#and no his bottom wasn't what I focus on this scene

[duahauuoplanh]

turns out lonely people are all the same.

[onlygarden]

[are you even listening?] - park sunghoon

genre: fluff, suggestive, tiniest bit of angst (most of the 'tense' moments are just meant to be taken lightheartedly)

description: while arguing with your boyfriend, you begin to notice his focus drifting elsewhere...

a/n: this fic came to me in a frenzy and i absolutely needed to bring it to life. i should be sleeping right now, but that wasn't gonna happen until i finally finished this lmao (rescue me). also the thought of sunghoon saying ‘princess’ is driving me fucking wild so i included that heavily in this heheh

the sound of your exasperated and saddened sigh floats to sunghoon’s ears, and the sound of your troubled figure traveling up the stairs follows soon after. without a shred of reluctance, he follows you into the bedroom of your home with hurried footsteps. 

“princess, wait. just listen to me, okay?” 

‘just listen to me,’ he says. spoken as though you hadn’t just discovered him effortlessly complaining about you while on the phone with heeseung, rattling on about the fact that he finds you to be a ‘real pain in the ass sometimes.’ serving only to make matters worse, sunghoon reinforced his statement, and even accused you of overreacting.

“i’ve already listened, sunghoon. i know just what you think of me,’ you utter flatly, beginning to slip out of your casual sundress. your eyes remained adamant in their desire to avoid his pleading gaze. 

the frustration begins to drain steadily out of sunghoon’s body as he watches your dress fall to the floor. as much as he wished to remain focused on the argument at hand, he just couldn’t help but admire your figure as you stood before him in your undergarments — every course of your body, the memories of your velvety skin under his hands, the way your thong hugged the flesh of your hips — it was all too much.

 

he quickly shakes these seemingly inescapable thoughts, wishing to maintain focus on the argument at hand (and most importantly, to avoid upsetting you further). 

sunghoon swallows heavily before responding, due to a sudden dryness arising in his mouth. “no, princess. i swear that’s not what i think of you at all, it was just–” he hesitates a moment before completing his thought—  “it was just a stupid joke.” 

your eyes meet his, an air of disbelief flowing within them. “a joke? no sunghoon, you meant what you said,” you respond. as the words tumble from your distressed lips, you pull your pajamas out of your dresser, beginning to slip into them. 

sunghoon’s gaze follows your shorts as they glide along your legs, settling deliciously around the plush swell of your ass. by now, he’s entranced by your form in front of him, desperately attempting to grasp onto your concerns and the issue at hand. god, he’s trying so hard to shift his attention elsewhere, but it’s nearing the realm of impossibility. sunghoon’s eyes travel to your waist, the curves of it displayed proudly as your camisole clings to your figure. 

his breathing begins to deepen, the labored efforts clear in his voice. “(y/n), i promise you i didn’t mean a word i said, okay? stop being so—” 

sunghoon’s voice withers away, and a surge of arousal passes through his body at the scene before him; you bend down to arrange a few clothes in the bottom drawer of the dresser, and your shorts deviously disclose more of your ass — as if their fabric was very generous to begin with. now, only a fragment of his conviction remains, and the desire to make you writhe underneath him ruthlessly outshines his slight irritation. 

you straighten up and meet his eyes with a twinge of doubt in your expression, hoping your intuition is wrong.

“stop being so what, sunghoon? were you going to call me sensitive?”

sunghoon sighs. he’s drowning helplessly in his aching desire for you, shamelessly distracted by the beautiful shape of your body before him, wishing to see the end of this argument so he can finally throw you onto the bed and pound you into delirium. however, he only seems to be making matters worse by the second. 

“princess, i- i’m sorry… please just believe me when i say that i didn’t mean a single word i said,” he pleads, sincerity entangled in his words. sunghoon is beginning to grow frustrated with himself for even making you upset in the first place.

you head into the bathroom, telling him how much you ‘can’t believe’ he thinks you’re being sensitive about this, your mind and body still brawling with reluctance to forgive him. when you grab your toothbrush and begin to brush your teeth, sunghoon’s eyes can’t help but latch onto the way your ass and thighs jiggle delicately with each movement of your arm. it was as though your body was magnetized; he felt as if his eyes were struggling against some sort of compelling force as they attempted to ignore the hypnotic spell that your body cast on him.

goddamn, you’ve got to know what you’re doing to him, right?

a strained breath escapes sunghoon’s throat, and his eyes flutter shut as a powerful gush of arousal burns through his body. beyond his own control, sunghoon’s cock begins to press against the suddenly suffocating confines of his pants. 

you belatedly gain awareness of sunghoon’s raging desire as you notice his gaze in the mirror. “are you fucking serious, sunghoon? are you even paying any attention?” you ask, referring to the way his eyes ogled your backside in such a pervy and wicked manner.

sunghoon’s expression morphs into one of guilt and slight impatience; he knows that your discovery will only serve to prolong this argument, which will further prevent him from divulging in the pleasure of watching the flesh of your ass and thighs swell lusciously around his fingers as he squeezes them.

“i- yes, i’m paying attention. it’s just… it’s really hard to focus when you’re standing there looking so damn good.”

you sigh and quickly rinse your mouth, the exasperation inside of you only blossoming further upon his blatant admission. however, despite the harm his earlier words caused you, a slight, undeniable warmth visits your face at his bold compliment, too.

you crawl into bed, slipping under the blanket. “i’m not going to talk to you if you’re not even taking me seriously,” you say, your displeasure with his behavior evident in your colorless voice. 

sunghoon battles no hesitation to accompany you in bed — he sits beside you, grabs your hand, and meets your eyes with a gentle expression. 

“princess, don’t do this. i’m taking you seriously, i swear. what were you trying to tell me, hm? why were you so upset?”

his tone effortlessly melts your irritation, and you begin confiding in him about the manner in which he hurt you, albeit reluctantly. you tell him that his ‘joke’ didn’t tickle your humor at all, you tell him how much worse it was that he was speaking poorly about you to someone else, you tell him that you didn’t appreciate being called sensitive — blah, blah, blah.

the words coming from your mouth begin to jumble together in sunghoon’s crude, desire-ridden mind. although sunghoon knew just how wrong he was, that simple fact didn’t serve to deter him from continuing to do it. his eyes fall to your lips, then inevitably flicker down to the bit of your neck and collarbone exposed from beneath the blanket. his connection to the conversation grows unstable as he revisits the erotic images of you changing into your pajama set, and his hands twitch with the insistent impulse to yank it off of you. at this point, sunghoon isn’t even making an attempt to listen. 

as you begin to notice his distant expression, a sigh drifts from your lips. 

“really, sunghoon?” you interject. you turn over in bed, relinquishing any further determination to continue this futile argument.

sunghoon is violently snatched away from his thoughts, and guilt begins to burn the edges of his skin.

“wait, (y/n)! i was listening, i swear–” 

you turn your head to face him for a moment, indulging his obvious lie. “yea? then what did i say?” 

sunghoon’s mind kicks into overdrive, working relentlessly to recall even a fragment of your words. “uh… you said something about… being sensitive,” he feebly recalls.

“yeah, i’m going to sleep,” you huff, turning back around. 

“princess, wait!” sunghoon’s voice raises slightly in desperation. “don’t be mad, okay? i can’t stand it when you’re mad at me like this,” he soothes, and he begins to rub your shoulder, hoping to unwind the tension that his actions stirred within you. 

“look at me,” he says, his voice tender enough to soften all traces of lingering irritation.

you turn to face him, absorbing his melodic expression; his eyes implored you to forgive him, staring directly into yours as if he was trying to learn them all over again. a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips as his eyes swim graciously in yours.

“i’m sorry... i really am. i don’t want to fight with you. i didn’t mean what i said before, and i didn’t mean to get so distracted, okay? i was being an idiot.” 

his thumb glides over your face, floating subtly over the skin of your cheek, urging a smile from the bounds of your pouty expression.

his voice is equally as wispy as his touch, extinguishing the minor fury within you. “i love you, you know? please say you forgive me.” 

your smile blooms in full, and you sit up alongside him in bed. “i love you too, baby. i’m not mad about it anymore, i promise.”

sunghoon settles a hand upon your thigh, allowing it to coast upwards, his still aching desire now struggling desperately against the reins. 

both of his hands take hold of your hips, and he drags your body closer to his, the sound of his voice descending to a low, filthy whisper. “let me make it up to you, yea?”

[aliesbienish]

I need more Benedict Bridgerton smut 🤣 like similar to season 1 w/ Daphne and Simon where they do it everywhere all the time 🥵

Painting...and other talents

18+ only, Minors DNI

Summary: Benedict shows his new wife what else he can do with his hands. Pairing: Benedict x Reader

It might be a cliche, but you felt like your whole world expanded after your wedding night. Benedict transformed you from a naive girl to a woman and by god you never wanted to look back. Your mother's warnings about your matrimonial duties were wildly unfounded, your husband certainly wasn't the one to demand them of you... it seemed like it was the other way round. You felt insatiable, and luckily Benedict was nothing but obliging.

The cottage, your new home, had well and truly be christened. Everything seemed to entice you and your new husband. Watching him eat dinner and licking his lips led to food being forgotten and the tables load capacity getting a strong test. A walk in the gardens lead to a particularly messy go around hidden amongst the bushes.

Presently you were suppose to be relaxing in Benedict's studio. Your husband was painting the picturesque scene out the window while you were trying to focus on reading your novel. However, you found yourself re-reading the same sentence over and over. Getting distracted by watching Benedict so engrossed his in work. Specifically getting distracted by his exposed toned arms, and his long thin fingers wrapped around his paintbrush.

Heat began spreading in your core, and you pressed your legs together to feel some release. You were internally debating whether you should disrupt Benedict when you saw his tongue poke out in concentration. That tipped you over the edge.

"Ben, I need you to come here right now," You demanded as you laid down across the sofa. Benedict turned to look at you and seeing the flush of your cheeks and the sheen of sweat across your brow he immediately set down the paintbrush.

As soon as he was close enough you grabbed his right hand and tugged it towards you, peppering kisses from his shoulder down his biceps. You made your way down his wrists and hands before reaching those long fingers you were so distracted by.

"Is that why you are in such a state my love?" You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Well I promise you they are not just good at painting, shall I show you?" Another nod.

He placed his middle and index finger on your lips, and after an encouraging smile from Benedict you open your mouth and began to suck on them. He then extracted the fingers, moving your dress up and aside with his left hand. A shocked look quickly flashed his face when he found you bare beneath the dress, but that was quickly followed by a chuckle and a quick peck to your forehead. The wet fingers found your clitoris and he gently began circling it, causing you back to arch and mouth to fall open. He began speeding up the rotations and you couldn't help but admire the way his tendons flexed throughout his arms as he did so.

Pulling him into a kiss you gently whispered "more please" against his soft lips. Ever the dutiful husband his fingers moved down to your slit, gathering your slick as he went.

"Honey, I'm going to teach you just help talented these fingers can be."

His long index finger was slowly pushed into you, causing a moan from the intrusion.

"Okay?" he checked, earning a nod in consent.

He began moving it gently in and out, his thumb coming up to circle your clit. Quickly you were ready for more, another finger added. He expertly used these to stretch you, scissoring them apart.

With a confident smirk the fingers were hooked within you and rubbed against a spot that caused spasms to shoot down your legs. He skilfully hit this spot with each thrust and curl of his fingers, the sound of your slick echoing across the room. Your body felt soo hot, and you were panting trying to intake air as your back arched high and legs flayed wide.

All of a sudden Benedict held his fingers against the magical spot and quickly rubbed your clitoris causing you to tumble over into climax. You clenched against his fingers as your whole body shook and spasmed. The orgasmic bliss finally came to a end and your eyes came into focus on a smirking Benedict, lapping his fingers clean.

"I'm going to have to write a letter of thanks to The Royal Academy, clearly they have done a wonderful job teaching you how to use your hands."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

So hi, I may have got carried away with this one. Anon I hope you enjoyed xx

[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you - bonus chapter

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: theseus comes to your rescue after you've had too much to drink, but will he be able to resist your drunken advances?

fem!reader. theseus x reader.

category: smut

warnings: 18+ smut scene. drunkenness. dirty talk. unprotected penetration. light mdom/fsub.

author's note: wasn't going to continue with this fic, but i made this "bonus chapter." it's more of a smutty resolution than a full-fledged chapter, no plot all vibes--hope you all enjoy!

part one / part two / bonus chapter

The realization of love feels fatal, plummets and plants itself at the bottom of your stomach like some small death. Your heart pounds dreadfully, like you’re in danger. The soar and the swoop.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Theseus. Loves. Me. 

It shatters your mind. You shuffle around in the shards to formulate sentences to offer up to Mr. Bragg’s probing, you tell yourself to blink. To focus. 

Mr. Bragg had shuffled you into his quiet office with a shaking anticipation, but asked you only silly, useless questions once alone. He was less talkative than you’d expected. Less forward.

It’s dim in his office. Impractically so. Only an oil lamp squats in the far corner, blooming dead orange light into the cigar-perfumed room. 

The bronze hinges on his display cabinet and the dull gold knobs and hardware on all his other furniture glint, dark rays of light. Yes, the dark winks at you in this way. He’s seated far across the room. You can’t see him well, he’s half-swallowed in a cushy upholstered chair opposite yours. 

“Might we turn on another lamp, sir?” You can’t see and you want to look around. You try not to shuffle in your seat. 

“No, no, I can see you just fine.”

You burn with something, you don’t know what. 

It’s not the general air of discomfort that’s bothering you, it’s the void, that gap of misunderstanding that you now feel between you and this man. Who is this man, really? 

You’d always dismissed Mr. Bragg as a bumbling, meat-fisted man. Sweat on his brow, voice booming through the Atrium most days, spittle flying. Heavy-handed and obvious in his jokemaking and friend-making and all other matters.

You don’t know why the wet shine of his teeth in the dark now reminds you of a wolf. Could he really be what they think he is? You search for any sign of Grindelwald, of extremism or betrayal on his face, but you see only darkness and the barest outlines of his features–eyes, mouth, nose–buried in that. 

“Whisky?” He smiles. You can’t see the whites of his eyes. 

“What about it?” 

“Ha!” It’s a dead noise in his throat. A huff. “Funny. Go on, girl. You’re allowed.”

He pours two inches of whisky into a thick French glass and has to stand to hand it to you.

You drink and try not to make a face. Crude drink, whisky. He stares unblinkingly at your throat as you swallow it, assessingly. When he stands and pours you another, you don’t protest. You gulp it down and speak quickly. 

“Mr. Bragg, can I ask, how long have you been this department’s head?”

“Are you enjoying your whisky?”

“Well, yes–Mr. Bragg I was just wondering how you’re-”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re enjoying it very much. You know Mr. Martin–Paul Martin from the Courts–he could down one of my bottles in, say, half an hour?” 

You breathe out a laugh and hope you don’t sound exasperated. This is going to be hard. He’s making it hard for you, and you don’t know why. 

“Well, I don’t believe that, Mr. Bragg.”

Paul Martin. A Ministry judge. Your mouth works faster than your mind. The whisky sears something like acid in your stomach. 

“Mr. Martin joined us around the same time you did, isn’t that right?”

A good quarter of Ministry workers had inexplicably quit sometime before last New Year. The new hires seemed to come out of thin air. You never thought of it as sinister before tonight.

The corner of Mr. Bragg’s mouth twitched. That was the wrong thing to say. You should’ve kept your cards close. The man across from you doesn’t move at all, but in your mind the alarm bells are screeching. You can’t tell if it’s just dark in the room or if the edges of your vision are smudging. Soft black curtains. 

“And what is it exactly that you wanted to speak with me about, Miss Y/L/N?” 

—----------------

“So, how did you do it?”

Theseus jerks irritably at the sound of Yuta’s voice to see who it is and then, once confirmed, goes back to ignoring him.

He’s still staring at the blank column of space between the pillars where you’d disappeared with the detestable Mr. Bragg, mouthing “sorry!” with this look of sweet apology on your face. Sweet. Everything you did was sweet to him. 

“Is it a secret? Bastard really won’t tell us.” George Ambani Kotak slings an arm around Yuta’s shoulders and delivers his line with a mischievous lilt. There’s a bit of stray confetti on his shoulder that strangely suits him–unkempt hair, ill-fitting suit and all. 

George and Yuta are the youngest Aurors in the department. Always poking fun at Theseus because they know that he was once the youngest Auror, and they know he usually likes their spirit of boyish rebellion. Keyword: Usually.

“What are you two going on about?” Theseus humors them with his attention, turning away from the space you left at last. He doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel good. It’s not about your unsaid response, he could give a damn if you loved him back. He loves you so absolutely he doesn’t want anything in return. No, it’s something else and he needs to be with you again to make it feel better. 

“You think we’re pesky, don’t you?” Yuta whines in mock accusation. The young Hufflepuff has a teasing manner about him that’s almost effeminate. 

“That’s because Theseus only likes hanging out with old men. Going down to the pub and talking about footy and the weather.”

“Piss off, George,” Theseus bites. He can’t quite suppress his smile. They make him feel young and old at the same time. 

The Armistice ceremony is over and discordant, broken streams of people are trickling out of the Atrium now, emerging from beneath pillars and around corners, sweaty and celebratory with relief, as if at the end of a concert or performance. Mourning and remembering were a sort of duty to be carried out, too. Theseus can understand that. 

When he thinks about your reticent angling away from him in the alcove, then your quiet omission, “I just wish that you would’ve remembered me,” he wants to shoot himself. Dramatics, yes, but the thought of letting you down felt worse than anything, was a shotgun blow to the chest in of itself. 

“Y/N fucking Y/L/N,” George groans. “How did you do it, man? I mean, actually, what did you do?!” 

“You sly fox,” Yuta mutters in agreement. 

Theseus frowns at Yuta then, taken aback, understanding the exchange at last.

“Do you fancy Y/N or something?” He still feels at a loss. They must have seen him talking to you earlier.

George looks at Theseus like he’s stupid. Then again, George looks at everyone like they’re stupid. Not a Ravenclaw thing, Theseus doesn’t like stereotypes, just a George thing. 

“Everyone likes Y/N, are you kidding me? But the girl is impenetrable.” 

“Office siren,” Yuta chirps in. 

“According to Ana, half the sports and games department has been trying to get at her all month. We came to the conclusion that she’s probably secretly engaged. Or maybe it’s an Unspeakable thing, who knows? Oh, Merlin, Rawlings is going to be fuming when he finds out about this, he’s been trying to chat her up at lunch for weeks–”

“So what’s your deal anyway? You and her?” Yuta interrupts, physically putting up a hand to silence George. George blinks at the appendage in offense. 

Theseus is stunned anew. Flustered, even.

“She… She’s just my friend,” he says firmly. Defensively, maybe. “I care about her a lot.”

There’s a beat before the two boys react. Theseus wants to give you the space to respond to his confession, to define this, before involving anyone else. He hopes Yuta and George can sense that. Or at least sense his protectiveness and uncertainty. 

“But why you?!” Yuta grimaces at last.

George bellows at that, heartily. “Oh, Yuta, young Romeo, you had your chance back when-”

Theseus drones out the two’s bickering, but the sound of it makes him inexplicably happy. The unease in his ribcage dissipates and lifts, though not completely. Theseus feels proud to love you. Grateful that, by some miracle, you let him.

He doesn’t care about any meeting you might have. He’s coming to see you, now. 

The conviction thumps in his chest like a second heart. 

He turns to leave without a farewell. 

—-------------

‘This is good,’ you’d told yourself courageously after the first swooning burn of drunkenness sailed through your body, hard and fast and seeping. ‘I feel more confident to ask him what I need to. I’m not unsettled anymore.’ 

But there was no coherent justification anymore. You were piteously, dangerously drunk.

All you could do was sway upright in the chair and try to aim your gaze towards that warm spot in the dark you were sure concealed his figure. 

Oh, god, he was talking about something. You hadn’t noticed, hoped he wasn’t asking you anything.

“-girl like you, no?”

The clipped end of his sentence did nothing for you. You feel sick, want to keel over and hold your head between your knees until the room stops moving. Your skin is buzzing. Living takes on a liquid quality, you feel like you are slipping warmly and smoothly from one moment to the next.

“What? Sorry.” 

The dark shape of Mr. Bragg moves then, solidifies as he comes to sit next to you.

“Oh, ho!” He tuts. “Can’t handle your drink, Y/L/N?”

You squint up at him.

In truth, no. This is more than you can handle, and you didn’t really drink to begin with aside from the rare glass of wine paired with dinner. 

“It’s…” your retort trails off, you can’t remember why you’d opened your mouth in the first place.

You feel yourself careen towards his thigh, his lap, he is seated on the arm of your big chair now. You slump against him pitifully. You are hardly there. You don’t know if it’s natural, the sharp decline from bubbly and light and talkative to this–sleep. Losing control of your limbs.

Oh, god. Fuck. 

Some fucking investigation. You don’t know what would be worse, if he were really betraying the Ministry, an enemy agent, or if he just wanted to take advantage of you. 

“M’sorry,” you slur against him and strain to raise yourself back up, unsuccessfully. Everything tastes bad. Even the air that rushes out of your nostrils when you exhale is pricked with the astringent sweet-rot of alcohol. Bitter and syrupy. 

You want to jolt up at the feel of his hand on your back, petting you almost, but you can only manage a low judder. You don’t know how long it’s been or what time it is, but you’re going to pass out, you realize, and Mr. Bragg is touching you. 

“Don’t,” you hiss, with sudden clarity. “Don’t touch me-”

The bang bang of his office door being knocked on isn’t even enough to raise you. You’re slumped over the side of the chair. Mr. Bragg, however, stands, alertly. 

“Not now!” He shouts. 

Every second that passes you feel yourself slip away. Light and sound comes and goes. You’re going to be sick.

The doorknob clatters against its own deadbolt. 

“I said not now–”

The door clicks and crashes open, magicked unlocked no doubt.

You can only make out Mr. Bragg’s outline. He’s standing, his body conveniently angled in a feeble attempt to block you from the intruder’s view. You don’t need to see to know who it is. 

You’re too fucked to smile. 

Theseus just stares. Seethes. Burns, not like paper being eaten up, but without end.

“I cans–you have to-” Your nonsensical, drunken slur is enough to break his stillness.

“What’s going on here?!” 

Something bridles and puffs up in Mr. Bragg, he clenches his fists and goes red in the face. 

“You have no right to-”

Theseus pushes him to the floor with a single hard shove. Mr. Bragg topples over like a beetle. 

He doesn’t care about him. He’s an Auror, he’ll deal with Bragg later.

You feel his hands on you, your body sings with affection. He’s trying to help you up by the arm but you’re trying to fall into him. 

“Sweetheart, try and stand up,” he says, voice hushed and insistent. He seems like a real Auror now, authoritative and caring. “I think he put something in your cup.”

Your head lolls but you try to obey and make yourself helpful. Fuck, it’s hard. You thought it would help, standing up, but you feel more and more inebriated by the second. 

“No,” you shake your head and stumble out of the black office into humiliatingly bright light. The word comes out as a desperate moan, a heave. You feel sick again. You have to concentrate on not slurring your words. “It’s just. I-I don’t really drink, Theseus. Likeatall...”

You stare at your stumbling feet, so strange looking. How strange it is to be drunk and seeing the drab, red Ministry carpets. To be like this and at work. 

Theseus is looking around, concerned at the spectacle of the two of you, at how bad it looked, maybe, you don’t know. You just want him to stop looking around and look at you instead. You need his attention, in a babylike and indulgent way. Look at me, look at me.

“Let’s go, darling,” he mutters. “I’ll take you home.” 

You gather up words and intent, trying your hardest to formulate a response; it’s then that you black out completely. 

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

Mercy, Theseus finds himself thinking, cursing, again. He doesn’t know how many times he’s thought this plea since you came into his life again. God, you made him think it the first night he met you, asking for a kiss, your eyes dark and bright at once, a star-shattered night.

 He knows he can’t hold anything you do against you now, though. You’re truly, shockingly, appallingly and hilariously drunk. Your eyes have that sheen, so he knows you won’t remember any of it, that you’re blacked out.

“Please,” he begs you. His arms burn, though he’d never let on. A block back you’d rolled your ankle, hard on the cobblestone, so he is carrying you now, which wouldn’t be difficult if you weren’t thrashing about so much. “Y/N, please tell me where you live.”

“Why?” You cry, frowning at him. Petulant. Bratty. But sweet, sweet like everything you did. He wants to give you what you want, like always. It’s half for show, but he puts on his policeman voice to deny you. 

“You’re in no state to be outside your house. I need to get you safe and home to your sister,” he explains dutifully.

The two of you had gotten enough disapproving stares from passing Muggles. 

The mention of your sister does seem to jog some essential parts of your brain into sluggish action. You furrow your brow, thinking over something. 

Cute.

“No, noooooo,” you whine. “My sister–oh, my landlady! They can’t see me like this, Theseus. I’ll be put out. Isn’t there some spell or-”

He shakes his head silently before realizing that you’re too drunk to notice, he has to speak aloud to get your attention.

“No, no,” he insists. “It’s too tricky a thing to remove alcohol from the bloodstream with a spell. Too dangerous. If I had a potion, maybe a bezoar elixir, I could do it, but this… It’s best to go to sleep.” 

“Nooooooo,” you cry again, throwing your head back. 

An old woman on the other side of the road frowns at you, openly.

“Fine! Fine,” he hisses, adjusting your flailing form in his aching arms. “I’ll take you to my flat.” 

You hiccup and then start babbling indistinctly again. His face burns at the feel of you in his arms, your cheek against his chest. 

This was not how he thought he’d find you today. Usually so put together all the time. So withheld and resilient.

Sedated complacency and confused, excitable thrashing seem to be your only two modes now, so this needy, talky drunkenness is something he welcomes–a middleground. Besides, half of what you mumble is nonsense. 

It is worse when he can make out the nonsense. It is worse when he kicks open the door to his apartment and deposits you onto his couch. 

Theseus drops down on the opposite end of the large couch, exhausted, legs spread, head thrown to the side. Carrying you all this way winded him. Nearly dislocated a shoulder.

It shocks him nearly upright when he sees you trying to crawl towards him.

“Y/N,” he grumbles. He pinches his eyes shut quickly to rid you from his vision, but it’s burned in his memory. You crawling towards him on all fours. Fucking hell.

“Go to sleep,” his eyes are still shut when he says it.

“Theseus,” you don’t sound drunk. Your lips are spit-slick. You sound sultry. Demanding. “I want.. I want-”

“See? You can’t even talk properly, love. Go to bed.” He conceals the panic well enough. He doesn’t want to deny you. If you wanna fall all over him, he wants to let you. But he knows this isn’t right, isn’t respectable. 

You stop descending on him like a beautiful punishment and sit back with your legs crossed, just a cushion away from him. You don’t look or sound as drunk as you did before but he knows you are, you’d never act like this if there wasn’t alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You tilt your head at him and, for him, it’s torturous. 

“Okay. Come to bed with me then?” You sing-song. There’s a ditzy, woozy quality to your voice that wasn’t there before. Hadn’t ever been there. If you didn’t still smell like whisky he wouldn’t be able to resist your advances at all.

“No, no, no,” Theseus stands suddenly, speaking more to himself than you. He paces back and forth across his living room, troubled. This was insane. He shouldn’t have brought you here. He couldn’t say no to you. He knew it wasn’t within his power to.

Clothes falling off your shoulders. Looking at him all dizzy and blissed out. Pupils blown, lips wet.

You hiccup. He wants to tease you for it, but the next words out of your mouth make him choke.

“I-I wish you wore glasses,” you laugh dreamily. “I wanna make you keep them on so I can see them go all crooked when I fuck you.”

His whole body reacts. Throbs. He hisses painfully through his teeth. Tries to shut his eyes again but it’s futile. He could hate you for what you’re doing to him, actually detest you.

“Y/N, please stop talking.”

“Mmm, I thought that-”

“Stop. Talking.”

You giggle again and roll over on the couch, delighted, throwing your arms up above you.

Then, mercy, mercy, you’re trying (clumsily, unsuccessfully, what should be unsexily but it’s not to him, it’s absolutely not) to take off your clothes, pull off your top and tug off your tights. You whine in frustration when you can’t manage it.

You fall back in defeat. He can see you’re past the point of proactivity now. So long as he stays across the room he isn’t in danger. You couldn’t stumble over to him if you tried.

“Help me.” You order with a pout.

“No,” he smiles now, corner of his mouth curling, feeling confident and safe. Settles into the wooden chair at his small, square dining table and looks at you, amused. He’s still hard. “You really should listen to me, Y/N.” He says, a bit hotly. 

There’s fondness, but also a sort of angry, disciplinarian edge to his tone.

“I know! I already knowwww,” you retort, grouchily despite the fact that you’re agreeing with him. Oh, the drunken mind…

He should leave. He should carry you to his bedroom and then lock you in there until you sober up or pass out. He flexes his hand at the thought. No, he doesn’t trust himself to touch you now. He hates this, not being able to touch you. He loves you and he hates it. 

He’s saying the words, spitefully, before he can stop himself. 

“Did you know that your voice gets all high pitched right before you come? It’s cute, actually.”

His voice is a flat line, hard and unforgiving. He’s snappy and harsh and, when you moan softly at his words, he gets up and leaves you alone in his apartment. 

“I need to go on a walk. Go to sleep. Don’t move.”

The front door slams shut before you can even attempt to crawl your way over to him.

—-----------------------

You’re awake for several minutes before you can bring yourself to crack open your eyelids. It’s all pounding blackness in your head–a nightclub full of dementors. You’d laugh at the thought if everything didn’t hurt. 

Your mouth tastes awful. You don’t know where you are. 

“Theseus?” you mutter, rolling over in the very large, very foreign bed, opening your eyes at last.

There’s a small, purple bottle that’s labeled J. Pippin’s Hangover Remedy on the bedside table but even that makes your stomach turn. The thought of drinking any flavored liquid sends a shudder down your spine. 

You sit up and force yourself to take a pitiful swig anyway and chase it with the glass of water set there for you. The more you take in the scenery–the neat, cozy room, the water and potion, the newly bought women’s clothes laid out for you at the end of the bed–the more humiliation colors your cheeks.

“Oh, no,” you whine aloud, burying your face in your hands. The last thing you remember is the Armistice ceremony and then Theseus helping you tumble out of Mr. Bragg’s dark office in a whisky-flavored haze. This had to be Theseus’s bedroom.

Which meant….

You’re only wearing your tights and a camisole. Braving the hallway in your half-undressed state, you slip into the bathroom. There’s a toothbrush there too, which you snatch up greedily, eager to rid your mouth of this foul, boozy taste. After a quick, sobering shower and five too-long minutes of scrutinizing your flushed face in the mirror you walk cautiously out into the living room. You put on one of his shirts and boxer shorts rather than the clothes he’d bought and laid out for you. Your hair is damp and dripping, but smells clean and like his soap, like him. 

Through the windows, it's a cool and silver morning, the earliest light of day has that nascent, colorless quality. The dark hardwood floors of his apartment are quiet underfoot, and all things are still. Today feels new and clean and you’re hopeful he’ll forgive you.

What did you do last night? What did you say to him? You were so embarrassed, you just hoped that he’d still want you. That he wouldn't take back what he said about loving you. 

Theseus looks so funny with his arm jutting out from under him, his bare legs hanging crooked over the edge of the couch. You stifle a laugh despite yourself. 

It’s then, smiling at his sleeping form fondly, that you know. You’ve always felt it before, but now you know it. The certainty resting in your heart strengthens and glows.

You stand before him and tug his extended hand. He opens his eyes in innocent confusion. 

“What–Y/N-”

“Come to bed with me.”

He stares up at you uncomprehendingly, gaze bleary but fond. He’s so handsome it hurts. 

“Come on,” you laugh. “It’s still early. We can still sleep well.”

His oversized form on the small couch sits up. You want to run your hands through his hair, press your hands against the hard expanse of his chest and push him back down again. 

“Are you sure?” He asks calmly. 

“Come,” you repeat. This time when you pull him by the hand he lets you lead him. 

You fall into his bed together and he brings you into him, so impossibly naturally, like muscle memory. You feel your face blush but pay it no attention, you feel so warm and safe in the cradle of his body at last.

You have to tell him. Have to tell him how you feel.

You turn to face Theseus, still cradled in his arms, but the sight of him stoppers your throat.

“I–” You make a noise like choking. There’s a bright red mark down the side of his neck. “Theseus, your neck! What happened?”

He smiles softly at your face, contented and amused.

“I’m sorry to break this to you Y/N, but you might have raked your teeth down the side of my neck last night while I was trying to carry you to my bed.” 

You are undisguisably mortified. You gawk at him.

“It’s okay, Y/N!” He laughs reassuringly. “It’s fine, really. Despite you torturing me all night trying to get me to sleep with you, I stood my ground. Nothing happened.”

“Torturing you?!” Your eyes are blown wide and you can’t seem to close your mouth, except to wince. “Oh, Theseus, my behavior–I’m so humiliated, you have to forgive me–” 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he says, all levity in his voice gone, only sincerity. He clasps your hands between your body and his, and you lean into the feeling.

When you still can’t look at him, red-faced and flustered, he leans forward so suddenly you nearly start back.

Theseus licks the column of your neck in a long line, punctuating it with a nip of his teeth that makes you gasp. 

“There,” he leans back and smirks at his handiwork. “Got you back. You can stop being sorry for antagonizing me now.”

Your heart is pounding, blood roaring in your ears. 

“Besides,” he adds, once it’s clear you’re done being mortified. “I admit that I even find your cruelty endearing. I’ve always hated meanness, but it doesn’t matter with you at all. That’s how I know I’ve been corrupted.”

You let yourself laugh at that. It’s so nice, being in bed with him. Wearing his clothes. Despite the context of how you got there, you feel at peace. 

“So,” he starts. “What do you remember?”

You shake your head and purse your lips.

“Mr. Bragg’s office. I tried to question him, it was a mission of mine. He’s not what he seems, Theseus. Mr. Bragg, Mr. Martin, I don’t know who else–they’re real threats to the Ministry.”

Theseus nods solemnly, taking it in.

“Okay, what else?”

You try to remember but the night comes back in fleeting scenes and flickering sensations. 

“You kept calling me sweet.” You whisper.

“That’s all then?” He doesn’t contest it.

“But I’m not sweet,” you insist, weakly. “Everyone says I’m not. I wish I was, but I’m not a sweet girl.”

“No,” Theseus grabs your hand again and rubs circles into it with his thumb. “You’re not sweet. You’re kind. It’s a stronger quality, Y/N. One with more conviction and spirit. Trust me.” 

You make a face at him, one meant to inspire pity.

“I’m not sweet?”

Theseus exhales through his nose in a huff, baffled, disarmed. Of course you would focus on that part of what he said. He flicks the tip of your nose with his finger and it makes you scrunch up your face. He’s staring at you so lovingly that it makes your teeth ache.

“You taste sweet enough to me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and warm and wanting. Hungrier than you thought he was. You could never gauge how much he wanted you, how badly. It took you off-guard then, the first time you met him in his office, and it shocks you now. 

You’re racing to kiss him back with equal fervor. Your skin alights with pleasure every place that his skin meets yours, you come to life under those hands of his. 

Will it cease, this awestruck response he elicits? You want to one day get used to Theseus, to the wonder of him in front of you, so you can think straight around him. So you can enjoy him in a measured and rational way without praying on him like a star, without the winded pleasure of disbelief.

You whine when he pulls away from your mouth, but it’s quickly silenced by the feeling of his hands sliding under your shirt and over your breasts, squeezing and massaging them. Your nipples are so sensitive that his fingertips feel almost unbearably good. Painfully good.

“You have no idea the hell you put me through last night.”

“I’m sorry,” you moan.

“I’m not.” 

He takes your mouth with his again. The way he kisses you now feels like fucking in of itself, his tongue pressing in and in to your mouth, it feels like him showing what he wants to do to you. 

One of his hands drops from your chest and slips under the waistline of the pair of boxers you're wearing. His shirt, his boxers.

“Gonna make me fuck you while you wear my clothes, princess?”

You don’t know how he possesses the superpower of making you blush like a schoolgirl while his hands are quite literally down your pants. The display of shyness seems futile. 

He was so gentlemanly at work and in life. You didn’t know such words were capable of leaving his lips, but god they sounded good to you.

“Off,” you manage. “Take them off.” 

Theseus obliges you, hands big and warm as they gently lift the hem of your shirt over your head. He helps you shimmy out of the boxer shorts too. His hands move over all that bare skin with reverence, stroking and petting and grasping. 

“You’re beautiful-”

“I love you,” the words rush out at once, urgent. You need him to know, they need to be said. 

He looks stunned, leans back with a jerk and stares into your eyes with scrutiny and wonder. You don’t break his gaze. 

“Do you really?” He says, breathlessly.

“Yes,” and your eyes are welling with tears, you don’t know why. “I love you, Theseus.”

“God,” he groans, pressing you to him in an embrace so engulfing it makes you gasp. His hand snakes around the back of your head, his other arm wraps around your torso–a man, overcome. “I love you so much, Y/N.” 

It’s different when he starts to touch you again. Slower. Devout. He stares dead into your eyes with a concentration unmatched when he slips his fingers into you at last, his own eyes heavy-lidded with sleep and lust. It takes everything in you not to look away, the look in his eyes is so burning with desire it alone could be your ruin, make you come undone.

You feel yourself pulse around him, aching and squeezing around his hand. He curls his index slightly upwards so perfectly that every fuck of his fingers, every pump has you moaning raggedly. Your whole body saying yes, yes, yes to the tempo he’s set.

But you don’t want to come like this.

You start shaking your head before you can get any words out.

He’s watching you so intently he doesn’t need any words to read you.

“What is it?” There’s no teasing to his tone anymore, no condescension. He’s all caring dedication. When he slides his fingers out they’re soaked. “You want my cock?”

You nod, feeling strangely drunk again. 

He rolls his still-clothed hips against your bare, slick core experimentally and you moan loudly, inappropriately and unabashedly loudly. 

It makes him smile.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. So good. What do you want, baby? How do you want me?”

You can’t even think around him, you don’t know what possesses you to say what you do.

“From the back. I want you to take me from behind.”

Theseus’s eyes flash with something dark. His lips part and for a moment you think he’s going to deny you. He did like looking at your face, watching your reactions…

But then he’s getting up onto his knees and flipping you onto your stomach, roughly. The mattress heaves beneath the two of you.

You start to get up on all fours when his hand pushes you down hard, by the small of your back. Your body presses flat into the mattress with a gasp.

“Theseus-”

He straddles your thighs with his so you can’t even spread your legs when he presses his dick into your tight hole.

You whine and moan at the sensation of being stretched open by him. You can’t move at all trapped under his weight, you can’t even lift your hips–you can just bury your head and take it. He rocks his hips experimentally and, when you moan wantonly again, he leans down, bending his body over yours to nip the back of your ear with his teeth before pounding into you.

You know he just told you he loved you but, god, he was drilling you like he hated you, hand on the back of your neck, his pace relentless, pulling out completely before slamming back into you bruisingly. Your walls try to clamp down to slow his speed but it only makes it feel better, him splitting you open from behind.

You hear him groan at the feel of your walls constricting and fluttering around him. You orgasm suddenly and with a muffled whine, wishing you could roll your hips back into the feeling, but you’re still pinned beneath him, quivering and overstimulated. 

Dazed, you distantly remember last time you slept with him and cry brokenly. You don’t want that, him pulling out to come in his hand. 

“Theseus, I-” you know you’re incoherent, blabbering. Face half-shoved into his pillow. “Please come inside me. I-I want to feel it when-”

“Fuck,” he hisses. The sound of your voice has him coming hard, you feel it shoot warm into your pussy. His pace slows, rocking his half-hard cock a few more times into you before pulls out with a shaky breath at last. 

“Y/N,” Theseus turns you back over. His hands are searching, gentle. When he sees your expression, blissful and fucked-out, he smiles, stroking your face.

“God,” he groans, low, collapsing back down beside you. “I could stay in this bed with you forever.”

You hold onto his hand and bring it up to your mouth to kiss it, body still thrumming with pleasure.

After a while, he speaks again.

“Is.. Was that okay?” He asks, and it silences you, learns into something heavier like pain. “I just want to make sure that you’re not… inebriated anymore, not confused…”

“I was never confused,” you murmur, shaking your head softly. “I meant everything I said yesterday night, though I can’t remember what.” 

You realize with a start that you have to be honest now, or you’ll cry.

“It’s bad,” you continue. “I can’t ever pretend to feel something I don’t.”

“You pretended not to know me,” Theseus whispers the words into the pillow beside your head, like he’s setting them down next to you. His voice is too gentle and fond to be an accusation, but you still feel caught, like you’re in trouble.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me anyway. And… I was scared.”

“Of what, darling?”

Darling. This man would be the death of you. You’d give him anything he asked for. 

"Um," you bite your bottom lip hard, trying to ground yourself with the sharp reprimand of pain. Darling, he called you darling. "I guess, um, I was happy with how you see me now. That when I asked you to kiss me, you did this time. I didn't want to confuse you, I didn't want to do anything that might make it stop. You wanting me, I mean."

You don't feel terribly eloquent or coherent, but he's nodding encouragingly, understandingly.

He nudges your nose with his to get you to meet his eyes, and it makes you smile like you're just remembering how to. He reintroduces joy into your life like an old friend. Like a family member, it comes so naturally to him.

"I don't wanna scare you away either, Y/N. I told you I love you because I couldn't help it, the same way I touched you in my office because I couldn't help it. But I wanna make you mine in every way that I can."

You raise a brow, prompting him to clarify.

"Like what, you wanna...?" You can't finish the sentence, you need to hear him say it.

“I want to marry you, naturally.” Saying the words knocks something loose in him. The strength of his desire is deafening, like downed wine burning low in his stomach, roaring in his ears.

You laugh and he doesn’t understand or care why, he just knows the sound is angelic and smiles with stupid joy in response.

"Oh, you," you sigh. "Theseus, you could have anyone. Anyone." 

You don't mean to sound so bittersweet, so distant and reminiscing. He is handsome and strong and good, without even trying, he just is. He is charismatic and confident. The whole room falls into his orbit, is pulled into his gravity when he enters. 

It's not that you have nothing in common, but everything you love about him is everything that keeps him apart from you.

He shakes his head, dazed with happiness.

"There's only ever been you. It's always been you."

"I love you too," your eyes prick with tears. "I love you, Theseus. I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was, that I hid from you, that I didn't say it earlier. But I've loved you since I was a girl, even if I can't believe that you love me, I can still-"

"Y/N," he interrupts you, hushed and urgent. "I feel like it was very hard for you to love me. You seemed so conflicted and confused and pained, especially at the beginning. But, for me, loving you has been like breathing. This,” he raises your clasped hands between you. “This is easy. It’s who I am.”

When you close your eyes and drift off into a light, midday sleep, there are no clouds in the horizon of your mind, no dreams of war, only a small but glowing peace. 

--

taglist: @hotwheelsenthusiasthic @milasmithsblog @msauthor @asyouwish-fromcabin3 @karashawsblog

[emilyprentissluvr]

See You Soon (Dont Blame Me: Chapter 4)

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Summary: Emily knew it was wrong. She knew you were the most dangerous woman the BAU had ever seen. Yet, she couldn't seem to stay away from you.

Warnings: Typical Criminal Minds stuff

Words: 2.2k

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

EMILY DROPPED her bags on the floor as soon as she entered her apartment. She shed her shoes and jacket as she made a beeline to her wine cabinet, not even getting a glass before downing almost a third of the bottle. She looked at the clock in her kitchen that read 1 AM and immediately went to flop onto her couch.

Hotch had sent them home after looking at the car crash scene. Emily had wanted to stay and do as much as she could to find Y/n. But she knew there was no point. There was no way they would find Y/n before she wanted to be found. 

Luckily Derek was okay, the drugs seemed to be passing through his system. The paramedic said he should be fine by the morning, easing Emily's guilt. The rational side of her brain knew that this wasn't her fault, but she still couldn't help but feel like it was. Y/n only wanted Emily which meant that everyone else was just collateral damage. 

'If only I hadn't gone to the coffee shop' Emily kept thinking as she took another sip of the wine. The BAU was supposed to be a fresh start. A place where the was a distance between her and the unsub. Where all she had to was help create a profile and then make an arrest. 

But now? Now it was personal. 

Emily had been fully content on drinking herself to sleep until she heard a knock on the door. The brunette furrowed her brows as she slowly stood up and put the wine bottle down, reaching for her gun in a hidden compartment under her coffee table. She quietly approached the door and looked through the peephole to see an anxious JJ on the other side fiddling with an overnight bag. Emily let out a sigh of both relief and annoyance as she opened the door, putting her gun on the table by the entrance, "JJ? What are you doing here?"

"Can I um- stay here for the night?" The blonde asked, looking down at the floor. All of Emily's annoyance washed away as she immediately pulled her friend into the apartment. "Yeah of course. You know you're always welcome here." The brunette said as she grabbed JJ's bag and led her to the couch. 

"Thanks," JJ mumbled as she sat in the corner of the couch, pulling her legs up so her chin could rest on her knees. Emily was at a loss for what to do. The blonde had been completely fine when they had left the crime scene so this couldn't be about work. 

"You want a drink?" Emily offered as she sat next to the blonde and held up the half-empty wine glass. 

"No thanks," JJ said as she looked at Emily for the first time. Emily could see that her eyes were slightly red and puffy, she had been crying. She immediately went to comfort her friend and ran a soothing hand along the blonde's back, "What's wrong?"

"It's um- It's Will," JJ said nervously as she gnawed at her bottom lip. Emily's face immediately hardened. She had always hated the guy. Hated the way he treated JJ.

"He moved in last week." JJ continued and Emily tried to hide the look of shock on her face, "I didn't know you guys were getting serious." The brunette said. The last time they talked about Will, JJ had said they were nothing more than hookup-buddies. 

"Well, we weren't planning on it," JJ mumbled as she wrung her fingers together. 

"What changed your mind?" Emily asked and her soft tone broke the dam of emotions that JJ had been holding in.

"I'm pregnant!" JJ immediately burst into tears and Emily's eyes widened in shock as she pulled the younger woman into her arms. "Happy tears or sad tears?" Emily asked pushing away her surprise and putting her full focus on JJ. She didn't want to approach this the wrong way.

"I don't know," JJ sniffled against Emily's shoulder, "Ive- I've always wanted to be a mom but it wasn't supposed to happen like this! I was supposed to be married and in love and...and..." The blonde trailed off as tears fell on her face and onto the brunette's shirt. 

"It's okay, let it out," Emily murmured as she comforted her friend. It was another couple of minutes before JJ's tears stopped and she pulled away from the brunette's embrace. 

"I don't know what to do." JJ said as her blue eyes locked onto Emily's brown ones, "Well you have a lot of options and time-" Emily started before she was cut off by the blonde, "No no, I want to keep the baby. I just don't know what to do about Will." JJ said nervously. "Everything's moving so fast and even though I've known him for two years, it's not like we did a lot of talking," JJ said.

"Not like you'd understand him anyway," Emily murmured under breath and thankfully JJ didn't hear her. "Have you talked to him about this?" The brunette asked, speaking louder so that JJ could hear her this time.

"Yeah, but he said that this is just what people do. I mean he dropped everything to move here to help me with the baby." JJ said and Emily shook her head. "That doesn't mean you owe him anything."

"Don't I at least owe it to the baby to try?"

"I um, I don't know," Emily said, feeling way out of her depth. She wished that Penelope was here to give JJ advice. The bubbly blonde always seemed to know what to say.

"But you need to do what's best for you. And if Will cares about you and the baby he needs to respect whatever you decide to do." Emily murmured.

"I know. It's just hard," JJ said as she wiped away a tear from her lashline.

Emily rubbed her shoulder, giving her a couple of minutes of silence to process her thoughts. "You're going to be a great mom." She said after JJ seemed to come back to herself. 

"You think so?"

"I know so." Emily smiled before grabbing the TV remote and turning on a movie for the both of them to watch. She knew there was too much on her mind to be able to fall asleep and she assumed it was the same for the younger agent. 

They were about halfway through the movie when JJ noticed that Emily had been zoning out. She'd been worried about the brunette ever since they left the crime scene. 

"Em," JJ said as she pulled Emily's attention away from a spot on the wall, "Are you okay?" JJ asked, never having seen Emily so on edge before. They had been best friends for almost three years but JJ still hadn't been able to crack the walls that Emily put up. JJ didn't mind though, she knew Emily was just a naturally guarded person.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Emily shrugged. 

"Well, it can't be easy getting so close to an unsub like that," JJ said and Emily couldn't help but just stare. She had completely forgotten that no one on the team knew about her past. They didn't know what she had to do to accomplish a mission. It wasn't that she was ashamed of it per se, she knew she helped to down a lot of bad people. But just because she wasn't ashamed of it didn't mean she felt good about it either. 

"I'll get over it," Emily said, giving JJ a reassuring smile that said she was both done with the conversation and that the blonde didn't need to worry. 

"Well even if you're over it, it doesn't seem like Y/n is," JJ frowned. 

"She's not the first woman to be obsessed with me," Emily said jokingly,  trying to get the blonde off her case.

"You know that's not what I meant," JJ said rolling her eyes, not amused with Emily's humor as a way to lessen the situation.

"I know I just- I don't want to think about it for too long," Emily murmured, hoping that was a good enough answer and thankfully it was since JJ didn't say anything else for the rest of the movie.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

"Any last words?" Y/n asked as she pointed her gun directly at the back of Jonah Herring's head. Her knee dug into his upper back as his face was forced into the ground of his living room floor. 

"Go fuck yourself." He groaned and Y/n just chuckled, "You men are so unoriginal. I can't even tell how many times I've heard that."

"You bitch!" Jonah growled as he tried to free himself from Y/n's hold. But the drugs that Y/n had slipped into his beer were preventing him from overpowering her.

"Again, unoriginal!" Y/n tutted as her gun traced Jonah's jawline. "I'll give you one more chance. How about that?"

"I will fucking kill you!" He spat and Y/n just rolled her eyes. "You know, most of the time you don't want to antagonize the person with the gun," She said as she brought it back to his head.

"And usually I'd take my time and have some fun. But I'm on a bit of a time crunch, unfortunately," Y/n said with fake pity.

Jonah's eyes went wide as he heard the click of the gun, "Wait-"

"Too late!" Y/n smiled as she pulled the trigger and Jonah's lifeless body fell to the ground.  Y/n immediately tucked her gun into her back pocket and rolled Jonah onto his back.

"Now this may hurt a little." Y/n joked as she pulled the branding pen out of her pocket. She'd done this so many times she could probably do it with her eyes closed. Finishing the angel wing only took two minutes before she stood up and Jonah back onto his stomach.

She pulled her phone out and saw that it was almost 3 am. Y/n smiled as she pocketed her phone, the adrenaline of outsmarting the BAU less than a couple of hours ago was still running through her body. They had underestimated her just like everyone else had.

And now they were going to pay for it. 

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

Emily's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her phone ringing. She groaned as she sat up, her back not thanking her for sleeping on the couch. She checked the time and saw that it was only 7 am causing her to groan.

"Prentiss," She grumbled into the phone. 

"We found another body," Hotch said with the sound of cars in the background as he drove through morning traffic.

"What?" Emily asked, her body now fully awake as she shook JJ, who was fast asleep next to her.  

"The police got reports of a gunshot from an apartment building around 3 am. When they found the body they were able to identify the angel wing."

"A gunshot? Why would she use a gun that makes noise? She always uses a silencer," Emily scoffed and bolted upstairs to get her and a now very grumpy and sleepy JJ a new set of clothes.

"It's a taunt. She wants us to know that she's been close this entire time." Hotch answered easily.

"Of course it is," Emily mumbled as rummaged through her drawers, "Any updates on Derek?"

"Doctors said he's going to be fine and should be discharged within the next couple of hours," Hotch said. He had been with Derek in the hospital when he got the call from the DC PD. 

"That's good," Emily muttered more to herself, "JJ and I will meet you there."

"Okay," Hotch confirmed before hanging up.

It was another 45 minutes before the woman arrived at Jonah's apartment. The crime scene looked the same as all the others, organized with nothing out of place other than a dead body. 

Hotch, Spencer, and Rossi were all standing by the body when Emily and JJ walked next to them. 

"The victim is Jonah Herring, 26. Time of death was approximately 3 am and COD was a gunshot wound to the back of the head," The ME said as she wrote on her clipboard. 

"She must have come here right after escaping custody," Rossi noted.

"Why didn't she leave DC? She had the resources and time to do it," Spencer added.

"It's about the hunt," Emily said as she walked around the apartment.

"The hunt?" JJ asked.

"When we were in the bathroom, she said she missed the hunt and how exhilarating it feels," Emily continued as her eyes focused on a bouquet of Chrysanthemums in a vase on the kitchen counter. The flowers stood out in the very masculine and plain apartment. 

 "She wants us to play into her game," Hotch frowned.

"Seems like it," Emily muttered as she brushed a finger on a flower petal. She felt a sense of unease as she looked at the flowers, the team's voices fading out in her mind. A corner of white peeked out from the base and Emily immediately lifted it to find a small note card. 

"Hey guys!" Emily called out, interrupting whatever Rossi and Spencer were talking about. "She left us a card." The team gathered around Emily as she handed the note to Hotch.

The Unit Chief opened the small piece of paper and the side of his jaw ticked, "Actually, she left you a card." He said as he handed the note back to Emily.

She frowned as she opened the letter and read the simple four words on it.

𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘌𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

"Godammit," Emily sighed as she gave the note to the rest of the team to read. 

"Well its not just the hunt that exhilarates her." Spencer said as he gave the card back to Emily, "It's the fact that you are hunting her."

[laracrofted]

down comes the night

synopsis: on a cold midnight in the dead of winter, gotham city's district attorney is murdered.

pairing: batman!bob floyd x fem!reader (lucky)

warnings: 18+ minors and ageless accounts dni, character death (obviously), mentions of death and mob violence, language (wc: 1K)

note: while i'm not planning to write a full series for batman bob – more like connected one shots and blurbs, because i can only focus on one series – i knew i absolutely had to write this scene, which has been in my head all week.

Tears are frozen in your lashes.

You saw him on Saturday. He was alive on Saturday. You saw him.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, mussed your hair like an annoying older brother and smacked a drunken and damp kiss on your cheek. He was alive.

"Did you hear me?" Bradley asks you – no, Commissioner Bradshaw asks you. His coat hangs around your shoulders, overly large on your frame, smelling like leather and coffee and cigar smoke. He doesn't smoke, or maybe Bradley just doesn't smoke around you.

He has always been so delicate around you. You still remember when another officer in the Major Crimes Division made some crass comment in front of you, and Bradley barked out a harsh, "Watch your mouth. You're in the presence of a lady," and silenced the room.

Or at least, until Jake smirked and not even bothering to look up from his paperwork, drawled, "Oh really? Where? I don't see any ladies around here. I only see Lucky."

You shot him a withering look, and Jake grinned, green eyes glittering in the dim yellow light of the office.

Bradley says your name again, breaking you from the warmth of the memory, plunging you back into the cold of the night, like a frozen surface of a lake, cracking under your weight.

You're so cold. Swallowing is almost painful.

You look at him, cheeks cold, eyes dim and lifeless. "How?"

A croak, barely audible, but Bradley pales. He opens his mouth, but Bradley's voice isn't the one that answers your question.

"A single shot to the back of the head."

His voice is low and hoarse and if the circumstances were different, kind of attractive. He sounds like cigar smoke and aged whiskey, deep and solid.

You've only seen him a few times.

You'd come looking for Jake up here once and found him up here – up here with him. He spotted you before Jake did and sidled back into the shadows, ready to disappear, and Jake looked over his shoulder.

"That's just Lucky. She's good," Jake reassured him. He beckoned you forward with a waved palm. You quietly handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and watched the shadows. He watched you back, silent and watchful.

You've never heard his voice before.

Under different circumstances.

You don't have the luxury of different circumstances. You only have these.

"Execution style?"

He says nothing, which might as well be a confirmation.

"A mob hit?"

You can only see the bottom half of his face in his mask. His mouth looks vaguely impressed, pitched to the side.

You recall, "He slipped a USB into my clutch on Saturday. He must've done it when I wasn't paying attention or something."

You remember Jake's arm around your shoulders, his lips warm on your cheek, on your hairline.

"He left me a video. He said..."

Trust Bradshaw and Batman. No one else. Everyone else is on a payroll, kid. You suck in a breath and do your best not to cry again. Moisture stings your eyes. Damn.

"He knew, didn't he? He was making plans. He must've known."

You know what Jake would say now.

Everyone wants to kill a District Attorney in Gotham, Lucky. We might as well make, 'Mob bosses want me dead,' the new re-election slogan.

You can almost hear his voice, can almost see his grin.

Bradley nods. "Someone always wants to kill a good D.A., but yeah, Jake knew. He always knew."

You scoff.

Of course, Jake knew.

Jake knew and didn't run. Didn't enter protective custody. Didn't do anything but show up in the court room and smile in the faces of the men who wanted him dead. Damn him and his reckless righteousness. Damn him.

"Hey, Lucky..." Bradley looks sideways into the shadows. "You should probably call in sick for the rest of the week." You look at him sharply, and Bradley holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "You could be in danger. These are dangerous people. We don't know who exactly Jake pissed off."

You could almost laugh. Who didn't Jake piss off?

"He'd want you to be safe, is all," Bradley finishes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Moonlight glints off of the silver badge at his hip.

You look at him dully. "Jake didn't run. Why should I?"

"And now Jake's dead," Bradley says softly.

And now Jake is dead.

He won't ruffle your hair or grab you coffee in the mornings. He's dead. He's dead.

You abruptly shake your head, almost robotically. Cross your arms.

"I'm an Assistant District Attorney. I can help."

"No," Bradley responds immediately. "For all we know, someone in the DA's office is crooked. You start poking around all of the sudden and..."

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. You could end up like Jake.

You bite down on your lip and cast your gaze into the shadows. "You. What'd Jake say I'd do?"

Batman looks at you, serious and searching, for a long moment, which feels even longer under his gaze. "You'd help. He said, if something were to happen to him, you'd help."

You hold his gaze. "Then I'll help."

And out of the corner of your eye, Bradley sighs.

Bradley leaves before you. He gets a call and heads downstairs – but not before offering to have one of his men drive you home whenever you're ready, which makes you smile weakly.

You expect him to leave soon after. You're surprised when Batman lingers.

You ignore him, mostly, watching the glittering snow dance and glimmer and fall in the wind, pinpricks of reflected light in the darkness, almost like stars.

"He..."

And Batman hesitates.

And damn, isn't that something? Isn't it something to see a masked vigilante – a feared predator, a scourge of the underworld – measure his words?

"He was... a good man. He was my friend. I'm sorry."

You stare. You don't blink. You barely even breathe.

"Thank you."

He dips his chin in a nod – his strong chin – and in the edges of the brightness pouring from the spotlight on the roof of the GCPD building – which bears his symbol, a sign of hope and fear, depending on who bears witness – you swear you catch a glimpse of blue in his eyes.

Before you can look closer, can step closer, Batman is gone, melting into the shadows again, disappearing into the dark and bleak night in a rush of wind.

Standing here alone – without him – feels even colder somehow.

note: will i wish i'd edited this in the morning? probably. do i care right now? not at all. also, down comes the night is now the official name for this universe, which i love, but of course, batman bob is always acceptable 😌

summoning a few friends who might be interested: @sometimesanalice @roosterbruiser @callsignspark @rhettabbotts @yanna-banana @ryebecca @withahappyrefrain

[fairydvsts-blog]

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

"i love you" in Taylor Swift's lyrics masterlist

summary; your husband gives JJ a maintenence job at your vacation house and you spend all summer crushing over your hot new employee

warnings; characters are aged up (both characters are in their mid/late 20's), cheating, SMUT, dirty talk, some neck grabbing, female masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, praising, p in v, unprotected sex. I feel like this shit is LONG af!

a/n; english isn't my first language, so you might find mistakes; I'm open to constructive criticism. Enjoy!

It was a very warm afternoon in Outer Banks. The sky was completely clear —there wasn't a single cloud in sight— and the sun was shining brighter than ever, but that was not what had gotten you all hot and bothered.

JJ Maybank, the new maintenance guy, was.

As you were lounging on the deck chair beside the pool, holding some random book you weren't paying attention to in your hands, you couldn't take your eyes off him. Being a hundred per cent honest, it had been that way since your husband hired him a few weeks ago. Luckily for you, neither of them seemed to have noticed yet.

You felt guilty for being attracted to him, though. You had been married for two years, and you were supposed to be in love with your husband, not craving other man's touch. But you couldn't help it. There was something about JJ that was drawing you like a moth to the flame; maybe it was his gorgeous blue eyes, his silky blonde hair, or his ripped muscles, or maybe it was all of them together, either way, you had managed to suppress your feelings for what felt like ages in order to not ruin your wonderful —but really boring— marriage.

Little did you know that your self-control was about to go to shit.

You had tried to focus on your reading for several minutes, and to date, you had failed miserably. Your mind kept going back to earlier that day, when JJ had brushed past you in the hallway, remembering how you had looked right into his alluring eyes, wishing for him to push you against the wall and to fuck you right there and then. You had to cross your legs at the thought, feeling your bikini bottom getting wetter by the second.

It was wrong and forbidden, you knew it, but in some way, that made it more exciting.

You stared at him through your sunglasses, mesmerised by the way his sweaty golden muscles glistened under the sun rays as he mowed the lawn. You were so busy imagining how his wet skin would feel against your own that you hadn't noticed the furtive looks he was giving you.

Your mouth almost watered when you saw him grabbing the hem of his sleeveless t-shirt to take it off. He threw it on the floor next to him and then he reached for the garden hose soaking himself with it to cool off. He ran his big hands through his blonde locks to accommodate his hair after that; the veins of his arms on display for you to see.

You swore you saw it all happening in slowmo. The little smirk that appeared in his face just seconds later while he shortly glanced at you gave you butterflies.

You realised something: he was doing it on purpose.

And, oh lord, that just made you want him even more. You were so horny that, for a moment, you thought you were about to literally combust in the spot.

Without giving it a second thought, you gave into the desires you had been repressing for weeks now.

You dropped your book instantly, grabbing the strings that held your blue bikini top in place to untie them. Your top dropped, leaving you exposed in front of a man that was not your husband, but you couldn't care less about that fact. His eyes widened because of the scene occurring before him, but he didn't look away at any moment, mesmerised by the sight of the woman of his dreams pouring tanning oil over her almost naked body.

He had to be delirious, right? The heat was making him delusional, that must be it.

Whether it was true or not, the boner forming in his trousers was pretty real so he picked up his t-shirt, using it to cover himself before he started walking towards the back door of the house. He had to leave before he did something stupid, like accidentally fucking his boss' wife while he was away on some business trip.

"I have finished for the day, Mrs. Ross. Do yo need something else before I go?" he asked in his way out.

He tried to keep the interaction between the two of you entirely profesional and he even resisted looking at your naked breasts. It was the hardest thing he had done in his entire life, though, because since he had started working for your husband, you were the first thing that crossed his mind when he woke up and the last thing he thought of before going to sleep.

But you knew professionalism had flew out of the window after the show you just put.

"Actually, could you rub some oil on my back?" you asked with a playful smile.

You gave him no time to answer and you handed him the tanning oil bottle, turning around after he took it, leaving him completely speechless. He gulped, his eyes looking directly at your ass, only covered by a really tiny thong, and he knew he was done for.

Leaning over you, he purred the oil on your back. When his hands touched you to spread it over your skin, you closed your eyes and almost moaned like a hormonal teenager. He gently massaged your shoulders, then your waist area and finally he reached your lower back, giving you goosebumps.

When you thought that he was over and that he was going to pull away, he surprised you by grabbing the oil bottle one more time, purring it over your legs. He started massaging your calves, moving up slowly, until he reached your upper thighs and a small moan escaped your lips; it had been too long since the last time you had sex with your husband and you felt like you could come untouched.

He leaned in, you felt his hot breath in your ear and he murmured, "You wouldn't believe how many times I have fantasised about touching you like this, Mrs. Ross."

One of his hands grabbed your ass cheek under your bikini bottom while he started placing wet kisses on your neck, making you whimper again. He had to stop, though, when you turned around to face him; he froze at the thought of you changing your mind about what was about to happen, but when you caressed his cheek and placed a gentle kiss on his neck, next to his ear, all of his fears vanished.

"And you wouldn't believe how many times I've touched myself, wishing it was your fingers instead of mine, Mr. Maybank," you whispered looking right into his blue eyes.

"Fuck."

He grabbed your neck and brought you closer to him, your mouths were so close that they lightly brushed over each other. You felt his breath becoming faster and your heart started pounding like crazy when you saw him licking his lips while looking closely at yours, but you forced yourself to pull away from his touch.

"Someone could be watching us, we should get inside," you suggested.

The last thing you wanted was your husband finding out about you and JJ. This was a one time thing, just to get him out of your system. After that, you would go back to being the perfect loving wife your husband deserved.

He nodded, agreeing with you, and helped you getting up. He reached for his t-shirt to cover your naked form with it before grabbing your hand and taking you inside.

"Be quiet," you asked, while the both of you sneaked around the massive house, trying to avoid your nosy housemaid.

You made it to your bedroom successfully and as soon as both of you were inside, JJ pushed you against the door, locking it.

"Can I kiss you?" he questioned, pressing his body against yours.

"Yes, please."

He didn't waste any more time, finally crushing your lips together. The kiss was heated, messy, hungry. His hands sneaked under your clothes to grab your waist with need, pulling you even closer to him. You felt frantic as you wrapped your hands around his neck, kissing him back like you were drowning and he was air.

His tongue slipped between your lips. completely devouring your mouth while one of his hands gripped your neck to keep your head pinned against the door; you broke the kiss, whimpering in his mouth because of the action and he kept his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as both of you tried to steady your breathing.

"Why don't you show me how you touch yourself when you think about me, baby?" he whispered.

Your heart skip a beat after hearing the words he spoke; you had never done something like that before, yet you nodded, making him smile. He kissed you gently before taking off your —his— shirt and then, only wearing your bikini thong, you moved towards the bed, where you sat.

You placed your feet over the edge of the mattress, spreading your legs, and leaned on your elbow to make yourself comfortable. His eyes never left your body, analysing every inch of your exposed skin.

"You're beautiful," he complimented you, which encouraged you to move your hand down your belly until it disappeared under your last piece of clothing.

You panted when you felt your fingertips brushing your needy pussy for the first time, biting your lip right after. Your cheeks flushed when JJ squeezed his cock over his pants while hearing and looking at you; seeing him so into it motivated you to keep going.

Your fingers started rubbing circles over your swollen clit, slowly at first, but you were so turned on that soon you sped up your movements. You were soaked and even the lightest touch sent sparks of pleasure across your entire body. A small moan escaped your lips when you traced your entrance with two fingers, slipping them inside for a second before taking them out again.

"Take this off, baby, I wanna see you," he pleaded, kneeling between your legs on the bed and grabbing the straps of the bikini.

Yo nodded, pulling your hand out of if and lifting your hips so he could take the thong off. He moaned at the sight of your glistening cunt and placed his hands over your knees to further separate your thighs.

Under his attentive gaze, you pushed your middle and ring finger inside of your pussy, curving them so you could reach that spot in the front that made you see stars with each thrust. You made sure to rub your clit with the palm of your hand, too.

"That's it, princess, you're doing so good for me," he praised you, moving one of his hands up your leg until it reached your chest, where he started touching your breasts, "Wish those where my fingers, baby."

You moaned because of his words as he unfastened his belt with his free hand, unbuttoning his trousers right after. He reached for the waistband of the pants, pulling it down so his underwear was in sight. You gasped when you were able to see the outline of his dick under his boxers; your mouth watered at how big he was.

You added a third finger, desperate for cumming; your arousal was dripping all over the bedding, making a mess.

"I'm so fucking horny for you, JJ," you told him, calling him by his name for the first time, "I'm going to cum."

You couldn't even remember the last time that you had fingered yourself so hard. Or the last time that you had been so fucking wet. He smiled, lowering his hand to touch your clit with his rough thumb, making you moan repeatedly.

You felt the familiar tingling in your lower belly, your breathing hitched and before you could stop it, you were coming harder than ever. Your muscles tightened and your legs started shaking uncontrollably. Overwhelmed by such a strong orgasm, you took out your fingers, trying to close your legs to soothe the sensation, but JJ wouldn't let you do so. Instead, he replaced your fingers with his own and he kept fucking you with them through your orgasm.

"JJ, please, stop, it's to much! Baby... Oh fuck!" you moaned, grinding your hips against his hand despite the overstimulation.

"I know you have another one in you, princess," he said, working his fingers harder and faster inside of you, "C'mon, be a good girl and cum for me."

He placed his free hand over your pelvis, putting pressure there, while he curved his fingers in his direction. In less than thirty seconds he had you coming undone again. Your vision went blank as your entire body trembled and you squirted all over him, crying out his name like a prayer.

It took you a few minutes to recover from the most explosive orgasm of your life, realising you had completely soaked everything. JJ laid down next to you the whole time and didn't stop caressing you for a second while he whispered sweet things to your ear.

You turned to look at him with the biggest smile and you said, "I didn't know I could do that."

The blonde laughed softly, burying his face on the crook of your neck, where he started placing wet kisses while his hand went to rub your pussy again, collecting your squirt to lick it off his fingers with a lustful look in his eyes.

"If I were your husband, I'd make sure you squirted every fucking day of my life, baby." Your cheeks flushed.

You bit your lip, pushing him so he was laying on his back and straddled him, grinding your wet cunt over his clothed dick; he was so hard that he thought he was gonna cum in his pants at the sight of your naked body dry humping his cock.

"Fuck me, JJ, please," you almost begged, still turned on in spite of having come twice already.

"Wait, I have to grabb a condom." He tried to stand up, but you grabbed his neck and pushed him back on the bed, stopping him.

"You don't have to wear one. I'm on the pill and I'm clean," you explained, tracing his abs with the tip of your fingers.

"I'm clean too," he promised, you lifted your hips with a smirk covering your face.

"I trust you," you said.

You helped him getting out of his clothes and your eyes widened when you finally saw his naked cock bounce back against his stomach. He was really, really big. Much bigger than your husband for sure.

You grabbed his dick on your hand, making him moan, and you stroked him a few times before brushing his swollen red tip between your folds.

"Oh my God," he groaned, his head falling back against the mattress.

You repeated the action one last time before you began to lower your hips slowly, shoving his dick inside of your pussy. You moaned at the stretch, placing your hand over his broad chest to steady yourself, and you started bouncing on his cock, trying to find a rhythm that both of you liked. When you saw him frowning and breathing fast, you knew you had found it.

Whimpering, you asked him, "Does this feel good, J?"

"Yes, so fucking good, baby." He gasped, grabbing your hips to help you ride him.

His own hips started thrusting upwards, trying to match your pace, and you couldn't help but moan when he hit the right spot again. You tightened your muscles around his dick on purpose to make him feel as good as he had made you feel before; you smiled when he cried out, pounding into you harder.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that, baby," he admitted.

His hair was stuck into his forehead due to the sweat, covering his eyes a little bit, so you caressed his face and took it out of the way so that he could see you better

"Want you to come inside me, J," you asked for, "Want to feel you filling my pussy."

"Oh fuck, baby, you're so hot...I'm close," his statement encouraged you to start bouncing faster on his cock.

You whimpered when one of his hands made its way to your pussy and began to stroke your clit. You wanted, no, needed to cum again, so you took his other hand and placed it over one of your tits, which he squeezed and started playing with. At the same time, you leaned over him and placed wet kisses all over his chest, feeling his abs tightening under your palm just seconds later, announcing his orgasm.

He became a hot moaning mess under you while you kept riding him through his climax, but his thumb never left your clit as he rode it out, taking you down the cliff with him after a few seconds; your pussy clenched and your eyes rolled back due to the sensation. He sat up, kissing you one last time before he pulled out. You could feel his sticky cum come out of your pussy as you laid down next to him. JJ cuddled you, putting his head over your chest.

"I think..I think you have become my new addiction, Mrs. Ross," he confessed.

You smiled briefly before placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"I can see you being my addiction, too, Mr. Maybank."

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 9

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Dr. Miller’s voice snapped my eyes open. The setting was perfect. It felt like a movie. What could possibly be better than this? 

The fire, the dim light, the luxurious living room, the champagne. It all felt too perfect to take it someplace else.

Before I could even protest, Dr. Miller was taking my hand and towing me away from the enchanting scene he had set. Certainly there was more to this amazing residence and I did want to see it - really, I did. But right then I could only focus on one desire.

He glanced over his shoulder once with the tiniest smirk and we soon climbed up a stairwell that was enclosed on both sides by the same stone structure that the house was made of. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

I stopped mentally counting after five steps when the staircase winded, rounding upward to the next level. Te swirling stairwell added to the dreamy atmosphere. I half expected to awake in my own bed the following morning not knowing if I had been in a dream or reality.

Okay, I was more curious now. What did the second floor entail? There was a charming and, contradicting, dark mystique to Dr. Miller's home. It was almost as enticing as his persona; a perfect fit.

A faint glow illuminated a room straight away as we reached the top of the stairs. On our whisk by, I got a quick flash of a modest-sized room and could tell it was his home office.

Trailing off to the left we passed by two closed doors until reaching the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway.

Dr. Miller reached for the dimmer on the wall a step inside the door and a dim glow gradually took on the oversized space. 

“Wow.” I couldn't keep the word from my mouth as I crossed through the threshold. Now I knew why he wanted to relocate. 

The bedroom was lavish with a fireplace of its own and a flatscreen that sat atop a stone mantle. A king-sized bed was positioned directly across it. Odds and ends filled the spaces, and ceiling-to-floor curtains hung over what I assumed were a pair of windows against a far wall.

Dr. Miller casually strolled in and loosened up the buttons on his collar. I continued to marvel in the enchanting nature of the room that was only comparable to those I had seen in fancy catalogs, or lavish movie settings.

But that wasn't what had me awestruck. It was my professor. It was my enticing, sexy, older professor who was staring right at me as he slowly began to undress himself in the near-darkness.

“Come here.” Dr. Miller’s strict demand forced a shallow gasp from my lips. Once my eyes were locked on his again I felt like a wolf honed in on its prey.. only that prey was a bigger, badder wolf. What a paradox.

The walk to him was only comparable to what I could describe as dice dancing on a tabletop at a casino. What would happen once they rolled to a stop? That was the type of thrill we all secretly chased. The anticipation of what was to come in the most intense situations; your heart pounding, hands unsteady, face hot and a tingle running throughout every facet of your body. 

Our lips met and I tasted the champagne on his tongue. Naturally, Dr. Miller's hand rested gently on the front of my neck. It made me pursuit him harder, kissing him with a heat that forced him to take a breath.

His hands snaked up under my sweater and he ran his warm palms the length of my torso from the bottom up until the shirt was thrown up over my head.

I was expecting him to pull me into his arms, for our lips to connect in the same fiery way as before. When I reached for him, his hand gripped my wrist so tight that an ache immediately spread in both directions up and down my arm. Without warning he shoved me down onto the oversized bed and I let out a deep breath as I stared up at him in his fully aroused state.

The clank of his belt buckle as he began to undo it was enough to make my bottom lip separate from my bottom one. My tongue danced across my lips. I couldn't wait to devour him - or let him devour me. Either way, I didn't care.

With his pants off his hips just enough to get a glimpse at the tented bulge in the front of his boxer-briefs, Dr. Miller leaned down, placing his hands on either side of me as he spoke against my lips.

“I'm going to fuck you now.” His voice was stern. His dark eyes locked on mine. He wasn't asking for permission, though he knew by now that I wouldn't deny him; I couldn't. 

My eyes closed when I felt his fingers against the skin by my waist, swiftly undoing the button of my jeans in a craftily, effortless manner. 

I didn't know if I sighed or moaned when he began to glide my pants down before fingering my panties and taking them along for the ride.

When I failed to respond  to his racy demand he let his nose brush against mine and kissed me so firmly on the lips that it hurt.

“Say, okay Dr. Miller,” he demanded now.

I swallowed hard.  “Okay, Dr. Miller.”

“Good girl.”

The world might as well have stood still when our bodies were entwined. Never, not once in my life, had an intimate encounter left me feeling so out of touch with the rest of the world. 

Explosions of passion transpired in every kiss, every touch, every careless whisper only to be shared between the two of us. I felt it. I knew Dr. Miller felt it, too.

At times he was patient, numbing me with his fingers as he slowly and carefully turned my thighs to Jello. Other times he was forceful and hard, leaving me unable to even choke out a moan because my body was tense and tight and I was on the verge of exploding. He stopped each time he could tell I was close to my climax, controlling the pace of the foreplay, the lovemaking and everything in between.

Fuck, the stamina on this man!

Details of the night would be forever ingrained in my mind. The squeezes of his hands against mine. The firm hold on my throat that I encouraged through a chorus of moans each time he did it. The look in his eyes that alternated between dominant and desperate as he thrusted hard on top of me.

I had no idea how much time had passed when we finally laid quietly together with nothing but the sounds of our own breathing to fill the air. For several minutes I laid there with my eyes closed holding him close. Dr. Miller was a hot, sweaty mess on top of me. I was certain I felt and sounded and looked the same way.

If there was one thing I worried about it was the aftermath of a sexual encounter. Would the man want to cuddle? Would he ask you nicely to leave? Was it just about the sex? Did men worry about any of that stuff?

Dr. Miller’s arm was locked around my naked waist. It was possessive, and from him, alone, I craved that. I wanted to be his. I wanted him to be mine. That may have been wrong, or too intense for the length of time we had been in each other's lives; but that's how I felt. I realized, now, that I couldn't do this once. I couldn't do it twice or three times. I wasn't going to be the girl he called on occasion for a random hookup. None of that was possible - not for me. There would be no getting enough of this. The chemistry that existed between us was on a level I had no prior experience with.

My chest heaved up and down with a deep sigh. It prompted him to finally loosen his grip on me as his head lifted from the pillow we were sharing.

Moment of truth, I thought. I could usually read what a man's intentions were; at least I thought I could. Was Dr. Miller as into me as I thought he was? I couldn't be reading this all wrong, could I?

I wasn't about to let misplaced doubt kill the moment. I bit down on my bottom lip and slowly smiled, prompting him to do the same. When a low chuckle escaped him I echoed it with a giggle of my own.

He propped himself up on his forearm now and hovered above me with pillow-tossed hair. Such a beautiful, rugged mess he was. For a moment neither of us said anything; though did we really need to?

I let out another flustered breath as he leaned down and touched his lips to mine, staying there as if it would be the last time. Simultaneously, my hand found his bearded cheek, the other gently roamed through his messy hair.

We sighed together as the kiss broke off and I knew something had to be said.

“Dr. Miller-”

“Call me Joel,” he cut me off, referring to himself in such a different way than he had in the verbal foreplay that had kicked off our encounter.

I knew it would be difficult referring to him by his first name. In my quiet thoughts, fears and fantasies he would always be Dr. Miller; but I certainly couldn't continue to refer to him in that way.

“Joel..” I smiled again and sighed. That was it. That was all I had. I couldn't think of a coherent sentence. Not when my body still ached for all we had just done and more.

“(Y/N).” His gravelly voice ignited something inside of me - even more so when the weight of his body still blanketed mine.

For a moment I just held him. With our current, uncertain circumstances I had no idea if I would ever truly get this chance again. My hand rested on his cheek and then I leaned my head forward and kissed him again.

His next question made me feel safe and secure - a contrast to the hot-and-bothered, reckless way I had been feeling all night. “What side of the bed do you want?”

I was sure the diameter of my smile stretched my face to the limits. He officially asked me to stay.

“Either side.” I didn't care. I would have slept in the stiff, decorative chair in the corner of the room if he asked me to.

With a chuckle, he pushed himself away and slunk out of bed, slipping just his boxer-briefs back on. “Well decide. I have to go put the fire out downstairs.”

I let out a light flutter of laughter and agreed to his terms, watching him as he exited the room. I was alone with my thoughts, now, smiling at the ceiling. The sheets felt cool against my hot skin. 

I could still feel a sting on the right side of my buttocks where Dr. Miller had indulged in perhaps the most pleasurable spanking of my life. My hand fell over the area and I smiled again, covering his hand print with my palm to feel the warmth he left there.

“Fuck..” I whispered the word to myself in the tastefully, exhausted state he had left my body in. If I died right then, I would die happy.

When he returned, my eyes drank in his physique. Chest hair trailed down the center of his rugged form down below his belly button. A lone scar decorated the top of his left arm and his typically perfectly-styled hair had been tugged in all different directions, leaving him with the most adorable fashion faux-pas.

Dr. Miller pressed the dimmer all the way down and closed the door, replacing the picture-perfect image in front of me with just a silhouette. When he slid back in behind me, my body naturally melted into his.

“Hope you don't mind the right side of the bed,” he said quietly in my ear, slipping one of his feet between mine as he pulled me against him even tighter.

“Mmm..” My eyes closed, “I don't mind.” I was exhausted, but I didn't want the moment to end. Despite the heaviness of my eyes I fought it. It wasn't until I heard Dr. Miller's quiet snores in my ear that I finally gave in. In the warmth of his bed with his body wrapped securely around mine, I got the best sleep of my life.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog

[coopigeoncoo]

The Space Between Stars

Pairing: Bubaigawara Jin x Gender Neutral Reader

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: Smoking, Burglary, Home Invasion, First Meetings, Meet Ugly, Domestic Fluff

Written as part of @shibaraki's KOMOREBI Milestone Collab!

---

You thought your terrible day couldn't get any worse, but then you come home and accidentally interrupt a burglary in progress.

What follows is a series of questionable decisions you probably should have thought Twice about.

---

"Uh- hello!" The man greeted with a nervous laugh, tugging the mask that was scrunched up on the top half of his face a little further down his nose, fumbling the corner of the TV slightly as he did so. "Don't freak out.  I can explain."

"Yeah?" You murmured distantly, thoughts frantically racing as you tried to process the entire scene playing out before you. 

Something in the man seemed to suddenly shift; his jaw clenching tightly and his shoulders pulling taut in a way that made your focus instantly sharpen- the same way all the animals in nature documentaries did when they finally realized a predator was in their midst.

"I'm stealing your TV."

---

Continue reading below or follow the link to Ao3!

Today has been an awful day.

Not because any single, overwhelmingly bad thing had happened; you had just been worn down by a never ending gauntlet of unfortunate events.

Sometime during the night your phone cord had come unplugged and fully drained your phone battery, which meant that you woke up long after you had set your original and backup alarms to sound.  As a result, you didn't have time for breakfast and ended up just using mouthwash instead of stopping to fully brush your teeth, but even that time save wasn't enough to keep you from missing your usual train.  

You'd tripped on an uneven patch of sidewalk heading out to lunch and irreparably scuffed up the toes of your favorite dress shoes, and the presentation you had been working for the past two weeks to put together was somehow missing the last; and most integral, set of slides.  

The subsequent verbal lashing that your boss and, more embarrassingly, your boss's boss, had given you lasted so long you'd ended up missing the train.

Again.

And as you sought to pass the time waiting for the next train to arrive by messing around on your phone, you discovered that the person you'd been seriously flirting with on the online dating site had suddenly blocked you without notice.  

So when the skies opened up on your walk home, pouring down buckets of rain with such force that your skin stung from the impact, you comforted yourself with the knowledge that you could spend the rest of the day holed up in your apartment.  You'd slip into some pajamas, snuggle up on the couch with your favorite blanket, and veg out in front of the TV you had scrimped and saved to buy; doing your best to forget that today even happened while you yelled at quiz show contestants for chiming in with incorrect answers.  Perhaps you'd even go a step further and spend the commercial breaks on your phone, making wish lists full of products you'd never actually buy- letting yourself indulge in the fantasy of filling your overpriced and miniscule apartment with whatever gadgets and bits of decor that caught your interest.  

It wouldn't completely erase your misery, but it was the best you could do on a limited budget and exactly enough energy to shuffle from your bedroom to the living room after you peeled off your drenched work clothes.  

But your plans of relaxation were immediately foiled when you opened the door of your first floor apartment and were greeted by the sight of a man in a skintight black and white body suit trying to shove your brand new TV through your living room window; the bottom pane filled with with a spider web of cracks that spread even further with every heaving attempt to shove the flat-screen through the too small opening.  He froze when he noticed you, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip as his scruffy jaw dropped open in surprise from your sudden appearance.  

"Uh- hello!" The man greeted with a nervous laugh, tugging the mask that was scrunched up on the top half of his face a little further down his nose, fumbling the corner of the TV slightly as he did so. "Don't freak out.  I can explain."

"Yeah?" You murmured distantly, thoughts frantically racing as you tried to process the entire scene playing out before you. 

Something in the man seemed to suddenly shift; his jaw clenching tightly and his shoulders pulling taut in a way that made your focus instantly sharpen- the same way all the animals in nature documentaries did when they finally realized a predator was in their midst.

"I'm stealing your TV."

And with that proclamation, your last frayed thread of patience snapped.

"Of course you are!" You laugh, frustrated tears welling up quickly and blurring your vision. "Why wouldn't you be?  It's not like my day could get any worse !"

"Hey, now- don't cry!" The man pleaded, thoughtlessly reaching out towards you with shaking hands, the TV nearly crashing to the floor as he released his hold on it; barely managing to catch the corner with a sharp curse and lower it gently to the floor.  "I'm not gonna hurt you or nothing- I'm just going to rob you a little !"

"A little? A little?" You shriek, wiping at your wet cheeks in frustration. "You're taking the most expensive thing I own!  That feels like an awful lot of robbing to me!"

"That's- that's a fair point," the man conceded, scratching at his exposed chin nervously as he looked around your bare bones apartment with a critical eye; taking note of your collection of second hand furniture and threadbare curtains your old roommate's cat had delighted in shredding.  

"I'm too tired to deal with this right now," you whimper as you take a step backwards into the breezeway, exhaustion winning out over more situationally appropriate emotions like absolute panic.  "Take whatever you want, but I would really appreciate it if you could leave the urn on the bookcase alone.  My Grandma is in there."

"I'd never-!" The man gasped, affronted by the implication he'd be despicable enough to make off with a jar full of Grandma dust.

"You're literally in the process of robbing me!" You laugh wetly, wiping your running nose onto your soaking wet sleeve.  "I don't think you're allowed to be offended by my assumptions about the quality of your character right now."

"I'm sorry. This isn't- this isn't the kind of person I want to be," the man whispered, his nervously wringing hands tightening into shaking fists. "This is who I have to be."

"Whatever," you huff dismissively.  "It doesn't really matter.  Close the window on your way out so the rain doesn't soak down to the floorboards."

"You gonna call the cops on me?" The man asked, nervously puffing on the cigarette in his mouth, the pungent clove smoke pulled towards you by the cross breeze; drifting straight into your face and making you recoil.  

"I don't live on the right side of the city for the police to care about a stolen TV," you inform him, grimacing at the tinkling sound of the buffeting rain upgrading into hailstones.  "I'm just going to duck into a store or something.  I'll be back in like, an hour, so it would be great if you could wrap up taking my stuff and be gone by then.  It's getting late and I still need to cook dinner."

And with those parting words you gently pulled the door closed behind you and, recognizing the futility of locking a door during an active home invasion; stepped back out into the freezing rain without looking back.

The only store on your block that had bothered to stay open in such terrible weather was a tiny holistic store crammed in between a pawn shop and a seafood market.  The shop owner, a serious faced woman with her hair slicked back into a painfully tight looking bun, did her best to cover up the pervasive fish odor that seeped in from the neighboring business by having three oil diffusers running all at once; but the only thing it really accomplished was adding nauseating strong floral notes to the briny air.  

You felt bad lingering in her store for so long without buying anything, so after a drawn out production of pretending to consider buying crystals in a variety of cuts and sizes while internally balking at the price tags, you settled on purchasing a mood ring from one of the clearance displays.  It had a large band size, too large for your fingers for sure, but it was the only thing that you could afford to purchase now that you'd have to start saving for a replacement TV. 

The woman behind the counter was obviously disappointed with your thriftiness, but you pretended to ignore her sourly pursed lips as she thanked you for your business and recommended you return at a later date to have your aura cleansed.

"It's all muddy, you know," she informed you with a disapproving huff, tugging firmly on the stiff collar of her dress shirt to shift it back into place.  "An aura that messy will only invite trouble and stress."

In your experience, trouble and stress never needed an invitation, but instead of voicing your thoughts you held your tongue, jammed the mood ring onto your thumb, and thanked her for the concern; snagging a business card in a show of false interest before bracing yourself for yet another slog through the rain.  

It wasn't coming down quite so hard anymore, but you were already so thoroughly drenched that the waning storm felt like a meaningless show of mercy from the universe at large; a waste of whatever finite karma you'd accrued during your life thus far.  

You'd boldly assumed that coming home to some guy stealing your TV would be the most surprising thing you'd walk in on today, but nothing could match the absolute astonishment you felt when you entered back into your apartment for the second time that evening.   

It had been easy to imagine that your place would be a ransacked disaster at this point, electronics long gone and your personal effects scattered around haphazardly as the intruder fruitlessly searched for valuables.  Instead, everything was in the same, or better, condition than you'd left it in.  

The TV had been returned to its proper place on your third-hand entertainment stand, a large scratch on the side of the frame but seemingly no worse for the wear as the weatherman on screen droned on about the unprecedentedly large storm rolling through the city.  The cracked window had been covered In layers of carefully placed packing tape to keep it from shattering completely; a towel spread out on the carpet beneath it to soak up the rainwater that had collected inside during the thief's botched getaway.

All the shoes in your entryway, the ones you normally kicked off and left where they landed, had been lined up in neat pairs next to the coat closet.  The blanket you'd left crumpled on your lumpy couch after a quick nap yesterday had been neatly draped over the back of the sofa.

And the thief, who you thought would be long gone by now, had made himself at home in your kitchenette.  With a set of mismatched hot pads on his hands he pulled a half sheet pan out of the countertop oven, the telltale aroma of baking bread filling every corner of your small apartment and driving out the lingering stench of cigarette smoke.  Desperately, you wondered if he'd noticed your arrival; cautiously rocking back onto your rear foot in preparation for making a quick escape when he called out to you from across the apartment.  

"Don't just stand in the doorway," the man chastised as he slid the hot tray down onto the stovetop, a small saucepan set to simmer on the next burner over.  "You'll let all the warm air out."

"Uh- yeah.  Of course.  Sorry," you apologized reflexively, wildly unsure about what to do but deciding that the best course of action is to likely play along and keep the burglar-turned-baker calm.  Pushing the door closed with a shaking hand, you did your best to keep your breathing calm and level despite the dread violently roiling in your belly; your sense of self preservation blaring in the back of your mind like a siren.  

"Welcome home.  Again," the thief greeted pleasantly, the toothpick in his mouth straining under the force of his clenched teeth. "You said you'd be gone for an hour."

"I- I ran out of stuff to do and figured you'd be gone by now.  And not, you know- staying to clean up my apartment."

"Yeah," the man laughed, rubbing at the back of his half-masked head nervously; hand still shoved into one of your plaid oven mitts.  "This isn't how these sorts of things usually go down."

"Then why did you do it?" You ask with a nervous swallow, the domestic setting making you bolder than the situation would typically dictate. "Stay, I mean?"

"It just- it seemed like you were having a really bad day," the man murmured sheepishly, pulling off the oven mitts one at a time and tossing them down onto a clear swath of counter next to the stove. "And I didn't want to make it any worse."

"Oh."

"This is- so awkward.  I'm sorry," he muttered, scrubbing a hand across the stubble on his chin in frustration.  "I wanted to be gone by the time you got back to avoid all of this."

"It's okay," you say, unsure as to how sincere you actually were.

"It's not okay," the man laughed dryly.  "I was going to rob you- picking up your living room doesn't make it okay!  It doesn't make me okay!"

"You could have done worse."

"I could have," the man nodded solemnly, the action switching to a frantic shaking a moment later. "I wouldn't have."

A realization struck you abruptly.  "Tell me a lie," you demanded.

"What?"

You wrench open the coat closet door and reach inside, pulling out a chunky blue scarf; a gift from a close friend during their brief but prolific crocheting phase. 

"Say this is red," you said, holding the scarf aloft for him to see.  He froze, every one of his muscles set on edge as he stared at the length of knotted yarn in your grasp. 

"I don't know what you're trying to prove here.  You already know that I can't."

"I just- I want to make sure," you insisted, holding the scarf up a fraction higher. "Please."

"Okay," the man said, deflating as he exhaled in defeat.  "The scarf is red.  It's obviously blue."

Emboldened by the first successful test of your hypothesis, you stepped further into the apartment, snagging a purple tissue box off of the coffee table with your free hand and holding it up for the man to see.

"And this?"

"Green.  It's purple."

Gliding further into your apartment, you deposited the scarf and the tissue box onto the card table you ate your meals at, and grabbed an overripe banana from the bowl of half-rotten fruit you kept replenishing each week; ever hopeful that you'd wake up one day with the self restraint necessary to reach for an apple instead of a bag of chips when you felt snacky. 

"This banana?"

"Teal.  Black- that's one nasty looking banana!"

"It is, isn't it?  I should probably just throw it out," you say with a grimace as your finger hits a soft spot on the peel and sinks down into the goey inner banana flesh. 

"Here, catch!" the man called out, tossing a slightly damp dish rag towards you, which you miraculously managed to snatch out of the air.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

It was quiet for a moment while you wiped the mealy banana goo from your finger, digging under your nail with the stiff corner of the towel.  "So you can't lie," you mused. "Is that a Quirk thing?"

"May as well be, I guess," the man sighed, turning to examine the squat loaf of bread cooling on your stove top.  "I want to go ahead and slice this.  You won't freak out if I grab a knife, will you?"

"Depends," you reply evasively with narrowed eyes as he pulled a knife half way out of the knife block, examining the edge with a frown before sliding it back into place.  "Do you plan on slicing me up, too?"

"These knives are so dull I don't think I could even if I wanted to," he groused, pulling another knife out for inspection with a dissatisfied frown. "And I don't want to."

Eyes locked on the intruder's back; you lowered yourself down carefully into the closest dining chair; knees weak and mind reeling from the surreal turn your evening had taken.  "So you don't want my stuff, and you don't want to hurt me- what exactly do you want?"

"What I want-," the man paused, a triumphant fist pump accompanying his discovery of a serrated blade.  "Is for you to try this bread that I made."

"And then you'll leave?"

"I'll leave right now if that's what you want," the man offered, running the scalloped edge across the craggy top crust of the bread and laughing delightedly at the scraping sound it made.  "Do you hear that?  That's one crispy crust!  This loaf is gonna be goooood."

"How did you even make bread, anyway?  I know for a fact that I don't have any yeast."

"You don't really have much of anything.  Believe me, I checked," the man grinned cheekily over his shoulder at you, as though he thought his confession about rifling through your apartment was  charming and not a blatant invasion of privacy.  "But lucky for you, I'm well versed in poverty meals.  Mix up a basic bread dough, add in a beer where the yeast should be, shove that baby into the oven and you're ready to go!  There's a bit more to it than that."

"Well, it smells wonderful.  This is probably the best this apartment has ever smelled."

"No kidding!  You get a discount for having the unit right above the dumpster?"

"I wish," You sighed forlornly, taking a moment to imagine how much easier your life would be with even a slightly lower cost of living.  "But taking out the trash is pretty convenient, I can just drop it in from the fire escape."

"Bowls?" He inquired as he shut the heat off under the saucepan, giving it one final stir.  

"Oh- I only have a couple.  They're probably on the drying rack."

He salutes you sharply before shuffling off to follow your instructions, carefully selecting and stacking the dishes into his arms like they were valuable pieces of china and not the very worst a home store clearance rack had to offer.  You twisted your too-big mood ring anxiously around your thumb, reminding yourself with every turn that the man in front of you, despite his seemingly affable nature, wasn't a guest.  He was an intruder in your home, no better than the mice that darted behind your fridge when you turned the kitchen light on in the middle of the night.

Although the mice had never cooked you dinner before, so you suppose that was a point in his favor.  

"Careful- careful," the man whispered quietly to himself, inching across the floor towards you with two bowls of soup balanced on his forearm; bracing the overhanging rims with a plate stacked lopsidedly with still steaming bread slices.  He gingerly deposited the bowls onto the table, sliding yours to a stop directly in front of you without any of the broth sloshing over the edge; an impressive feat considering that he'd filled it up to the brim. 

"Nailed it!" He crowed in pride, tossing the plate full of bread down onto the table unceremoniously, the thick slices nearly bouncing off the plate from his rough handling.  Collapsing into the folding chair opposite if you in what could only be described as a sprawl, you watch with thinly veiled interest as he pushes his mask up over the bridge of his nose.  Nostrils fully uncovered, he hunches over the bowl of soup and inhales deeply, flapping his hands to fan the aromatic vapors directly towards his face.

"Not too shabby for a can of soup and leftover veggies!"

"Is that what this is?" You ask curiously, giving the soup a small stir, trudging up a floret of seared broccoli that definitely came from takeout earlier in the week.  

"Don't be shy now.  Dig in!" The man encouraged, placing a large chunk of soup-drenched bread into his mouth with a happy sigh.  The soup was perfectly edible, nothing to write home about but still a notable effort considering the meager ingredients your kitchen had to offer.  But the bread was a different story entirely.

"This crust is incredible!" You gasp, the dry crumbs sticking to your lips.  

"A good dinner for a rainy night," the man stated, holding his half devoted bread slice out towards yours.  "Cheers?"

"Cheers!" You laugh, pushing your slice of bread against his; the crusts impacting and sending a dusting of flaky bread crumbs tumbling onto the surface of the table.

"Whoopsy-daisy!  I'll get that, don't worry," the man reassured you, licking his finger and tapping it across the table, picking up crumbs as he went.  

"'Whoopsy-daisy', huh?" You muse, sipping at a spoonful of soup thoughtfully. "How many kids do you have?"

"Kids? Oh, no- I don't- I don't have any of those," he stammered, shoving his crumb covered finger into his mouth and removing it with a comical pop.  "Her name's Himiko."

"That's…quite the discrepancy between those two answers."

"Himiko isn't- she's not mine, mine.   But she's mine, you know?  In all the ways that should matter."

"So you love her then?"

"Of course I do.  She's a great kid."

"That's all that matters then, isn't it?" You smiled sincerely, the first grin of the evening not strained through a filter of worry.  The man seemed to notice the subtle shift in your demeanor, the tension in his posture softening ever so slightly as he somehow managed to slouch even farther down in his seat.

It had been a long time since you'd eaten alone with someone.  You went out after work with colleagues sometimes, but the places that you always ended up were crowded and noisy; tables and booths crammed to near bursting to accommodate the ravenous waves of dinner rush patrons.  The last meal you'd eaten at home with someone was likely before you moved into this apartment, when you still lived off-campus with a couple of roommates you liked progressively less with each passing week.  

You'd been beyond thrilled to land a job that paid enough to allow you to live alone, even though affording to do so meant relocating across town to a less desirable zip code.  But a slight downgrade in living conditions was well worth the benefit of knowing you'd never again have to live through the experience of walking in on your roommate and their booty call having sex on your bed because it was 'more comfortable' than theirs. 

While you would never miss the stacks of unwashed dishes left to putrefy in the sink or having to wipe urine splatters off of the toilet seat before you could relieve yourself, it was hard to deal with the constant quiet sometimes.  The drone of the TV couldn't replace someone asking about your day or replicate the joy of shared laughter.  

And you couldn't help but wonder if it was a similar situation for the man across from you.  

"Is it okay for me to ask your name?" You murmur quietly, eyes locked on your own hands as you push a tomato chunk around your bowl with the back of your spoon.  "I understand if you don't want me to know.  The less I probably know about you the better, huh?  I'm sorry, that was stupid of me.  Forget I said anything-"

"Twice.  You should call me Twice," the man interrupted; letting out an irritated grunt before opening his mouth once more.  "I want you to call me Jin."

Thrown off balance once again by his contradictory requests, your brain races frantically to find some sort of middle ground between the two.

"Do you want me to call you Jin…twice?  Like, JinJin?"

"That's a little ah- intimate , dontcha' think?" Jin said, a nervous cough punctuating his sentence sharply.  He pulled the bottom edge of his mask down further, trying to cover up the tell-tale embarrassed burn of his cheeks without compromising his ability to eat.  "Just Jin is fine."

"Alright.  Thank you for the meal, Jin.  This is a much nicer dinner than I would have put together for myself, even if I hadn't been delayed by some guy breaking into my apartment," you joked, sending a pointed look Jin's way; politely averting your eyes and pretending not to notice his splotchy blush creeping even further down his cheeks.

"A burglar, huh?  Sounds like a real heel."

"Maybe," you murmured thoughtfully as you watched Jin try and cram an entire slice of bread into his mouth at once.  "But I don't think he's all that bad."

Jin, having gone back for a second serving of soup, was the last to finish eating.  You swooped in and grabbed his bowl before he could object, placing it on the counter as you waited for the sink to finish filling so you could begin washing the dishes. 

"You don't have to do that," Jin grumbled from his position behind you, standing close enough for you to feel him nervously shuffling from foot to foot.  "I can clean up after myself. "

"Nope, sorry.  It's the house rules," you sighed forlornly, acting as though you weren't the sole person responsible for making those rules.  "If you cook, you don't clean up."

"Is there anything else I could do?  Help you out a little more?"

"I guess you could help me dry?" You offer, scooting over slightly to make room for him in your tiny kitchen area. 

"Aye-aye, Captain!" Jin saluted as he slotted into place next to you, grabbing the dripping wet cup you offered out to him with one hand and picking up a dry dishrag with the other.  

The sounds of clinking cutlery and the slow but steady dripping of your faucet worked together with the rumbling storm outside to craft a peaceful atmosphere; one that helped soften the sharp edges of reality and allowed you to gloss over the fact that you were having a very pleasant time with the man who had started out the evening with the intention of robbing you blind.  

It was reckless and stupid, but you couldn't help but worry a little about what would happen to Jin once he left your apartment.  If he was desperate enough to resort to theft for some quick cash, you couldn't help but wonder and worry about what sort of life awaited him outside of the cramped comfort of your home.  

"Are you going to be okay?  Once you leave?" You ask, prying up a stubborn piece of dried food from the tines of a fork with your fingernail.  

"That's one heck of a loaded question!" Jin laughed sharply.  "The world is an absolute mess right now, society is on the brink of collapsing in on itself- I don't think anyone is going to be okay for a long, long time."

"Yeah, but- there's nothing I can do about any of that stuff," you sigh quietly, watching the small bubbles on the surface of the water swirl around your wrists.  "But I can help you, if you need it.  I probably have enough money to put you up at a hotel for the night.  Keep you out of the storm."

"You're too kind," Jin murmured quietly, his voice heavy with appreciation.  "But I don't want you to worry about me, okay?  Things are…difficult right now.  But it won't last forever."

"I wish I had your optimism."

"It's not optimism," Jin said, placing the last plate into the drying rack next to the sink and passing you the dish towel to wipe your hands on. 

"What is it then?" You asked, unable to fully dry your hands on the wet cloth, so you settled for simply wiping off the lingering film of bubbles from the back of your hands.  

"Experience,” he said, scratching thoughtlessly at the scruff growing unevenly across his exposed jaw.  “My life has always been- well, bad.  Mostly.  I used to really hate that.  Thought it wasn't fair.  But now I don't mind so much."

"Why not?"

"Well, eventually I realized that the bad times I went through made all the good things in my life seem even better," he said, turning his head to gaze out of your taped up window, as though he would be able to see the sky and not the moldering plaster exterior of the apartment complex next to yours. "Stars wouldn't be anything special if it wasn't for all that dark space between em', you know?"

You thought back on your day, on the series of disastrous events that had weighed you down soured your disposition, and how now; with the passage of time and the balm of Jin's companionship, the day didn't feel quite so dreadful in retrospect.

"I hope you saved room for dessert," you smiled, turning to riffle through a cabinet for the small package of cookies you kept tucked away for emergencies.

"Thanks, but I'm still full from dinner.  There's always room for a treat or two!"

The bag of cookies, already half empty from propping you up emotionally during the dramatic season finale of the show you'd binged last weekend, didn't last long.  But you and Jin did your best to stretch out the warm comfort of the evening as long as you could; chatting over the commercials as the emergency weather broadcast came to a conclusion.  

"Welcome back, viewers!" A man with slicked back hair and an unfortunate mustard colored blazer greeted as the title card for the incoming show disappeared from the screen.  "You're tuned in to 'Top 10 at 10', the show where we look back at the week's top moments from the Top Ranked Heroes!  Next up is the Winged Hero: Hawks, swooping in for a rescue-!"

"Ugh," you groan, patting the couch cushions around you in search of the remote.  "Is the controller over by you?  I want to change the channel."

"Nope, no controller," Jin said, his focus solely on the TV as the Number Two Hero crashed through a window on the top most floor of a burning apartment building. "So, you're not a Hawks fan I take it?"

"Hawks gives me weird vibes," you admit, lifting up a throw pillow to peer down into the space next to the arm of the sofa as Hawks waved casually on the screen, a shaking Pomeranian tucked securely under his arm as he floated to the ground.  "I don't trust people who always smile.  It feels like they're trying to hide something."

"You're a good judge of character, aren't you?" Had you been less focused on your frantic search for the remote you would have noticed Jin's uncomfortable fidgeting and repeatedly clenching fists, but you'd missed those telltale signs that preceded a shift in his personality.  So the sudden appearance of that voice, the brash one you'd grown accustomed to hear chiding and correcting Jin's half-truths, was unnerving.  You wondered how loud his unspoken thoughts must be for that second voice to feel the need to comment on Jin's internal dialogue.  

"I used to think so," you laugh dryly, the hand you'd been using to fish around in the couch coming up with a fistful of crumbs and an old tin of forgotten breath mints.  "But recent events definitely have me reevaluating that assumption about myself."

"You shouldn't-," Jin swallowed thickly, carefully considering his words; weighting them for sincerity lest he stray too far off the line of authenticity and unwittingly reveal too much.  "Don't make me be the reason you doubt yourself.  I'll take the blame for all sorts of stuff, but I don't want that to be on me, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, once again fumbling to regain your emotional footing.  Talking with Jin was like walking across a messy room with your eyes closed, constantly tripping up and unsure of what caused you to even stumble in the first place. 

"I mean, if you can't trust yourself, then who can you trust?" Jin asked, his voice only just beneath a bellow and pulled thin at the edges; a manic sort of cry that poorly covered his underlying distress.  "I can't trust myself anymore!"

"You can’t?"

"No.  I- I broke that trust.  I broke myself."

Carefully, you lower yourself down on the cushion next to him; a vulnerable place for an unguarded moment.  "I know that it probably doesn't mean much of anything coming from me- we're pretty much strangers," you admit with a helpless sort of shrug, extending a hand out towards him like you would a cowering animal; slowly, carefully, like you half expected to be bitten for your trouble.  "But I trust you."

"You don't know me.  I don't even know if I'm me," he admits with a watery sniff, accepting your outstretched hand with his shaking fingers.

"This Jin, this you- ," you emphasize with a tight squeeze of your hand. "-is the only one I know.  And I happen to think he's pretty alright."

"Even for a bad guy?"

"You're the best bad guy I know," you assure him readily, the words somehow playful despite their sincerity.  But it seems like Jin was looking for a way out of the mire of introspection he'd waded into and quickly took the metaphorical hand you'd extended; lifting himself out of his head with a breathy chuckle.  

"I am pretty great, aren't I?"

"A terrible thief, but an excellent chef."

"Guess I missed my calling in life!" He grinned brightly, sucking up the bead of snot dripping from his nose.  

"It's never too late to change."

"It is for me."

You waited anxiously, almost desperately for that second voice to cry out in objection, but the room remained silent except for the canned laughter piping in through the TV speakers.  Whatever path Jin was on offered him no alternative, no deviation from the bumpy road beneath his feet.  

"Earlier, you told me that this isn't who you want to be.  That this is who you have to be."

"Who I need to be.  Who they need me to be."

"Will you do something for me?" You asked, easily sliding the mood ring off of your thumb and spinning it between the fingers of your free hand.  "One last favor and we'll call it even?"

"Of course," Jin nodded solemnly as his chest puffed up; proud to be entrusted with carrying out a task for you.

"When you have the chance, I want you to make the choice you want.  Be the Jin you want to be," you pleaded, sliding the mood ring easily onto his much larger pointer finger.  

"This like a promise ring or something?"

"I suppose," you hum thoughtfully. "But only if you promise."

He held the ring up in front of his face, watching the colors swirl and shift rapidly across the gleaming black stone; far more active than it had been on your own hand.  Jin clenched his fist, locking the ring onto his finger like he was scared it might tumble from his grasp and disappear into the unknown abyss alongside your remote, never to be seen again.  You couldn't see his eyes, only the expressive patterning on his mask that managed to contort with his fluctuating disposition, but there was a sudden weight upon your shoulders that let you know that you were the sole object of his intense focus.  

Jin lifted his ringed hand into the air between you, splaying his fingers wide in front of your face.  The dark, swirling gem of his ring glimmering merrily from the vicinity of your forehead, a third eye for Jin to take with him; an eye that would see him in the way he craved- as the Jin that existed solely in your gaze.  

"I promise."

The night, as all things, could not last forever.  But you were unprepared for the abrupt way that Jin threw himself up from the couch when the late night News broadcast cut to live coverage of a crime in progress; a patch-skinned man cackling in delight as he threw bright blue flames from the back of a speeding van at pursuing police vehicles.  

"That idiot, " he hissed, patting his sides and butt like he was checking for keys or a phone that were very obviously not tucked into his spandex suit.  "I have to go."

"Oh ,"  you manage to say through the clenching knot of dismay that had tied itself up in your chest.  “Will you come back?"

"I- I shouldn't," he whispered, regret palpable in every syllable.  "I want to."

Hastily, you stumbled to your feet and strode across the living room, grabbing the ceramic urn you had on prominent display before circling back and stopping directly in front of Jin. 

"Here,” you said, pushing the vase firmly into Jin's arms.  “Take this.”  

"For the last time, I'm not going to take your Grandma!" Jin cried in exasperation, pushing the floral patterned urn back into your arms. 

"Please," you snorted, lifting off the lid and pulling out a small plastic bag of gray ashes, shaking it back and forth in the air. "This isn't actual people powder.  It's a bunch of charcoal ash I grabbed from my neighbor's grill."

"Then why do you-?"

"I'm not totally naive," you said, hooking your hand on the rim of the urn and gently jostling it, the tell tale clinking of coins echoing from inside.  "Every burglar grabs a piggy bank, but very few think to check a jar of apparent human remains."

"I can't take your savings," Jin protested weakly, staring down longingly at the handfuls of bills scattered amongst the change.  "I'm not gonna steal from you."

"Of course you're not.  First of all, this is a gift ," you emphasize, pushing the urn more firmly against his chest.  "And second, this isn't for you."

"It's not?" Jin asked bewilderedly, twisting his head around to check if a second criminal had snuck into the apartment while he was distracted.

"Nope.  This is for Himiko," you explained, letting go of the vase and stepping back so Jin had no choice but to tighten his grip on the money jar or let it crash to the ground.  "Buy her something nice, okay?  And treat yourself while you’re at it."

"I- I will," he promised, unable to refuse your gesture if it meant securing some measure of comfort for Himiko.  Tucking the urn safely into the crook of his arm, Jin tugged his mask down; obscuring his face fully for the first time.  It was impressive how much that narrow swath of exposed skin had been carved into your memory in such a short span of time.  Even now, through the cover of a mask, you could still make out the small hints of Jin that lay beneath; the jut of his chin, the set of his jaw, the jittery way he clicked his teeth together.  

With a grace you wouldn't expect of a man his size, he slipped towards the patched up window, prying up the frame and squeezing an entire leg out onto your fire escape before he noticed your bewildered expression.

"What is it?  What's wrong?"

"You- you don't have to sneak out the window," you explained, pivoting your body to point towards the entryway.  "You can just use the door."

"Right!  The door!  Of course!" Jin laughed, smacking himself in the forehead as he pulled his leg back into your apartment, hopping clumsily on one foot until his appendage was fully free.  "Forgot that you had one of those."

"Well, I hope you don't forget again," you chastise playfully, guiding him out of your front door and into your apartment breezeway.  "Because I sure would appreciate it if you'd knock next time."

"Next time?" Jin asked, voice hitching hopefully at the invitation.

"Bye, Jin," you smiled, giving him a small wave as you slowly closed the door.  "See you later!"

"Right," he murmured, staring down at his fluctuating mood ring, a smile creeping along his face as white specks scattered across the dark blue stone; like stars glimmering brilliantly in the dark night sky. "Later."

[bengiyo]

Unknown Ep 12 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Wei Qian and Xiao Yuan consummated the physical desire in their relationship, before Wei Qian ended up trying to deal with his head injury on his own again. Yuan broke through that and the two went home together, where Li Li was being supported by San Pang. I'm still feeling some consternation about the way they framed that sex scene and how they handled the emotional aftermath.

Li Li is reminding me of my own sister handling my coming out somewhat poorly because she was mad that she wasn't informed sooner.

I like her moving around the table to talk more intimately with Yuan after getting the big answers she needed.

Episode 12: Us

I like everyone trying to navigate this dynamic between Wei Qian and Yuan carefully. I'm a big fan of Xiong wanting to make sure he knows he's on their side.

Wei Qian looks so much better when it doesn't look like he's being crushed by the weight of the world.

Men should grab each other by their ties and kiss each other more often.

Yuan is a menace! He was not going to keep this on the DL at all.

Oh no...top-bottom discourse. Thank you for shutting it down, Wei Qian.

Li Li is pregante!!

This hallway scene is phenomenal. Wei Qian really is such a good brother, and I really love the way this scene reminds us of that. This thing with Yuan was super confusing, but he kept his cool so quickly with Li Li and focused on the important things. Yuan coming out of her room to intercept Qian. Li Li coming out of Yuan's room to talk. San Pang entering from Qian's room, and then the ensuing fight across all three rooms.

See all of Qian's reactions here are well-grounded in what we know of his relationship with Li Li and how hard things were with their mother.

Not me crying because of this group handhold.

I'm not sure it was clear earlier that their mom chose to die. This adds another harsh layer to Wei Qian's worries for Li Li.

They're doing that thing where they focus on Yuan maybe a little too much.

I'm relieved to know that Li Li had her baby without many lingering worries.

Final Verdict: 8.5, Recommended. I think the early parts of his series were incredibly strong, but I think there were some problems after they sent Yuan away to NYC. I feel like they didn't properly capture the turn for Wei Qian where things go from fraternal to romantic, and especially sexual. They introduced terrible sexual trauma to his story in a way that went unresolved, so it hurt the big moment where he decided to accept things with Yuan. I'm also high-key mad about this head injury plotline because they ended this show without telling us about the surgery, too. It didn't fully-connect with the family angst they were going for and left me a bit unsatisfied with it as a running plot in the background. That said, I think this show took the found family and relationship change conceits seriously and I respect that.

[fandoms-in-law]

I've not seen it spoken about much, but Edwin has a level of superiority over the suffering he's survived for most of the series that he only really faces head on in Simon.

With the ghosts he meets Edwin is compassionate, but detached pretty much all the time except with Charles after he realises the abuse his best friend had gone through, and with Simon.

With Crystal, he's seen that comparing suffering faced causes more hurt but she lashes back, calls him out on it and dismisses him, which even though it's not just because of it I bet Edwin wondered if it was punishing him, just like he did to her in the first episode, refusing to let him help after her nightmare.

With Charles, Edwin is a lot more invested in him, in wanting to help him through this pain he'd never known Charles still carried. So Edwin is validating the suffering now, acknowledging that this is trauma that he needs to help heal, and given the moments addressing it come after Crystal's nightmare, he doesn't mention hell, or do anything close to comparing openly as he would around friends. Because yes, mentioning Hell freely, in scoffs and dismissals only around friends if Edwin's way of reclaiming it, but he's now accepting that there are times to avoid doing so for others benefit too.

And then comes the scene with Simon, probably the person he has most reason to hate, or judge the suffering of, as Simon's the one who caused Edwin to go to hell.

That scene in Hell, and the one with Depression, are pivotal moments with Edwin but I don't think it's acceptance that homosexuality isn't sinful as much as it is realisation that he can't compare suffering or pain.

This is his killer, the boy who sacrificed him, and Edwin has been able to access his part of hell, which I don't think is normal. He knows only people who've been in hell can see the souls in the different parts, explains it to Charles when they're leaving, but didn't expect to meet someone he knew there.

Simon even calls him a vision to torment him, or something similar. Hell doesn't give people reprieves from torture, it just makes them the torture for somebody else and that's what Edwin figures out while meeting Depression. His reactions were increasing her power in the situation

And yes, the note in the bottom of the page stuns Edwin, shocks him that even back then, someone had noticed him, wanted him

But also it expands just what Simon's torture is from papercuts, practically shredded fingertips from tearing the pages out, to emotional as well.

That's when Edwin says that holding onto guilt or fear makes everywhere hell (I'm paraphrasing anything cause I'm tired), he acknowledges that hell isn't the same for him and Simon but that doesn't change the amount they suffer.

All the posts I've seen like to focus on the gay, the homosexuality acceptance and closure here, but Edwin's journey to see everyone's suffering as different and valid without comparison to his hell was the bigger thing in the scene for me.

He has suffered immensely and unjustly, but he held himself detached under the belief that meant anyone else's suffering was lesser, wasn't as valid. Now he's accepted that isn't the case.

And honestly, yes, can't deny that Edwin saying homosexuality isn't wrong was likely the part that enabled Simon to reach the nicer afterlife, it was also the fact Simon's suffering wasn't judged lacking. The headmaster came and it turned out to just be Edwin, saying he could go.

[duahauuoplanh]

There is no such thing as love for people like us.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Can you write a scene when Jake is on deployment and he gets a chance to call to his SO and she tells Jake, “the bed is cold without you here.”

TIA!

It ended up a bit longer than intended, but i hope that’s ok. I tried. 

-----

It had been three months without him--the first of what you knew would be many deployments. You'd been dating Jake for half a year when he found out he'd be leaving, and when he told you, you broke down in tears. The fear of losing him crashed through the barrier guarding your emotions, and you couldn't control the reaction you displayed. Guilt quickly followed. The last thing your boyfriend needed in that moment was to have to console his sobbing girlfriend, but that's just what he did--running his fingers through your hair, kissing your salty cheeks and lips as he whispered promises of returning to you.

You'd heard the stories of how difficult it could be. After Jake introduced you, you quickly grew close to Rooster's girlfriend of two years. She'd been through it before and was honest about the harsh realities, but ignorance to that world allowed you to hope you'd never have to face them.

The lack of contact was the hardest. The not knowing. The waiting, staring at your phone for a call you couldn't reasonably expect. You'd only had the opportunity to speak to him once, and it lasted so few minutes they felt like seconds before the call cut off and he was taken from you again. That alone had stirred enough of your dormant anxiety to keep you awake for 48 hrs straight.

You needed him. You needed to know that he was safe; that you'd get to touch him again, taste him, hear his voice. It occupied your dreams, twisting them into nightmares that left you terrified his kiss goodbye was truly your last shared kiss, and that his whispers of love were his final words to you.

---

The ringing chime in your ear was what woke you. When your eyes opened, you thought you'd imagined it; that your fears were pushing you to place where your senses played with your mind. But then it rang again.

You twisted under the sheets and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The number wasn't one you recognized but you hoped it was him--prayed it was him.

You held the device to your ear. "Jake?" His name came out delicate and wobbly, your bottom lip quivering.

"Hey, baby."

The breath locked in your lungs released at the sound of his deep voice. "Jake, are you safe?"

"Yea, I'm safe, baby," he said. "Really safe, actually. How have you been holding up?"

You considered being honest, but you didn't want to burden him. Wherever he was, he needed to focus on himself. "I'm fine."

"Come on, now."

You should've known he wouldn't buy it. He knew your emotions as if they were constantly stripped bare before him. "It's...hard. I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, honey," he said softly. You could practically see his gentle grin. "Have you been eating? Sleeping?"

"I try, but Jake, the bed is cold without you here. It's like sleeping in a damn freezer and I just..." Need you, you nearly said.

"You want me to warm it?"

You let out a weak chuckle. "When you get back, I'm not letting you out of this bed for a week."

He hummed sweetly, like your words were exactly what he wanted to hear. "Funny you should say that."

Another chime rang, echoing through the halls of your home. Another conjuration of your desperate mind. Your brows knitted in confusion. 

"You still there, beautiful?"

"Yea, I--" A knock then. Unmistakable. "Hold on."

You eased yourself off the mattress and with quick steps made your way to the front door. At 11 at night you thanked the makers of the door for including a peephole or you'd be shaking behind the wooden slab for who might be on the other side. But when you looked, green eyes stared back at you, the blond eyebrow above them raised as if he knew you were watching.

Your phone fell from your grip, smacking against the floor and likely cracking, but you didn't care. You swung the door open and were met with Jake's smile, exhausted but still bright. He took the phone from his ear and tapped a button.

"Hi," he said.

A force pushed you forward and you leaped into his arms so quickly he barely had enough time to drop his bag on the porch. His strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing tightly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Tingles shot down your spine from his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin.

"What're you doing here?" You asked, tilting your head back to get a good look at him. "Whose phone is that?"

"We came back early, and long story but the phone is at the bottom of the ocean. This is Fanboy's back-up." He squeezed one last time, then his hands found your cheeks and he pulled you in to press his lips to yours. "I love you, baby."

"I love you," you said, nudging his nose with yours.

"Now what was that about not leaving the bed for a week?"

You kissed him again with a smile on your lips as you wrapped all of your fingers around his hand. He smirked when you started to step backward into the house, leading him along. "It starts right now."

-----

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[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

Sigh.... I'm a woman lover, but right now, I'm falling heels over head for a man. Also unfortunately this is very specific to me so I'll be writing- I know, I know, - Fem reader.

Fem!Reader x Toji (JJK) || NSFW || Warnings: daydreaming, Toji being himself, at least from what i know of him, grinding, riding, belly bulge, lowkey crack treated seriously, masturbation, secret phone masturbation ??,😨 getting caught and bottom reader (i know, who even am I?)

Fuck.

You check the time again: it's 12, and you haven't gotten up yet.

You're starving, you're dehydrated, and honestly, you've gotta piss, but the insistent throb of your clit and the nasty images your mind keeps conjuring up keeps you chained to the bed, an unwilling prisoner to your desires.

You flip over on your back, hands moving to hold your breasts as air rushes over your soaked cunt. Why him? Why did it have to be the most cruel, useless, broke and lazy man you know? Was there no one else? Were you really that desperate?

Another scene pops into mind. It's Toji holding your breasts. His weight holds you down as he grinds his cock up and down your pussy, agonizingly slow. He was teasing you, and his cocky smirk paired with that unwavering gaze proved it.

Your back arches, your clit getting particularly sensitive as he grinds down harder, pinching at your nipples to coax little sounds out of you. The flex of his abs as he rolls his hips proves hypnotic, and before even you know it you're begging him to put it in, to fuck you stupid and fill you up with his cum. But oh, he's deaf to your pleas, dragging orgasms out of you from his torturous humping alone.

"Ughhhh." You huff and turn on your side, feeling your stomach growl.

God, you wish he was deep in your stomach right now.

Fucking you from the side just like this, your leg over his shoulder and the other wrapped around his waist as you scream, eyes rolling to the whites as he abuses that sweet spot inside you.

You're so wet you can hear the squelch of it all when he thrusts inside. It's coating your stomach, your thighs, overflowing around his thick cock and leaving a lewd ring around it. You're gonna have to throw the sheets out. You've never been fucked this good in your life.

And he knows it.

He reminds you when he leans down to whisper in your ear, his right hand leaving your hip to hold your face, dragging a calloused thumb across your bottom lip. "See how perfectly it fits inside?" He says. "Do you feel it?"

And you cry as you let out a warbled, "Yes,"

"I don't think you do."

He removes your hand from the death grip it has on the sheets to your stomach, and, for fucks sake, this idiot wasn't lying;

You really were feeling it now.

With each mind numbing thrust, a bulge could be felt. It was him, stupidly deep inside of you, leaving his mark so that no matter who you take after him, you'll always remember this spot as his.

Your phone goes off, and you think you might cry. Lying butt-ass naked in bed, pussy overflowing onto the sheets, clit begging to be touched, even just a little bit– and somebody has the audacity to call you? Didn't they know you were busy getting dream fucked?

It takes a lot of willpower, but you answer it.

"[Name]."

Of all fucking people.

Toji's deep rumble rolled out of your phone speaker like incoming storm clouds. You could feel another gush of arousal pouring out of you, and a sickening idea crosses your mind.

Fortunately, he doesn't comment on it. "Just waking up at this hour? I thought Miss Goody Two-Shoes would be up at 8am on the dot getting shit done on a Saturday like this one."

"He- hello, cough, um." Oh my fuck did you just SAY cough?!

You sit up, back to the wall. Your head tilts up as your hand creeps down your skin, it's goal burning hot with desire.

"Shut the fuck up, Toji... What did you need? You don't... Call me, ever, actually." Focus. You just need to keep him talking. And try not to make it obvious you're riding your fingers.

There's a bit of silence from him, probably confusion at your airy tone and disconnected speech. Then, "Tsk. I can't call a dear work buddy on our day off? I thought maybe we could go out, get to know each other-"

The only thing you wanted to know is if fantasy lived up to reality, but you digress. "How much do you need?"

He chuckles, and you have to bite back a moan. You're three fingers deep and it's still not enough, but you can't risk going to get anything bigger. As wet as you are, he'd hear the sounds and clock your shit instantly.

"Straight to the point. I spent my cut from our last job on.... Well, I'm sure you can guess." You can basically hear him wink. Ugh, why him? "I'm not much in the mood for cup noodles today. Slide me a couple bucks?"

You place the phone between your cheek and shoulder so your other finger can show your clit the appreciation it deserves. Your fingers match each other's pace, and soon you're rutting into your hand like a proper bitch in heat as his voice fuels your movements.

You try to groan, but it sounds frighteningly like a moan. Probably because it was a moan, but, you digress.

"Is this good enough, [Name]?"

You slide from the wall to the bed, letting the phone fall next to your ear. You were so close, just a few more minutes, you just need to hear him say your name.

He chuckles, and in the back of your mind you think you hear yourself say his name.

You choke, both on your shock and the force of your orgasm. It shoots out of you in the form of squirt, soaking your bed and covering you in your own sinful fluids. Your fingers keep going, the pleasure as torturous as it is addictive.

"It was cute, hearing you try to hide your moans."

Your hips aren't your own– rather, they have a mind of their own, rutting into your hand as long as they please, regardless of how hard your legs twitch or how loud you cry.

And there he is, right in your ear, even better than you imagined.

With a gasp, your legs give out and finally, it's over.

Your vision is blurry, and for a few blessed moments, it's silent on both ends. Then, you hear him slurping a straw from a very obviously empty cup.

"That's worth a couple hundred at least, right?"

You sigh. Yeah. Yeah it was.

-------

A/N: I wrote this but I guessed his speech pattern solely off what I know about his character sooooo. I'll be back to see if I can improve. Otherwise! Bone apple teeth:D

Sigh. This isn't as good as my other writing, but it was made with both love AND cum, I promise.

[docochocart]

DOCORONPA R

CHAPTER TWO

[Daily Life]

The solemn walk back to the camp grounds felt like an eternity, the horrors they just witnessed in the "courtroom" replaying in their heads over and over.

Not a word was spoken amongst the campers until they reached the cabins, where they exchanged hollow goodnights before awkwardly dispersing.

Back in the cabin, Drummer maintained her silence. As if she wasn't there at all, her roommates slowly began to unpack the events of the past 24 hours.

Bartender led the conversation with a self-righteous fury, her anger at the situation had seemingly completely been focused in on Ice Skater. It was clear Bartender was not ready to let her live this betrayal down.

The other two hesitantly backed her up, subliminally trying to talk her down from her fiery rant. Their words seemed to bounce right off of the girl, she only got more riled up with every sentence.

After nearly an hour of enduring Bartender's ranting, Drummer was at a breaking point.

Drummer jutted out from her bottom bunk. She stammered out and interrupted Bartender mid-sentence, bluntly asking if they could wrap this up.

Bartender, clearly offended, sneered down at Drummer. Luckily, before Bartender could get in a nasty retort, Social Star spoke up:

"She's right, it is pretty late."

.....

The next morning Drummer was awoken by a gentle tap on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, Social Star's angelic face slowly coming into focus.

The beautiful girl let Drummer know that Bartender had already left for breakfast in a huff and that they were getting ready to catch up with her.

Drummer, struck by Social Star's soft inflection, agreed to get up and hurry after Bartender.

Approaching the Craft Hall from outside, Bartender's screams could already be heard echoing from within.

Inside they found the scene they had pretty much expected. Bartender and Ice Skater stood tall on opposing sides of the room, hurling petty insults at one another.

This isn't what caught Drummer's attention however, she was much more focused on a different detail of this scene.

Just as Drummer had feared, Marine Biologist was still siding with the traitor. She sat silently beside Ice Skater as the verbal assault unfolded. She kept her head low.

Social Star and PT rushed to subdue Bartender. The tirade ended with a promise from the ferocious red head:

"You'll get what you deserve, I can swear on that."

The rest of the meal was spent in an awkward silence. It took until the end of the meal for anybody to notice that Daredevil wasn't in attendance.

Panic set in, everyone suddenly springing to action to search for the missing stuntman. After the events of the past week, the group wasn't ready to find another body.

The cast hastily began to plan their search Daredevil, divvying up teams to comb the campgrounds. This hasty planning was only interuppted by the unceremonious entrance of Daredevil himself.

The boy wore a wide grin and an even wider gash on his forehead. Blood still rushing down his face, he happily announced to the shocked room that he had made a discovery:

"We got a zip line!"

Before any his injuries could be called into question, Sailor shot up with a roar of excitement. The giant grabbed an anxious Ghost Hunter by the collar and galavanted to join Daredevil in potential injury.

With that matter settling itself, the cast agreed to go their separate ways until lunch.

The girls had a semi-quiet morning, enjoying some time on the dock. Most of their time was spent helping Bartender doing her best to not fume over her hatred for Ice Skater, but it could be worse.

It wasn't long before they had to leave to reassembled with the group for another meal.

...

Lunch went considerably smoother than breakfast, with Ice Skater and Bartender both keeping their distance.

The cast slowly trickled in and got their fix, enjoying their first real moment of peace after the class trial.

BOOM!

The entire building shook following the massive crash on the building's right wall. Whatever had hit that wall had been heavy.

The group rushed outside to the scene of the crime, finding Daredevil and Ghost Hunter in a mangled pile beside the Craft Hall. Both were out cold with bleeding and visible bruising.

Drummer sighed a quiet sigh of relief after enough seconds had passed with no BDA.

As the group moved in to help their brutally injured peers, Sailor came sprinting from the brush in a panic.

"JESUS FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

The massive man arrived to them beet red and panting. He breathily explained that the two had tried to ride the same zip line at once. Their combined weight had proven too much for the cheap equipment to handle.

The handle had apparently snapped clean off after the boys had reached high enough velocity, sending them careening all the way to the Craft Hall.

As this explanation unfolded, several monotmaton's entered from a different end of woods. Their adorable, plush paws carrying out a stretcher for each injured camper.

The stuffed quadrant reached the group just as Sailor finished his tall tale. Each MonoMaton silently grabbed a limb and dragged the boys off of eachother, revealing a horrific detail:

Ghost Hunter's leg contorted unnaturally as he was lifted to the gurney. The poor man had several visible fractures.

After the boys had both been wheeled off, the cast's attention turned back to Sailor. Bartender once again led the witchhunt, cursing out the giant for being so careless.

Sailor, clearly not used to confrontation, grew terribly irritated by this tirade. Though with guilt on his conscious, he could only muster petty insults and angrily tell the diva to "shut it."

Social Star and Welder did their best to talk down the dueling narcissists. Unfortunately, their efforts were in vain. The group split, leaving them to their cat fight.

...

Drummer, Social Star, and PT spent the rest of their day trying their best to relax. Without Bartender's toxic rants this was almost a successful venture, but they all knew what they'd be returning back to.

As the sun set behind the pines, the girls retreated back to their cabin. As they approached the entrance, they all braced for the fury that awaited them on the other side.

To all of their surprise, Bartender had done a complete 180 since they'd left her. Honestly, they'd never seen the girl so happy.

Social Star was the only one daring enough to poke the beast, hesitantly asking the girl how her argument with Sailor went.

Bartender, being strangely vague, calmly explained that the two had come to an agreement by the end of their "discussion."

Social Star and PT began a barrage of questions, Bartender dodging each with precision. All they knew was that the two had clearly made amends.

...

The next day had a strange air to it.

Breakfast was quiet. Everyone largely kept to themselves, except Sailor and Bartender.

Bartender had abandoned her cabin's table, moving to Daredevil's empty seat next to Sailor. Even from across the room this new dynamic was entirely clear.

Using the giant as a prop, Bartender would whisper in his ear as she mean-mugged the room. He'd nod along in drunken anger. She'd found her perfect bodyguard.

The rest of the campers did their best to ignore this uncomfortable development. The cast dispersed as soon as their meals were finished, smelling trouble brewing.

The girls once again spent the afternoon without their fiery roommate, silently dreading whatever that girl could be planning. The hours crawled by, their anxiety weighing them down.

Even still, lunch came too soon.

The girls returned to the craft hall, finding that Bartender and Sailor had already made themselves at home. Both had clearly spent the afternoon drinking.

The girls did their best to ignore them, which became an unbearable task as soon as Ice Skater finally arrived.

Upon the woman's entrance, viscous insults were already being hurled her way from the gruesome twosome. Ice Skater didn't flinch once at this childish display.

Nobody came to her defense. The barrage continued for the entirety of lunch, both Ice Skater and Marine Biologist keeping their heads down as they ate.

For the first time, the group was happy to see the stuffed sheep enter. MonoMaton cheerily announced to the room that Daredevil and Ghost Hunter were finally ready for visitors!

Sailor sprung forward with drunken excitement, sending the table with him.

MonoMaton took a head count of who would be attending, the outliers being: Rebel, Streamer, Ice Skater and Marine Biologist

With that decided, the participating followed MonoMaton out of the craft hall.

....

The group followed Monomaton through the brush, seemingly completely off trail. On the outskirts of camp, they finally reached their destination.

A beaten down old shed stood in front of them, "MEDIC" labeled down the side in chipping white paint. Outside of this abomination stood a gleeful, and completely healthy looking Daredevil.

Even from a far it was clear the damage was completely minimal, his divine luck once again sparing him any serious injury. Ghost Hunter didn't share this talent unfortunately.

The group found him inside on a dingy medical bed. His leg was elevated, a thick cast stretched from his hip to his foot. He could barely greet the group with the painkillers in his system.

Even so, the entire cast spent their afternoon there. All conflict took a backseat for a brief moment as they comforted the fallen camper.

MonoMaton was even "kind" enough to have the campers dinner's delivered to the Medic tent.

As the sun began to set, the cast said their weary goodbyes to the half-conscious Ghost Hunter.

Daredevil attempted to join the group in their return for dinner, only to be halted by MonoMaton. Daredevil was given strict orders to stay in the medic tent until further notice, the "doctors" still fearing "internal injury."

The cast departed without him back to the Craft Hall, where a horrific scene awaited them.

...

The sun had fully set by the time they reached the Craft Hall. As they made their way to the entrance the group felt a strange uneasiness about entering the building.

The Craft Hall, which usually stayed lit at all hours, was enshrouded in complete darkness. All the lights inside had been shut off, but by who?

Cowboy led the charge. His strong hand reached for the doorknob, only to halt in place. A voice weakly gurgled from within:

"H-help me.."

Cowboy thrust the door open, ready to face whatever awaited him. He charged into the dark room, the group gathering in the doorway behind him.

Even in the shadows the Craft Hall was visibly in shambles, tables and chairs thrown haphazardly about. One thing stuck out much more to the group though:

A tall, broad, foreboding, silhouette stood toward the back of the room, completely unmoving. It was only made visible by the moonlight tracing it's intimidating silhouette.

The whispers had completely stopped after they'd entered, the room falling into a complete silence until Trucker finally broke:

"Who the fuck is back there?"

Cowboy, ignoring Trucker's screams, continued silently approaching the stranger. Trucker followed closely behind, feudally threatening the figure with shaky breath.

As they grew closer, a black hockey mask could be made out in the moonlight. With sweat now collecting on his forehead, Cowboy only stopped when he heard Trucker fall to the floor behind him followed by a terrified squeal.

Trucker had seemingly tripped over a corpse. Though hard to make out in the dark, it could only be one person-

Trucker, almost driven to tears with terror, laid uncomfortably over a ketchup-covered Streamer. The undignified girl stifled laughter as she pretend to lay dead.

Spinning around, Cowboy could now recognize the figure was clearly the deranged girl's creation. A lumpy tower of fabric adorning a black hockey mask stood unevenly in the back of the room.

Streamer couldn't hold her laughter in for a second longer, clearly so pleased with this incredibly strange and unfunny "practical joke."

She began to gloat the crowd as she rose from the floor, eating up the negative attention. While nobody else in the room felt any humor in the situation, they weren't nearly as aggravated as Trucker was.

The stout man rose up in a fury, grabbing Streamer by the arm and spinning her to meet his gaze. Without speaking a word, Trucker wound a fist backward and-

CRACK!

BOOM!

Trucker hit the floor with a thud. The crowd watched in shock as Cowboy turned from the unconscious man to face them.

"Everybody good?"

TO BE CONTINUED....

[herejusttosufferalong]

So as expected the cohorts are posting their birthday tributes to R today. What I keep seeing time and time again is this "connection" between A + R.. her video story today he looks smack into her camera for "a little longer than is socially acceptable" per my standards for friends ;) The other night with the fireworks was the same. He posted a story of her diving into the water the other day, butt cheeks and all, then deleted it. His grid post of GQ, yes he's walking next to S, but the focus of the shot is A and her sneaky look behind (granted L took the pic, but why would R feature this one on his grid and not one featuring more of S)... it just doesn't add up for me.

I'm trying to reconcile that HBS L might be the actual L as he "finds" himself now with his new found fame. I completely understand they control the dynamic of what is publicly outfacing and their behind the scenes selves might be completely different.. I get that.. we have zero right to what happens behind closed doors. Something is just not sitting right with the dynamic between them. C + T seem outsiders in this little bubble. In reality they seem chill and if the 6 of them were more like that I think we'd be more at ease with all of this..

Not sure what my point is getting at as I just vent out my thoughts after doing the IG lurk for the morning. Bottom line, I "fell" for L the actor and what I saw while promoting said show (which yes, who knows what was real and what wasn't). As a fan, I want him to be successful and happy in whatever form that looks like. This whole scene just doesn't sit right with me, and if he's truly being played by those he holds closest to him, by the power of Greyskull let that come to light sooner rather than later, so he can move on.

He just comes across right now as a lost puppy. In my delulu world once he returns to the BTON bubble and others on his "level" can refocus him, all will be well.. but that remains to be seen!

.