the sounds coming from my pussy could not be mistaken for any other activity.

Lazily dragging my eyes over to Neteyam who’d been matching his brothers pace, he’d been staring at my cunt, but shifted his gaze toward mine the second I looked over. I could tell he was breathing heavily, by the desperate look on his face, his hips starting to meet his hands thrusts, and how he’d squeezed the head right as he stroked it, I knew he was close.

“Lemme come, please-“ I whine, attempting to keep my legs spread, just to give Neteyam the view he’d been staring at this entire time.

“Of course you can.” Lo’ak grunts as he picks up the pace.

“N-not you, Teyam, lemme come, please.”

Any and every feeling in my body was set on fire as Neteyam faltered in his own ministrations as the realization hits, but picks up his pace again and groans freely, my own hips attempting to meet the fast pace Lo’ak has set.

“Fuck, thats hot,” Lo’ak moans lightly, ears pressed back as he squeezes harder on my neck, but my eyes never leave Neteyam’s.

“Please, m’close!” I beg just to finally see his nod of approval and allow myself to leg go, the waves of ecstasy crashing over my body, biting my lip in an attempt to keep my eyes open, watching Neteyam spill over his fists, Lo’ak never faltering in his pace as he comes inside.

“So how about next time I watch?” The man directly in front of me asks and although I’m still weak in the knees from the post-orgasmic bliss I make a face but smile at his comment, nodding my head lightly.

“You’re the biggest dumbass-“ Neteyam calls out only to get cut off by his brother.

“She said yes.”

“She said yes?”

[g0ttal0ve101]

Johnny Headcanons <3

TW: GAH!!!! TEXAS MAN JUMPSCARE!!!!!!!!

Note: had to do it to them 😮‍💨 i decided to do a mix of romantic and random hcs cause i thought it was cutie but I did section them off from each other!! might write about tcm later on so i’ll take requests for it!!!!! @twsted-idiot :3

RANDOM

he definitely had a FUCK ASS haircut growing up. all those boys in that damn house did. NANCY HAD NO IDEA WHAT SHE WAS DOING 🗣️💥 she really pulled up with the scissors and said ‘alright sweetie just hold still’ and fucked up his entire life for a hot 10 years. after that no one gets near the hair…

fuck ass teeth lets be soooo real. from the amount of times he’s gotten into fights at the bar or in a street, he definitely lost/chipped a few in his prime teen years. his bottom teeth are also a lil crooked…but it’s cutie on him! our little gummy bear ❤️ (bitch has gums for days it’s ok to admit it!!)

i’ll talk abt a lot of his love languages in the romantic section but let me tell you, he’s good at pulling bitches but has trouble pulling ppl he’s ACTUALLY interested in 🗣️💥

^ what I mean by that is like. if he just wants a good fuck and a bougie dinner, trust he’ll have a bitch under his arm! but if he has someone he genuinely cares about and wants to be with, he’s more reluctant to show interest… if that makes sense.

everyone knows he has a farmer’s tan 😭 tan one second, takes off his shirt, WOAH!!! WHOS THIS WHITE MAN??? IS THAT A FUCKING GHOST??? oh no it’s just johnny’s tatas 😻

^ speaking of wish im a freckle truther so fuck you he has light freckles on his face 😮‍💨

ALCOHOLIC. REAL BAD. say bye bye to his livers 😿……but no seriously he has terrible drinking habits. practically drinks every night smh. and that’s on dealing with unbearable depression 😮‍💨

SMOKES HEAVY TOO. (johnny your lungs…😿)

idk abt yall but I think johnny’s a sweetheart to bubba….his mama taught him better than to boss him around and be an asshole like CERTAIN PEOPLE. although johnny can come off as demanding, i truly think he has the best intentions at heart when he’s interacting with bubba ❤️

kinda homophobic but gay at the same time 😮‍💨 and that’s on that TEXAN TIP 🇺🇸🦅💥 YEEEEHAW!!!

in my head i think johnny had his own room n stuff in the house up until he confronted nancy. after that and getting his eye fucked up, he wanted to be petty and sleep outside just to bother nancy. at first she didn’t care and thought he’d eventually just come back in but. he. DID NOT. instead he literally cleaned out the entire shack, found a cheap couch from some thrift store, n fucked that shit UP!!!!!! nancy was PISSED!!! 🗣️ “come back in”…..“no” type shit

loves keeping souvenirs of his victims. ESPECIALLY memorable ones. where did he get that belt? simple, really. this cute guy tried to use it as a defense mechanism! johnny strangled him with it shortly after ❤️ oh and this perfume? yeah, he found that in a REAL fighter’s purse. she was cute whenever she screamed 🌹

started driving at like. 10. nancy fucking FLIPPED OUT whenever she caught him riding around in a car as a literal CHILD. (influenced by certain people😒) but even after all her scolding, he never stopped 💀…that’s why he’s a good driver to this day!

this man loooooooooves his hunting. talking abt sum “THATS A BUTTON BUCK 🗣️” bitch no one knows what you’re talking abt be quiet. (I love him passionately)

johnny DESPISES wearing formal clothing. whether it’s some dumb church suit, dress shirt, or WHATEVER, he does NOT FW THAT SHIT ❌ the real ones know johnny walks around his house with just his boxers on…..and that’s on that country shit 🇺🇸🦅💥 (more like CUNTry)

CALLOUSED HANDS TRUTHER 💥 he definitely has some fucked up fingernails too. stained with oil n shit….SOMEONE GET HIM A PEDICURE IMMEDIATELY.

nubbins always instigates him into fighting a family member 💀 (usually sissy or the cook) talking abt sum: “she said you get noooo bitches…hot ones at least lolsies” or “he told me that he thinks you’re the weakest link of the family but yknow…” FALSE ACCUSATIONS!!!! but johnny falls for it every time 😭

ROMANTIC

HATES PHYSICAL AFFECTION AT FIRST!!! I’m telling you this right now he DON’T LIKE IT!!!!! and it’s not even in the cutie ‘aw he’s touched starved’—NO. HE DON’T LIKE IT. that’s not to say his opinion won’t sway a lil depending on the person (🤭) but at first that’s a big no no with him.

^ but once he starts getting comfortable with you, it’s impossible to pry him off. always wanna hug you n kiss you n play with your hair….he’s a lil love bug fr!

terrible at handling verbal affection. like god 😭 when receiving compliments, he kinda just scoffs, says something snarky, n tries to change the subject. keep doing it? he doesn’t know what to do with himself. it eventually becomes a staring contest with him being like ‘quit that rn.’ but let’s be honest, he likes it 😮‍💨

^ in terms of GIVING IT OUT, he’s pretty good at it. words of encouragement come easy to him since he just has to give you a ‘good job’ (maybe even adding a lil pet name if he’s feeling cute) n move on with his life.

^ but complimenting your laugh? your voice? your eyes? your hair? your clothes? he does it in the slickest ways possible. never over the top or on the nose, always subtle and almost unnoticeable.

he shows his affection through gift giving. stolen flowers from sissy’s garden, stolen jewelry from…trespassers, stolen expensive clothes with suspicious gashes through the fabric, severed limbs—LMAO OFC NOT!!!!! but yes he’s very inclined to give you lil gifts here and there.

surprisingly enough, he likes teaching you stuff. whether it be something small like the mechanics of a car or something big like gutting and skinning a corpse, he enjoys being the one who shows you how to do things he knows how to do well. and when he sees that he successfully accomplished his goal of educating you, he’s happier than ever. (this is also a perfect excuse for him to call you a good girl/boy!!!!!! he’s not slick!!!!!)

pet names consist of the TEXAN WAY BABY YEEEEHAW 💥🦅🇺🇸 sweetie/sweetheart, baby/babe, honey/hun, angel face/doll face, y’know how it is. and it’s kinda cute cause throughout your relationship with him, you unlock certain pet names!!

wanna see a magic trick? 🪄 MANIPULATION! johnny is a genius when it comes to manipulating you. and trust me, you will NOT know he’s doing it.

this is really fucked up (bc HE’S fucked up) but he definitely pushes your boundaries in the beginning of the relationship. it’s kinda like a test to see what he can get away with and how you’ll react to him being an asshole. are you gonna cuss him out? are you gonna hit him? cry? run off? he wants to know.

^ and by ‘pushing the boundaries’ I mean degradation n shit. you ask him what’s wrong and he calls you a filthy whore, a mangy slut, a stupid bitch, JUST TO SEE what you’ll do.

^ the way to pass the test is STANDING UP TO HIM. that’s what he WANTS. be an asshole back!! don’t lose your shit, just one-up him. for example, call him a bitch ass momma’s boy!! that’ll have him on his KNEES!!

who said jealous? BECAUSE YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. johnny IS insecure and thinks you’ll leave him, so it’s better if you DON’T talk to anyone he could perceive as a threat. he lays off with family n shit bc he gets it, but if they ain’t related to you? bitch they better know how to fight 😮‍💨

PDA is iffy with him especially around any of the family LMAO….but if he feels threatened by a guy or god forbid JEALOUS, best believe you’ll have an arm around your waist real fast. 🤭

you better like late night drives bc this man ADORES them. whenever he wants to have a sentimental moment with you or treat you real special for a night, best believe you’ll be in his car for a good while. takes you to the PRETTIEST landscapes he knows of and just chills with you.

^ cutie till he tries scaring the shit outta you with some horrific story abt what happened there or sumn. or even…idk…..starts the hypothetical scenario of “y’know I could kill you rn and no one would be able to hear you scream LOL! 😹” johnny…..if you don’t shut the hell up….

if shit is serious, you definitely made a blood oath with him that you’ll stick with him despite everything. basically marriage imo. peak romance right there <3