#clutching a third key in his palm

[slowd1ving]

Hello !! Do I ask for a Jinyoung Park x husband reader ? please fluff and one shot

NOSTOS . ⁺ JINYOUNG PARK

nostos: defined by homecoming, as after a long journey Gone are the days of an empty stomach and the taste of blood on your tongue. Tonight, your biggest worry consists only of explaining the ball of fur (wedged damply under your raincoat) to your oh-so-beloved husband. anon this is my first married fic ever so I hope this is decent enough fr pairings: jinyoung park + husband reader warnings: none! (literally my only one with zero warnings) wc: 1.1k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Forgive me. Two words repeated themselves like pious mantras while you trudged up the stairs. The rubber of your soles colliding rhythmically against the linoleum of each step sounded comforting, unlike the frivolous allegro of your heartbeat. Residue rainwater left miserly puddles in your wake, and you felt guilty for the soft-spoken janitor who’d tend to the mud tracked into the flooring. 

Forgive me. For what? There were a million mellifluous syllables to describe the long wrongdoings of your life, but to list them all would blur them into flowery wine rather than the sour plums that they were. Lying to good people? Purging the murky cesspits of Gapryong’s Fist? Muddying up the downtown apartment complex your penthouse had been reduced to? 

Gone was the gilt that came with the blood. Your biggest sin this week was making a babe cry with your brief glance, and perhaps the parcel wedged beneath your warm body and raincoat. 

With one hand, you fumbled a rusty key into your lock—third floor, no lurkers, no telltale signs of intruders—and with the other, you clutched the bundle to your chest with the fervour of a starved man. It’s open—!

“Oh.” There he is. 

“‘Oh’ is right. You are late,” he seethed, eyes roaming from the very crown of your soaked head to the tips of your muddy boots. “And you’re getting mud everywhere.”

“Forgive me.” You sounded perfectly contrite, and somewhat abashed—and the sincerity in your tone caused Jinyoung Park to somewhat deflate. You— he— he could never stay mad at the face of his downcast husband after all, even if he knew full well the trembling furrow in your brows had been practised and machinated until Gapryong damn Kim himself twitched in irritation at your performances. 

Well. You weren’t the Infiltrator behind the Fist for no reason. 

“If you’re sorry, take a hot bath before you catch a cold. I’ll heat up the jjigae so you don’t get sick,” he grumbled, but anyone and everyone who knew him could see the soft-worn affection behind his grousing. He wasn’t your husband for no reason. 

There was no move from you. You remained holding your coat to your chest, ring glinting on your finger as you shifted. The back of his neck prickled. 

“Err, might be a bit of a problem, doc,” you said. Sheepishly. Like you always did before that mouth of yours caused your target to become tetchy as they threw something at you. 

His hand instinctively reached for your pink fluffy slipper on the shoe rack to whack your arm with. 

“You got injured? What did you do?” But rather than land on his target, he grasped your arm. There might’ve been a meow. Did it come from you? Maybe. He could never be too sure with you. 

With a loud, obnoxiously obvious gulp, you slid the material of your windbreaker aside. It rustled as though it was making excuses for you, since you wouldn’t argue your case. In fact, you would probably cheerfully agree with whatever he flung at you. 

“A… cat. A cat,” he stared dumbly. A soggy feline juvenile stared dumbly back. 

Huh?

“A… cat?” he repeated, still processing the mental shock. Its matted, damp grey fur and huge splotch on your shirt suggested you’d carried this wretched creature for many miles. And, knowing you, you probably had. Despair wrought his face pallid. 

“Sur… prise?” you echoed in a mimicry of his cadence, and he buried his forehead in his clammy palm. No, he prepared himself to say, already expecting the imminent question. No, his mouth formed. No. “And it’s a kitten, not a cat. Be nice.”

“Can we keep him?” you asked as though this wasn’t the cheap apartment you’d purchased in this district. No, he wanted to reproach, since you did somewhat acquiesce to his request on your whims. You stared, just as dumbly as him and that cat—an unfortunate trio if he ever saw one. “We can call him Jake.”

“We are not calling him the name of my nephew,” he shot back instantly, then immediately cursed at both himself and you for your masterful deceitfulness. Damn you. Damn his silly, obnoxious, beautiful husband drenched and pitiful from the rain, pleading with those eyes of his and causing him to unintentionally fold. You played him like a damn fiddle. 

And judging by the bright beam you wore, it seemed you knew that a bit too well. 

“Well, I’ll be off cleaning our dear nephew,” you zipped past him, still clutching that little furball with all the tenderness of a new father. He was so lost in the happy glow of your smile that it took him quite a few seconds to recall exactly just what you had said. 

“We are not naming it Jake!” he gritted out. 

“You can finally be the favourite uncle!” you sang, partially drowned out by the flow of hot water. 

Staggering, he propped his elbow up against the thin door leading to the bathroom—sharp glare poised right at it. 

When will I learn to refuse him?

 . ⁺ 　

“Who are you and what the hell did you do to my husband?” Shellshocked, you gaped at the scene before you; Jinyoung Park, the man you had sworn to cherish forevermore, had been replaced by someone who’d actually tolerated the kitten’s presence. Nay, the man had the very furball—that he glared at—sequestered away on his very lap while he looked over research files from his lab. And he was stroking behind its ears and under its chin nonetheless! 

What a conundrum. 

“Being the favourite uncle,” he replied with a half-smirk that couldn’t be hidden from your prying eyes. For once in your long life—riddled with more lies and deceits than you could count—you were stumped. 

You cooed to the kitten, attempted bribing it with treats, and even brandished the foxtail you’d found on your way back home. All for naught—the feline remained firmly wedged on his lap, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. 

“Well, your prophecy did work out. We’re both favourite uncles now,” he bragged, and a tear might’ve slipped from your eye as you watched the heartwarming scene. 

“Save a space for me on the couch after I shower,” you demanded, though it was not with any malice nor aggression—just a raw affection for this little bubble. 

“I’ll see.” However hard he denied it, he was still that wily man you’d fallen for; in the hazy evening lamplight, though, he was much softer round the edges.  

And perhaps you were too. 

For despite your lack of piety, you sincerely prayed this would be the domain of the future.

a/n: yes the cat is still called jake

[takami-takami]

Roost and Repair.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. comfort.

warnings— anxiety (could be from anything). keigo taking care of you.

If someone were to ask you what your plans are this Saturday afternoon, you'd internally answer, "rotting away, probably."

Externally, you'd say, "not much, how about you?"

It's a sickening twist of the tongue to utter such falsities; you never did enjoy burying the truth. But you'll be damned if you let the tides of others' perceptions and social regulations singe your exposed nerve endings; like cheap wiring, frayed and alight with the most unpleasant sparks at the utterance of a word or glance your way.

It's a lot easier to simply shut and latch all three locks on your bedroom door instead, to cover your body with the heaviest comforter you can find in order to insulate your raw wiring in at least some capacity.

It's fucking June. You can see the waves of heat eminating from the light of the sun through your open window, hot rays fractured through the glass; yet here you are, bundled up like it's the peak of December.

You would be sweating from the adrenaline regardless, you remind yourself.

You swear to God, if a single soul decides to lift a knuckle against your door, you'd lose what little grasp you have on—

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap, goes the glass of your window; and it sounds like a lifeline, instead.

Cloaking yourself in your quilt, your bare feet hop off the matress and meet the carpet. You drag the hem of the blanket behind you along the floor as you make your way to unlatch the lock.

"Heyo," Keigo sings, clutching the pane above his head with both hands and swooping in feet first. He lands in your room like he just finished a somersault. Waltzing inside, he pops the joints of his neck as he stretches like a cat.

"Got off patrol early on a Saturday, can you believe it? Flew straight over to see my favorite— oh."

He blinks at you, studying the stiff way you tremble as you look at him; like a sad, wet dog.

"Baby. It's burning up outside," he reminds you, tone taking a stark shift. "Are you sick? You don't look so good."

Gloved palms tap up your arms while he looks you over, removing one glove so he can place the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature.

You snort. "Not sick, Kei."

His eyes trail down. Your thumbs are working themselves into a frenzy against your cuticles.

Realization falls over Keigo's face and he mouths a silent oh. His right hand darts down to his coat pocket, pulling out some fidget toys and placing them with reverence in your palm. He closes your hands around it.

"Thank you, Kei," you squeak out, twisting the plastic this and that way, wringing your irritability dry against the faux little outlet instead.

"I gotcha, sweetpea," he says. Two palms, one gloved and one bare, reach out before him to make grabby hands in a silent request; and just as his feathers twitch with hope, you spring forward into Keigo's arms, wrapping your legs snug across the small of his back.

He coos, nuzzling against your neck while he walks you back to bed. Three feathers dart their way past while he walks. One retrieves two bottles of water from the kitchen, another turning on the AC. The third feather pauses in your bedroom, taking care in its selection of the perfect plushie for you to hold on to.

"Don't gotta put up a front around me. I can see right through you," Keigo teases, pulling his head back to poke once at your nose.

You scrunch it in mock offense, sending a jolt right through his beating heart.

"I know I don't," you assert.

"And I know you won't," he answers.

A pause drapes over the room as you reach your bed.

"Anything you need from me, dove," he asks, not bothering to pry your body from his when he sits down.

"Mm. Just you being here s'good... It's awful today, Kei," you explain easily, letting your shoulders down.

Keigo hums. It's a low, empathetic sound that drums against your ears and rumbles within the cavity of your chest. You can practically feel it insulating the exposed wires, can feel his voice soothing the ache with its warm timbre.

Keigo, more than anyone else, knows you don't want to be percieved. You want to be seen.

With a single kiss atop the crown of your head, he sighs in contentment.

He'll always be grateful for the opportunity to protect you.

[sionisjaune]

hello i am here for toxic brocedes :)

Post Met Gala 2016, Lewis/Nico with a hint of Lewis/Miles, 1.2k

In the end, Lewis can’t bear to go to the afterparty. He can’t imagine cramming himself into a booth, nodding his head to the glitzy thump of American dance pop, and watching Miles dance and drink and flirt like he didn’t just alter the course of Lewis’s life. So he takes a car back to the Manhattan apartment—drives it himself, even, silent behind the wheel—and sits in the underground parking garage with the engine still running until the worst of the emotion drains out of him. If he was always going to leave alone, it was better that he left on his own terms. 

He shuts off the car, ducks out and orients himself towards the elevator. It must have started raining when he was inside the Met, and now it’s all seeped underground, dripping from the concrete ceiling and pooling in the potholes on the garage’s asphalt. The heels of his loafers click and echo. He steps inside the elevator when it arrives. 

His apartment is a swanky two-bedroom on the ninth floor that Nicole picked out for him when he was sufficiently big-time to require a base in New York. He still remembers clutching her to his side in this exact elevator while she teetered in her heels, drunk and cold after a night out. That was years ago. He blinks, realizing he hasn’t yet selected his floor. The elevator lurches into motion a moment later, and Lewis’s stomach clenches. 

He’s still seeing Miles in his mind’s eye when the elevator opens on his floor. The fucking striped suit. The bleach blonde fucking hair. Miles was seated next to Rihanna, which meant it was impossible for Lewis to make any kind of impression. He blows out a tense breath, halfway down the hallway to his door. As if Miles would want him that way. 

Lewis twists the key in the lock, and nudges the door open with his shoulder, expecting the dim stillness of his empty apartment. Orange light spills into the hallway when the door opens instead. 

Lewis squints against the light. His head is pounding like the hangover is already kicking in. 

“You look rough,” says Nico. 

Lewis blinks rapidly, as though shaking a nightmare, but it really is Nico. The shape of him resolves, hunched over a bottle of rum at Lewis’s kitchen island. His blonde hair is too short to flop in his face like it used to. Lewis shuts the door behind himself and kicks his shoes in the vague direction of the closet. 

“What are you doing here,” says Lewis. His voice is deadpan and gravelly. Like a smoker, or someone who doesn’t care. 

“I saw you on TV,” says Nico, lifting his glass and swirling it around. There are only a few millimetres left, and the bottle is half empty. “You’re… really doing it.” He raises the glass to his lips, but doesn’t drink. “You’re growing out of me.”

Fuck it, Lewis thinks, tossing his keys on the island and sliding into a seat across from Nico. He gestures for the glass, and Nico tops it up obligingly and slides it over. When Lewis drinks, he knows he’s tasting Nico’s saliva on the rim. 

“Another one,” says Lewis. Nico tips another few fingers of rum in the glass and Lewis tosses it back. The last time he and Nico were this civil in such close proximity was the beginning of 2013, before Nico was married. 

“What are you drinking to?” says Nico, watching Lewis sip on his third glass, cheek resting in his palm, blue eyes limpid underneath the pendant lights. 

Lewis sucks down another bitter sip. “I met someone,” he says. 

Nico raises an eyebrow. Lewis doesn’t know what reaction he was expecting. 

“He’s a fencer,” says Lewis. “Tall, blonde, stylish.”

“And where is he now?” says Nico, glancing around theatrically. It doesn’t have the intended effect, probably because Nico is completely wasted. 

“Probably fucking Rihanna,” says Lewis. “Fuck.” He presses his face into his hand. His cheeks are numb. Nico snorts across the island, wiggling the glass out of Lewis’s lax grip and pouring himself another drink. 

“I know something that will make us both feel better,” says Nico. 

Lewis unburies his face from his hand and fixes Nico with a serious look. He’s only here because Lewis gave him a key when he was still sleeping around on Nicole, and because he saw Lewis on TV and booked a flight to New York, apparently. Nico’s lips are wrapped around the rim of the glass, where Lewis’s just were. He doesn’t look like he’s expecting much. 

“No thanks,” says Lewis. 

Nico shrugs. “Fair enough. I’ll try again in the morning.” 

“How do you figure?” says Lewis. 

“I don’t think either of us want to sleep alone tonight,” Nico hazards. 

“And what if you’re wrong?” says Lewis. He wants another drink, but he’s still got another twenty minutes before his last few catch up with him. He might end the night kneeling over the toilet bowl. It’s a good thing Nico’s here after all. 

“Feel free to send me packing,” says Nico. “I don’t think you’re going to, though.” 

Lewis presses his fingertips into the granite countertop. He watches the flesh under his nails turn white. “You’re really fucking irritating, you know,” says Lewis. 

“I know,” says Nico, tilting his head. 

“You fucking did this to yourself,” says Lewis, gesturing. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing with his hands, other than showing that he’s angry. “You stranded yourself at my apartment because you wanted to test me like this.” 

“Test you?” says Nico.

“Yeah,” says Lewis. He can hear himself slurring. It’s remarkable that Nico is still speaking so elegantly. “You want to measure how much I want you.” 

Nico snorts. “I’m getting the sense that it’s less than you used to. I fucking miss wanting you, though. I’m sorry your fencer is straight.” 

“Yeah,” says Lewis, choking on a little laugh. He misses it too. There’s a hole in him where his feelings for Nico used to be. It’s like the black spot that you see when you stare at a lightbulb for too long, when the rods and cones in your retinas get so excited they burn out. “Come on,” he says, sliding out of his seat. 

Nico trails after him, towards the bedrooms in the back of the apartment. “I told you you weren’t going to,” he says. 

“Shut up,” Lewis tells him. When he reaches the bathroom, he digs a spare toothbrush out of the mirror cabinet and hands it to Nico. “Wait your turn,” he says. 

Nico makes a funny face at that, but he backs out of the bathroom and leaves Lewis to fumble drunkenly around the bathroom for his cleanser and his toothpaste. He finishes up after an indeterminate age, mouth thick with the taste of rum and spearmint, like the foul aftermath of a mojito, and pads out of the bathroom, head spinning. 

Nico is sitting on the foot of the bed clutching his spare toothbrush when Lewis enters the bedroom. “I’m finished,” says Lewis, lamely. He strips his shirt off and tosses it at the laundry bin. Nico disappears into the bathroom. Lewis tries to conjure Miles, if only to torture himself, but his thoroughly intoxicated imagination can’t manage it. At least something worked. He slides into bed between cold sheets and buries his head in the pillow. A few minutes later, Nico joins him, tenting the sheets at Lewis’s back. 

“Goodnight, Lewis,” says Nico. 

Lewis shuts his eyes and carefully doesn’t think about what the fuck he’ll do tomorrow morning when he wakes up sober with Nico in his bed. 

“Goodnight,” Lewis croaks, willing sleep towards him.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Freeze

- A Sights Original -

Unnamed Male Character x F Reader (NSFW)

(A/N: Are you a fight, flight, or freeze kind of person? I’m more of a “freezer” myself. This was based on a dream I had the other night. Happy late Valentine’s Day to my favorite pervs.)

Warnings: Very polite noncon, mentions of unresolved medical issues, threats, knife usage, praise, forced orgasm

~~

Paper crumples in your palm. Your brows furrow, scowl deepening as you stomp down the sidewalk. With each annoyed step, your knee twinges, bone grating on bone, the joint popping painfully.

This is the third doctor you’ve been to, the third time your concerns have been dismissed. You’re too young to have arthritis. Take some ibuprofen for a week, the pain will go away. Give it time.

You have given it time. You’ve given it weeks. Months. An entire year. At what age do doctors start taking you seriously?

Your dress billows around your thighs, ruffled by the breeze. The temperature plummeted while you were at the clinic. Shivering, you wrap your arms around yourself. Should have brought a jacket.

In the distance is the parking garage. Having to walk this far is not helping your knee. You’re nearly limping by the time you make it to the staircase leading to the lower levels.

Prickling on the back of your neck.

Discreetly, you scan your surroundings. Out of the corner of your eye is a man. You make a mental note of his appearance: Tall—maybe a little over 6ft—blonde, short cropped hair, lean, white t-shirt, ripped jeans.

It’s probably nothing. He’s just going to his car too.

But he’s staring right at you.

The stairs are difficult. Your knee clicks and the ache deepens with each hurried step. Your leg threatens to buckle every time it must hold your weight. Your knuckles blanche with how tightly you grip the railing. Breathe, breathe, slow your pulse, keep calm, it’s okay, stop panicking—

Tap, tap, tap. Footsteps behind you, closer now, matching your hurried pace. Your fingers fumble with the zipper of your purse. Frantically, you shove the crumpled doctor’s notes in your bag and search for your keys. You should have gotten them out sooner, what a stupid mistake….

Last two stairs, almost there, you can see your car just across the lot, look around, is there anyone near, can you yell for help? It’s so empty, there are only three other vehicles. Your phone! Idiot. It’s in your bag too, call the cops, hurry—

The footfalls suddenly disappear from behind you and you half turn in time to see the man leap clean over the railing. Effortlessly, he lands and uses the rail to swing himself around to face you and block your path.

“Hey,” he says, grinning wide like you’re an old friend. This close, you see a raised scar running from his brow and down across his eyelid. On the side of his face, near his left ear is a tattooed symbol or pattern of some kind.

You don’t waste time studying the composition, instead twisting on your heel and racing back up the stairs, heart in your throat. Adrenaline helps dull the discomfort in your knee, but your leg still trembles until you must clutch the railing.

You don’t make it far. He’s so much quicker, taking the stairs two at a time and gripping your upper arm to pull your hand from your purse and stop your hasty retreat. He whips you around and gently pushes you against the kneewall. His opposite palm comes up to cover your mouth, as pointless as it is. You’re too frozen in terror to react yet, your voice trapped in your throat.

What strikes you first is his grin. He’s smiling so warmly, his dark eyes lit up with such joy. It makes you second guess your fear, like maybe you should know him, like you should be just as thrilled.

You falter only for a second. A quiet click heralds the feeling of steel at your throat. Your eyes widen in horror and wildly dart around—no cameras, no people, you’re alone—as you hold your breath and stay as still as you can.

“Hey, I really don’t wanna kill you, but I’ll have to if you scream okay?” He speaks softly as the thumb of the hand covering your mouth caresses your cheek, a sick imitation of comfort.

Quickly, you nod, and the man’s smile widens. He huffs a relieved laugh, his palm sliding from your mouth to rest on your waist. The knife stays where it is, hovering just over your throat.

His kind expression is so jarring, so alien to the situation. He should be glowering like a villain, not smiling like a friend.

“Y-you can take my purse, please, I d-don’t have cash—

“Shhh,” he whispers with a chuckle, shaking his head like you made a silly joke. The hand on our waist slides lower. The warm, calloused skin of his palm brushes your thigh to push your skirt higher.

Terror chokes you, a strangled little squeak leaving your lips. It becomes horribly apparent what this is, what’s actually happening to you now with each inch his hand claims.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. You shake in his grip and clench your eyes shut, your breath only coming in sharp gasps. The scream is there now in the back of your throat, begging to be freed, but the blade now resting on your neck keeps it in check.

“P-Please, please don’t, please—

“It’s okay, I promise it won’t hurt, see…?” he murmurs, fingertips stroking your folds through your panties. A quiet whimper escapes, tears pooling in your lashes. He’s right, it doesn’t hurt, but that doesn’t make it any less shocking.

“What’s your name?” he asks, the gentle rumble of his voice buzzing against your palms.

Palms? When did you place them on his chest?

You’re not sure why you tell him, but you do, your name leaving you in a shaky whisper only he can hear.

“I love that. So pretty like you. I knew you would be really, really good for me.” His digits circle your clothed clit, languid circles that make your toes curl in your shoes. You despise the wetness gathering in your underwear and the wanting heat curling in your belly.

Your nails twist in his shirt when he nudges your panties to the side to touch you unhindered. When he finds you dripping, his pleased gasp makes you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You could almost forget about the knife like this. Almost.

Your cheeks burn, mortification constricting your chest when your cunt squelches around his digits. He offers a needy groan in response and pumps his fingers until you’re fighting the urge to buck your hips.

What the fuck is wrong with you?!

“I can’t wait, sorry—sorry, god, you’re such a good girl,” he mutters, wet fingers sliding from your channel so he can shove his hand in his pocket. He produces a condom wrapper. Bringing it to his mouth, he rips it open with his teeth. Dexterously, he works open his pants to free his leaking cock and slides the rubber down his length.

Your heart stutters in your chest and you desperately shake your head when he hooks his hand under your thigh to lift your leg. A grimace twists your features when all your weight is put on your bad knee. Your hand flies to the railing to steady yourself.

“What—oh right, you were limping, I’m sorry.” Hurriedly, he sets your leg down and lifts the other, easing the pain in your knee. Confusion and dread addle your mind; you’re torn between his consideration and trauma he is about to inflict.

You can’t fight or flee with the knife at your throat. You don’t know how to react when he hooks a thumb in the crotch of your underwear to tug the soaked fabric to the side. All you manage is a pathetic whine as the tears pooling in your lashes streak down your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he chants like he’s trying to soothe an injured child. You tense, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to do something, but you’re trapped in your own body, like your brain is disconnected from the rest of you.

Eagerly, he lines up and surges into your slippery cunt. You barely manage to contain your shriek behind your teeth, his hand flying to your mouth to cover the strangled sound you emit. You look up at him through despairing, watery eyes, inhaling the scent of yourself on his fingers, your pleas of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” muffled by his palm.

He groans through his teeth, eyes fluttering, hips grinding against you when he rolls them. “It’s—ahh—it’s okay, honey, you didn’t mean it, I know it was an accident. I know you can be quiet for me,” he purrs and you’re…relieved.

His hand leaves your lips to return to your trembling thigh. He spreads you open to make room for deeper thrusts. It’s tender, though, the way he ruts up into you. He pushes you tighter into the wall, pins you there with his weight, holds you close like a lover.

Hushed moans wash across your skin when he leans down to drag his lips through your tears. There’s praise too, ‘so good,’ and ‘thank you,’ murmured near your ear.

Inside, you’re burning. Every gentle thrust sends pleasurable shock waves through your belly while conflict rages in your mind. It shouldn’t feel this way! You shouldn’t be fighting moans, your fingers shouldn’t be digging into his shoulder, you shouldn’t be leaking down your thighs, and you most assuredly shouldn’t be climbing the precipice of climax.

The man’s hand slips from your leg and his fingers quickly locate your clit to rub more torturous circles. You suck in air through your teeth and furiously shake your head. If you cum, you’ll never forgive yourself.

“Please cum with me, baby?” He moans softly and adds, “I’d love that so much.” With the way the molten knot in your gut tightens with each passing second, you realize you don’t have a choice.

Eyes snapping shut, quivering lips falling open in a silent cry, the knot unravels. Slick muscles spasm and grip the throbbing length buried within you. A strained exhale escapes from the man’s throat when his cock twitches and spills into the condom. For one, brief moment, you consider thanking him for using one.

The hand holding the knife shifts so thumb and forefinger can grip your chin and tip your head back. You sob against his lips when they press to yours. It’s too tender a gesture for what just occurred.

Would it have been less distressing if he’d been cruel?

“Thank you for being so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away. You snap your knees shut as he steps back. Your skin prickles. The loss of his body heat makes you aware of the chilly air billowing down the stairs.

Quickly righting his clothes, he flashes you another disarming grin and departs. Back up the stairs he goes, jumping two at a time. You watch him leave, tears cooling on your face.

Now, the only sounds echoing through the darkened garage are your haggard breaths and quiet sniffling. You’re alone. Slowly, you sink onto a step, legs shaking like a newborn calf. You stare blankly at the goosebumps dotting your skin.

Should have brought a jacket.

[inherstars]

Prospect | Ten Questions (More or Less) | (1 of 2)

Cee and an injured Ezra make it back to the The Bellwether in the dead mercenaries' pod, and must settle in for the first few nights of their new life. Writing Ezra's dialogue is going to be the fucking death of me.

It was pretty smooth sailing, up until the Purser asked about their affiliation.  Ezra was usually good at thinking on his feet, but he wasn’t precisely in top form.

“Oh, this is my…”  A glance to Cee, a gesticulation.  Clearly, anyone could see that they were, uh…

“Cous--” she started.

“Daught--”

Nope. Fucked that all the way up.  Ezra licked his bottom lip and looked at the Purser, who was thoroughly unimpressed with whatever the hell was happening in front of him.

Ezra tried again.

“You see, my companion here--”

The men held a hand up stiffly, palm out, stopping him in his tracks.

“You know what? Don’t fucking care.  Manifest says your docking and berthing fees are paid, and your names didn’t throw up any red flags in the system.  That’s the beginning and end of the shits I give.”

It was slightly hard not to notice that Ezra was sweating buckets and listing on his feet, a hand clutched over a blister of biomedical expanding foam protruding like a fungal growth from a tear in his enviro-suit.  And also missing a goddamned arm.

Ezra grinned at him, head sagging sideways. He would have sold both kidneys just to end this conversation, but it was in his nature to always have more words for a given situation than was even remotely necessary.

“That so, my good man?”

The Purser passed him a set of key cards. “Make sure that it stays that way.”

As Cee intercepted the cards, he scrutinized her a bit more carefully. “...although.  I kinda remember you.  Thought you were here with a different guy.  Older.  Thick beard.”

Ezra smiled and risked taking his hand off the foam, scratching his short black scruff of five o’clock shadow. Or whatever the temporal equivalent was, out in the ass end of space.

“Freshly shorn,” he said.  “A good shave takes twenty years off a man, doesn’t it?”

Cee took his elbow, impatient.  “Is that all?  Can we go?”

The Purser’s tongue glossed grimly over his teeth.

“Last question.  Anything to declare?”

“Indeed,” Ezra agreed.  “We are extremely tired, and would like to get to our quarters.”

She dragged him down the corridor.

Cee knew her way around the master ship, having already spent hours exploring its endless, meandering, lonesome passageways.  She knew all the places to curl up with a notebook, all the spots that maintenance and security couldn’t be bothered to inspect in the wee hours of curfew.  Ezra, however, was a babe in the woods, and she mentally prioritized everything he would reasonably need -- and need to do -- before they were shut in for the nightly lockdown.

She dragged him as far as the infirmary, explaining the shorthand of ship’s interior mapping as she went: the blue lines on the floor led to the bathrooms and shower rooms; white led to medical; yellow to engineering; black to operations; brown to cargo and docking; green to passenger berths.

“Green to passenger berths,” he echoed.  The feverish, sleepy heaviness of his eyes was deeply worrisome.  She stared rivets into him, wondering exactly how much hand-holding he was going to need to get through this.  Hopefully not too much, already at the disadvantage of only having one hand.

“I’m going to go get a shower,” she said slowly, firmly, then nodded to the infirmary’s main doors. “You need to go in there.  They can get you… fixed up.”  She looked him over, doubting herself even as she said the words.  “Or.  Close to it.”

“I will get put right,” he promised.  “Worry not your pretty head about that, little bird.”

Yeah, this was going to be a ride.

Cee pressed one of the keycards into his hand.  Twice.  Then a third time, manually curling his fingers around it until he gripped it reflexively.

“Infirmary.  Then shower.  Then berth. In that order.  I’ll meet you there. OK?”

He nodded drunkenly.  She stared hard.

“What color do you follow to get to the berths?”

Ezra had a moment of quiet panic, then blurted, “Green.”

Cee breathed out hard as she turned.

*******

It was going to take him awhile, so Cee didn’t rush.  She paid for a locker outside the shower room, peeling from her enviro-suit and stuffing it into the lockbox alongside her much-abused backpack.  She checked her onboard credit and was delighted to find a small stash saved up from odd jobs since their last deployment, and the occasional,  meager allowance her father grudgingly gave her.  Damon’s life savings were stored in the system somewhere, as well, but she had no idea how to access it.  It was hers by rights… surely she could do something with it, if she got her hands on it.

Ezra would probably know how.

She showered for what felt like an hour, practically emptying the little wall dispensers off the gritty all-purpose cleanser that turned into soap under the water.  She scrubbed her skin raw, elbows and shoulders and scalp, until the automated reminder chimed that her water allotment was nearing its end.

Her first treat to herself was a fresh set of “Skivvies” -- a prepackaged set of plain white t-shirt, sweatpants and the world’s most generic underwear, not quite one-size-fits-all, but one-size-kinda-fits-skinny-ass-space-orphans.  She blotted her hair dry in the steamy mirror, staring at her fogged reflection until it slowly cleared.

Did she look older?  She felt older.

Her possessions recollected from the pay locker, she stopped by the ship commissary for something to eat, but was disappointed to find they’d already closed until the next day cycle.  Ah well.  The shower was worth it.

Taking her own advice, she followed the scuffed green pathway on the gridded floors, eventually wending to the berth that matched the engraving on her keycard.

Ezra was already cleared from the infirmary and waiting for her, hunkered down on one of the two narrow cots on either side of the small compartment.  There wasn’t much to it besides the beds, to be honest -- a little stainless steel sink and mirror, an alcove apiece for clothes or other personal items, and a kotatsu-style coffee table in the very center, though from Cee’s experience the heating element often didn’t work.

Ezra pawed through a small, rattling drawstring bag screen-printed with a bright red caduceus, though he glanced up at her as she entered.  He looked better.  Still punch-drunk and sweaty, but more alert.  Cleaner, too, which meant he’d listened to her instructions about hitting the showers.  He even wore an identical set of Skivvies, albeit his were better suited to his frame.

The look she gave him wasn’t relieved, however.  She didn’t doubt the pill bottles rattling around in that bag were legitimate, and freshly prescribed, but the sight of a grown man feverishly going after drugs still put her on edge.

“You look better,” she said cautiously, shutting the door behind her and squeezing over to her own cot on the room’s opposite side.  It was freshly sheeted, equipped with a small pillow and a tightly folded green blanket.  Standard issue.  The bare minimum for what they’d paid.

Ezra resumed his digging and rattling.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”  He paused, then said, “Actually… perhaps I am being a sight uncharitable to our fine men and women of the onboard facilities.  They did indeed patch me up… albeit at some cost.  Well worth the expense, mind you.”  He flicked her a brief, appreciative look as she settled on the edge of her bed.  “Thanks in no small part to your skilled intervention during my time of need.  They commended your surgical skills.”

Cee made a small noise, noncommittal, as her hands smoothed the crisp, coarse bedsheet.

“What did they give you?”

“A stern and critically judgemental eye and a wide berth.”

She rolled him her most sixteen-year-old look of exasperation, and he uttered a rough laugh.

“The usual pharmaceutical compliment to one in a state such as I.”  He finally got tired of trying to dig around one-handed and pulled out the bottles one by one, inspecting them and placing them on the table.  Cee stretched, picking them up as well, studying the labels.  “Well, see for yourself.”

The names all looked like random generated combinations of letters, but she was familiar enough with them to recognize a course of antibiotics, anti-virals, anti-inflammatories, cellular regenerators.  Her nose wrinkled as she set them back down, and Ezra began popping the lids with his thumb, swallowing each dose dry as he went.

“I get the antibiotics.  What are the anti-virals for?”

“Under other circumstances, young lady, if you are to encounter a man on a course of powerful anti-virals, I will advise you very strongly to run the other way, but in this instance, specifically, they are to help ward off what’s coming.”

Pill after pill after pill.  One got stuck and he grimaced and held his head back, massaging his throat to help it go down.

“...what’s coming?”

He finally got it past his adam’s apple and, with a sigh of relief, stashed them all back in the canvas bag.

“Ah, the sweet springtime innocence of the perpetual Floater.  Troubadours or -- dare I say -- modern-day Romanichel of the Fringe.  You, little bird, have the lived the sort of rootless, vagabond life that equips your ilk with a robust immunity to the most common and problematic afflictions that run rampant in such…” He paused, circling a hand at the air. “...close and questionably maintained quarters.  Unlike myself who, having now spent more seasons than I care to admit plumbing The Green for my fortune -- or, let us be honest, the fortunes of others -- have no such acquired defense.”

Cee needed a moment to absorb all that, and it wasn’t until he rattled the last bottle at her that she understood.

“Prophylaxes,” he said.

She blinked, thoughtful.  “This place is going to make you sick?”

“Miserably so, yes,” he agreed, wincing and grimacing as he lowered himself to his back.  “And quickly, besides.  For a short time only, fortunately -- at least until the internal gyroscope of such things orients itself more in my favor.  But it will be an unfortunate few weeks until that happens.”

He’d nearly relaxed into the mattress when something occurred to him, and he propped up on an elbow.  Thoughtlessly he tried to reach back into his bag, then realized he was already utilizing the only arm he had available.  With a bitter sigh he sat all the way up, wobbling and nearly losing his balance, then fished something from the bag.

A trio of Bits Bars hit the table with a thud.

“Very nearly forgot.  I was fortunate enough to make it to the commissary before they closed.  These are for you.”  He laid back again, more slowly this time, grimacing as he went.  “...I hope you like the strawberry ones.”

Cee stretched for one of the bars, fingering the foil finseal before tearing it open.

She did like the strawberry ones.  She liked them very fucking much.

Peeling it open at one end, eating with unexpected contentment, Cee asked, "What do we do now?"

“I cannot speak for you, little bird,” he rasped, draping his forearm across his eyes.  “But I, for one, am going to sleep.  My internal clock is ruint, and the only remedy for such things is sleep.  And plenty of it.”  He lifted his elbow just enough to peek at her from beneath.  “...I advise you do the same.”

Cee had nothing else to do, so why not.  Her music player was back down in the old Pod on The Green, never to be recovered, and it was weeks since she lost her well-loved copy of Streamer Girl.

She still had her notebook, though.  Her little private capsule of friend who knew her name.  Who liked her, and enjoyed her company.  Whose inner and interpersonal conflicts and joys she understood as well as she did her own.

Cee fished the notebook out, folding back the cover, and eased back onto her pillow to read.

She was asleep before the shipwide intercom chimed with the onset of curfew, and the berth’s internal lights automatically dimmed to darkness.

Continued here.

[euijoosorangeslice]

Turned into the Mafia's Maid (part one)

warnings: kidnapping, cursing

You were in a new city, being originally from a place farther from where you are now: a distant, desolate, hole in the wall. You had your occasional event, but there was already a built community. You always felt like an outsider.

Though, you have noticed one thing. This mysterious looking, cat like boy has been staring at you awfully hard. You went to the corner store (almost every day, you can barely cook), grabbing all the snacks you wanted from the shelves as your makeshift dinner. You put your phone and your apartment key down on the counter, grabbing a hot dog and a frozen dessert.

When you went to check out, grabbing your phone and heading to the counter, you noticed there was a guy staring at you. You didn’t think much of it, since you were a foreigner to the area. “23.56, ma'am.” The cashier spoke in his usual monotone voice. Damn, you really just spent over twenty bucks at a corner store. Either way, you handed the cashier your cash, turning to stuff your money into your pocket. Then and there you noticed that the boy’s eyes were locked in onto your figure.

When he noticed that you’d seen him, he immediately disappeared into the aisles. Weird, but okay. Still, you’re new to the area, he’s probably just a little confused since this city doesn’t get much traffic. You grabbed your bags and left, walking slowly down the street while listening to rock music. Your music paused due to the city’s shitty connection, and that’s when you heard hurried footsteps behind you.

On instinct, you turned around quickly. But no one was there. Starting to freak out, you clutched your taser in your hand tightly, speeding up your pace. The music continue, making your heart beat faster. Should you run? What if they chase you? Is there even anything there?

So your pace turned into a light jog. Your apartment is only a few minutes away, just turn the corner and full send. You hit the corner, looking behind you before you started running like a maniac. Sure enough, you saw a tall man in a hood and all black behind you. Fuck. You quickly turned on your heel, running as fast as you can. You ripped your earbuds out of your ears, heavily breathing as you snapped your body around the corner of the pillar outside your apartment.

You lurched forward, slipping and scraping your exposed knee against the gravel. Hissing in pain, you hobbled up and kept running. You heard rocks kick up as you ran, your brain clicking. He was chasing you, only a few feet behind you. Shit.

You ran into the dim corridor, the place unlit and run down. Elevator or stairs? Fuck, no time to think! You took a sharp right turn, your shoes clicking up the cement steps. You heard the door open behind you, going up to the third floor. By the time you reached your room, you heard the stair door open. Oh god, your keys. In your purse or in your bag, maybe your pockets? “There you are, my dear.” A condescending voice started from down the hall. You fumbled with your pockets, before it hit you.

You left your key at the store.

“Looking for this, sweetheart?”

His voice was angelic, smooth like a creamy spread over toast. “No need to run. Just tryna give you your keys back.” You still maintained a distance between the man, who removed his hood. “I’m Nicholas, nice to meet you. You are?”

“Y/n. Give me my fucking keys you perv.” You shouted, Nicholas taking careful steps toward you. “Got it. Here.” He reached out, placing the key in your palm. You turned to go into your apartment, feeling him tug your body backwards as a rag was pressed against your face, doused with chemicals. “Sorry princess, you were just being so difficult."

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

//next

yeahh soo.... im in my wattpad era rn but atleast itll get good soon.

[kat651]

is this love? Sherlock x reader (pt 1)

word count:2239

warnings: a bit of blood, Sherlock (cuz he’s a whole warning), bit of angst, cliffhanger.

Sherlock ran through the streets of London. It was around three in the morning and he was in trouble. Deep trouble. 

Sherlock turned to try and escape the men chasing him. A wrong turn. He ended up in an alley. He turned to face the men. Sherlock was out of breath and his gun was out of bullets. He slowly backed away, palms up. He was screwed. 

Sherlock gulped as the men came closer. He’d messed up this time. Sherlock felt his blood run cold. This was it. This was the end. He could already see the headline on the London newspaper. 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃

He shuttered at the thought and took a shaky breath. 

Sherlock watched the tall burly man, clearly the ring leader, come closer and lift a closed fist. Sherlock slammed his eyes shut and yelped as the man’s fist made contact with the side of his face, right below his eye. 

Sherlock placed his hand over his cheek and stumbled back. This was going to be a very painful death. 

-.-.-

Sherlock panted, clutching his side as his knees trembled before giving way beneath him. He braced himself for another blow, closing his eyes as tears threatened to pour down his face. 

Sherlock heard a shuffle of feet then a crack. He opened his eyes slowly. There was not a forth person in the alley. 

This cloaked figure grabbed one of the men and flung him into a nearby trash bin. The other two backed up as the mysterious person cracked their knuckles. “Who’s next?” They asked, walking closer and kicking one in the jaw, rendering him unconscious. 

The third man went to run but suddenly a small object was thrown that hit him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground with a thud. 

The figure shook their head and turned to Sherlock who was fighting to stay conscious. Sherlock felt his body trembling and looked up to see the figure extend an arm. 

You grabbed Sherlock as he coughed and frowned. The poor man was a mess. “I’ve got you…” you whispered in a voice deeper than your natural one. You slipped his arm over your shoulder and helped him out of the ally and to a waiting car. 

Sherlock didn’t really want to get in the car with a stranger but he was too weak to protest. 

You opened the passenger door and helped him sit before getting in the driver’s seat. You looked over to see him struggling with the seatbelt, teeth clenched in pain. 

You leaned over and grabbed the belt, clicking it in place. 

Sherlock slouched in the seat and groaned. “W-who are you?”

You glanced over at him as you started the car. He looked exhausted and shaken. You sighed and put the car in drive. “I’m here to help…” you finally answered. 

Sherlock realized he wasn’t going to get much more of an answer and let exhaustion take its toll, causing him to drift off. 

-.-.-

Sherlock lay on a couch as you and your boyfriend stood in the corner of the room, arguing. 

“Well what did you want me to do? Leave him to die?” You hissed. 

“Well- no you just- you can’t bring a random guy into the house.”

You rolled your eyes. “What did you want me to do? Leave him in the street and hope someone came and picked him up?”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and moved over to the two of you as you bickered. 

“Sympathy, Y/n! It’s going to get you killed!”

You growled. 

“It doesn’t bring you any advantage, it doesn’t give you a good reputation, it gets you killed!”

You crossed your arms. “Oh, well then if I shouldn’t give sympathy then out of my house!” You shouted, grabbing the extra set of keys from the counter and putting them in your pocket. “Out, you can go back to living in your mother’s basement!”

He glared at you. “I made you who you are!”

You laughed. “Made me who I am? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be digging through garbage bins for your next meal, out!!” You seethed, shoving him out the door. “And don’t come back!” You shouted as you slammed and locked the door. 

You turned and saw Sherlock staring at you with confusion. You turned red from embarrassment. “Sorry you had to see that…” you said, walking over. 

He groaned. “Where am I?”

You chuckled and gently placed a hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. There wasn’t one. “You’re a door away from your flat. Honestly I’m surprised you haven’t realized that we’re neighbors, I’ve lived here for years.”

He went to sit and you helped him.

“I have a hard time believing that we are neighbors.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Well we are. I’ve been woken up late at night because you got bored and shot the wall, if you need proof.” 

Sherlock turned pink. “Ehe, sorry bout that…”

You smiled. “It’s alright it doesn’t bother me much anymore.” 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I-thank you for helping me…”

You smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Don’t mention it.” You said, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and heading back to the living room. 

You gently pressed it against his face. “Your poor cheek…” You mumbled. 

Sherlock leaned into your touch but you pretended not to notice. “You know…” you began. “If you need to go out late like that again you can just wake me. It’s dangerous to travel alone.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yes because you could fight off three men that wanted you dead.”

“I saved you sorry skin didn’t I?” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “That was you?!”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes,now hold still.” You whispered. 

Sherlock quit moving and you gently wiped the blood from his lip and cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner…”

Sherlock smiled. “Hey you got there in time that’s what really matters.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah I guess I did.” You answered sheepishly. 

Sherlock yawned. “What time is it?”

“Seven in the morning. But you need to rest.” You said, gently pushing him to lay down. 

-.-.-

It took a few days for Sherlock to heal enough that he could walk around on his own. 

You helped him over to his flat and smiled. “Here,” you said handing him a piece of paper. “Call me if you need anything, it doesn’t matter if it’s four in the morning call, I’ll answer.” You said before turning and heading back to your flat. 

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow red as you walked off. 

Someone cleared their throat and Sherlock turned to see John. “Oh hey…”

“Who’s the girl?”

Sherlock turned even more red. “She was just… helping me with… stuff.”

John rolled his eyes and stood up. “Why don’t you bring her some flowers and tell her how ya feel?” John said, walking to the door. “I’d say by the looks of it she enjoyed tending to your wounds and nursing you back to health.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Ok, whatever.” Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes. “Enjoyed nursing me back to health ha!” He laughed once John had left. Yeah right..”

A few days later, there was a knock. Sherlock groaned and went to the door. To his surprise you were standing there with a smile on your face and a box in your hands. “I-I brought you some cookies…”

Sherlock smiled and took the box. “Thank you… would you like to come in?”

You smiled. “I guess for a few minutes.”

Sherlock opened the door a bit more and you walked in. 

Upon entering a smile spread across his face as you looked around. He had been nervous you wouldn’t want to come in. But now he was relieved. 

He offered you a seat, pulling it out and everything. “Tea?” 

You smiled softly. “I would love some…”

-.-.-

“I want to thank you again for saving me that night.” Sherlock said as the two of you sat at the table talking. 

You smiled. “You don’t need to thank me, really.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks were dusted over with pink. “Y/n?”

You looked up. “Yes?”

Sherlock placed a hand on the back of his neck. “A-are you free tomorrow night?”

You nodded. “Yea why do you ask?”

He slowly met your gaze. “I-I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner tomorrow.”

You smiled. “I would like that, yes.”

“Really?” He asked, face lighting up. 

You nodded. “Yes, really.”

Perfect, I’ll get you at six tomorrow, sound good?”

You nodded. “And we’re are you taking me?”

Sherlock smiled. “That’s a surprise.”

You smiled. “Well alright. Anything particular that I should wear?”

Sherlock smiled. “Whatever you wish,” he said. 

You nodded. “Sounds wonderful.” You whispered. 

When it came time for you to leave, Sherlock held the door and bid you goodbye. “Until tomorrow,” he said bowing. 

You chuckled and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow…”

At around 5:45 the next day you were a panicked mess. “What on earth am I supposed to wear?” You asked yourself, holding two dresses and growling at them both. 

Suddenly there was a knock on your door. You ran and answered it. “I know I’m not ready yet I just…” you paused as Sherlock stood in a sharp looking suit. “Woah…” You breathed. 

Sherlock chuckled. “Trouble deciding what to wear?”

You nodded. “I’ve narrowed it down to two chooses but…”

Sherlock gently put his hand on your shoulder. “Let me see them…” he said gently. 

You led him to your closet and showed him the two dresses. One was deep purple and the other a deep teal. “I can’t decide…” you mumbled. 

Sherlock considered the two before something handing in your closet bought his eye. 

He carefully grabbed it and took a closer look. “What about this one?” He asked gently. 

You were about to protest. The plain brown one you’d had for years? But the look in Sherlock’s eye made you hesitate before biting your lip. 

“At least let me see it on you.” He asked. 

You hind the two dresses and nodded. “I’ll be right back” you said taking the dress and running off to put it on. 

When you came back, Sherlock had something in his hand. You raised a brow. “What do you have?”

“Come here.” He said. 

You did and he gently tied the teal ribbon from the other dress around your waist. “Perfect…”

He made you turn to look in the mirror. You hated to admit it but the teal made this plain dress like good. 

“Ready to go? Or do you want to wear something else?”

You smiled and looked up at him. “No, I like this one…”

Sherlock smiled and handed you your dress coat. “Ready?”

Nodding, you took the coat and fallowed him. “I’m ready.” 

The two of you headed out the door. Your arm linked with Sherlock’s. “So you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

Sherlock chuckled and opened the door of the cab for you. “No, it’s a surprise…”

You shook your head. “Fine, keep your secrets,” you teased. 

Sherlock sat next to you as you looked out the window. You were scared and excited at the same time. 

You were surprised when you felt Sherlock’s hand gently take yours. You looked over at him but he was gazing out the window. You scooted closer so your arm was against his before you closed your eyes and let out a happy sigh. 

Sherlock glanced over at you and smiled. “We’re here…”

You both climbed out of the cab and you gasped. “Oh Sherlock!”you looked over to see Sherlock’s face bright pink. “I used to come here every Friday with my family!” You smiled up at him. 

Sherlock looked at you with a slightly tilted head. “So… I made a good choice?”

You smiled, putting your arms around him. “It’s a wonderful choose. I haven’t been here since my brother got married…”

Sherlock smiled and you both entered the restaurant together.

You sat across from Sherlock with a smile on your face. 

Halfway into the meal and conversation you managed to make Sherlock laugh. You were smiling from ear to ear. “Your laugh is lovely.” You said as Sherlock covered his mouth. 

“really?” He asked with surprise. “I-no one has ever said that before.”

You smiled and gently took his hand. “Well no one has ever took me on a real date before…”

Sherlock’s expression dropped. “What? But the other guy he-”

“Was a pervert.” You finished giving Sherlock’s hand a gently squeeze. “You’re a hundred times better.”

Sherlock smiled. “Well I’m glad.” 

-.-.-

“Well I guess this is it…goodnight.” Sherlock said as he stood outside your door. 

You stood on the tips of your toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight Sherlock.”

Sherlock placed his fingers over his cheek. “Y-y/n, what was that for?”

You shrugged. “Everything.”

Sherlock pulled you to his chest and he placed his chin on your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow…”

You smiled. “Alright…”

Sherlock smiled before entering his flat as you did yours. You were immediately met by a rag pressed over your mouth then the world went dark. 

-.-.-

“So did you enjoy your date with my little sister?” John asked as sherlock entered. 

“Wait! Y/n is your sister?!?”

To be continued…

Pt 2 here

[indndwnshead]

Soulful Strangers: Part II - Strangers to..?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Genre/tags: Actors AU, Somewhat Canon Compliant, Stranger to Friends to Lovers, Slow(ish) Burn

Series summary:

It wasn't during your first encounter, nor the second or third. You've lost count of how many times your paths crossed before you truly got to know him. He was a rare soul, hiding his kindness and true emotions, revealing them only through his actions

In this (maybe low-key soulmate AU) story, follow Actress!Reader and Idol!Min Yoongi as their chance encounters gradually blossom into a deep and lasting connection. This is a slowish-burn journey from strangers to friends to lovers, as they bond over shared passions and kindness.

A/N: Wowness, I haven't been this eager to write new chapters for a long time. I'm done with the next one and halfway through the next one too😝 Let's be friends and stan Yoongi together on twitter @itsdndwn 💜💜

---

Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

Also read on: AO3

---

2021

One random day in the middle of the year, you saw him again at a pet daycare in the heart of the city.

You were there to pick up your dog, Bagle, who had spent the day playing with his furry friends because you had a casting call. As you approached the reception, a familiar dog collar with its little charms caught your eye, adorning a tiny toy poodle. Memories of helping its owner in France years ago flashed before you. With a friendly smile, you couldn't resist walking over and stopping at a safe distance, intending to strike up a conversation with the man holding the dog's harness.

He wore a mask, as you and everyone else did, and a hat, doing a pretty good job at hiding his identity. Still, there was a touch of wariness in his eyes as you approached. It was understandable, given his status and the ongoing pandemic situation, but the centre was known for its discretion. They catered to many famous people and were recommended to him by one of his band members.

You surprised him by quickly bending down to the dog’s level and offering a warm greeting to the toy poodle instead.

"Bonjour, Holly! Je suis enchanté de faire ta connaissance!” you said in French, hoping it would jog the man’s memory somehow.

He observed you closely, his gaze shifting between Holly and Bagle, who sat obediently at your side, the end of his harness clutched in your hand. The man’s eyes lingered on the collar that adorned Bagle's neck, a piece of craftsmanship that you had thoughtfully created in France, a connection to a time when your paths had crossed.

Recognition slowly dawned on him, and he couldn't help but voice his realization, his words tinged with surprise and appreciation. "You helped me in France, with the collar tag," he said in Korean, a hint of a smile forming behind his mask.

Your smile widened as you acknowledged the shared memory. "Yes, I remember," you replied warmly. "It's nice to see you again, and Holly too."

Holly tentatively approached you, his small frame exuding caution. Sensing your friendliness, he finally rested his head on your open palm. A soft sigh of contentment escaped your lips as you welcomed his greeting.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence as you offered Holly soothing scratches behind his ears. When you finally looked up, you were surprised to find the man watching you, his gaze a mix of appreciation and curiosity.

Your voice, filled with genuine sincerity, broke the silence. "I'm really glad you get to spend more time with Holly."

He nodded in agreement, his eyes shifted to Holly, who was gradually warming up to your presence. "Yeah, it's only temporary, but it has been nice."

Bagle, sensing the friendly atmosphere, slowly approached the other dog. With cautious sniffs and tentative tail wags, they exchanged greetings, their body language a blend of curiosity and hesitancy. Despite Holly's initial shyness, the interaction between the dogs began to transform into a heartwarming introduction.

Sensing their eagerness to play, you suggested, "Maybe we should let them have some fun together?"

He agreed with a nod, a fond smile on his face. "That sounds like a great idea."

You both decided to detach the harnesses, allowing Holly and Bagle to roam freely and explore the play area together. Their tails wagged in synchrony as they trotted around, exploring every nook and cranny. Their playful antics filled the room with a sense of joy and companionship.

As Bagle and Holly continued to interact in the centre's play area, their enthusiasm became infectious. The shared warmth of the reunion and the playful antics of the dogs seemed to dissolve the initial awkwardness between you and the man. You both spoke vaguely about your respective lives, navigating the balance between privacy and casual conversation. The topic naturally shifted to the unexpected turns that life had taken since the onset of the pandemic.

Suddenly, he asked, "Sorry, it's getting a bit stuffy with this mask on. Do you mind if..." He reached for his mask, awaiting your consent.

You nodded in understanding and gestured for him to go ahead.

As he lowered his mask for a second to breathe more comfortably, you caught a glimpse of his face, and the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. The man in front of you was none other than Min Yoongi. You had seen his face all over the ads in the street and on your screens, watched videos of him performing with the rest of the group, and remembered meeting him and the band years ago.

Yet, here he was, in the pet daycare centre, looking just as ordinary as anyone else.

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't help but blurt out, "Wait, you're Min Yoongi? BTS?"

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Guilty as charged."

Your surprise grew, and you couldn't hide your amazement. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you. I mean, we even briefly met before France."

His eyebrows raised in intrigue. "We did?"

You nodded, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks. "Yes, it was years ago, one of Wooshik's parties. I guess neither of us made a lasting impression."

Yoongi chuckled again, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. "I'm sorry about that. I meet a lot of people, and it's hard to remember everyone."

“No worries.” You smiled, not surprised that he might not remember your brief encounter. You told him your name for the second time. "I met Wooshik in Canada, on my uni exchange year," you added, just in case he wondered how you entered the actor's circle.

Understanding crossed his face, and he extended his hand for a friendly shake. "Nice to meet you again, officially this time."

You shook his hand, feeling a mixture of excitement and surprise. "Likewise, Min Yoongi."

The dogs continued their playful interactions and the conversation flowed naturally as you both exchanged stories and laughed about the twist of fate that brought you together once more, this time in a pet daycare centre.

---

Interlude pt.2

Over the next few months, your occasional encounters with Yoongi at the pet daycare became less frequent. It seemed that your schedules no longer aligned as they once had. Both of you were caught up in the whirlwind of your increasingly busy work lives as restrictions wanes over. The pet daycare, which had once served as an unexpected meeting place, gradually faded into memory, and you found yourselves navigating the bustling streets of Seoul separately, each chasing your dreams and aspirations.

In June 2022, the news of BTS's "hiatus" echoed like distant thunder in the bustling streets of Seoul and reverberated throughout the world. It wasn't a topic you actively discussed with your friends or colleagues, but it was hard to escape the whispers that occasionally brushed past your ears and the headlines that popped up all over your social media timeline. The world seemed to buzz with curiosity about what lay ahead for the global phenomenon that was BTS.

Whenever the topic came up, you couldn't help but wonder about the one particular member whom you had built a special connection with – Min Yoongi.

It had been a long while since you'd seen him in person. Life had taken its course, and with your finished shooting schedule, you no longer required the services of a pet daycare centre. Yoongi had long resumed his idol activities, gaining even more prominence as a member of BTS.

As the news of BTS's hiatus filled the airwaves and online spaces, you found your thoughts drifting to Yoongi. You pondered how he was faring amid the changes and the new solo projects that were undoubtedly in the works. You knew that he had opened his personal Instagram account at the end of 2021, but the thought of reaching out to him always seemed to hover on the periphery of your mind.

However, you hesitated, unsure of whether it was appropriate or if he even remembered you this time. After all, your encounters had been chance meetings, momentary intersections of two separate lives in the bustling city. The idea of reconnecting with him remained an unspoken question, waiting for the right moment to be answered.

[bxwitched]

Avenging Angel 

Warnings: 18+ only. Dark themes, stalking, mentions of injuries, swearing, abusive relationship, domestic violence, alcoholism, attempted sexual assault, attempted rape, violence, hurt.

Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: Bucky tries to lay low whilst in Bucharest but finds that he can't ignore a woman in need.

A/N: I found this in my drafts from years ago and had to finish it. Please heed the warnings above, this one is dark. Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

He watches as you weave through the bustling market, head down and eyes lowered, your pretty face shrouded by your hair.

You flit from stall to stall, buying your usual groceries but he notices the change in you. Today you don’t smile at the young man as he bashfully hands over your vegetables, nor do you ask the elderly woman who sells eggs how her husband is faring with his ill-health.

You’re unusually quiet, only exchanging the necessary amount of words before moving on to buy the next item on your list. 

It's only when you reach out to take the bag of plums you've purchased that he sees it, the set of greenish fingerprints encompassing your left wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve of your jacket.

He isn’t the only one who notices the bruises, the seller's gaze falls on the marks as you take the fruit from her and her eyes fill with pity. You hand over a few coins and mumble a 'thank you' as you leave quickly. 

He trails behind you at a safe distance, hiding in plain sight as he weaves through the crowds. You turn off down a narrow side street and he follows, the heels of your boots clack loudly against the cobblestones and you pull your jacket tighter around you, the mid-Autumn chill seeps into your skin and it makes you shiver.

Your pace slows as you reach the end of your street, your spine straightening and shoulders tensing as you feel the familiar stare boring into your back. Your fingers twitch around the handles of your bag and you grip the cloth tighter in your fist.

At first you'd thought that it was just paranoia, that your tired mind was imagining things, using all of your pent up fear against you.

You'd had the feeling that you were being watched for weeks now, you had told yourself that it wasn't real and you tried to ignore the feeling each time it arose.

But then you had caught a glimpse of someone in the reflection of the bakery window, a dark figure highlighted in the rain-spattered glass. Someone had been following you home from your shift at the cafe but when you had turned around no one was there.

You had changed your route home several times since that evening but each time the feeling remained, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as your body sensed the danger that you couldn't see.

You hurry to the entrance of your building and let yourself in quickly, your hand shaking as you slip you keys into the lock and push open the heavy door. You close it behind you firmly and hurry up the stairs to your floor, throwing Mrs Stan a polite greeting as you pass her on the third floor landing.

You slip into your apartment quickly and latch the door behind you, wiggling it twice to check that the bolt is secured in place. Mr Stan, despite his old age, had been kind enough to offer to install a new one for you after it had been broken in the incident the week before.

You pack away your groceries in your small kitchen and set the kettle onto the stove top to boil, intent on making yourself a cup of tea to calm your frazzled nerves.

You take careful sips of the hot drink as you settle down into the sofa and clutch the steaming mug between your palms. Your whole body sags as the adrenaline in your blood wanes and the familiar warmth settles in your chest.

Bucky watches as you move around you apartment from the window of his in the building opposite. You flitter in and out of view several times, putting things away before you finally settle down on the couch, sipping from a plain white mug.

Your body relaxes gradually, sinking down further and further while your eyes droop until finally, you fall asleep.

He feels a pang of guilt in his chest as he studies your sleeping form. He'd been careful, had used all of his honed stealth skills to ensure that you remained unaware of his presence but then one evening he'd made a mistake.

He'd watched you from afar for most of afternoon as you waitressed at the small cafe on the corner, you looked happy as you served patrons with a smile and laughed with your regulars.

You had been conversing with a young woman with a baby, your smile bright as you cooed at the small child in her arms and Bucky couldn't deny the warm feeling that settled in his belly at the sight.

And then it had all shattered in an instant.

You had startled as the man stormed through the cafe door, stumbling slightly as he moved towards you and wrapped a hand around your wrist.

He couldn't hear what you were saying from where he was positioned but he could read your lips through the glass, could see the pained expression on your face as the taller man gripped your delicate flesh in his meaty palm.

You knew him well, he could see that from the way that you were trying to placate him, urging him to lower his voice as he had shouted at you and frightened your customers.

He was clearly drunk as he swayed slightly on his feet and Bucky had to stop himself from acting on instinct when the man dragged you outside and around the side of the old building where he backed you into the brick wall.

He watched, fist clenched, knuckles white and his blunt nails digging into the meat of his palm as the other man spat cruel words in your face and loomed over you. You shrank in on yourself submissively, apologising profusely as tears tracked down your cheeks.

And then he'd growled and pressed against you, smothering your body with his huge frame as he covered your mouth with his, slathering you with sloppy kisses whilst his hands groped at your flesh.

He could see the panic in your eyes as you had pressed your hands to the large man's chest, Andrei you'd called him, desperately trying to push him off of you.

Finally the man had relented, stroking over the column of your throat threateningly before he stumbled away, leaving you shaky and tearful as you tried to catch your breath.

He had followed you home that evening, wanting to make sure that you reached your apartment safely after the earlier encounter. He had been distracted, his heart full of guilt at not having acted, his mind conflicted. It happened in the flash of a second, he hadn't meant for you to see him but you had and then it was too late.

He knew that it was wrong but he couldn't help himself, not after he'd been witness to the incident a few days before.

He'd seen the whole scene play out from his spot at his window, he was cleaning his gun when he heard your screaming with his enhanced hearing and looked up right as Andrei had burst through your front door, yelling incoherently as he made a path straight for you.

He was drunk then too, his words slurring as he had forced himself onto you, his hands pulling at your clothes as you protested. Andrei had backhanded you across the cheek then and you had stumbled backwards, you had stared at the man in shock as your hand cradled the reddening skin.

Evidently, it was the first time that he'd ever hit you. Andrei too even looked surprised at his actions, his brow furrowed as he muttered a weak apology and tried to grab a hold of you once more. The police had arrived then and swiftly took him away once they saw your bruised face and frightened expression, one of your neighbours had called them as soon as they had heard the commotion.

He knows that it's none of his business, that he should leave you alone, he feels awful for causing you so much distress, for the unease in your features and the tension in your body but unbeknownst to you he's made a promise to you. He won't, can't let it happen to you again.

You startle awake, it's late, it's dark outside and there's a loud hammering on your door. You whole body tenses when his angry words slur through the thin wood, it's Andrei and he's drunk.

You take a deep breath as you walk over to the door and place your palms against it, you refuse to let him in but you really don't want him to linger in the hallway again and continue to disturb your neighbours.

"Go home, Andrei. You can't be here, it's late." Your voice is quiet, weak. His fist slams against the door and you jump back as it rattles harshly on the hinges.

"I want you dragă. Open the fucking door!"

"No!" He hits the door again and the metal bolt whines from the force of it, fear begins to flood your veins as you back away towards your bag, knowing that you need to grab your phone and call the police.

The banging stops and you breathe a sigh of relief, you figure that he has given up and decided to go home and sleep it off but then there's a crash as the door flings open and smacks against the wall. He stands tall in the open frame with a furious expression.

He steps over the threshold and throws it shut behind him, breathing heavily and you freeze as your blood runs cold.

You turn on your heel and dart towards the kitchen, intent on grabbing a knife to protect yourself but he anticipates the movement, despite his drunken state he's quick and he catches you with a strong arm around your middle.

He starts dragging you backwards towards your bedroom and you throw an elbow back into his gut, partially escaping his grip as he grunts in pain. He manages to grasp a hold of your hair and tugs you back, retorting with a blow to your cheek that leaves you dizzy and struggling to focus. The world around you spins painfully.

"You got me arrested you fucking bitch." His tone is venomous, he's nothing like the Andrei you once loved, the Andrei before the drink.

You feel him move you and when your mind finally realigns he already has you on your back on the bed. He's pushed up your shirt, exposing your midriff and bra-covered breasts to the cold night air and his fingers work clumsily on undoing your jeans, the alcohol in his system causes his fingers to slip against the metal buttons and he mutters curses under his breath.

He growls as he slips the last one free and wrenches the denim down harshly over the skin of your hips and ass. You kick out blindly in panic, successfully catching your knee against his jaw and as he recoils in pain you take the opportunity to try to scramble away.

You scream as he catches your ankle in a bruising grip, his blunt nails dig harshly into your soft skin and you sob as he drags you back down. He pushes your still denim-clad legs down in to your chest and flattens his body on top of you, pinning you down with his weight.

"Andrei! please, stop-"

"Quiet!" He clamps one of his large palms over your mouth and you whimper against the rough skin of his palm. His free hand grabs at your underwear, trying to work it over your hips and ass as you struggle against him.

It had all happened so fast after his mother's death six months prior, he had been close to her as his only family and despite your pleading he had turned to alcohol to quell his grief. He thought that it would console him but instead it had transformed him from a warm, caring man into a monster.

You pray that the police will arrive soon, that one of your neighbours has heard the commotion and called them. That they will finally listen to you and take him far away, that they lock him up so that he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

His weight disappears from you in an instant and you sob in relief. Andrei sputters and kicks as a man suspends him by his throat, choking the life out of your abuser with unadulterated rage in his blue eyes.

They soften when they focus on you, concern written on his features.

"Are you okay?" His voice is gruff and you nod back at him, not trusting your voice. Your affirmation must be unconvincing because the unknown man's brows furrow downwards and he glares at Andrei once more.

He throws Andrei backwards with an inhuman strength and you gasp as your former lover collides with the wall, rendering him unconscious as a cloud of plaster falls around him.

Your breath comes in pants as you try to steady your frantic heartbeat and your eyes move over your saviour's form. There's something about his large frame, his long dark hair and ocean eyes that feels familiar.

You can't place if you've seen him before, where you've seen him before but then you think back to the reflection in the bakery window. "You're the one that's been following me, aren't you?" He nods hesitantly and you think that's he ashamed as his eyes cast downwards, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he clenches his jaw.

"Thank you." His eyes widen in surprise and his lips part slightly, you're looking at him with tears in your eyes and gratitude clear on your face.

"Thank you-" Your voice trails off in a silent question and he answers it without missing a beat.

"Bucky. My name is Bucky."

[whirlybirbs]

❛  leave me alone.  ❜ w/ bats?

;   PROMISED HAVEN — THE BATMAN / READER

summary: you move into selena kyle's old apartment. bruce has taken to watching you.

pairing: batman x f!reader, set five months after the events of the batman (2022)

rating: t+ for canon typical violence

a/n: wow, me writing the beginning what will probably be a series of drabbles? amazing, iconic, unique, awesome, etc, etc. anyways, have a little morsel >:)

next   >

Gotham City will eat you alive.

Limb from limb, ashes to ashes.

It will pick your bones with a gnashing bite, true to the force of its reality — and while you lay there, gasping and writhing and lost, the grit will wear you down, seep into the cracks.

You think, on the third month, you can shake it... That indomitable itch to run from the slightest shadow that breathes too deep. In the dark, things come alive in Gotham.

You move into a second floor apartment in Old Gotham come winter. It's a little place that has neighbors who stare through peepholes and whisper the names of girls who are dead or missing or both. There are cats who howl at your fire escape like the heralds of a new dawn. There is a pervasive feeling of being watched.

Tonight is no different.

You agreed to take the late shift.

Pauli's Diner is a staple of Old Gotham — the sort that has become as immovable as Wayne Tower. A doting fixture along the scarred and brutal map of the city. Glittering in neon, the diner stands for more than a twenty-four hour spot for the best fries in the city. It stands for neutrality. No violence.

In Pauli's, you're family.

Sometimes, your uniform can promise safety. The pale jade shirt and skirt combination has shielded you from two muggings in the last month alone.

Other nights, like tonight, there's no such thing as promise.

The shadows inhale, and they exhale, and as you wait on the Steeple Street platform you see that very promise slip away. The subway rattles in, and faces flicker into focus. A murder of men. The lights above swing, blink, and the dark around you becomes more and more alive.

They step off the train, and you grip your keys tightly.

You've learned that placidity is a survival instinct in moment's like this. But, a flinch is earned when they leer, jeer, and the games begin.

Surviving, you think, was something Gotham has taught you well in the last few months. Cover your head, don't look at their faces too closely, and remember to only pick fights you can finish. Politeness will kill you just as quickly as boldness. Find the middle. Survive.

Someone yanks your bag from your arm, and you're swung roughly to the ground. You palms his the cold concrete and your knees sting. Day old snow bites at your skin.

Get up.

If you're quick about it, you could run.

You ignore the hair creeping into your peripherals, ignore the disheveled heave of your chest as you snap your eyes around the scene.

The faces of five men on a haunt surround you like the hours on a clock — and you realize that there's a sound. Like the ticking of seconds. One, two, three, four, five.

Boots on pavement.

...It's quiet.

Their voices have faded. The rummaging through your tote bag has stopped.

It strikes you suddenly, as you stare beyond the men into the living dark, that you've never seen The Batman.

You've heard the stories chattered over hot cups of coffee, clutched in the hands of jabbering GCPD boys. You've heard the eclectic tales of his uncanny ability to see what even their best detectives can't. You've heard whispers of praise, promised threats, and footage of last year's incident with The Riddler.

The Bat steps into the light, you realize you were right.

The shadows are alive in Gotham.

It's he who lives within them; towering and broad, intimidation dripping in kevlar.

...Bruce doesn't know why he's here.

If he's being honest with himself — something he tries not to make a habit — then he knows it's because he's been watching you for the last three months. After all, you'd moved into Selena's old apartment only a handful of weeks after she fled for Blüdhaven.

It stung.

He's spent too many nights up on the opposite fire-escape, watching, waiting. He isn't sure for what. Maybe for Selena to return, maybe for Falcone's remaining boys to come knocking. Either way, he supposes you've grown on him.

You don't see Gotham the way he does.

Or, at the start you didn't.

Your unwavering smile had become tired in recent weeks. Your hope in a new start was beginning to dwindle. The city was getting to you.

A late shift was out of character for you.

"C'mon, man, we're just helpin' her get to the train..."

One of them reaches to touch you, to placate the approaching vigilante — and you snap fast like a viper.

"Leave me alone."

It's tipped with venom.

Bruce's eyes flick about. The Bat narrows his eyes. Beneath his gloves, a tense fist cracks his knuckles awake.

You're not prepared for a fist to connect with your cheek in retaliation to your words. You're not prepared to lose your footing, to slip in the snow, and for your temple to hit the concrete hard as you try to brace yourself.

You tell yourself to get up, get up. Roll over and push up.

But, the shadows are breathing again — and it's getting darker, and you try to open your eyes to see him.

He's Gotham.

He'll eat them alive, swallow them whole with violence so resounding.

But, the shadows are here now, beckoning you with warm hands.

So, you lay there, gasping and writhing and lost as your blood seeps into the cracks.

It's quiet for a long time.

When you come to, you're home.

Home.

Quiet.

Home?

Light.

No shadows.

The door is locked.

You sit up straight on the couch.

The room tilts, and you wince.

Home?

Yes.

Yes, there is a cat meowing. The grey one, out on the fire escape — it's morning. He's expecting you to put the food out. You usually do.

You reach, touch your hairline, and furrow your brow when you realize there's gauze there.

Your socks land on the carpet. You stare at the kitchen.

Home.

That's when you see the note on the fridge.

NO MORE NIGHT SHIFTS.

(  next  )

[alrighty-matty]

take a shot, take a chance, take my hand

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Liquid courage always got you way too honest, and it didn’t help that Matt asked you a question that you’ve tucked away at the back of your mind for so long, untouched.

Tags: mutual pining, best friends-to-lovers, mentions of alcohol, fluff

Note: would any of you believe me if i told you that i came up with this idea after i talk to myself while stuck in the middle of traffic?

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Foggy grunted his answer, his hand clumsily swatted you away. That alone answer your question more than anything—he was far too drunk to actually stand up. You slid your glance slightly towards Matt, face scrunched up in both amusement and exasperation. He gently nudged your elbow with the back of his hand as Foggy had a one-sided argument with his keys that refuse to slot just right into the keyhole.

You covered your mouth with a hand and swallow down a chuckle. Foggy Nelson is twice as stubborn when he was drunk out of his wits.

The door creaked open after a loud click. Foggy let out a loud aha! as he stumbled forward into his apartment, nearly falling face-first into the floor and stumbling over his own feet. Matt lunged forward to hold him steady, but Foggy caught himself by gripping the door handle with all his might.

“Told you all folk ‘m fine,” Foggy huffed out an exasperated breath. He leaned into the wall to give his shaky knees a rest. “Hush. Get out.”

“Ouch,” you said, clutching a hand to your chest dramatically. “You’re kicking us out, Fogs? After what we’ve done for you?”

“You sure do get chatty when you’re tipsy,” he grumbled grumpily. You threw him a nasty scowl while Matt laughed—you knew he silently agreed with Foggy. Bastards. “Get her home safe, you hear me?” Foggy pointed a finger towards Matt while jerking his chin towards you.

Matt bowed slightly. “Yes, your honor. I’ll do my best.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled Matt away from the door, waving goodbye at the half-asleep Foggy, impatient to finally kiss his bed. You decided to give him a slack from all the nagging and the talking, he was practically nearly falling asleep right in his doorway.

The cold wind outside greeted your skin almost immediately as soon as you stepped out of the building. Summer was near, but the night apparently didn’t get the note. It helped a bit to ease the remnants of alcohol in your system—the shots that you had taken in a stupid, overly competitive competition that delivered Foggy into his current drunken state.

A chuckle suddenly came from your left. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of Matt chuckling to himself. The yellow streetlight washed him alight; you were almost sure he had swallowed the sun. 

“Do you remember,” he started between his chuckle. “When you had to pour a bucket of water at Foggy on our third year?”

You squeezed your eyes, collapsing your head into your palm, and chuckled. How could you forget, the fateful night of Foggy tried to drink someone’s under the table at a house party only to end up making out with the toilet bowl and fell asleep right there and then? 

“I think he’s still mad at me about that,” you mused, gently touching your cheek as your mind slowly floated around to the good old day, when you were younger and brash and frankly, stupid. 

Matt laughed. “He left a trail of water everywhere. It was a pain to wipe them up.”

“I’m actually amazed he remembers most of it,” you said, eyes trailing towards the not-so-empty street ahead. It’s New York, after all. The city refused to sleep. “Is this the same party where someone tried to flirt with you and it completely fly above your head?”

“Someone always tries to flirt with me at parties.”

“Ha-ha.” 

That fact wasn’t exactly false, anyway. When the alcohol had entered the system everybody loosen up, including those who tend to walk around the eggshell when it came to him. Thus the flirtings. 

“It’s true!”

“Sure, Mr. Everyone-always-tries-to-flirt-with-me.”

Matt huffed a laugh and nudged you to walk along. The sound of his cane hitting the pavement was music to your ear, trailing and slipping between the quiet hum of the neon light from the nearby store. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you loved to hear the sound of his cane tapping the pavement below as he tried to make his way in the city. 

Something about it was so uniquely him—you were almost sure he had a certain rhythm to it that he purposely do just to amuse himself—and it always eased your nerve when you had to thread through the bustling street with him.

You never dared to question whether it was the sound of his cane or the presence of the man himself.

Matt tapped his index finger gently against your elbow, slowly pulling you away from your head. “Would you believe me if I told you almost no one flirted with me that year?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not even the girl that said you reminded her of a cat?”

“Except that,” Matt scrunched his nose and his lips twisted downwards sourly.

“You told her you don’t like cats,” you snorted up a laugh, and it morphed into full-blown laughter as your eyes caught the glimpse of his scowling face. “Which was a complete lie. You love my cat.”

“Noodle is an angel,” Matt huffed impatiently. “But seriously, no one except her tries to flirt. Not really. Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me?”

“Everyone thought we were dating back then, remember? Even Foggy thought we hid it from him.”

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed. Your stomach somehow had taken a twisted turn, and it started to feel as if someone had stabbed a knife into your gut. Weird. “You really put a strain on my dating pool, Murdock.”

Matt smiled gently. “Same thing over here. But you found someone eventually.”

You shrugged. You didn’t really like to think about your ex that you dated back in college. The relationship was good while it lasted before it crashed and burned and left you bitter for a long while. Now to think about it, you weren’t even sure you like your ex that much. But you were young, and all young loves were exciting and passionate and somehow run their course fairly quickly too. 

“Do you ever think about it?” Matt’s voice was far away, floating with the wind.

“About?”

“Us,” he said, voice quiet. You were sure if it wasn’t for the quiet street you wouldn’t have caught what he said. 

You felt your mouth run dry. “I—”

“Was it so bad?” Matt tilted his head. “The idea of dating me?”

“No!” you squeaked, answering too soon and too fast. You gripped the hem of your blazer to fight the heat that slowly crawled on your cheeks. “I mean, what’s not to like about the idea of dating someone you had known for so long? Someone who knows you well? Someone you’re comfortable with, someone that you know like the back of your hand…” you trailed, “to the point of knowing which record he plays over and over until he knows all the lyrics religiously.”

Matt tilted his head towards you. Even with his sunglasses on, it was hard to shake away the feeling of him staring and studying you quietly. The harsh light of the neon sign above made his red-tinted lense twinkle eerily. It almost felt like Matt Murdock slowly faded away and the Devil came in front.

Funny how they were the exact same person. You still had a hard time believing it sometimes.

“You always hate it when I start to put on that record,” he smiled, cheek dipping slightly as his dimple made an appearance.

“I don’t, actually,” you shrugged and trudged along, letting go of your poor blazer. “I just wish you would listen to other things.”

“Spoken by someone who put Taylor Swift on repeat for months.”

“She has some good tunes, fuck you!” you jabbed a finger at his side. You knew he did it on purpose when your finger successfully landed on his side. He could always step out of harm’s way whenever. “Stop pretending you don’t like it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt bumped your shoulder gently with a wide, cheeky smile. His smile faded away slowly as he fell into steps with you. “I actually think about it a lot. Us, I mean.”

“Yeah?” you lamely asked, suddenly wishing you were half as drunk as Foggy was.

“I do, even until now,” he clenched his fist around his cane, his knuckles slowly turning white. “Do you?” 

“I do,” the answer tumbled out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop it. Mentally blaming the monstrous amount of vodka and tequila you drowned tonight, you grabbed the hem of your blazer again. 

Saving any last bit of your dignity, you turned your gaze away to study your shoes. Not that it would matter in the slightest, Matt could see you in a way no one could. And perhaps it was just a thought induced in a panic-stricken mind, but suddenly he was everywhere and all over you. You could smell his perfume wafting off him, mixed with a dash of stale beer he loved so much.

It did cross your mind more than once. The idea of using the gossip as leverage to push things beyond your capabilities, beyond your imagination, blurring all the lines between friends and something more. Matt had been, more than once, the main focus of your idle thought about the far future, where everything is good and falling into places neatly.

“We never give it a chance,” Matt said, voice a lot more clearly now. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. You never knew. You only ever entertained the idea as a scenario of an unobtainable future. “I guess I’m just scared.”

Terrified, to be precise, now that you gave it a thought. 

Matt huffed out a laugh. More surprise than mirth, you noticed. The corner of his eyes still crinkled slightly in his signature expression, his eyes slightly more visible as his sunglasses slid ever so slightly off the bridge of his nose. His dimple dipped deeper than it was before, and you had to physically restrain yourself from poking it with the tip of your finger.

“We get so scared over something that we wasted so many years,” Matt started immediately as soon as the laughter completely left his system. He turned around fully to face you, his face caught the blue and pink and yellow neon light perfectly, dancing harmoniously on his skin. You felt your breath caught in your throat. 

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.”

Only then you notice the shakiness in his voice and his hands. 

“I always know I care about you. I always know I want you to be happy and safe,” Matt folded his cane and tucked it underneath his arm. “But then I realized, I want you to be happy with or without me, and it was a terrifying realization when it hit me. To love someone as much as I love you, it was pretty terrifying for me,” he trailed. “I can’t afford to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, I’m here.”

He didn’t hear it. “I don’t know what to do if I do,” Matt let out a wet chuckle. “I also don’t know if I can learn to love someone as much as I love you.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, subconsciously stepping closer into his personal space. “You don’t have to learn to love someone else. I’ll take it. I’ll take all of your love. I’ll take a chance.”

Matt stared at you now, mouth agape at your declaration. You wondered if alcohol made his brain work slower. 

“Let’s give us a chance, Matt,” you said, slowly letting go of your blazer for the second time in the night. You made a mental note to iron it later. “I know it’s terrifying—fuck. I’m scared shitless right now. But you don’t have to face your fear alone. You have me. We can thread through the terrifying water together. I want to face my fear Matt, as long as you’re with me.”

Matt went still. The only indication he was listening was the slow movement of his fingers tapping against his thigh, drumming slowly as his brain worked its way to process your words. 

“Okay,” he sighed in resolution. A small smile slowly blossomed on his face. “Together?”

You watched him offer you a hand. You tentatively slipped your hand into his, nearly gasping at how perfectly and seamlessly it made for you. His calloused fingers brushed ever so gently against your knuckles before they entwined together with yours as if you were born from the same mold as his.

You were grateful you were nowhere near half as drunk as Foggy was.

“Together.”

Matt smiled gently at you, and you know everything will be alright.

[4t0wn]

How are you?

Read 16:50

——————————————————————

Summary: Aaron Z x reader fic, angst, comfort(a bit at the end), Z is thinking a bit too hard and doesn't want you to worry but is a bit harsh, 2.9k+ words... about 15 minutes of reading

“… Again?”

A groan escaped out of you as you let your phone fall onto the surface of your bed.

“This is the third time this week, maybe he’s busy?” You thought to yourself. Quickly grabbing your phone again, you type another message.

“Hey, you sure you okay? I haven’t heard of you since this morning…”

Read 16:59

You look back at your screen. No response. You sigh and look at your phone dejectedly, till you notice the familiar three dots moving up and down on your screen. You nervously look down at your phone until the familiar buzz of it notifies you of a message. You immediately read it.

“I’m good.”

No message follows.

You were more confused than anything. You thought to message him again but at this rate it seems like he doesn’t want to talk to you or anyone for that matter.

——

17:47

It’s been about 50 minutes since you last talked to him. Maybe he’s calmed down from whatever was bothering him. You decide to call him.

1st ring, 2nd ring, 3rd ring… and the call gets canceled. He hung up.

Shortly after that you get a message.

“Don’t call me.”

For such a short and simple message it stuns you a shocking amount. You frown before actually getting the idea to message him back.

“What?” “You don’t need to know.”

You wait on him to expand. He doesn’t.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t need to know’?”

No response.

“Aaron, you know you can talk to me…”

Read 17:58

The three dots come and go. Randomly disappearing and reappearing but ultimately, he decides to let go of whatever he was writing and keeps you in the dark to your dismay.

——

22:34

4 hours have passed since your last conversation that abruptly ended. You’ve tried to call him at least a dozen times but he isn’t even hanging up anymore, he just lets it ring.

The sound of keys stops your train of thought. “Aaron” You thought to yourself. You quickly get off the couch to meet Aaron at the door and open it before he can.

Aaron jerked his head up when he saw the door open before seeing you and immediately looked back down. You swore that you could hear him softly curse under his breath before taking a step back.

“Where were-” “I’m fine.” He squeezed past you and into the living room.

“You’re dodging the question Aaron, what happened? You seemed so-” you stop midsentence. He’s clutching his keys so hard that you’re scared he’ll pierce his skin.

“Are you okay?”

You could barely hear yourself say it but he seems to think that your barely audible whispering was too loud.

Without facing you, he talks in a hushed tone.

“I said that I was fine.” “But you don’t seem fine. I know you.”

He finally turns around to face you and snaps at you.

“Everything is fine. If I wanted you to know, I would’ve told you.”

And without a second to argue with him, he walks to his bedroom and shuts the door with a loud ‘bam’. Without a second thought you run after, desperate to at least get a proper answer. You try to turn the doorknob but he already locked the door.

Exasperated, you rub the palms of your hands against your eyelids hoping that this is just some dream, or a very bad misunderstanding. But the sound of knocked over furniture and whispered curses makes you doubt it.

——

04:49

You knew that stressing over this wasn’t helping anyone but your body doesn’t like listening to you apparently. You’ve been awake for the past 4 hours. Randomly falling asleep to ultimately wake up again.

This isn’t going to work.

You shove your blanket to the side and quietly get out of bed. Tiptoeing out of your room and past Aaron’s room, careful not the wake him up.

Opening the front door as quietly as you can, you squeeze past the narrow opening you made and close the door.

As soon as you step outside, you realize that you’d better had brought some sort of jacket with you. A gust of wind in your face confirms that thought, but this call won’t take too long anyway…

You take your phone and search for the phone number of one your friends. The only sounds saving you from complete silence are your phone ringing and the dangling from your house keys.

“Hello? What’re you calling so early for? Didn’t get any sleep?”

You let out a soft chuckle.

“No, I can’t say that I did. But, uh, can I ask you a favor?” “Shoot.”

You hear your friend shifting in their bed, presumably getting ready to go to sleep again.

“You don’t have to of course but… could you come pick me up?” “Huh? Something happened?”

You fiddle with your car keys a bit before hesitantly giving an answer.

“I can’t get into details right now but‐”

Before you can finish your sentence, you hear rustling and the sound of clashing clothes hangers.

“Wait, you’re already underway?” “Of course! Where are you right now? Are you at Z’s place?”

Slightly stunned you stutter out a ‘yes’.

——

05:14

It took about 15 minutes for your friend to arrive. Quickly getting into their car, you were slowly but surely warming up. While you were driving off, you felt that they were going to ask what happened eventually, so you decide to say it before they can ask anything.

“So, the reason I asked is, well, I had a bit of a fight with Aaron.”

Lifting your gaze from your hands, you look into the rear view mirror to see their eyes full of concern.

“Is it anything serious?” “No… no. I hope that it isn’t at least.”

They give you one last skeptical glance and then look back at the road. You decide that if they wanted to ask more questions, they’re free to do so, but for now you’re feeling pretty tired. You’ve only slept for an hour or two after all.

——

05:31

Stepping out of your friend’s car, you get greeted with plenty of rain. You quickly run to the front door of the building. Hurriedly opening it, they rush you inside and lead you to their apartment.

Wiping your shoes off at the door mat, you take off your shoes and put them to the side.

Your friend immediately gets to work.

“Coffee? Tea? Water? Would you rather have food? I could probably make some food real quick…” “Oh come on, you know I’m fine!” you say with a grin on your face.

With a sigh they plop back down on the couch.

“Okay, okay… you win! You just want to talk then?”

You shake your head.

“Honestly, I’d just like to get some sleep!”

They roll their eyes.

“Boring, but you deserve it.” “I hope I do, I am very tired.”

You both laugh. Your friend stands up and looks around the room.

“Okay I’m getting you some blankets and cushions. Some pajamas too if you’re okay with that.”

You nod and they’re already on their way. Smiling to yourself you start wondering what you would do without them.

Suddenly your phone vibrates. Taking your phone out of your pocket, you check what the notification was.

It was an email from some newsletter you forgot to unsubscribe to.

With a groan you let your head fall onto the couch. Relieved that it’s wasn’t Aaron, but also disappointed that it wasn’t him. Before turning off your phone, you decide to also turn off vibrations for notifications. Checking your phone every 5 minutes won’t help anyone.

“Okay, I got you everything you wanted but if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to wake me up!”

Smiling softly, you nod. “Thank you, goodnight.”

They yawn before giving an answer. “No problem and goodnight to you too!”

You lay your head on the pillows and close your eyes.

“Thinking about tomorrow won’t do any good.” You think to yourself. Eventually, you fall asleep and the hours tick by.

——— Z’s POV…

08:00

The sound of his phone alarm rang at 8 AM and he clumsily reached for his phone on his nightstand, knocking over a book and an empty glass of water in the process. He’d normally be awake at 7 AM but he always has a secondary alarm if something happened that didn’t particularly made him want to wake up.

“Ugh.”

That’s all that leaves his mouth before he rolls to his side and checks out any messages he could’ve gotten.

A message from Aaron T, a few from Robaire, but none from you.

He frowns and lays his phone next to him and immediately gets out of bed. He should talk to you about last night.

Unlocking his bedroom door, he stops in front of your bedroom. Sucking in a breath, he knocks.

… no response.

He knocks again, no response.

“Hey, could we… talk?”

He waits for a response but he never gets one.

“Can I come in… please?”

Again, silence. He frowns as his hand tightens around the doorknob.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

He pushes your bedroom door open to find that you aren’t in your room, he starts to panic but his phone buzzes.

Trying to shake off his anxiousness, he quickly grabs his phone and looks at the notification, it’s Jesse.

“Hey Aaron, are you coming to practice? We’re waiting for you.”

Fuck, he completely forgot about practice, he’ll have to deal with this later.

He sprints to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, takes a shower, put on some clothes and quickly eats some cereal before dashing out the door.

——

08:37

“Hey, Z there you are!” T smiled and repositioned himself on his seat.

Robaire looked up from his phone to find Z at the entrance of the studio.

“Oh Z! You’re here. I think that we can start now.”

Z gave a slow nod before awkwardly shuffling past everyone. He gets a few weird looks from the band but they quickly get back to what they were doing before. Everyone except Robaire.

He frowns at Z hoping to get his attention. When Z glances behind him he sees Robaire mouthing ‘Are you okay?’ He gives a quick thumbs up and immediately turns around.

Robaire decides to leave it be for now, despite his better judgment.

——

10:11

After dance practice Z hurriedly takes one of the water bottles and a towel off the table and immediately heads out the door.

T worriedly looks at a clearly stressed out Z and walks over to Robaire.

“Hey, don’t you think that Z looks a bit… anxious?”

Robaire sighs.

“Yeah, he’s been like this since he came here, I want to check on him but I worried he won’t really want any help.”

T stares at Robaire for a bit before giving him a nudge.

“You should ask him what’s wrong. Don’t worry, we won’t miss ya too much!”

Robaire chuckles.

“Thanks T.”

Grabbing a water bottle on the way out, he walks out the front door to see Z leaning on the side of the building and wiping his face with a towel.

“Mind if I join you?”

Z doesn’t remove the towel from his face as he nods. Robaire quietly goes stand next to him.

After a few seconds, Z throws the towel over his shoulder and gives Robaire a glance before looking back at the ground.

Robaire takes a sip of his water before talking.

“So, anything wrong?”

Z shrugs. “No.”

Robaire looks at him skeptically and looks down to his hands. Z is picking at the water bottle’s label and frantically tapping his foot against the concrete floor, something’s definitely wrong.

“You know…” Robaire slightly straightens up. “you know you can talk to us right?”

Z lightly bites the inside of his mouth. He opens his mouth to say something but quickly shuts it again.

He rubs his eye with his palm.

“You sure?”

Robaire gives him a smile. “Of course.”

Z sighs and looks at Robaire before.

“Well, a few days ago I got really mad and upset and I was worried that other people were going to care, I guess. So I took out my frustration on, uh,”

Z stops midsentence looks away from Robaire.

“on someone…”

Robaire raises an eyebrow. “Mhm…”

“I got angry at them and, well, when I woke up I realized how fucking mean I was and wanted to apologize but they weren’t in their bed. So I just- I just feel like such an asshole because-”

His rant gets interrupted by his own sniffle. He lays his head in his hands.

“… sorry.”

“Hey, hey. No need to be sorry. We’re here to help when you need it, right?”

Z wipes a tear away before slowly nodding.

“… Right, yeah.”

Robaire gives Z’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Look, I’ll give you my thoughts on this if it’s okay. I think that It would be best to try to talk to them. Message them and let them answer at their own pace and when you two eventually talk, try to let them in. You have to let yourself be vulnerable and let people help sometimes.”

Z looks ahead of him and slowly back to Robaire.

“Thanks.”

Robaire pats him on the shoulder.

“No problem, I think that we’re done for today so you can go home, be safe!”

——— Your POV…

10:17

“Good morning…”

Your friend lazily slurs the words together as they immediately head for the kitchen.

“Good morning to you too.” You say playfully.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” “Because you hate waking up early and I didn’t want you to be angry all day.”

They shrug. “Good point.”

You rest your head on your hand as you scroll through your phone. It’s been less than a day since you’ve talked to Z but you hate leaving things on such bad terms.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes.

You look at the top of your screen to see a message from Aaron.

“Hey, do you want to talk?”

“Fuck.”

You don’t even notice that you said that out loud as you try to decide if you should respond or leave this for later. Your friend gives you a glance but gets back to making their morning coffee.

You bite your lip as you hesitantly tap the notification. You start typing.

“I’d like that.”

You decide to send one more thing.

“In person.”

He immediately stops typing.

You start wondering if that was the wrong thing to say, but you don’t want to lie, you’d really rather have this conversation in person.

Luckily, he starts typing again.

“Okay. Is in front of my place okay for you?”

You finally let out a breath that you’ve been holding in. A burst of energy goes through you and you immediately respond.

“Yeah, thank you for wanting to talk to me.”

Read 10:28

You sigh.

“He at least saw my message…” you think to yourself as you get up to get out of the pajamas your friend gave you.

You getting off the couch immediately catches your friend’s eye.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

You quickly mumble out some words while frantically looking for your clothes.

“Uh, Z wants to see me-” “He wants to what?”

They stop in their tracks as they watch you try to gather all your clothes and speed walk into their bedroom.

“Wait, wait, wait- he wants to see you? Like, right now?”

“Yes!” You said screaming from the bathroom.

“Oh shit, well- you’ll need a ride, right? I’ll get ready too, I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You quickly put on your clothes from last night which could also be considered pajamas but that doesn’t bother you too much.

As you get out of the bathroom you already find your friend ready to go and keys in hand. Why they see you they frown.

“Okay, you sure you don’t want a jacket? I could give you one.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine.”

While putting on your shoes, you get a message.  You hold back a groan as you check it. It’s Aaron again.

“Thank you for letting me be vulnerable.”

Your heart slightly stings at that. You’d want to talk to him about that but you’ll be talking to him in person anyway, you’ll just have to wait.

When you both have your shoes on you dash out the door and get into your friend’s car.

——

10:55

Your friend stops the car in front of Aaron’s house. You wave goodbye and walk towards the entrance and find Aaron sitting on the doorstep seemingly half asleep.

“Aaron?”

He immediately wakes up and looks above him. When he sees you he stands up with a slight slouch in his shoulders.

“Hi, yeah, I wanted to talk. I guess it’s more that we need to talk.”

You nod.

“Well, uh, I can start with saying that I really wasn’t mad at you. It’s just that I had a lot going on and I didn’t want you to worry like you always do. I just-”

He stops and thinks about what he’s going to say. Silence stretching in-between that.

“You didn’t do anything, that’s basically what I’m trying to say.”

You smile softly while fiddling with your house key.

“You know, we don’t have to talk about whatever happened but just know that it’s an option. You don’t have to deal with things alone. People won’t push you away because you feel things.”

You reach out to his hands. They’re slightly cold.

He looks back at you, a soft look in his eyes, seemingly a little stunned but content.

“Thank… you.”

He lets you cover his hands with yours. They’re getting warmer.

“So, tell me, how are you?”

He smiles. “Better.”

[erodasfishtacos]

this reminds of soo much of ezra and mlb!harry

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJBVpVns/

Completely!

--

YN is flipping the last batch of french toast in the pan when she hears Harry bark out a loud laugh that rings through the kitchen as the sound is followed by the patter of small bare feet.

Ezra is giggling wildly, curls bouncing atop his head as he races through the kitchen as fast as his small feet will let him, and he has Harry's car keys clutched in his palm.

"Ezzie, no running, baby," YN murmurs, giving Easton a side eye when he steals a sausage link from the plate before they've cooled off completely.

"C'mere, y'litte fox!" Harry growls playfully as he is hot on his youngest son's tracks.

He was already prepare for his day, going in for training, in a pair of nike shorts, a yankees under armor shirt, and pair of nike running shoes.

"No!" He squeals excitedly when he realizes his dad is chasing him before having to slow down when there is a little mess of toys in his way.

It gives Harry the opportunity to catch up with the toddler and scoop him up in the crook of his arms, he snatches the set of keys from him, and says, "Y'three and already tryin' to steal the keys to the Porshe."

Neither parent is expecting it when Ezra lets out a pitiful sob, waterworks beginning, and his chubby cheeks becoming wet with tears.

"Oh bubby, wha's wrong?" Harry hushes, thumbing off the falling droplets with his lip pouted out at his sad son.

"Don't leave," Ezra whines loudly, grasping Harry's shirt in between his palms in protest, "Please daddy."

YN watches as a pained expression flashes over her husband's face. It was always a bit different with their youngest.

He was a nervous little thing - always worrying and needing a bit more comfort than all the other boys had ever needed. They couldn't deny the coddled him quite a lot.

"Hey, it's just for a little. I'll be home f'dinner, okay? Y'know I always facetime y'guys at practice, yeah?" His father hums as he rocks his son.

Ezra whimpers even more, "No, stay with Ezzie."

It was adorable when he referred to himself in the third person.

"Y'are my lil' anxious one, aren't you?" Harry chuckles softly, kissing his soft curls and squeezing him a bit tighter, "M'sweet little boy."

-

ugh did that melt you heart like it did mine

[holylulusworld]

Crudeness (1) - First Meeting

Summary: You hate the way your guests treat the girls at your place of work. One is different, though.

Pairing: Mobster!Tony Stark x Shy!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, language, misogyny, crudeness, slut-shaming, mentions if sex, mentions of double penetration (no description)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Crudeness masterlist

“I’m telling you, man, tighter is better,” one of the guests at the VIP area snickers. He watches one of the girls' dance for him, growling as he palms his cock through his pants.

“Maybe, but if you want to put two cocks in her cunt she shouldn’t be too tight,” you scrunch up your nose in disgust whilst the two men bicker about their latest conquests. “Did you ever fuck a virgin ass? I love the way they act all shy and moan like a bitch in heat the moment I stuff her ass with my cock.”

“Ahem—anything else,” it’s a weak attempt to stop the men from talking like cavemen in front of you and the dancer. “More drinks or maybe a snack?”

“I’d like to have a snack,” the blonde eyes the girl stand between his legs to dance up and down. She runs her hand over her chest, seductively pursing her lips. “How much for her to ride my dick?”

“We—we are not that kind of establishment, Sir,” stuttering you look at the girl with wide eyes. She doesn’t seem to mind they treat her like a piece of meat or their crudeness. “If you want a hooker, look outside.”

“Rogers, can you not act like a brute. The same goes for you, Barnes,” the third man grunts, waving the dancer off, chasing her away. “Now Darling.” He looks at you, smirking when you drop your gaze. “I’d like another drink and a snack. Anything you can recommend.”

“Uh—we got a menu. I can hand you one,” his grin widens while watching you nervously tug at your skirt. “Sir.”

“You can’t chase my girl away only to get all cozy with that mouse,” Steve grunts. He’s pissed as the girl from earlier already found another guest demanding her attention. “She will fuck someone else tonight, great.”

“When did you lose your charm, Rogers? You used to be a gentleman. Now you act like a brute,” the man tuts. “Darling, I must apologize for my friend’s behavior.”

“Oh, it’s fine, Sir,” you shrug. “I’m used to men acting like cavemen. It’s always the same, nothing special to me anymore. I like to pretend to be somewhere else. And when I leave this place, I take a long bath to wash the stink of this place off of me.”

“Careful now, doll,” Bucky growls. “A mouse like you shouldn’t make a fuss. Go and hide in the shadows like you did the whole night.”

“Barnes, stop,” you storm off, ignoring your colleague calling your name or that you must look like you lost your mind when you kick the door open to leave the club.

You release a shuddery breath, fearing you just lost your job. Messing with VIP guests is the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Meanwhile at the club…

“Get your shit together. Both of you,” Tony gets up from his comfortable seat to follow you outside. “I told you about the girl and that I want to impress her tonight.”

“What? We gave you the perfect opportunity to play her hero, Stark,” Steve shrugs his shoulders, already turning his attention toward one of the dancers. “You wanted her attention, you got it. Not my fault you waited for too long to make a move.”

“I will get that sweet girl into my clutches,” nodding at his companions Tony smirks darkly. “Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to the ladies.”

“OH, darling. You shouldn’t stand out here in the dark. It’s cold,” you shriek, startle and drop your keys when the mobster suddenly appears behind you to wrap you in his warm coat. “Let me drive you home.”

“I—I don’t live far away, Sir. You shouldn’t waste your time on me. If you want to impress a girl, go in there. The dancers are more likely your type.”

“Kitten has a loose tongue,” he clicks his tongue while grasping for your wrist to gently tug at it. “We will work on that. Tonight, I want you to feel like one in a million.”

“I will not suck your dick,” you try to shrug his coat off your shoulders but Tony wraps one arm around you, keeps you immobile. He’s stronger than he looks, and you shiver at the intensity in his gaze.

“Sweetness, I don’t want you to suck my cock but let me drive you home. This place is not for you,” Tony leans closer to whisper the next words in your ear. “But if you change your mind, you can always wrap those pretty lips around my cock.”

“N-no,” swallowing thickly you try to not look away, to hold his gaze. “I don’t even know you, Sir.”

“Tony, darling,” he pecks your cheek, lips lingering on your skin. “You can call me Tony from now on. Let me drive you home.”

“Why do you want to drive me home? You don’t even know me. I don’t want a stranger to know where I live.”

“Well, my name is Tony Stark, sweetness,” he purrs, eyes dropping to your lips. “I rule this town, or rather I own it. Including your nice little workplace.”

“OH—”

“You caught my eye months ago,” his fingers gently grip your chin to force you to look him in the eyes while he talks to you. “I gave you time, wanted you to open up to me. I know you are shy and not used to drawing attention to you but, you got mine.”

“Sir, Mr. Stark…Tony,” you splutter. “How—why me? I’m no one. All the girls in the club are so glamorous and I’m just me.”

“Yes, you are you, darling,” his lips gently press against yours, making you shiver. You open your mouth, let Tony slip his tongue inside. “Let me take you home, Y/N.”

“I—I could let you drive me home, I guess,” Tony smirks as you let him take your hand to place it onto his heart. “Mr. Stark.”

“I told you, darling,” he pecks your lips, promising so much more with every sugar-coated word, “you can call me Tony from now on…”

>> Part 2

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[moon-light-jukebox]

Germs [Reid x Reader]

this gif isn’t mine

Summary: Reader is sure the resident BAU genius doesn’t like her, but she’s not sure why. But even if he did like her, he’s a germaphobe, so he wouldn’t be comfortable with the things she wants to do to him...would he?

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Rating: Mature 

Category: Fluff and Smut 

Content Warning: Brief mentions of torture and violence, usually criminal minds stuff, nothing explicit. Light choking, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, language (maybe?) 

A/n: I have come out of fan fiction writing retirement for this one. Let me know what y’all think!  masterlist

y/n - your name

y/l/n - your last name

italicized text is Reader’s sassy inner thoughts

---

I’m not sure if I believe in hell, but if there is a hell, I’m sure it feels exactly like Louisiana in July. Every time I walked outside I felt like I was walking into soup. Gross. I couldn’t help but feel guilty over my sigh of relief when I walked back into the local precinct the team was currently working out of. Young women are dying, and I’m worried about a little bit of heat.

But, fuck, it was hot.

Speaking of heat, I thought as I threw open the door to the conference room only to run smack into the hottest thing I’d ever encountered.

“Shit,” I exclaimed before I thought better of it. “I’m so sorry.” I ran my eyes up, up, up, all the way up his body until I met his eyes; those beautiful honey brown eyes that threatened to have me acting like an idiot if I stared into them for too long.  

Dr. Spencer Reid’s cheeks were tinged pink, his posture stiff, his fingers clutching the file he was carrying for dear life. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” he sounded uncomfortable, which made my stomach drop. “My fault.” With that, he quickly maneuvered around me and headed off to complete whatever genius task he had to complete.

My eyes followed him until he was out of sight before I mentally shook myself. ‘C’mon, this is pointless,’ I thought. ‘He doesn’t even like you.’ Which I really thought was true, the good doctor went out of his way to avoid me whenever possible. ‘Plus, he’s a germaphobe.’ This thought was confirmed true. He didn’t shake people’s hands, the only people I’d seen him touch during my time at the BAU were members of the team that he’d known for years, and some of those even seemed reluctant.

Admittedly, I didn’t know a lot about germaphobia; since I couldn’t ask the only genius I knew, I did the next logical thing. I googled it. Every person I’d read about seemed to experience germaphobia differently. Some people could have sex, but others were grossed out by the very idea. Knowing my luck, Spencer Reid and his beautiful hands, and his soulful eyes, and his cheekbones that could cut glass was in the repulsed by sex category. Which is fine! Right, it is fine to not be interested in sex; the only problem was I was very interested in every part of him.  

Maybe he thinks I’m gross. Maybe I stink? Maybe he’s just repulsed by my very presence. Regardless, I couldn’t see Spencer Reid ever shoving me against a wall and fucking me senseless.

I sighed, making my way over to the conference table, pulling out a chair before I flopped into it. I could feel the exhaustion settling into my bones. We had been in Louisiana for almost a week now and we were still no closer to finding our unsub. He was a white man, he worked in a lower-paying job, and he hated women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow it down much.

The unsub was targeting women in clubs and bars, following them outside before he bashed them on the back of the head. After that, he threw the girls over his shoulder and took them to his car; he moved them to a secondary location before he tortured them. The first two victims had survived. They were traumatized, but they were fighters; they both said the same things, ‘he kept my eyes covered the entire time,’ “I never saw his face,’ ‘I did whatever he told me to do.’

We thought the killing of the third victim had been an accident, but that accident had excited our guy enough that he changed his ritual; the killing was crucial now. We had 4 bodies, 2 live victims that couldn’t tell us anything, and no leads.

Sighing, I leaned forward, bringing the heels of my hands to my eyes. I hated feeling helpless. The answer to who this fucker was is in this evidence somewhere and I will find it. If it’s the last thing I do.

The doors swung open again, pulling me from my thoughts. Hotch lead the parade of people, followed by Morgan, JJ, and Dr. Reid. Our unit chef looked gravely serious…not that that necessarily meant anything, in the 6 months I’d been with the behavioral analysis unit I hadn’t seen him have any other expression.

Morgan pulled out his phone, hitting what I suspected was speed dial number 1. “Hey baby girl,” he said, without his usual swagger; even he was tired. “You’re on speaker. You’ve got me, Hotch, JJ, Reid, and Y/l/n.”

“And I have the always wonderful Emily Prentiss, and the dashing David Rossi on the line, effectively putting my favorite people together again, as they should be,” Garcia quipped. I don’t think she meant to include me in her list of ‘favorite people,’ but it made me smile anyway. “Okay, crime fighters, what’s the play?”

“We’re still no closer to finding the unsub,” Hotch began. “He’s highly organized, methodical, and paranoid; but he hasn’t killed in 3 days, this is a break from his escalation pattern. He’s going to strike soon.” Hotch leaned over resting his palms on the shiny fake wood of the conference table. “Our best chance is to send an agent out there as bait.” There was a general murmur of agreement before he continued on. “Garcia, we need you to find all of the night clubs, bars, and whatever else you can think of in the updated comfort zone.”

The sound of keys clicking made its way through the speaker. “Assuming we’re excluding the places he’s already hit, that leaves us with 3 possibilities.”

“So far he hasn’t struck a place twice,” Prentiss chimed in. “Do we think he’s going to hold to that pattern?”

Reid moved over to the board where the map of the county was displayed. “I think so. This guy is too careful to risk going to a place where he’s been before. The chance of him being recognized is too great, especially when everyone is on high alert.” He gestured to the area he had circled on the map. “His pattern seems to be focusing in on this center point right here,” he said, placing a pin in the map. “This area means something. Garcia, what is the closest club or bar to the intersection of Washington Avenue and Harrison Street?”

“That would beeeeee…The Blue Fox.”

“That’s where he’ll be,” Dr. Reid said confidently, his eyes moving to Hotch’s face.

The older man nodded. “It’s our best lead so far, we have to run with it.”

“It’s Friday night,” Rossi pointed out. “We’ll have to act soon.”

Hotch nodded, seeming to be lost in thought. “We need to send agents in there tonight. We know the victims were all on dates or flirting with a man right before their abduction. He targets women that are happy with their companions then waits til he can separate them.”

“Who are you planning on sending in, Hotch?’ JJ questioned.

“Y/l/n is the youngest, she fits the build of the previous victims the best.” His heavy gaze rested on me. “What do you think?”

Like it was even a choice. “I’m in.”

Hotch nodded, accepting my answer. “Good. You’ll partner with Reid.”

“What?!” I squawked, much to my embarrassment. I cleared my throat before I continued. “But, Reid and I…I just thought Morgan would be the obvious choice.” Fuck, I’m just digging a bigger hole.

Morgan gave me an easy smile. “You’re just saying that because you wanna see my moves, little mama.”

Hotch cleared his throat, bringing our attention back. “Morgan is too intimidating; the unsub might not move in if he feels too threatened. You’ll go with Reid.” When he was met with silence he continued on, “alright, let’s get to work.”

-

And that is how I wound up in a club in Louisiana on a Friday night, in a tight black dress, with Spencer Reid beside me. After he walked into the club holding my hand. He doesn’t hold hands, I cringed internally at the thought. He must feel so uncomfortable.

He waved the bartender over, ordering a drink for me and a water for himself before turning to me. “I thought a drink would loosen you up a bit. You look nervous.”

I am nervous. “Right. Thanks.” I drummed my fingers on the bar, my gaze sweeping around the club for anyone who seemed out of place and especially creepy. Most lone men at clubs and bars were creepy, but we need especially creepy.

“Is that because you don’t think I can have your back?”

My head snapped back around. “What?”

Spencer paused to accept the drinks from the bartender, sliding him the money. “In the conference room. You seemed upset that Morgan wasn’t going to be your partner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Is that because you think I wouldn’t have your back?”

Fuck. I blushed to the roots of my hair. “No, Spencer! God no! It’s not that, I know you’d have my back.” I took a sip of my drink before I said anything else. “It’s just that…you don’t seem to like me very much, and I know you have a thing about germs, and I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t like me.” I was babbling; I was absolutely babbling. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all. Morgan has never seemed uncomfortable around me, so…” I trailed off lamely.

The corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “So, you didn’t want to partner with me on this because you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the straw in my drink.

Spencer moved closer to me, his right hand coming to rest on the small of my back. He seemed as calm as he could be, meanwhile I suddenly had trouble breathing.

It’s for the case. He has to do this for the case. Calm down.

"What do my issues with germs have to do with this?" he wondered, leaning closer to me. I could feel his breath on my neck; my skin broke out in goosebumps.

Double fuck. “Well, we’re supposed to be…together. And you think I’m gross. What if you have to kiss me?” TRIPLE FUCK. “Not that we’d have to kiss,” I tried to backpedal. “But we might, you never know. And I just didn’t…I don’t want you to dislike me more than you do.”

The teasing smile slipped from his face, the fingers on my lower back flexing slightly. He regarded me with a tilt of his head. "You're serious?" At my shaky nod, he continued. "Y/n, I don't think you're gross."

“You don’t?” I squeaked.

He lifted his hand from my back then, sliding it up to my shoulder, his free hand moving from the bar to rest on my hip. Spencer brushed my hair back before he leaned forward. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I felt his lips touch the tender skin of my neck. My eyes fluttered shut, unable to suppress a gasp at the contact. Spencer Reid’s beautiful lips slid down to the place where my neck and shoulder met, then I felt his teeth nip the skin before he placed another kiss there. He worked his way back up towards my ear, the hand on my hip moving slightly so he was almost grabbing my ass. “I don’t think you’re gross,” he breathed, causing me to shudder. I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Germs don’t bother me in that way, especially around people I know. I wouldn’t have a problem kissing you, baby.”

I was going to need new panties after this. Spencer Reid, awkward, sweet, Dr. Spencer Reid just called me Baby.

“…Oh.” Really, y/n. Oh; you went with oh?

The good doctor pulled back, his face close enough to mine that I could see that he had freckles under his eyes and that those beautiful eyes got more golden towards the center. "Oh."

-

Michael Watkins was the name of our unsub. He was a short white man with a receding hairline and a bad temper. His last relationship had ended 3 months before the first attack; Spencer was right to pick this bar. Shortly after he tried to make my pussy combust with his neck kisses, Reid suggested I walk to the bathroom, assuring me he’d be watching if anyone followed.

Watkins’ hand was in my hair, dragging me outside before I made it to the ladies’ room. I felt a jolt of fear as I struggled to escape, strands of hair being ripped from my head. I shouldn’t have worried, because no sooner had the outside door opened than I heard the velvety voice of Derek Morgan. “FBI! Put your hands where we can see them.”

He attempted to run. Why would anyone try to run from Derek Morgan?  

After the medics confirmed I was okay, I was sent back to the hotel while the rest of the team went with the local police to book Watkins and try to get a full confession.

“Good work,” Hotch said, his hand clapping down on my shoulder.

The highest praise I’ll ever need.

I hopped into the shower right when I got back to my room, not wanting Watkins’ touch on me for a moment longer.

Spencer’s touch, however,…That was a touch I wouldn’t mind having on me. But he’d barely looked at me once he made it outside. I knew he was being affectionate in there because of the case, we were playing a role. I knew that. I still couldn’t stop the twinge of hurt I felt.

But he doesn’t think I’m gross. That had to count for something.

I had just got done blow drying my hair enough so that it wouldn’t look too crazy when I woke up when there was a knock on my door. Figuring it was Emily, I didn't consider the fact that I was in my pajamas, and my face was scrubbed free of makeup.  

It wasn’t Emily. Spencer Reid stood on the other side of my door, his eyes running down my body before he met my bewildered stare again. “You look comfy,” he commented with that damn little smile on his lips again.

“Oh. Yeah. I took a shower.” Way to go, y/n, you’re really killing it tonight.

“I see that,” he said, his cheeks going a little bit pink. “Can I come in? I thought we should talk.” Was he nervous? Why would he be nervous?

I ushered him in, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the bottom edge of my bed; his body angled towards the headboard. I briefly debated about where to sit before I joined him. Don’t make it weird, y/n.

He cleared his throat before he began. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight. I just wanted to make sure we got the guy.”

Right. “Oh, it’s okay, Spencer. I get it. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” I picked at the frayed edge of my sleep shorts, my eyes dropping so he didn’t see anything on my face that betrayed how I was feeling; you can’t be too careful around profilers.

His hand reached out to cover my own fidgeting hands, one of his hands covering both of mine. His hands were so big. His fingers were so long, the veins in his hands were so pronounced. I bet those fingers would feel really – FOCUS.

“I’m also sorry you thought I didn’t like you.” His thumb had started to move slowly over the back of my hand. “I do like you. I like you a lot, actually. I just…” I brought my gaze back up to meet his eyes. “I just get nervous sometimes.”

“You didn’t seem nervous in the club.”

“No,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t nervous then because it was my job. I wasn’t worried about misreading a signal…doing the wrong thing…I’m not the best with social cues.” I had noticed that about him before. “But I am a really good profiler.” And he’s humble too, apparently.

“I know that you couldn’t fake your reaction to me in the club. Your breathing became quicker, I felt your pulse jump under my lips when they were on your neck. I saw how blown your pupils got." He shifted closer to me then, bringing his other hand up to push my hair behind my shoulder like he did earlier in the night. "Just like they are now."

He leaned closer to me, his voice was lower, and it made my stomach flutter. "You're clenching your thighs together, Y/n. Your shirt may be baggy, but I can see how hard your nipples are too." His tongue ran out to wet his lips. "If I'm wrong, just tell me now. If I've misread this, I will leave right now, and we can pretend this never happened." Spencer brought both his hands up to cradle my face; despite how wet my panties were, how tight my nipples are, how badly I wanted him to touch me, this gesture made me feel special. He was holding me like he actually cared about me like I was precious. "But, if I'm not wrong, and you want this too, Y/n, tell me. Tell me you want this too and I won't stop touching you until you scream my name."

I let out a soft whimper then. Like it’s a choice. “I want this,” I leaned into his touch. “Please, Spencer.”

His thumb brushed over my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. “Please, what, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than his lips were on mine. His lips were softer than I imagined, they were firm and almost…questioning. When I nipped at his bottom lip, something seemed to break free inside of him. His lips slanted over mine with a hunger I had never felt. His tongue ran over my bottom lip before I opened for him. Spencer’s tongue moved into my mouth while his hands moved; one hand moved back to grip my hair at the base of my skull, tugging firmly, the other moved down to my neck, not applying any pressure, just resting it there in a gesture that felt possessive.

The need for oxygen broke us apart, his lips moving across my cheek to my jaw, then down to my neck. “How could you think I didn’t like you?” he mumbled into my skin. “You have no idea what you do to me. None.”

I threw my head back when he sucked on my pulse point, a moan ripping from my throat. “W-what…what do I do?”

Pulling back from me, he gripped the bottom of my shirt, looking at me for consent before he pulled it over my head. His eyes were firmly on my chest, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. He pushed me down slowly on the bed; I was on my back and he was hovering over me. I felt his mouth place hot, wet, kisses from my collarbone down towards my breasts. His right hand landed on my breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over my nipple while his lips moved closer and closer to my left. I tangled my hands in his hair, urging him forward.

“You want to know what you do to me?” he raised his head slightly, making sure my eyes were on him when he flicked his tongue over my nipple, causing me to gasp. “What do you do to me in your little skirts, with your little smiles, and your little laughs?” He gave my nipple a sharp pinch. “You’re all I fucking think about, y/n.” With a growl, he finally took my nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. He switched to the other breast while he adjusted himself over me, bringing his pelvis down to rest at the seam of my body between my thighs. I shifted restlessly under him, trying to grind my pussy against him. He was so fucking hard.

With a groan, he lifted his head and started kissing his way towards the middle of my chest, moving down to the curve of my stomach. “Do you know how many times I came back to my hotel room after spending all day with you and was so hard I had to cum before I could think of anything else?” he peppered kisses down my body as he spoke.

My eyes shot open at this confession that he seemed to think was no big deal. “What?” I couldn’t believe this. “You…you touched yourself and thought of…”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts and panties, taking my raised hips as an invitation to remove both from my body. "You. I thought of you." He threw my clothes on the floor, pulling my legs open. His eyes moved over all of me, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed hard. “I thought about kissing you. About making you squirm for me.” He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, his mouth running slowly over my inner thighs. Spencer’s hands hooked around my upper thighs, moving me to where he wanted me. “But, most of all, I thought about this pretty pussy.” He placed a kiss on my clit, chuckling at the wanton moan that came from me and how my fingers tangled in his soft brown curls. “I thought about all the different ways I could make this pretty pussy cum all over me.” With that, he ran his tongue up my slit before flicking it over my clit.

Dr. Spencer Reid was good at everything, so of course, he was good at this too. His mouth moved over me, watching my reaction to see what I liked best. His tongue moved in circles around my clit before slipping down to my opening. His tongue plunged inside me, fucking me, while his thumb came over to rub my clit.

“Spence- fuck- Spencer, please.” My hips tried to shift restlessly, but his arms were iron bars holding me still. He slowly moved his left forearm to rest across my hips, bringing his right hand down to my throbbing pussy. He pulled his mouth away from me, much to my dismay. He pushed one finger, then another into me. My head thrashed wildly, and my thighs started to shake. “Spencer!”

He just smirked and curled his fingers, hitting the spot inside me that made everything in my body pulse. “What, baby?”

My breaths were coming in gasps, my voice was a needy whimper. “Make me cum, Spencer. Please, please make me cum.”

He needed no other encouragement. His fingers continued their steady thrust in and out of me while his mouth covered my clit again. He alternated between flicking my clit with his tongue, then circling it before pulling it into his mouth, sucking lightly.

“Spencer.” I felt my orgasm rising. “Spencer don’t- don’t stop. I’m gonna cum, please make me cum.”

He kept his pace steady, sucking on my clit, moaning at my words. His eyes had been closed, but at that moment they opened and met mine. Then I felt his teeth ghost over my clit, I saw the want in his eyes. That was my undoing. My back arched, my mouth hung open in a silent scream. I heard myself say his name over and over again. Spencer pushed his fingers inside me, massaging me through the most powerful orgasm I had ever had. With one final kiss on my oversensitive clit, he withdrew his fingers, putting them into his mouth to suck my orgasm off of them.

He kissed back up my body, and I tried to respond, but I was still so shattered. I had never felt anything so powerful before. He cupped my face in one hand and kissed me slowly. I returned the kiss, moving my hands to the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer broke the kiss, pulling back to look at me again. “Hang on, baby.” His hand came up to still my own. “We can take a second. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

This beautiful man smiled at me then. I felt my heart flutter when he leaned down to pepper soft kisses along my jaw, his thumb coming up to wipe a tear that fell from the corner of my eye that I hadn’t even noticed.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. He shifted to lay beside me, whispering reassurances to me while I came back down. This was just one of the ways that Spencer was so different from every other man. I didn't feel rushed, or pressured. I could feel how hard he still was, I could feel the tension in his body, but he simply kissed me while he cupped my jaw.

He made me feel…cherished.

I moved my hands to tangle in his hair again, deepening our kiss. He didn’t move my hands away when I started to work on the buttons of his shirt. The fire that I thought had been calmed by my orgasm had come roaring back. Spencer moved his hands to his belt while I finished with his shirt. His shirt came off, tossed in the same direction as my clothes. I pulled his pants and boxers down his legs, watching his cock spring free.

Everything about him was painfully beautiful. His angular cheekbones, the jaw that looked like it was carved from granite, even the toned muscles of his body. He had a small trail of hair that went down from his belly button to his groin. His cock laid against his stomach, the head glistening with precum.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, kneeling beside him, running my eyes over his body.

His soft hand came to grab mine, pulling it to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand, smiling softly at me.

I moved to straddle him, lower on his thighs. I took him in my hand, moving up and down, twisting my wrist as I neared the tip, swiping my thumb over his head.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Y/n, as much as I want you to do…whatever the fuck you want with me, I’m so close. I feel like I’m going to explode.” I bit into my bottom lip, unable to totally stop the smile spreading over my face. “Please, I need to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock.” He moved his hands to my hips, urging my body forward.

I raised up on my knees, taking him in my hand again, lining him up with my entrance. The tendons in his neck were strained, his fingers gripped my hips so hard I knew I was going to have bruises tomorrow. As I slowly started to sink down on his cock, Spencer let out the sexiest groan I had ever heard. His eyes were fixed where our bodies were joined, watching his dick slid deeper inside of me.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good. Just a little bit more.”

He was so long, he wasn't overly thick, but just thick enough to cause a pleasurable stretching when he breached me that was almost painful. I gasped out a sound that might have been his name when he bottomed out inside me. I slowly circled my hips, adjusting to him. Spencer’s nails dug into my hips as he forced himself to stay still.

“Please move, y/n. Please. You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned as my walls fluttered around him. “Do you like it when I talk to you? Does that make your pretty pussy wetter?” He smirked at my whimper as I tightened around him.

I began at a slower pace, trying to tease him. Spencer quickly lost patience with that; he thrust his hips upwards, meeting my movements, his hands pushing me down onto him. I leaned forward, bracing on hand on his shoulder, the other on the bed. He pounded into me while I tried to match his pace. Spencer’s hand moved from my hip up to wrap around my throat. I nodded, forcing my eyes to stay open as he moved inside me.

His fingers squeezed slightly, pulling my face closer to his. Our lips met in a sloppy kiss. My thighs burned from matching his movements. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.” His grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly, which only heightened my arousal. “I want to feel you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

He flipped us over quickly, never pulling completely out of me. Spencer moved to push my legs further apart, the change in angle allowing him to fill me deeper than I thought possible. His hair was sticking to his brow, his cheeks were flushed, his breathing erratic. He was the most fucking beautiful thing I had ever seen.

One hand held my leg, the other went down to my pussy, his thumb moving over my clit at a rapid pace. “Tell me what you need, Pretty Girl. Tell me how to make this pretty pussy cum all over me.”

I whined at his words. “Spencer, I-“ my voice broke off. I was so fucking close. "I need you." He seemed to understand my broken plea. He brought his body down, his chest flush against mine. He rocked into me at such a fast and hard pace. His hand still in between us rubbing circles around my clit.  

I felt his lips ghost over my ear. “I want to fucking hear you, y/n.” His speed increased, his thrust getting choppier. He was close. “I want this whole fucking town to hear what you sound like when I make you cum. When you cream all over my dick, I want you to scream my name.” With that, he moved his mouth down my neck. He bit the same tender area he had kissed in the club, where my neck met my shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, Spencer!" I felt myself begin to splinter apart. “Please make me cum, fuck please.” My babbling finally broke as my orgasm tore through me. I couldn’t hear his deep groan when I came, my scream was too loud. I felt the vibration against my neck. It was only as I started to float down that I realized my nails were dug into his back. With a few last thrust and my name on his lips, I felt Spencer pulse, cumming inside me.

We lay there for a few minutes, just breathing before he rolled off of me. I felt overwhelmed, so I was relieved when he tugged me over to him. He wrapped his arm around me when I laid my head on his chest. I felt his lips on my forehead. “It’s very important for women to urinate after sexual intercourse to avoid UTIs, but you have another minute or so before that becomes more urgent.”

I couldn’t control my laugh at his comment. "Thanks, Doc." I kissed his chest. "Only you could make me cum so hard I almost blackout, then go back to being…you." I slowly untangled myself from him, going to the bathroom to handle business. When I returned, I found Spencer where I left him, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, one hand resting behind his head, the other over his heart. He looked so lost in that moment.

“Spencer?” I asked, crawling on to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t pretend that something wasn’t bothering him. “When you said that I just go back to being me…Do you not like that?”

My heart broke a tiny bit at the question. “Spencer, no! I love that! I love your little facts and statistics!” How did he not know that? “The best part of my day is listening to you talk. Just being with you is wonderful.” I cupped his face, bringing his gaze to mine. “Sure, I like what we just did; but I liked you before that. I want both.” Fuck. “Assuming you want me,” I rambled quickly. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, I know that it doesn’t always-“

He cut me off by pressing his lips to mine in the sweetest kiss I had ever felt. It was filled with hope and promise and…Spencer.

“It means everything to me, Y/n.”

-

I didn’t see the rest of the team until the next morning when we all boarded the jet; I was so ready to go home. I personally didn’t think anything appeared that different. Spencer sat beside me on the couch, but that wasn’t weird…right? We were just co-workers, sitting beside each other super casually. Had we spent most of last night and a little bit of this morning screwing each other’s brains out? Certainly. But you couldn’t see that…right?

Morgan’s chuckle is what confirmed I was so wrong. “Hey, y/l/n,” he called, smiling so hard it looked like his face would split from his amusement. “You missed a spot.” He pointed towards his own neck.

There was a beat of silence before Hotch snorted. SSA Aaron Hotchner, the man who never found anything funny was laughing at me.

I felt myself turn tomato red, angling my body towards Spencer’s, burying my head against his shoulder, away from the rest of the team.

“I bet you’re glad pretty boy was your partner now, huh?”

I may have wanted to melt into the floor in embarrassment, but it was sort of worth it to see the blush on Spencer’s cheeks.

--