#encouraging me to ramble was a bold move

[boodlesofdoodles]

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

So like I think maybe Charlie is actually really good at baking?? He’s probably memorized a few of Bonnie’s recipes and occasionally bakes himself something when he’s feeling upset. Kind of a coping mechanism to actually bake, and the familiar smells that fill a kitchen comfort him as much as the taste of his mom’s brownies do. There’s a sense of pride that fills him when he gets the recipe exact. He really only knows a few recipes, and he’s DEFINITELY super secret about it. Baking is something that makes him feel kind of embarrassed and he doesn’t let the gang know about it.

He might let Mac know eventually, maybe Mac is feeling down or he’s sick or something and Charlie is like “whenever I felt sick mom would bake me something. Fuck it I’m gonna make Mac something.” and brings over a small batch of cookies, careful to hide it from Dennis. Mac is absolutely dumbfounded that the cookies are so good and tries to come up with a scheme to start selling them almost immediately lmao. Charlie is not at all interested and after a lot of insisting, Mac finally gets the hint and just enjoys the cookies and his buddy’s ability to bake. Soon enough Mac is secretly encouraging Charlie to bake more often (and have him taste test everything he makes, obviously) and after a few times visiting realizes Charlie really only makes like 4 things. When Mac asks him about it he gets immediately defensive, rambling like crazy, “Why the hell would I need to bake more stuff? Are you saying my Mom’s stuff isn’t enough, dude? My mom makes really good stuff. You’re over here drooling every time I make you one of her recipes! Don’t go saying shit about her stuff, Mac. You love this shit, I don’t need to make other shit.”

“No, no! Charlie, Christ dude, fucking calm down, will you?” Mac trying his best to deescalate the hostility he accidentally brought on the pair of them. “I’m just saying maybe you should branch out some more. It could be fun to try some new stuff, is all!”

I don’t feel like writing out a whole conversation rn but basically it boils down to Charlie not really understanding the measurements, and it trips him up too much to keep trying new recipes; that’s the reason he sticks with what he knows. At first he did try looking up some different recipes but got extremely frustrated and felt so stupid trying to understand it. Nothing ever came out right so he just gave up on other stuff. When it comes to Bonnie’s recipes he doesn’t even need to measure anything he’s made them so much he just eyeballs it and it usually comes out relatively the same every time, which is good enough for him. The ‘Mac hanging out and just keeping Charlie company while he bakes something’ quickly comes to an end; now Mac is teaching Charlie the metric system and what different abbreviations in recipes online mean. He goes out and buys measuring cups for Charlie and shows him how to use them. He makes a cheat sheet with easy to follow drawings of the different measuring cups and which ones he needs to use for cup, ounce, tablespoon, etc. They try out new recipes together and Charlie starts to become more confident with it. Eventually he goes over to Mac and Dennis’ with a new recipe he looked up and tried all on his own, without Mac there to help him with reading all of it and Mac is SO incredibly proud of him. Gushing about how good of a job he did :,) anyways yeah that’s all I got I just adore the idea so much I needed to get it out of my system. As someone who’s autistic (like we’re pretty sure Charlie is) I personally love to bake because of how precise everything is as compared to cooking. I don’t have to think about how it’ll come out and I don’t have to experiment with anything. Just follow very clear instructions. I think Charlie would feel the same way and enjoy the 0 guesswork that goes into the process of baking from a recipe. Thank you if anyone read all this. PLEASE comment or message me or fucking anything about what y’all think about this concept

[seiberries]

loving blue lock boys as ts songs : hcs

includes: isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi, reo, rin warnings: none really! just light swearing. let me know if you guys want a part 2!!

isagi yoichi - lover

isagi yoichi who loves like he came straight out of a classic romantic comedy. he says the right things, he does what he needs to and more- he loves you completely. he’s absolutely perfect, so what could you do for him?

at night, the feeling of insecurity would creep up to you- even with him on the other side of the bed. you were sure he wanted you, but sometimes, you just couldn’t understand why.

fortunately, your boyfriend is incredibly observant. he had been watching your actions, how you were somewhat distancing yourself. he spoke up after a few minutes. you told him why, and he just couldn’t comprehend it. how do you feel like exact same way he feels about you?

he held you close all evening, not letting you out of his grasp. isagi loved one person, and he was gonna make damn sure you knew it was you. just you, his lover.

bachira meguru - fearless

bachira meguru who makes you feel free. you can do anything with him by your side, even wilder things you’d never do beforehand, even things you would’ve found ridiculous in the past. he brings out a stronger side of you.

on your first date, it rained and poured all of a sudden. you were upset at the unfortunate happening, but bachira saw things differently. that evening, you two danced in the rain- laughing and giggling as you twirled each other around. it was going to be a core memory of yours, for sure.

bachira even gave you a piggyback going home to your place, he helped you dry off before taking his leave and thanking you.

it was then that his fearlessness affected you, as you leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek. only he could encourage you to make such a bold move.

chigiri hyoma - gorgeous

chigiri hyoma who is frustratingly pretty. seriously, how much time did the gods spend on him? it annoys you. his red hair, his soft skin, his perfume that’s vanilla scented- it pisses you off.

that’s why, when you made eye contact with him during his team’s celebration, you cursed mentally. to distract yourself, you went around the room, talking to everyone but him. you couldn’t bring yourself to speak with the panther-like boy.

in a few hours, having too much to drink, you swayed around the crowd with a pink face. chigiri caught you in his arms then. until when were you going to ignore him? your boyfriend, who you argued with before the party. he wouldn’t accept your comments on how attractive he was, and you got... angry? you showed said anger through avoiding him. how could he deny your compliments? it genuinely upset you.

spitting half-meant insults at him, the red-head rolled his eyes as he bid his teammates goodbye, taking you to the car. if being with him meant seeing his stupid, gorgeous face everyday, maybe you wouldn’t mind.

kunigami rensuke - hey stephen

kunigami rensuke who is so easy to adore. though initially intimidating, it’s obvious to all how good his heart is. you’d call him an angel, and he’d call you one in return.

he’s so good, you can’t help but hold back sometimes. with his career on the rise, you don’t want to distract him. you don’t want to be in the way. as a result, you start subconsciously avoiding the love of your life. he doesn’t approve of it one bit.

kunigami worries, did he do something? he knew he had changed since wildcard- but his love for you never did, ever. you were his motivation. he confronts you about it, terrified you might not want him anymore. the possibility scares the shit out of him.

but it wasn’t the case, you still want him more than anything. you explain how you much you love him, the way he walks, talks, and says your name. you could write songs. in your rambling, you fail to notice how close he gets to you- until he presses his lips against yours. you really are an angel to him.

nagi seishiro - sweet nothing

nagi seishiro who is the definition of comfortable silence. neither you or him expect much of each other, even being in the same room is a love language you two share. he lies his head down on your lap, while you watch tv or read a book. moments like that are priceless to you two.

the outside world is noisy and messy, you’re reminded of it quite often. whether through the news or from personal experience, you know how frantic life can become. sometimes, the chaos becomes too tiring for you, who’s too soft for it all.

you come home, exhausted, to see your boyfriend in the kitchen. he knows, he always does. wrapping his arms around your figure, tears start falling from your eyes as he silently pats your back in comfort.

though nagi is quiet, you can hear the sweet nothings from the way his heart beat with yours. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

mikage reo - mine

mikage reo who has had everything handed to him on a silver platter, besides his career- and you, of course. you were an incredibly careful person, and he was a person who could be reckless if he wanted to be. you walked slowly, and he ran through as many obstacles as possible. you hated the taunts of life, while he found them exciting.

those differences were but minor factors to the two of you, though. they brought you closer despite the fights, despite the arguments. you were both meant for each other, connected by the universe.

reo was sure of all this, but was especially reassured when he saw the moving trucks approach the house he had purchased. he watched as the workers unloaded an assortment of furniture from the vehicles. a new beginning was to start, with you next to him.

you sat down next to each other, positioning yourselves on a red couch temporarily placed on your driveway. this new beginning relied on you both.

itoshi rin - ours

itoshi rin who thinks of you even as he gets on the plane for another game abroad. he hates leaving you, he truly does- and you hate it too, it was mutual. but you couldn’t stop him from leaving every other week.

your days go by slowly without his sharp remarks and icy glares, you even start to miss the word “lukewarm”. but you’d wait, there was no way you wouldn’t. he was more than worth waiting for, no matter how many times he had to go.

you’re laying on your bed when you hear the door of your apartment open, footsteps can be heard running towards your bedroom. the door is briskly opened to reveal your boyfriend, seemingly out of breath. he wasn’t supposed to be home yet, but you were ecstatic to see him.

after a moment of eye-contact, he knelt before you. it was then that he promised to marry you, he wasn’t gonna leave you alone ever again. fuck, he couldn’t bare it. the life rin lived was no longer just his, but yours too.

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲

(𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: Writing comfort fic is sorta my form of self-care. Also I picked Miranda for this one because she is just so babygirl and I was craving for her so bad.

warning/s: none.

“I’m tired. So, so tired” You walked into the apartment, both feet dragging idly on the floor. You were both exasperated and exhausted from work. A heavy feeling sitting in your chest.

You slumped on the couch, face down. “I need a kiss.” Another groan. 

“I need a dozen kisses and a hug. I need a big, fat hug and someone to tell me everything will be okay despite everything crazy that has happened to me today.” It kept going.

You shifted, seeming to get suffocated by the cushion. You were still lying down, stomach under, but you turned sideways so now your cheek was pressed on the couch. You blinked, willing those tears back. It would be nice to have these things without having to ask. 

“I just need to breathe while someone holds my hand. Is that too much to ask for?” You felt the tightness in your chest becoming unbearable. Then tears fell freely. It was a tiring day.

Little did you know, your longtime roommate had been home all along, sitting on the stool by the counter and eating their first meal of the day. It was eight-thirty in the evening.

Miranda paused halfway from shoving a spoonful of cinnamon toast crunch drenched in low-fat milk and just stared in space, contemplating these little confessions from her little roommate. 

Eventually, she stood up, leaving her half-eaten bowl on the counter. She made it to the living room and saw you, still on the couch, unmoving. She almost presumed you were dead.

“H-hey…” her voice was small, a little shy, but you heard her just fine. You turned to see her, she was in a loose, white shirt and striped shorts. Cute. Long fair legs.

“Sorry. I was rambling like an idiot. Do you want to watch T.V? I’ll move now but this couch is quite nice.” your brows furrowed. “Has it always been this nice?”

“Yes.” 

Your eyes squinted, “You always say a few words.”

“I don’t know how to talk to you.” she embarrassingly admitted. 

“Well that makes the two of us.”

You chuckled but she didn’t. 

“You can hold my hand while you breathe.” 

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–I just. I was in the kitchen and I–nevermind. I’ll go.”

You were quick to wrap your hand around her wrist and tug her back.“Stay.” She looked at you with those big, shiny blue eyes. They were so blue, you thought, for the first time apparently. You hardly ever see the blonde due to your complex schedules, she mostly worked at night and you, by day. You were living on each side of the coin. Hardly ever meeting. Except for this one fateful night. 

“Stay here, please.” 

“Okay.” She said, after a moment and settled on the floor by the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting down. I’m big.”

“You’re not. You are tall. Big isn’t cutting it.” You sat up quick, patting the space beside you as you expectantly threw her a look.

“I don’t like my lady sitting on the floor. Now, come sit here, Miranda. Please. Everything here is yours as much as they are mine.”

For the first time, you saw her smile. It was small, just a twitch from both corners but it was a smile nonetheless and again, it was beautiful.

She sat next to you and you were quickly fascinated by the simplest of things about her. Like how she was so bold to offer you to hold her hand.

“Have you eaten anything for dinner?” 

“I was having cereal when you came home.”

“That’s not real food. We should order pizza. What do you like?”

“That’s not real food either if the Italians didn’t make it but sure. Anything cheesy for me.”

While you were waiting for the pizza to arrive, Miranda held out her hand, her palm facing up.

“Come on,” she encouraged, “I meant what I said.” Your heart clenched the slightest.

“Breathe with me.”

Your gaze shifted about a couple of times from her eyes to her palm, each time they softened, as more tears gathered in the corners. You took her hand, lacing your fingers together. She had a soft, warm hand. The size had a bonus comfort to it, you noted. She smiled at you and you smiled at her.

You breathed in, long and relaxing before exhaling. You repeated the process again and again until you felt nothing but your gentle heartbeat and the warmth of her hand in yours. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay. How was work?”

It was an attempt at a normal conversation, but you can tell there was something in her tone that told you she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask about it.

She took your long silence for discomfort when in reality you were trying, really trying to piece together the events that happened today in your head in order because some events seemed to be missing as if you skipped that part in your head.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer it. Half of the time I don’t know what I did either. I go home and sleep and just forget about everything completely.” She said, giving you an assuring squeeze.

“Believe me it’s okay.” You both let it go, and settled it with smiles on your lips, both soft looking, both understanding.

Later, with the T.V on and empty cardboard pizza box, you had your head nestled on her shoulder. Miranda made an effort to slip a few inches down so you could reach her shoulder. It was an instinct when your head started drifting closer to her arm. She didn’t mind it. She liked the comfort.

Talking with Miranda, you failed to feel the time passing by and eventually it was already time for bed.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be okay. You’re okay.” She whispered.

“Can we…can we do this again? I’ll be home early tomorrow and maybe we can have a nice dinner before you go to work.”

“That sounds good. Definitely good.” She mindlessly kissed your head and pulled you even much closer to her.

“Are you sleepy?”

“Mhmm.” Miranda couldn’t help the smile on her lips again as you threw your arm across her waist, hugging her. 

“You should get ready for bed.” her fingers mindlessly ran through your hair, eyes pinned on the T.V.

But then you shuffled, her eyes leaving the screen to look down at you. Seeing you pout like that, she couldn’t help but chuckle, “What’s wrong, love?”

“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight, Andy.” Damn it. Her heart wanted nothing more than to engulf you tight until you were physically trying to fight her for oxygen.

 “Would you like me to–” She was about to make the offer but you quickly interfered

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Please. If it’s okay then yes, Miranda. I would love that.”

Miranda could have been binge watching her favourite show while eating an unhealthy amount of ice cream in her own bed, or doing something else like swiping left and right on a dating app but then here she was, lying on your bed, and spooning you. 

That night, you almost fell instantly asleep, and no, it wasn’t due to exhaustion, it was her soothing warmth that brought you to a dreamless slumber, a perfectly peaceful slumber.

[st4r-bby]

not a party person

movie : scream 6

character : ethan landry

pairing : !shy but flirty ethan and !bold and flirty fem reader

summary : ethan bumps into you during a party after chad encourages him into asking you out, he gets to know you and you guys go upstairs. things escalate after that.

contains : lime (so smut but not smut yet), making out, neck kissing, whimpering, ethan being needy, !sub ethan, !dom reader.

"go talk to her!" chad whisper-yells to ethan, there's this wonderful girl, dressed as a vampire that ethan has his eyes on. "but.. she's too pretty! i could never." ethan whispers back. "and? look at you! if she doesn't fall for you, i don't know who will!" ethan nods, and looks back at her. she starts walking past them and chad pushes him into her. literally. ethan, who had a red drink in his hand, spills it on her ad stops them both from falling. "oh.." the girl mumbles. "i'm so sorry! do you need tissues? i have tissues..three exactly!" he rambles, "it's fine! and yeah, let me have one.." she reaches for the tissues and wipes off the red liquid.

"so uhm.. what's your name?' he manages to make casual conversation "y/n, you're ethan right?" his eyes widen a little bit, "yeah..that's me." she smiles. "i've heard so much about you!" he chuckles nervously, "oh.. that's interesting. by the way, what are you dressed up as?"she looks down at her costume, "i'm a vampire!" she smiles, showing off her fake fangs.

"wow, you must be the most bloodsucking worthy vampire i've ever seen." he flirts with her without noticing, but what is a harmless pick up line, turns into a nervous ramble. "i mean- because you're a vampire.. you know?" she laughs at his attempt, "yeah i know what you mean." they start talking for a long time and start to get on the topic about parties.

"i actually was forced to come here." she says, smiling. "really?" he asks., "yeah, i'm not a party person at all. i usually sit back and watch the drunk people either throw up on someone or do something incredibly stupid." he laughs, "so you like watching the demise of drunk people? challenge for you, let's try to find the drunkest person here. i have some ideas already in mind.." he starts looking for drunk people before hearing y/n laugh. "oh, definitely that guy!" she points to a guy spinning on the floor trying to impress a girl.

they start laughing at drunk people together before deciding they should go upstairs in a private room. alone. with drinks.

they start going upstairs, dodging people making out on the stairs with drinks in their hands. they make it to a private room and ethan locks the door behind them and starts leaning on it, opening a drink in his hand. while he's doing this, y/n really takes in his looks. his hands, his face, his hair, everything. he was so pretty.

y/n sits down on the bed and ethan follows soon after and they start flirting around. "you know you're really cool." he says, "is that so, pretty boy?" she replies, he gets flustered and tries to come up with something, but his brain fails him and he gets a boost of boldness. he leans in and his eyes flicker to her lips then back to her eyes. every ounce of boldness leaves quickly. "are you..okay with this?" she nods in response before they kiss.

ethan wasn't experienced with kissing but he wasn't so bad at it. they both got into the moment and start making out intensely. they break apart to catch a breath, "god you're good at that.." ethan whispers, "kissing people isn't the only thing i'm good at." after those words leave her lips, ethan gets flustered, but curious. "like what?" she smiles. "wanna find out?" his whole brain shuts down slightly and he nods.

she comes closer and sits on his thigh. "ready?" he nods. she starts kissing him first, before moving to his jaw then his neck slowly. he hasn't felt anything like this before and it sends major shivers down his spine. "god.." he mumbles, causing her to look up at him. "i've barely touched you yet, e." she smiles. she moves to his adams apple and nibbles it a little bit, causing him to let out a whimper. she bites and kisses all around his neck, leaving marks for the next day.

she stops for a little bit, causing ethan to whine. "y/n.. don't stop please..?" he looks at her with puppy dog eyes. "how could i say no?"

cliffhanger :)) i'm going to make another part obvi- i'm not evil. i'm also going to add a taglist so comment if you wanna be apart of it. and yes i posted twice in one day fight me about it-

[blindrapture]

july 8th.

so today's log is up. this one's The God Machine. the first Cipher of the story, although lore-wise it's number 5 of 7. this log isn't actually all that different from how it originally was, because I think its vibes were necessary. it's a wacky adventure, pretty purely. I did rewrite a lot of Jordan's thought processes, and all the dialogue, but the events are all as they originally were. ...well, maybe Cockroach Jesus didn't push Jordan off the fucking bridge, but that change made sense to me. plus it's funny. I'm happy with that whole scene.

this log, just. that vibe. it has that vibe. a free-wheeling adventure in a colorful landscape, with strange rules. two teenage kids getting through it by the seat of their pants. it's arguably the climax, the pinnacle, of Early Rapture. I didn't believe I was going to be able to match that vibe if I rewrote the log entirely. I think I handled it right.

as you saw, despite being on the Act Poster, the God Machine is really just a one-time thing, it's a boss battle. there will be more boss battles, with different bosses, but on the Act Poster the God Machine represents the whole idea of the boss fights. I think they're a central structural element of this. but for what it's worth, the bosses will get better and better. :) there is at least one that was completely rewritten, and turned into a more complex reference.

//////

it is here that I want to bring back a ramble I had written earlier, some weeks ago, which I posted but then deleted within an hour. it touched upon the "earliness" of Act 1, but it had much more to do with Act 2, which we hadn't reached yet. and it makes sense to me to bring it here instead, while we're still early in Act 2. because this ramble, in some ways, touched upon the Thesis of Act 2. and I want you to be aware of it and consider it as we move forward.

here it is.

//////

I really ought not to discredit the fact that Plenty Of People actually, like, completely love act 1. even the logs I'm most anxious about, such as "Tropes," have their fans. like, say, my girlfriend, who had not read Rapture and is following along the daily distribution. she, like me, had spent a lot of her adolescence reading an inordinate amount of Stephen King books, and so the kind of horror that act 1 goes for came across very well to her. it's chaos, it's vibes, it's bloodshed, it's taboo sides of human nature. I am grateful for that perspective and support.

in my out-of-story posts talking about rapture, I am trying to predict two different perspectives: 1) the fan who is Just Absolutely Into It, and 2) the cynic who wonders if the story will get good. maybe that's a little annoying of me to try and juggle. and that's a reason I don't make more ramble-posts than I currently do. but my bold assertion is that both perspectives will ultimately be satisfied with the story. I am courting both because Rapture is a broad tent. but the people who believe a story needs to "get good..." need to learn that they are only at the college level of Reading, they have not actually finished their quest to Learn To Read. the lowest level of Learning To Read says "a teenager's internet fic is AWESOME!" the middle level says "a teenager's internet fic needs work!" and the highest level says "a teenager's internet fic inherently contains the nuances of literature, by nature of the cumulative effect of the evolution of storytelling, and so it is AWESOME. 'quality' is just taste but mapped to a hierarchy; all stories are equally deep." rapture argues that Proof in its own slow way.

those who are on board with rapture act 1 tend to actually already understand that.

there is something to be said for how this can be interpreted as a generational thing. I am on the younger side of Millennials, but I was raised on the internet, raised by Media, raised by Corporate Franchises and encouraged (by fandom) to seek out non-corporate Individual Art. I always identified more with the children of the internet age, the children who are living guinea pigs for the idea that media can raise us when our parents won't. not that "Media Raised Me And I Resent It" like, say, Gen X. but "Media Raised Me, And What About It?" this is a mentality growing far more vocal thanks to generations of internet users, and all I ever see from The Cool Voice Of Pop Culture is condemnation of them, whether as a sign that "fandom is fucked," "gen z is cooked," or, the ultimate crime, "media is making people so much more Annoying." but I am with those kids. I understand what the fuck it means to be raised by media. I know that the genie won't go back in the bottle, and that condemnation is simply an admission of defeat, an assertion that those kids can be counted out. and that does nothing, as they were already counted out. do you really think that fandom offers a suitable sense of community? in theory it does. but have you seen the internet ever since the 2010s? to be raised by media is a symptom of isolation. but to be raised by media is itself a kind of isolation that shapes you into someone who knows how to speak as if in a community. it is not a substitute for a community; it is a relative of the community. to dismiss this, to refuse to engage with it, is in fact to leave yourself behind, to be unprepared for the nuances of the future.

What Is Media, Anthropologically? rapture is extremely interested in that question. because I am, and even at age 16 was, extremely interested in that question. and even Act 1 engages with the question. it is relatively safe for me to bring this up because rapture will not explicitly bring it up. but, by virtue of being authored by A Particular Human, rapture is about that.

Can Media Have Objective Quality? is a teenager's Internet Fic inherently not worth your time? or are you giving over to impatience because of the bias of discomfort, just like anyone would who thinks your favorites are boring? is sonic 06 even a bad video game? is ocarina of time even a good one? are these questions asinine manifestations of preference? or does every question translate a deeper network of meaning into the comfortable language of Engagement Of The Adequately Socialized?

thank you for your time.

[oven-thermometer]

Hello again, anon that asked for the Samael sfw ABC's. That was great, really loved it. Thought you hit the nail on the head. I don't know if you have head cannons for him with an s/o but if you do, what are they? How would he attempt to win the s/o over if they came with and relied on the Horsemen? I was just curious, your ABC's was so good it got me thinking.

a/n: hello again samael anon! im sorry this took me so long, i haven't gotten back into my writing groove yet and I'm having a tough time in my life rn, but I miss writing so thank you for requesting :))

Also! I made a small, very inaccurate Samael playlist on Spotify!

warnings: none rlly, not betad and I rushed this

when Samael wants something, he's going to get it regardless of the cost. whether he needs to court you with honeyed words or beautiful gifts he's going to lay down his best cards to win you over.

only later in the relationship does he realise he likes your personality, your eyes, your laugh and...when did your smile get so dazzling dammit?

and the thing is, like I said before, he will do anything to get what he wants - you smiling included.

your laugh, ringing as clear as bells along his castle's walls, wrings his nonexistent heart. he may be eternally naturally warm, but something about the way you actually tend to care about listening to him makes his chest bubble with warmth.

that's another thing - he does love when you talk, but he also loves it when you listen. everyday he has to give orders and speak to countless of his soldiers or allies or even enemies, although you are the only one he ever wants to speak to.

he could talk for hours about everything you're not necessarily supposed to know about and watch as your eyes light up as you actually take in what he has to say. that same damned fuzzy feeling is back.

similarly, he doesn't mind when you ramble on and on right next to his ear while sit on his shoulder. he could be trying to pour himself into his work and you'd be right there, speaking your mind.

he'll make noncommittal grunts or single-word comments along the lines of whatever you're talking about. When you quiet down he'll gladly nudge you with one of the horns protruding from the side of his face, encouraging you to continue.

he is bold and brash, so expects you to be the same :)

samael also loves it when you have to literally climb him like a jungle gym. it amuses him when you struggle to wiggle your way up his arm or around his head when you want to get somewhere.

he'll even purposely make it difficult for you by moving his arm over when you're trying to get a grip or shake his head a little too violently while you hang on for dear life.

although if you ever manage to fall off he'll catch you without a second thought, and scold you without one too.

if you found your way to samael while in the company of the horsemen, samael would be even more intrigued.

a human? with the horsemen? in his realm? and you haven't been eaten by a demon yet?? he's impressed.

he's incredibly curious and will interrogate the horsemen about why you're with them. when he learns from either them or you that you're one of the last living humans - his interest is piqued even more.

you are rare, and that makes you valuable. he has little want to kill you, but he would love to keep you around purely for the fact that you're one of the only humans that he's been interested in.

scared humans bore him, but you - you were confident in your protection and didn't seem to care that he was a demon king. how foolish.

if the horsemen need something from him, he'd probably trade it for conversations with you.

and that is largely how your relationship began! he would have you walk with him across his kingdom (with the horsemen nearby) and enquire about your life or humans in general.

he's naturally curious and wants to know all he can about a potential enemy or ally. that includes humans.

he doesn't feel remorseful when you tell him of how you came to be with the horsemen and how the apocalypse started - if his armies hadn't marched on earth, the angels would have taken over and likely stormed hell itself. and he couldn't have that.

when your voice cracks or the tears that threaten to spill cling to your lashes though, he remains quiet. if you start to resent him he's going to get nowhere.

from there your friendship grew and your time in his company multiplied.

[detective4blog]

I wrote something. There's no plot and maybe no continuing this idk yet but </3

@fuzzysoulyt the lads,,,,

Mycroft stared at the man sitting so casually in his office, already feeling tired. After fretting about his brother for hours, now he has another little worrying nuisance waiting in his safe haven.

"I could hear your footsteps." The man called out, louder than necessary. Maybe he hadn't figured out the door was still open, which...gave no advantage since his presence was already known. "Might as well pop in and say hi."

He took a deep breath and entered the room, sitting in his comfortable desk chair. The cocky grin that appeared on the blonde assassin's face signaled that he was in a good mood.

Well. He always seemed to be in a good mood whenever casually breaking and entering into various places to be a pest.

"I suppose it's an improvement since you aren't brandishing your weaponry about." Mycroft spoke, crossing his arms on the desk. That brought a laugh from the other man, an eyebrow raising.

"Concealin' them this time. You could frisk me to find out." That grin grew wider, head tilting to the side playfully.

Mycroft blinked, brow furrowing. He couldn't tell if the man was acting as natural or putting a serious effort into seducing him. Or whatever it was the man wanted; he didn't understand him.

A neutral response seemed best. Encouraging this behavior would end in a possible headache. "Charming of you, Moran."

His eyes darkened, as they always did whenever being called by his last name. "C'mon now, I've told you to call me Sebastian. Or you could call me yours."

Mycroft was slightly caught off guard by that, shaking his head slightly. "Bold today, I see." He muttered, closing his eyes. "What brought you here?"

Sebastian was silent at that question; either thinking or not wanting to answer. Could be both if this was a 'work visit'. "Just wanted to see your handsome face, Myc."

The older frowned at the nickname but knew it was pointless to comment on it. "Has your employer sent you to attempt to get information through your affection? Because it will not work, I'm afraid." He didn't smell alcohol in the air, so Sebastian wasn't drunk doing this.

A small blessing, he supposed.

Now it was the other man's turn to frown, eyes rolling. "Hmph. Is it such an outlandish thing for me to simply be interested in you?"

Mycroft stared, trying to pick up on any sarcasm or underlaying motives. It was strange to see that Sebastian was being entirely sincere.

"Excuse me for the doubt, you're as crafty as Moriarty."

He didn't mean it as a compliment but the man took it that way, eyes lighting up with joy. It was oddly enjoyable to see a positive look in the assassin's eyes. Maybe because it meant he likely was here for some strange social call.

There was a bit of silence after that, though it had no suspense about it. Just silence and staring at each other, ready for one to make a hostile move and rebuke it. Mycroft had no interest in attempting any conflict with Sebastian; he knew the man's strength in length. The list of suspected and known crimes was quite vast after all.

Sebastian sat up suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. "I brought a gift, actually. Left it in your car." He realized how that sentence could come off right after saying it. "It's not a bomb. I'm not the man sent for bombings. Too many wires for my taste...and also too personal."

He was rambling, which was new. Mycroft tilted his head. Was the second most dangerous man in London nervous? How intriguing. He made a note about it, storing it under 'Moran knowledge I didn't quite need'.

"I see. I won't ask how you gained access to the vehicle-"

"-Jim has a copy of the key."

Mycroft stared, massaging the side of his temple. "When?"

"Sometime during those tense and awkward meetings you two had. Never quite got the details of that."

That was likely for the better.

"I expect you to stay to see how your gift is received." The older tilted his head, standing up. "Though it would not be a surprise if you left either." He started towards the door, undoing his jacket.

The wolf whistle from Sebastian at the action was ignored, though it made heat rise to his face. He didn't acknowledge it and continued on to check what was left for him.

Out of all the things he expected, an umbrella wasn't quite it. It seemed to be custom made, from the handle to the fabric and it's design. A blue see through umbrella that dipped down lower to shield his face better.

A kind gift, though a bit out of character for Sebastian. He returned to the office to give his thanks, and attempt to get the man to leave. He was still sitting, legs crossed casually and hands behind his head.

"I appreciate the effort you went through to obtain this. Though forgive me if I think it's bugged with trackers or worse."

Sebastian's brow furrowed, a barking laughing roaring out. "Couldn't be bugged if I wanted it to be. It isn't a regular ol' umbrella either, Myc. You really think I'd get such a boring gift for such a beautifully eccentric man like yourself?"

Mycroft raised a brow, looking over the gift again. There seemed to be an extra button on the handle but other than that, it wasn't special in any way. The younger seemed to notice his curiosity, getting up and leaning down, guiding his hand to the third button.

When it was pressed, the handle felt loose compared to the rest of the device. Carefully he slid it away, revealing a rapier underneath. One with a floral engraving towards the hilt that turned to vines crawling upwards.

He couldn't figure out what to say in response. He had a weapon concealed in an umbrella already, but this was...different. The other was for self defense and not many knew of it. Sebastian included. The process of how this gift idea came the man's mind was unknown.

"It's sharp as hell, so be careful with it. If it wasn't so large, could be used for shaving." He seemed to think over his last sentence and a new idea came to mind.

"Providing someone who is not an ally with a weapon is perhaps your most interesting action thus far."

"At least it makes flirting less strange."

Sebastian was still leaned down slightly and rather close. His hand was still slightly holding Mycroft's. He hadn't noticed, distracted by the blade. Sliding the cover back into place and relieved to hear a click when it was put in place, he leaned it against the desk for now.

"I don't understand you sometimes, Sebastian." He murmured, retracting his hand to clasp it under his chin. The slip of his name made the assassin brighten like a sun.

"I could always help with that. For example, I think you'd look quite gorgeous in dark greens." Sebastian's accent was thickened with joy, catching Mycroft's attention.

His eyes darkened when being called by his last name, his accent became thicker with strong emotions, and he rambled when nervous. All things noted about the assassin that he didn't quite need to know.

"That doesn't quite aid me, but...thank you." Understanding Sebastian Moran wasn't a priority right now...and frankly, he believed that there was too much to begin to understand.

The man laughed, taking a step back. "I've overstayed my welcome. See you again soon, gorgeous."

Mycroft raised a brow at the nickname. "Do you call all government officials 'gorgeous' or am I a special case?" He asked as an attempt of a joke.

"Oh, you're a special cast. None of the other bastards are quite as enjoyable as you. Or, yaknow, gorgeous." Sebastian replied with a grin and a wink before heading out the door. The older watched him go, straining to hear the method of exit.

This time it was the front door. Bold, but not a surprise. It was Sebastian Moran after all.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I See Queen Mab Hath Been With You

Eddie Munson x OC, Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader, Fluff, Shakespeare, Pining

Lucy Henderson Character Bio, Lucy's Tag in General

Summary: Eddie proves he paid more attention in English than he lets on. OR, how Lucy discovered Eddie reciting Shakespeare is really hot.

Warning: This contains the entirety of the Queen Mab speech from Romeo and Juliet

Based on anon request: I’m feeling ridiculously soft for Eddie and Lucy rn. Any drabbles or one shots about a soft moment during the craziness or before the craziness of season 4?

A/N: I literally came up with this yesterday. I couldn't help it, the theater nerd is strong with me.

Word Count: 1.8K

    “Bullshit.”

    “Scouts honor.”

    “You were never in the scouts.”

    “Well what else am I supposed to swear on?”

    Lucy rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. She had been doing it all night and was starting to get good at it. 

    It was late. Their movie had ended and Lucy had dared to take Eddie up on his suggestion to just walk for a while. It wasn’t an unusual request. They did it all the time, but spending so much time alone with him was proving treacherous.

    Her little crush hadn’t faded since the end of the semester and they were almost to July. It felt like it was getting worse. 

    She thought some distance would do her some good, but Eddie had called her out of the blue and she couldn’t think of a good excuse not to. They were still friends. She couldn’t avoid him forever. A movie seemed innocent enough; dark, limited talking, safe. She had even managed to pay attention to what was on screen for most of it. Even still, his occasional commentary in her ear drove her to distraction. She honestly couldn’t remember anything of what they had just seen by the time they walked out. 

    If she had any sense she would have made up some excuse about work in the morning, but then he smiled and she knew she’d do just about anything he asked. 

    He kept the conversation going for the first stretch and eventually Lucy was able to relax enough to answer back. Nothing had changed. Eddie was still Eddie. She just had to remind herself of that and not get herself into a tizzy over a laugh or a look. 

    They had even managed to move past the subject of the movie to, of all things, Shakespeare. Somewhere in their rambles Lucy grumbled about wishing she could rent an apartment for three months to do summer stock in a big city or even just Shakespeare in the park. This prompted Eddie to make a rather bold claim pertaining to Mercutio and Queen Mab.   

    “Why would you even try to memorize the Queen Mab speech?” Lucy protested. 

    He shrugged. “It’s cool. I mean the rest of the play is gooey, lovey dovey shlock, but all the Mercutio stuff is awesome. Besides, I needed the extra credit.”

    “So you just up and performed in front of the entire class for a couple extra points?”

    He scoffed. “Please, if I did that my reputation would never recover. Mr. Kennedy just let me do it at lunch.” 

    Lucy’s lips pressed into a line. Mr. Kennedy was known for being one of the more reasonable teachers at Hawkins. She could see him offering to let Eddie perform privately if he felt like Eddie was otherwise putting in the effort. Still, she couldn’t help feeling like he was pulling her leg.

    Eddie caught her skeptical expression. “You don’t believe me.” 

    “I just don’t see it,” she admitted. 

    He nodded, his brows creasing in deep thought. It only took him a moment to come to a decision. “Okay.” 

    He took two long strides ahead before jumping up on a bench in front of an empty store front. He cleared his throat, placing a hand over his heart. 

    “I, Edward Munson, shall perform Shakespeare’s Queen Mab for the judgment and viewing pleasure of this illustrious audience,” he announced in the most obnoxious British accent he could muster as he gestured to the non-existent crowd. 

    Lucy let out a laugh, which only encouraged him.

    “Now I shall require some audience participation,” he said, peering down at her with a scrupulous eye, “assuming the audience has the play memorized as well.”

    “We do,” she assured. 

    “Excellent,” he grinned, dropping the accent while he was at it. “Now, let me see, how does it start?" He tapped his chin. "Romeo says, 'I dreampt a dream tonight'. Mercutio, 'And so did I'."

    Lucy smiled. "Well, what was yours?"

    Eddie grinned and something else seemed to shift inside him, like the turning of a dial. She'd seen it a handful of times when a campaign took on a particularly dramatic turn. A sudden tremble of anticipation shot through her.

    "That dreamers often lie," he answered.

    "In bed asleep while they do dream things true," she replied.

    "O," he crouched down, meeting her straight in the eye, "then I see Queen Mab hath been with you."

    He leaned in, his eyes glimmering with an unbalanced glee. “She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes, in shape no bigger than an agate-stone,” he raised his finger waving it in front of her eyes, “on the fore-finger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies, athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.”

    Ever so slowly he began to rise, his hands and arms animating every line.

    “Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, the cover of the wings of grasshoppers, the traces of the smallest spider's web, the collars of the moonshine's watery beams, her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love.”

    He drawled out the final word mockingly as he once again turned his attention toward her, sinking down to her level. 

     “O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,” he continued, pointing to her knees. “O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,” he took her hand, pinching the ends of her fingers.  “O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,” he brushed her lips, or, at least, came close enough the air of his movements tickled her skin. 

    Lucy could feel her cheeks heat at the gesture. She thought he might stop to comment, but he didn’t break his stride as his expression kept up that half crazed smile.  

    “Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.” He straightened up, waving his hand in front of his nose as if offended by the smell.

    “Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,” he went on, now using his own body as demonstration. “And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; and sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, then dreams, he of another benefice: sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats.”

    He clutched his neck and Lucy felt something else change. Still in character, but the glee was gone, replaced with a menace that made her spine straighten. 

    “Of breaches,” he continued, “ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear,” he slammed his hand behind him making the glass of the storefront vibrate, “at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted swears a prayer or two and sleeps again.” 

    His eyes widened, his body like a live wire as if about the fall of the edge. 

    “This is that very Mab, that plats the manes of horses in the night, and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled, much misfortune bodes,” he shouted. “This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage: This is she—” 

    "Peace, peace,” Lucy interjected, grabbing his hand. She didn’t know how she remembered the line, but was grateful she did. It would all feel a waste if she didn’t. “Mercutio, peace. Thou talk'st of nothing."

    "True,” he admitted, as if suddenly allowed to breathe again. He jumped down from the bench, never letting go of her hand as he looked down into her eyes. “I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind, who woos, even now the frozen bosom of the north, and, being angered, puffs away from thence, turning his side to the dew-dropping South."

    A silence fell then, not that Lucy notice for the thundering of her heart in her ears. She felt like her whole body was shaking. He really needed to stop looking at her like that. 

    Suddenly he looked away and up to the ceiling. 

    "I think it's Benvolio after that," he said, speculatively. 

    "Yeah," Lucy said, breathlessly. "I think you're right."

    Eddie looked back down. Mercutio was gone and he was back to his usual teasing self. "Good?"

    "Good?" she repeated. "Eddie, that was…holy shit!”

    She covered her mouth with her hands in some vain attempt to hide her smile and surely obvious blush.  

    She could say a lot of things to say about his impromptu performance; amazing, transcendent, mind blowing, but the one she kept coming back to was hot.  It was very, very hot. She couldn’t for the life of her explain why, but it was just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen him do. 

    This was worse than when he ran lines with her for As You Like It.  New rule going forward, never let Eddie Munson perform Shakespeare. It was bad for her health.

    It didn’t help that he was grinning at her now with the most adorably proud expression. 

    “Think I earned that extra credit then?” he teased.

    “I think you deserve a full ride to Julliard.”

    He laughed. She couldn’t be sure, but she could have sworn his cheeks were slightly pink. 

    “Seriously, that was incredible,” she continued. “Why haven’t you auditioned before? You would be amazing.” 

    He waved her off. “Oh c’mon Henderson, you know the rules. Seniors take priority. If I join now they’d have to commit to a one man show. Wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you.” 

    “You should still give it a shot,” she insisted. “I think you’d fit right in.” 

“Yeah?”

    Lucy felt her stomach flip. The look in those beautiful brown eyes was so soft it made her melt. This was why she had been avoiding him. All it took was one innocent look and she was a goner. How did people handle this? 

    “Yeah,” she said, glancing away. “I mean, unless you’re still worried about your reputation.” 

    He snorted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he pushed them both forward. 

    “How about this, after you’ve made your spectacular Broadway debut and if I’m not busy performing at The Garden, drop me a line. I’d be happy to do a reading.” 

    She nodded along.  “You’ll be my first call.” 

    They continued on like that for a little while, speaking of dreams as if they would someday be reality.  Lucy hoped they would and that maybe, someday, she’d be able to tell Eddie exactly how he fit into hers.

[eddiemxnsons]

𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐒 — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

— 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie is determined to play her the new metallica song, even if he does get distracted by the most menial things about her

— 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x female!reader (established relationship)

— 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, sexual innuendos

And then there she was, potentially an equally amusing sight, cheeks rosy from the brace of the early spring evening air as she had rode her bike against it for the ten miles between Eddie’s trailer and her home. Her h/c hair was wind-tousled, tongue poking out of the curve of her lip in an inconspicuous endeavor to settle her elevated heart rate; sure, she was a decently active individual, having been at track practice for the entirety of that Saturday, and the adrenaline of Eddie screaming over the phone that he had 9-1-1 had encouraged her fierce pedaling the string of ten miles, but now that epinephrine was wading into a dull ache throughout her limbs as she stood there.

Yet, the earnest glint in his broad doe eyes made her sideline whatever listless anchor yanked at her extremities. She’d be a bitch to ruin it with her grouses about his misuse of their 9-1-1 code.

“I’ve been analyzing it, note for note, lyric for lyric, like a damn psychopath — all day,” he ventured further into the ramble, round cheeks flamed red as the flannel that was haphazardly knotted around his waist, and over a wrinkled pair of gray sweatpants. A look her mind would’ve gone astray with if she hadn’t minded her priorities at that moment.

Eddie then padded quickly over to his guitar, the instrument residing amidst the folds of disordered sheets as he had placed it aside when she had entered his room fifteen minutes prior. In a fluid movement, he was propped on the cushioned edge of the twin mattress, red and black hued guitar straddled on the subtle bounce of his legs, the curve of his rings flashing with the luster of his desk lamp as he patted the spot alongside him for her.

The cotton of his Hellfire shirt wandered across the wool of her sweater as she settled beside him, their shoulders resting comfortably against one another.

His calloused fingers then poised themselves on the arrangement of strings, deliberate and meticulous in accordance with the notes that he had scrawled in a composition notebook that was tucked beneath his right thigh.

A,E,A,E,G,E,F,E — four times. Riff ‘A’ is next.

The remainder of slapdash notes were obscured by the crease of his sweatpants, only in visibility to his peripheral and not to her own as she angled her head against his shoulder, his dainty wisps of his brown ringlets moving freely across her forehead. One of her palms shifted to his tousle of shadowy brown hair, tugging lightly at the frayed ends, noting how his earnestness stuttered fleetingly within his chest.

He tutted then, a smirk replacing his subtle pout of concentration. “Comfortable, sweetheart?”

Y/N briefly shook her head to get his hair away from the cusp of her eyelashes before pivoting her chin on the round of his shoulder to peer up at him, “You talking to me or the guitar? Be honest.”

Eddie’s bold, umber eyes fluidly met her own, almost amused.

“I dunno…she doesn’t quite give me as much backtalk as you do,” he chided with a curl of a smirk, only for her to scuff the rear of his head with the heel of her palm to silence his insolence- more or less attesting to his point.

“Ow! You said to be honest - and what sort of healthy relationship would this be without pure and unadulterated honesty?” his bottom lip dipped into a faint frown, angling his head to the side vaguely.

She rolled her eyes, though the slight chuckle that spurted from her lips deceived the gesture, “Eds, ‘pure’ and ‘unadulterated’ are the same thing.”

With the assurance that his guitar was fairly placed between his legs, he ventured a hand towards the contour of her thigh, a spring in his fingers as they drummed against the muscle. He groaned slightly, “Jesus, you got a thesaurus in your back pocket or something? Spare me and do remember that I didn’t actually pass English class.”

A dense proximity was between them now, a certain sensory overload for both, him facing her with his eyes sparkling with mischief.

And the rather cadenced dance of his fingers over the washed denim of her pants was enough to make her somewhat dizzy, a content sigh bobbing in a lump within her throat, one that her response wriggled past — scarcely.

“So…was this 9-1-1 about the song or something else?” she chided, aware when his pupils dilated after a drawn moment of silence.

The fleeting mention of the Metallica record, one that still breezed dimly out of his player on his shelf, was enough to burst some recollection beneath his gaze, a glint of ‘oh, yeah’. The song had evidently seeped within an esoteric crack in his mind within moments.

“You’re so easily distracted,” Y/N hummed, placing her palm on his cheek, her thumb discreetly skimming the faint line of exhaustion beneath his eye.

“It’s your fault,” he partially whined, only after sparing a cursory kiss to the ridge of the pulse point on her wrist.

“Yeah, I’m totally alluring in my sweater and Mom jeans,” she mused, patting his cheek teasingly before idly placing her hands within the depth of her lap.

Eddie clicked his tongue behind his teeth - a rather teasing sound when paired with the subtle smirk playing on his lips, and he begrudgingly poised his hands on the Warlock propped in his own lap, “You got me at Mom jeans, baby.”

The gold of the desk’s lamp fluttered across her delicate features as he cast an earnest sidelong glimpse towards her, the light nearly playful amidst the sheen of rouge that sunk in her cheeks as she elbowed him fondly, “Just play the song, horndog.”

A theatrical exhale huffed out from the gaunt space offered by the bow of his smirk, which wilted into a melodramatic frown, “So bossy.”

He plucked his revered guitar pick from the oak rim of his nightstand, the spherical plastic piece fixed between his teeth, poking out at the corner of his mouth as he wriggled out the notebook from beneath him.

“Now,” Eddie started, voice vaguely tossed with a strain in his endeavor to steady the pick whilst his right hand ransacked his sheets for his discarded pencil, “I will play this song…only if I’m promised an encore.”

A flippant wink emphasized the innuendo that strung beneath his words, and a swift warmth of fluster extended its tendrils up her neck.

“I am giving you a free and personal show, after all,” he pleaded his desires further, releasing the pick from between the grit of his teeth, teasing it over the thin strings, “My generosity is conditional, you know.”

“You’re ridiculously relentless,” Y/N laughed dryly, easing off his mattress in a fluid movement, a proper distance being settled as she shuffled backwards. Her hands then subside to the slant of her hips, assured that he was observing as her fingers tinkered with the denim fringe of her pants. She then nodded as if to spur him to play with a rather evident beckoning of a challenge in her stare, “Go on.” She knew exactly what she was doing.

His euphoric brain was an electrical storm, lightning striking with tidal waves of desire, adoration, and longing amidst his neurons and the psychological influence of his early afternoon dabbling of Purple Kush. All at how the hem of her periwinkle sweater was scrunched with a flashed reveal of her hip bone. How she stared at him with fire and gold in her eyes.

He was whipped.

And therefore the Metallica song exhausted within the obscurities of a mind entirely keen on the girl standing in his room.

“Fuck it,” he murmured, discreet in his forgoing of his Warlock to a residence within disheveled sheets, yet earnest in his curt strides towards her, nearly tripping in his haste.

Her mouth drew apart to challenge him, yet it was a cumbersome gesture as his own mouth came onto hers, stifling every ounce of stubbornness to a harboring on her tongue. The hairs on the nape of her neck shocked straight with the flashes of content brilliant in her mind as she nudged him in the vicinity of his mattress once more with hands at his clavicle.

By some fortune, their lopsided steps eluded the sundry items askew across the plush of the bedroom’s carpet, the rear curve of his knees nearly buckling against the margin of the bed. Yet, it was ultimately her that was plunked onto it as he had promptly spun her about at the hips, a subdued oomph ambling from her lips from the ardent encouragement onto the mattress. She had ultimately been forsaken by him to be a broad-eyed, breathless disaster in the humbleness of moonlight that dribbled through his shades as she barely resolved herself on the edge of the cushion.

“No personal show?” Y/N exhaled, voice far more labored than she anticipated it to be.

“I decided to skip to the encore,” he shrugged, his eyes - copper against honey in the moonlight - greeting his old companion of mischief as he eased himself into a hover over her, arms caging her in, “I gotta keep practicing anyway. Can’t go humiliating myself.”

Her fingers decisively strode up his clothed navel, his breath falling with a stutter as all he could fixate on was the sensation of her fingers as they flexed and trailed over his Hellfire shirt.

“I dunno - I think your ego could use a little humbling,” she murmured with a teasing tilt of her head, fingertip meticulously tracing the contour of the devil embellished on the white fabric.

His own fingertip fiddled with the wool fringe of her sweater and at the amiss strands that dangled from their stitches, “There’s no better time than the present, sweetheart.”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙎𝙐𝘾𝙆 & 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙒 ☆ 𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

∘ request: 

goddamn your writing is so good 🥵 any chance you’d be able to write something with sapnap where you’re both at a party and know each other through friends but not well and you’re both a bit tipsy and he just can’t control himself and drags you into a bathroom? kinda fluffy where there’s lots of kissing but also desperate and accidentally rough (because the idea of someone wanting me so much that they lose control is a major thing of mine)

∘ pairing: sapnap x fm!reader

∘ warnings: nsfw (18+),  party scene, drinking, crude language

∘ links: ao3

∘ word count: ~2000

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I literally have the exact same thing so i think we’re soulmates or something. I hope you enjoy!

For the duration of the day, you’d been waiting for this moment. Your hair tangling amongst itself as you danced to the music with a group of your friends was almost a baptism for you. No longer were you restricted into your business casual attire and socially acceptable behavior. Now you were free to forget your name and responsibilities as mashups of different genres of heavily bass boosted music pulsed in your ears.

The large house was swelling with people, melding together as if their lives depended on the superficial human connection the beat could bring them. Many of them you recognized from some of your lectures; it had been a day where your classmates had planned a party for someone’s birthday. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know or care whose party it was, you were just happy to have an excuse not to study.

You’d already lost one of your rings and your clothes were sticking to your body from the layer of sweat glistening against your skin, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. As cliché as it sounded, going to random college parties had equated to your own kind of religion. These senseless addresses were homes to a different kind of worship, but one you had quickly become devoted to. The smell of another girl’s perfume rubbing off on you and the nameless identity of the boy that offered you hard liquor were your new sacraments.

As the song died out, beginning a new string of beats to thunder around the room, you found yourself out of breath. You gestured to your friends that you were refilling your drink, but really you were in search of air that was a bit fresher. You wove through the heavy crowd, ending up in the kitchen and beelining for the fridge. There was a small group of boys standing around the keg, one of them filling his cup as they discussed something a few of them were getting heated about.

You tucked a cold water bottle against your side and grabbed a clean solo cup. As you got closer, you would hear what they were talking about. “I don’t know how you don’t remember that. It was like a big thing a few years ago?” One of them grumbled as his eyes narrowed at the liquid streaming into his cup.

“Sorry, Nick. I forgot they were selling kids on eBay. I honestly don’t see-” They continued on into overlapping ramblings that you couldn’t help but laugh at. One of them, that had been referred to as Nick, looked almost too familiar to you. Yet as you stood there, you couldn’t remember even if your life depended on it.

Nick’s eyes drifted to you as if just realizing you were standing there. “Sorry, do you refill?” He asked, mustering a somewhat shy smile. You snapped out of your train of thought, handing your cup to him.

“I didn’t mean to seem like a creepy, sorry,” you stated, sending him an awkward laugh. His lips parted in a smile. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, probably just from the weather earlier in the day. You weren’t sure if it was your slight buzz or the close proximity, but God, he looked good to you.

“No, I was hogging. It was my bad,” he answered. You brushed your hair off of your warm forehead and he looked up at you from what he was doing, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I think I know you from somewhere,” he mumbled before something clicked behind his eyes as he handed you your cup back. “Oh, you’re Clay’s friend, right? I’m his roommate, Nick.” At his words, your brain clouded with embarrassment as memories of him finally fled your brain.

You smirked slightly. “Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look…” You paused for a second. Where were you going with this statement? Hotter? “Grown-up,” you wheezed, making him chuckle again. “- I mean, since freshman year English, I guess.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting not to grin wider. “Yeah, you look… grown-up too,” he offered, sending you a slight smirk. “It’s weird how close you and Dream are and I never see you around anymore,” he continued.

You chuckled a bit, wetting your lips. “Yeah, I told Clay I had a crush on you and he kicked me out,” you joshed, making him laugh. For as quiet as you remembered him being, you were shocked he was engaging with you in the way he was. Maybe it was just the atmosphere and the alcohol that had him loosened up. Whatever it was, you found yourself partnering with him in beer pong and spending most of the night at each other's side.

You sat closely to him on a couch in one of the several living rooms, your heads set close together as you listened to what he was saying over the music. “Hey, you too found each other,” a deep voice bounded, making you jump slightly, almost spilling your drink on Nick. Clay plopped down on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your section of couch to tug on Nick’s ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me Nick was a stud now?” you joked, slightly cringing about how bold you sounded. Nick chuckled at your words, swatting Clay’s hand away from him and taking another sip from his cup.

Clay setted further into the spot beside you. “You guys wanna play ‘suck and blow’?” He stated, more to the group of people around you guys. You furrowed your brows at him, almost wanting to roll your eyes at Clay’s blatant mission to set you and Nick up together. But who were you to avoid his attempts.

The card was passed successfully around the group, until it got to Clay, whose breath you could practically feel on the other side of the thick paper. You turned to give it to Nick but dropped it at the last second, making his lips press against yours. It was almost like he was expecting it because he was utterly calm at your action, nearing leaning in on his own accord. There were cat-calling noises made from the group as the kiss ended briefly. “Ope, looks like you guys are gonna have to leave the circle,” Clay stated with an almost sing-song tone in his voice. You were thankful that you had turned towards Clay enough that Nick couldn’t see your jokingly scornful look.

“Well, that’s just too bad. We were so good at this,” Nick chided as the two of you stood to leave. You ruffled Clay’s hair as the two of you left, following Nick into another room. “Would you want to… go somewhere quiet?” Nick asked, his eyes flashing to yours. Your eyebrow perked in his direction before you wordlessly slipped your hand into his.

You found yourself in the bathroom, Nick's hands settling on your hips as he pressed his lips against yours. You let out a sharp moan as he ground his hips against yours, yearning for more friction. Your fingers dug into his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth, hungry for your taste. His breath was like a drug for you as he groaned into your mouth, moving against you.

His lips left your mouth but only to caress your jaw before settling against your neck, sucking on the skin with a slight sting. You tilted your head back, giving him more access to you before wrapping a leg around him, begging him to go further with you. He chuckled at your neediness, his warm breath fanning over your neck. He tugged the strap of your dress down your arm, pressing his lips against the newly exposed skin, grinding against you. The taste of cheap beer passed between the two of you.

One of his hands slipped beneath your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against his jeans, encouraging you to ride his thigh. "I want you," he moaned unevenly in your ear, sending heat straight to your core. You wanted him to completely ruin you, to show you what was hiding beneath the surface of his reserved nice guy barrier.

You answered his words by attending to his zipper, slipping your hands into his jeans and stroking him against his boxers. A moan broke through his teeth, his lips crashing against yours as you egged him on. His erection grew stronger with each of your movements. You could tell he was becoming desperate to ravage you with each of his restrained breaths.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, your fingers pushing his pants to the ground as he pressed himself against you. He pushed your underwear aside, answering your silent pleas. Pressing his lips against your neck again, he drove himself into you, earning a blissed out moan from you. A breath of pleasure and relief escaped his chest at the feeling of you instantly tightening around him.

He thrusted into you, as if testing the waters as you moaned his name against his skin. One of your arms tightened around his shoulder as he held you in place, setting his pace. The mix of alcohol and pleasure you were feeling with each snap of his hips was sending your head reeling. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned against his lips, sending him to speed up his movements. A sense of roughness came out in him as he pounded into you harder, and you were eating it up. You fingers dug into his hair, pulling tightly to earn a groan from him.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, raking against his back, urging him to use you like a flashlight. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, voice husky with some type of forced restraint as if he wouldn't let it come out evenly. You tightened around him, moving in what little space he'd given you to grind against him.

With that, he began to thrust into you harder, as if he was finally giving into whatever he was attempting to hold back. His teeth dug into your shoulder with each pulsing movement, driving himself deeper into you. Ungodly moans left your lips, only confirming his actions as he hungrily chased his high, dragging you with him.

His paces became less rhythmic and more sloppy as he gripped onto you, your fingers digging into his skin as you felt your orgasm was just within reach. You tightened your leg around him, your head swimming as he began to hit your sweet spot repeatedly. With a nearly choked out moan of his name, your body flushed with relief, your climax ripping through you. Nick succumbed to his own as if he'd been waiting for you, the two of you leaning against each other for support as you rode out your highs.

After you caught your breath, you reapplied a layer of lipstick, eyeing Nick through the reflection of the mirror as he stood behind you, straightened his clothes. "Let's not tell Clay about this, purely because he'll make it weird," you stated, turning and evening out his hoodie strings.

He chuckled slightly. "Oh, I agree completely. Don't tell Clay." His sly smirk nearly drew you in as you pressed your lips against his again, a promise that you'd definitely be seeing each other again.

[spencersawkward]

*concussions and confessions//spencer reid*

summary: a near-death experience encourages Spencer to admit his feelings for his best friend, even at the risk of ruining their relationship.

pairing: Fem!Reader/Spencer

content warnings: oh boy there’s a lot. i’ll start with the nonsexual ones-- choking (again, not sexual), blunt force, violence, some angst. ok time for the fun ones-- unprotected penetrative sex, masturbation, sex dream, oral (male receiving), slight dirty talk, creampie. lmk if there are more that i missed! 

word count: 5.4k

A/N: hi omg so i actually combined two requests for this bc i loved the concepts and i didn't wanna do one and not the other. i hope i do both of these justice hehe thanks for sending them! also sorry if the unsub scene sucks-- i don’t usually write that way, so i tried my best. 

request(s): omg if you need ideas for baby spence can you do a one shot where he's the girls best friend (she's not in the bau) and they are in love but neither of them admit it and he is really hurt in a case or almost dies or something traumatic and only when he gets back they confess their love... and then have sex 😏 ive been thinking about this concept alot 😌

can’t stop thinking about baby spencer (like s2-s4) & his girl best friend losing their virginity to each other... can you write a one shot on this please?

masterlist

"when are you coming back?" you ask over the line. you're lying on your bed, legs in the air while you talk to your best friend. it's been a long day for you, but a longer day for him. it's always a longer day for him. 

"you know that I don't know the answer to that question." Spencer's voice is soft as he attempts to keep quiet. he's two hours ahead and, despite the fact that you're both night owls, the person he's rooming with tonight isn't. 

"I know, but there's this Korean film festival that starts tomorrow and I was hoping you would be here to translate for me." you examine your nails while you talk. Spencer lets out a disappointed sigh. 

it's only been a few days since he left, but it's been a week since you last saw him and it feels like a long time. whenever he's not at work, you two are joined at the hip. ever since you first met a few years back at a poetry convention in DC, it feels like he's the only person who understands you. which is weird, because you couldn't be more different as individuals. 

"you should bring one of your other friends." 

"bold of you to assume I have other friends." you joke. Spencer chuckles to himself and your heart flutters. you love his laugh more than anything in the world. 

"I thought that was just me." he says. 

"oh, it is just you," you reply flatly. "I was trying to make you feel better."

you can practically feel Spencer smiling through the phone. although you tease him pretty frequently, he's sometimes able to get in his own shots. it's what makes your friendship interesting.

"hey," you add before he can say anything more. "how's the case going?" 

Spence starts to detail the whole thing, and you listen intently, the timbre and smoothness of his voice comforting you as you slip beneath the covers of your bed. you like the way he enunciates his words, his strange manner of speaking, because it lulls you to sleep. 

you know he's talking about horrible things, but something about the sound comforts you deeply. when he's not around, you're wishing you had it bottled up. 

he lays out their profile as it stands, and you fall silent. it's getting pretty late and you have to be up early for work tomorrow, so it would be a good idea to get some real rest. plus, Spencer needs to sleep, too-- even though he probably won't. 

you remember times when he'd call you at three in the morning, his mind whirring as he played chess against himself and asked if you wanted to hang out so he could teach you how. you hate chess, but of course you said yes; you'd been head over heels with him since your first conversation.

eventually, you feel yourself start to drift off. you don't even really know what he's saying; all of it blends together until you're laying there, one cheek pressed to the pillow and the receiver against the other. 

"Y/N?" he says your name abruptly and your eyes, which have been slowly drawing shut this whole time, fly open. 

"yeah?" 

"go to bed."

"what? no, I'll wait until you're done." you shift. 

"I could hear your breathing change." 

"then why didn't you just hang up?" you giggle. he goes silent for a moment and you wonder if he cut out, but then he responds. 

"I wanted to say goodnight." 

it's like a cage of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach. you wrinkle your nose as you get nervous. god, you miss him. things would be so much better if he was back. not like he'd be in your bed even if he was, though.  

"then say goodnight." you prod. he lets out an awkward little sound. 

"now I can't because you made it weird." 

"how did I make it weird?" 

"I don't know, you just did." he's so clumsy, your face heats up. you want to keep talking like this until morning.

"goodnight, Spence," the words sound reluctant, but you try to cover it up by teasing him further. "see, was that so bad?" 

"oh my god, Y/N--" he tries to sound exasperated. 

"no goodnight back?" you raise an eyebrow even though he can't see you right now.  

a lengthy silence again. "goodnight."

"that's what I thought." before he can protest, you end the call, settle into the covers. moonlight beams on the walls of your apartment, and you start to think about your best friend. about all the nights spent curled up on his couch with two bowls of popcorn, his ramblings about how much he loves his job and him asking about yours. 

he's a great listener. every time you talk, he nods along like he's hanging off every word. it's nice to feel heard that way, to have someone care. and he's fun to hang out with, too. you've met his team before and they all talk about how hard it is to get him to go out, but they don't see the same side of him that you do. 

Spencer is nerdy and cute and kind and sensitive. he makes you feel special. he's everything that you've ever wanted in a person. but it's not like it would matter, anyway. he hasn't really shown interest in any girls-- much less you. even if he did, you're scared of ruining the friendship. 

the fallout of not having him around at all... it would destroy you. and something, even if it's torturous, is better than nothing. 

which is why, as you sit there and remember being around him, your fingertips creep below the comforter. a familiar routine, they move over your stomach, until they reach the waistband of your panties. for a moment, you hesitate. it's wrong. he's your best friend. but he doesn't need to know that this is how you handle the ache he puts between your legs. 

as your index finger slides down your slit, you feel the wetness already forming. Spencer's hands, his mouth. the thought of his lips pressed to yours while he fucks you, holding your body like it's delicate. 

you don't know exactly how it would feel because you've never had sex, but you want to find out with him. he's never done it, either. you don't care; all you need is to have him inside of you, to see how he looks when he's on the edge. 

your mind wanders to the image of him parting your legs and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. the sensation of him filling you up. falling apart. 

you slide a finger inside, gasping at the way your walls tighten and your imagination runs wild. that tongue, lapping and making you squirm, your fingers twisted in his soft hair. he's so sweet; his attentiveness would make your legs shake. you want to look into his eyes while he does it. 

you add a second finger, curl them and brush over the most sensitive part. the pressure of his hips grinding into yours. your body curves up at the way you start to finger yourself, the other hand stimulating your clit. it's almost overwhelming, the way his name tumbles from your lips over and over. 

you've never wanted someone so badly in your life; he belongs in your bloodstream. the sounds he would make in your ear before finally cumming and collapsing on top of you, spent. you want to tire him out and then do it all over again. 

you're greedy on the edge, indulging in every single image of him you can conjure up, every dirty thing you'd say. finally, you feel yourself fall, the orgasm intense as you bite back groans of pleasure and work through the high. it's amazing. 

you sit there, panting, feeling your heart beat in your chest. some things can't leave your head, they're so sinful. and the worst part is that you don't regret it in the slightest. 

...

Spencer can feel his pulse practically leaping against his throat as he makes his way through the empty warehouse. he should have waited for backup; he knows he should have, but it's too late now to go back and change things. 

he clutches his gun, pointing it in front of him while his eyes flicker wildly across the space. he's moving between enormous aisles stuffed with crates, not knowing who else is around. they said the unsub brought his newest victim here-- Spencer came first because was closest to the site-- but he hears nothing aside from the uneven rhythm of his own breath. 

every step is careful. he's thinking about how close the rest of the team must be. based on their distance from the station, they should arrive within six minutes-- but that doesn't account for the time it takes to put on their bulletproof vests, to get to their cars. 

truthfully, he doesn't know if he's going to have to do this on his own. and that scares him the most. 

there's no point in worrying. he swallows the lump in his throat and presses his back to one of the crates. there's a scraping noise a ways off that causes him to freeze. because of the echoes of the warehouse, the origin is indiscernible. he doesn't breathe, eyes darting between each of the openings into the aisle. 

after a minute of pure silence, he peels himself away and turns to head back out. 

and that's when the sound of wood cracking against bone startles him; he hears it before he feels it, but it's obvious when he crumples to the floor. like knife points pressing into his brain at all angles, the shooting agony in his skull. 

he starts to clutch at his head, only to be yanked off the ground by a meaty hand and thrown against the side of a crate. 

"fucking feds." the guy is enormous. gargantuan. he keeps his arm across Reid's throat, pressing down enough to restrict his airway. but Spencer can't even concentrate on the guy's face further than its rough outlines. his vision is going in and out, fuzzy at the edges from the blow to his head. 

he definitely has a concussion. 

"I..." he trails off. the huge FBI logo on his vest is a dead giveaway. 

"all alone?" the unsub has breath like rotten fish, spits each word into his face. "I won't even need my gun." 

Spencer's head lolls to the side and he catches sight of his own weapon lying helplessly a few feet away. there's no way he could get to it in time, even if he got out of this guy's chokehold. 

he tries to think of a way to talk himself out of this; after all, their profile said he'd be more susceptible to negotiation, but that's kind of hard to do with someone's forearm slammed against your trachea. he presses harder and Spencer sees stars. his glasses hang almost off the bridge of his nose, centimeters from falling to the floor. 

he starts to realize that he's going to die, defenseless and alone, in a warehouse. at the hands of a man who kills women because his Viagra doesn't work. but this doesn't incite the kind of panic Spencer always predicted he'd feel. the lack of oxygen in his brain causes him to go delirious. 

he misses home. his mom and his old house, even though things were hard. he misses Y/N, his team members. he wishes his team was here; he should have waited for them. he should have told Y/N how he feels. now she's never going to know. 

Reid is so out of it, he doesn't even notice the pressure being relieved from his throat until he collapses on the ground. the unsub falls, too, his cheek smashed by the force of the abandoned wooden plank. 

it's hard to tell what's happening until Reid lifts his head to see Morgan standing above him, preparing to handcuff the criminal.

"kid," Spencer never thought he'd be so glad to hear his voice. "what happened?"

...

you practically crash into Spencer's apartment the next evening, flinging your body through the front door with your spare key. 

"Spence?" you call out from the entryway. everything still looks the same, but when his colleague, Penelope, called you today to tell you that Reid had gotten a concussion after a run-in with an unsub, you rushed here as soon as you could. 

"in here." he calls from his bedroom. you don't hesitate, your feet carrying you there. you've been anxious all day; he didn't call last night or even text like usual. you were on the verge of panicking when Penelope called. 

of course, you knew that was the risk with Spencer. he knew the risk, too. his life would always be in the balance when it came to the cases, but he'd gone through so many at this point, you weren't thinking about it. if you did, you wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. 

when you walk in, the first thing you see is Spencer laying in bed in his silk pjs. there's a stack of unread books on his bedside table. his glasses sit on top. he's just laying there with his eyes closed. 

"oh my god." you mutter, dropping your bag on the floor and walking over. he opens his eyes with a slight smile. there's a purple bruise forming across his throat, light but definitely there.  

"hi." 

"what the fuck happened?" you ask the question you've been wondering the whole way here. 

"he hit me with a plank." Spencer explains, the phrase coming out like he's still confused about it. "I'm fine, just a mild concussion and a bruise because he choked me." 

you take a second to assess if he actually means that he's okay, or if he's trying not to worry you. he stares at your expression for a second. 

"Y/N, I'm really fine." 

"you don't look fine." you gesture to the fact that he's laying in bed. 

"my body is sore, but nothing's wrong with me. I just can't look at screens or read." this last part makes him much more melancholy, it seems. you reach down and ruffle his hair playfully. 

"sounds like a nightmare." 

"it is." he cracks up. 

"I'm glad you're okay." you sigh. your heart rate has slowed to a reasonable pace now that you know he's fine. Spencer gives a ghost of a smile, and when he pats the empty spot on the bed beside him, you kick off your shoes and climb over his body to sit down. "so... did you guys get him?" 

"the unsub?" he turns his head to look at you. something is in his eyes that you can't read. "yeah, he's in custody. we saved the girl he abducted, too." 

"well, aren't you a hero?" you grin, pinching his arm. 

"ow!" he flinches. "don't hurt the patient."

"oh, so now you're injured?" you giggle softly. his smile fades a bit, gaze trailing from your face to your legs. it isn't lustful or anything, more like he's taking in your existence. it still makes your heart flutter. 

"I wasn't really a hero, anyway," he sighs. "I got knocked down before I even found her." 

"oof." you wince. 

"yeah, it's sort of embarrassing. I went in by myself and--"

"you went by yourself?" you clarify, turning to face him. of course he did. 

"yeah." he avoids your gaze. 

"Spencer, I work in a stationery shop and I know you're supposed to wait for backup." you deadpan. he snorts, staring straight ahead at the wall. his hair is flat in the back from where he's been resting it against the headboard. 

"he would have hurt her if I had waited." he explains. your heart softens a bit at this. you know Spencer has a problem with saving people; sometimes he doesn't think things through. but you know that it's only because he cares. 

you smile gently, appreciating what a beautiful person he is. you don't understand how other people don't see him how you do. your hand reaches for his suddenly, and you find yourself snuggling into his shoulder. 

Spencer doesn't usually like touch, but he welcomes this, dropping his own head to rest on top of yours while you both stare at the wall. his silence feels heavy, more than it usually does, and you wonder what he's thinking. 

"I'm really glad you're okay, Spencer." your tone is low, like it's a secret. 

"you already said that." 

"shut up." 

"you care about me." he sing-songs with a smile, and you know he means it in a friendly way, but you don't care. it brings warmth to your cheeks. 

"whatever. you care about me, too." 

he lets out a slight chuckle. "when I started to black out, I thought of you." 

your heart leaps, even though the reason is pretty dark. "oh, yeah?"

"mhmm." he hums. 

"nobody's ever told me that they thought of me in their last moments of life before." you tease. there are so many things you'd like to say, but know you can't. he smells like himself and coffee beans, his skin warm beneath the silk of his pajamas. 

"I'd hope not."

"anything in particular?" you wonder aloud. 

"what?" you feel him tense beneath you, and that's how you know there's something he's not telling you. 

"were you thinking about anything in particular?" 

"someone's full of themselves." he jokes. you smack his arm.  

"humor me." more than anything, you want to hear his thoughts. you know you're reaching, but you don't care. 

"just..." he pauses, the next words coming out almost too quietly to hear. "things I never got to say to you." 

"like?" now you're intrigued. 

"no way." he laughs and you groan, turning and realizing that you've both sunk deeper onto the bed and are now practically lying down. 

"c'mon," you prod. you've flipped onto your side while you watch him, his eyes directed at the ceiling. "what if you'd actually died?" 

Spencer gives you a look, and you wish you could snap a picture of his face. the gentle features, the warmth in his eyes. he stares at you differently than before, and it makes your stomach flip again. "I, um." 

you start to trace your index absently down his forearm, where his sleeve has incidentally gotten rolled up. his skin is soft. you know that this isn't a friendly thing to do, but something inside you craves his touch right now. you almost lost him; you can't imagine how horrible that would be. 

"I wanted to say that I--" he gulps, muscles in his shoulder tight beneath your cheek. "well, I care about you, and I... I really love you." 

it's not the first time he's said it, obviously in a platonic sense. what affects you is that he's acting like it's a big deal. 

"I love you too, Spence." you smile softly. his chest rises and falls faster, his face tensed. 

"no, I mean--" he turns onto his side, using the action to distract from his own nervousness. he holds your gaze and you forget how to breathe as he speaks. every syllable is serious, but you note his fingers fidgeting at his side. "I'm in love with you." 

it's like all the air in the room has been sucked out. you swallow, unsure of how to react at first. you don't believe what you're hearing, simply because it doesn't make sense. you've been friends for a while, now, but Spencer has never made a move to ask you out or acted like he wanted anything more. 

your heart swells. 

"you're in love with me?" the words even feel surreal on your tongue. he takes it as rejection.

"I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry." Spencer rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, his expression turning to a cringe. he's about to sit up to hide the red in his cheeks, but you pull him back down by the shoulder. 

"not so fast, crazy boy." the corners of your mouth are turning up into a grin. you can't help it; every nerve in your body is alive. Spencer loves you. he feels the same way. 

when he sinks back down onto the mattress and sighs, preparing to say something that rescinds the statement to erase any awkwardness, you grab his face and turn it to yours. you don't kiss him, only force him to look. 

"I'm in love with you, too." 

his eyebrows fly up in surprise. "r-really?"

"yes." you nod. 

he takes a second to process this. you see about five different expressions pass over his face, each one reminding you of how earnest he is. and it's absolutely adorable. 

"well, that's good, isn't it?" he clarifies. you pretend to think on it. 

"I'd say so, yeah." 

he smiles. a genuine, rare one that makes your veins feel as if they're full of glitter. you're on Cloud 9. 

"can I kiss you?" you ask him quietly. he seems surprised at this, too, like he never thought you'd want that, but then nods eagerly. 

you close the gap between you on the bed, holding his jaw in one hand while the other rests on his forearm. your lips meet softly at first. he's cautious, scared of pushing you away. he hasn't kissed many people before. but he's good at it, letting you take the lead. 

there's no way to adequately describe kissing Spencer. every bone in your body turns to mush, immediately craving more contact. you slide your tongue across his full bottom lip, and he lets you in. his affection is the most loved you've ever felt. because sure, you haven't had sex, but you've kissed people before. 

never like this. 

one of his hands goes up to wrap around your forearm tenderly before he shifts to lie on his side. you wrap around each other, turning the kiss into a full-body embrace as you breathe in. you want more. your leg swings over his torso so you can pull yourself closer, and he groans into your mouth when your pelvis presses against his. 

the kiss gets more heated, his hands carefully but hungrily traveling down the curve of your waist. you flip so that you're straddling him without breaking any contact. 

you don't really think about the way your hips begin to rock against his, your pussy involuntarily working for friction. there are so many happy chemicals in your brain right now, you giggle against his mouth when his body bucks up into yours. he groans. 

"Y/N..." he breathes softly. his hands move from your waist to your thighs, afraid to dig his fingertips in. 

"what?" you sigh, licking over his bottom lip again. he moans at the way you keep grinding on his erection. 

"I wanna--" his eyelashes flutter when he gasps. "I wanna touch you." 

"do it." your palm is resting tenderly against his cheek. he responds by finally holding you down, sliding his body up a bit to grind against your center. you whine. "touch whatever you want, Spencer." 

his cock twitches in his pants and you push the hem of his shirt up while he uses one hand to massage your tits. the voracious, curious nature of his attention makes you sigh, touching his stomach. he feels perfect beneath you. 

soon you're grabbing at each other without any regard for grace. he's so horny, he's pawing at whatever he can while you do the same to him. the kissing gives way to straight panting while you look at each other. 

"can I suck your dick?" you whisper. Spencer's eyes widen. you've never seen him nod so fast. 

you press your mouth to his one more time before inching down his body, sucking on his clavicle, then his stomach. careful to avoid the purple marks on his neck. he watches you intently, memorizing the details of this moment for later. when you reach the waistband of his pants, you peek up. he strains against the material. 

your mouth drops open and you draw your tongue over the clothed bulge, maintaining eye contact. Spencer throws his head back. his voice is high. "oh my god, oh my god." 

you smirk, licking it again. he clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna c-cum if you don't--" he tries for words, but he's mewling and moving against your mouth. you pull at his pants, hooking your fingers in his boxers and bringing them down, too. 

Spencer bucks into the air when his cock hits his stomach. it's big, precum leaking helplessly out of the tip while he whines. you want him now. 

"wow." you smile. he stares at you, tensing his stomach as you wrap your hand around his length. he's trying to keep quiet, but as soon as you spit on it and start to pump him, his head falls back into the pillow. 

you draw your tongue up the underside, paying special attention to the veins, reveling in his reactions. he looks like he's ascending to heaven when you start to suck on the first couple inches.  

"o-oh, fuck..." he keeps moving his hips off the bed for more, so you sink down further onto him, hollowing your cheeks and moaning. "Y/N..." 

you groan in response, feeling yourself get wetter with every sound he makes. you can't believe this is happening, the way he threads his fingers loosely through your hair in an attempt to touch more of you.

he tries to keep his eyes open while you suck, but they squint with pleasure. he's a mess for you, shuddering gently when you take nearly all of him into your mouth. 

before he can cum, you pull your mouth off of him with a satisfying pop. Spencer moans. 

"was that okay?" you ask carefully. this is the extent of your sexual experience, and you want to do more with him, but you aren't sure how he feels. your best friend stares back at you like you've turned his world upside down. 

"y-yeah," he replies. his face is flushed. "definitely okay."

he's throbbing, occasionally twitching against his stomach as he waits for more stimulation. you eye him carefully. 

"what do you feel comfortable doing?" your voice is smooth. "we can stop now, if you'd like." 

"I--" he chokes on the word. "I don't wanna stop." 

"do you want to have sex?" you ask. Spencer bites his lip, whines. 

"mhmm." 

"I wanna do that, too," you breathe out, straightening up and pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, before getting to work on your shorts. you know you're practically dripping. he's been more vocal, but you feel like you're going to implode from the desire. "but I need to tell you something." 

"what?" he tugs your arm, coaxing you back to him and touching you greedily. you giggle as you kick your shorts and panties off somewhere in the room. both of you move like awkward teenagers. 

"I'm a virgin." you say. 

Spencer frowns. "really?" 

"yeah," you lick your lips. "so you need to be careful." 

"o-of course." he blushes, getting nervous again. "you know I'm a virgin too, right?"

"I know." you smile. he returns it sweetly, and the commotion of your bodies slows for a moment. you're so happy, you could cry. 

"what?" he breaks the comfortable silence. 

"I'm excited," you shrug. he's got his hands on your waist, rubbing his fingertips over your skin. then you remember something. "wait, are you allowed to have sex with your... injury?" 

"it's fine." he reaches up and kisses your throat with an urgency. 

"did the doctor say that?" your eyes roll while he sucks on your neck. he groans and pulls down on your waist so that your stomach presses against his cock. he ruts. 

"second opinion from me." he pants. you tap his cheek playfully, move up his body until your core brushes him. he whimpers when you reach between your bodies and grip his length in your hands. 

"you ready?" your voice is low. Spencer squeezes your thighs, eyes moving between your tits and your face. 

"yes." he sighs. you position it, slicking him in your pussy while he wraps an arm around your waist and moans for more. your chests are pressed together, looking into each other's eyes while you slide him into you. 

you have to go slow, the intrusion causing your jaw to drop. you don't breathe. he's got his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  

"Spencer." you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest when he's fully inside of you. his fingers rub patiently over your back. 

"are you okay?" his voice is laced with a moan, trying to resist thrusting. 

"yeah, just a second." you wiggle a little bit to test the boundaries. it hurts, but it also feels good. your clit is begging for more pressure, so you start to roll your hips. Reid moans loudly. 

"Y/N..." he whimpers. "don't stop." 

"you want more?" the need in his voice makes you hornier, and you increase the pace, despite the slight pain. you're so wet, he slides in and out without much effort. 

"so-- much more." he's gasping, hands on your thighs as he watches your naked body writhe on top of him. he's never been more aroused in his life, spurred on by your scent and form and the tightness that keeps clenching around his cock.

he understands why people love sex so much, now. he wants it every day, wants to fuck you in every position and pleasure you. the sounds you release in his ear, whines and praises, he would do anything for more. walk to the ends of the earth to feel you cum on his cock. 

his hand finds your ass, squeezes it. 

"this feel good, Spence? fucking your best friend?" you talk dirty and he twitches. you're always so sweet, the words coming out of your mouth for him are going to send the genius into a tailspin. 

"mhmm," he holds you down so that he can thrust up. speaking at all is a struggle with the way he's feeling. "perfect." 

you start to say something else, but he hits a certain angle and you let out a quiet yelp, hips jumping at the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum." 

Spencer gets a rush of relief because it's taking everything in him right now not to absolutely lose it inside your pussy. he's hanging on by a thread. "me, too." 

you use your position on top to stimulate yourself. both of you chase your orgasms roughly, the rhythm you created degenerating into clawing excitement. 

"cum inside me, Spencer." you beg him. it sounds like you would do anything to feel it, that sensation that you've never experience but have always imagined. and Spencer, his own head foggy with ecstasy, nods and opens his mouth to let out a loud groan. 

"Y/N, fuck fuck fuck-- I'm--" he shoots his load inside of you, rutting wildly and letting his head drop onto the pillow while he pants. you can feel it. strange, lovely jolts of his seed spreading. your hands, which have been resting on his shoulders, tighten and you reach your climax. you flutter around him, both of you still moving to ease the intensity of the high. 

it's remarkable. you're crying out, having the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. you never thought your first time would be like this. but you're glad it is, muscles tightening and releasing with the mixture of emotions. 

you collapse fully, him still inside. 

neither of you speaks. his heartbeat thuds against your ear, and you hold onto him like letting go would be the end of the world. you can't believe you could have lost him. you don't want to think about it. 

"sorry I came so fast." Spencer apologizes breathlessly. you can feel his cum dripping down your entrance when he slides out. 

"I don't care." you mumble. both of you stay there for a while, his heartbeat changing to a pace that reminds you of genuine excitement. like a hummingbird. 

"we can try again, sometime." he offers. you lift your head to rest your chin on his chest. his skin is flushed, pupils dilated, hair messy. such a pretty boy. 

"we should try multiple times." 

he gives you a cheerful smile, and everything starts to fall into place. you took each other's virginity. "Y/N?" 

he likes to say your name, and you love to hear it. "yes?" 

"are we dating?" the bluntness of the question makes you giggle. you don't hesitate. 

"yeah." 

“good.”

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm @xoxomgg​ 

[beenovel]

A Frankly Hilarious Misunderstanding

Pairing: Kili x gn!reader

Word count: 2,103 (.... I have nothing to say for myself)

Warnings: none, misunderstandings for the purposes of comedy, not angst

Summary: Some minor human/dwarf cultural differences lead to major confusion. (AKA Kili is a himbo that doesn’t understand human customs)

A/n: This was a random shower thought that made me laugh until I slipped and @claraofthepen encouraged me to write.

Thank you to @claraofthepen @elvish-sky and @messiambrandybuck for beta reading!! Y'all are the best <3

Brief background: Y/n and your brother (Will) are humans that Gandalf brought along on the quest. Don’t ask me why, the spooky old wizard is mysterious. In your culture, it’s traditional for the courter to ask a courtee’s older relative if they can court. This will be important later. Also, homophobia isn’t a thing because I said so.

-

You lowered yourself onto a log by the fire with a grateful sigh. After a long day of walking, the thought of a hot dinner and sleep (even on the hard ground) was a relief. Thorin had called for everyone to stop right as the sun neared the horizon. This meant you’d had enough light to set up for the night much faster than normal.

Kili sat down next to you. He smiled and despite your exhaustion, you returned the gesture on instinct.

“Here,” he said while handing you a bowl of soup. You knocked your shoulder against his in thanks.

You, Will, Fili, and Kili had become all but inseparable over the past few months of the journey. Being so close in (relative) age, you all got along very well. You and Kili had grown especially close. He flirted with you non-stop and you had quickly fallen in love with him.

The only problem was that while Kili flirted with you quite a bit, he also flirted with everyone. Including your brother, though only occasionally. You were waiting to be sure he actually wanted to be with you, but if he made you wait any longer you were going to ask him despite your doubts. Patience is a virtue, but virtues are overrated anyway.

You looked across the fire to see your brother all but sitting on Ori. Dori did not look particularly happy about this. Your brother, on the other hand, was giggling like a ditzy maid at something Ori had said. You could see how happy Ori was at having made Will laugh, as he was looking at him with a small affectionate smile.

You wanted to walk over and smack their heads together for being so obtuse. Everyone could see how much they cared for one another but they were both too nervous to do anything about it. You had seen your brother face down a lone warg with nothing but a handful of dirt and a stick. And now he quailed at the thought of admitting his feelings for the quiet scribe. Ori seemed convinced that someone as brave as your brother could never love someone as quiet and shy as him.

You shook your head lightly in exasperation. Will had forced you to listen as he lamented his 'unrequited love' countless times. Despite your many, many (many) attempts to convince him otherwise (and all evidence to the contrary) your brother resolutely believed that Ori could never love him the same.

You thought back to the other night when you’d both been on watch.

“I’m just some human,” Will had said as he looked over at Ori’s sleeping form like a kicked puppy. “How could he ever feel the same?”

You had rolled your eyes then and you rolled them again now. Will often told you that one of these days you were going to roll your eyes so far back into your head they’d get stuck. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed it when you strongly insinuated that it would be his fault.

You were so distracted by your brother and Ori, you didn’t notice the nervous breakdown Kili was having right next to you. He was staring into the fire with some intensity while silently moving his lips to the thoughts in his head. His hand was deep in his pocket, worrying a courting bead.

Fili (who no one was paying attention to unlike you, Kili, Will, and Ori, who had the entire company's attention split between the four of you, with varying amounts of exasperation) was watching Kili with much the same expression you were watching Will with. After a moment he leaned over to his brother and whispered in his ear so that only he could hear.

“Go ask, you know what the reply will be. I’m growing sick of watching you two dance around each other and if you don’t ask soon, I'll ask for you.”

Kili turned to Fili with wide, concerned eyes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want to bet?”

Kili really didn’t.

Kili turned to you and gently placed his hand on your arm, pulling you out of your (by this point slightly murderous) thoughts.

“Take a walk with me?”

You smiled brightly at Kili.

“Alright”

Kili leads you to a stream the company had stopped near earlier in the day. He was silent the whole way and while silence between the two of you was usually comfortable, you couldn’t help but notice how nervous he seemed.

“Everything all right?”

He smiled.

“Of course Y/n!”

He still seemed nervous but you figured he would tell you when he was ready. You soon came to the small stream and sat down on a fallen log beside it.

Kili took a deep breath and turned to you.

“Y/N, for months I have been quite taken with you.”

The boldness of Kili’s words and how suddenly he said them took you by surprise. Kili, upon seeing your expression, hastily tried to amend his words.

“What I meant to say, erm, is that I’ve fallen in lo-” Kili coughed “I mean, I would like— Mahal Damn it give me a moment.”

Much to your giddy amusement, the young prince stopped his ramblings and took a breath, gathering himself before he spoke again. His voice was level, though his hands still fidgeted and his eyes were downcast.

“(Y/N), your mind and your beauty have enraptured me. I’ve never met your equal in wit and kindness, not in all the years I’ve been on Middle Earth. I ask for your hand in courtship, if it would please you, for it would surely please me.”

The prince glanced up at you and saw the tears in your eyes. His own widened and he began to pull away as he backtracked.

“However, if you were to refuse me, I would understand… I shouldn’t have assumed you felt the same… I mean, I’m so sorry-“ you interrupted the prince's ramblings by throwing your arms around his neck.

“Kili I would love to court you!”

Kili pulled back just enough to smile at you.

“So you’ll let me braid your hair?”

“Of course! Isn’t that pretty much the same thing as asking me to court you?”

Kili nodded.

“Then I’ve already said yes, you silly dwarf! …. Though my brother might be a bit upset.”

Kili frowned and remained silent for a moment before he asked

“Why? I thought he liked me.”

“No, no he does! It’s just, well, you were supposed to ask him first.”

Kili looked at you for a moment in obvious confusion.

“Kili? Are you alright?”

That seemed to break Kili out of his thoughts and he gained a look of determination. He quickly got up and began striding back towards camp.

You sat on the log for a moment looking after him in disbelief before getting up and jogging after him. You caught up to him and moved in front of him to block his path.

“Kili, Kili stop. Where are you going?” You asked him breathlessly.

“I’m going to ask your brother,” Kili said, clearly confused.

“We can do that later, my love.”

Kili took your hands in his and looked up at you.

“If it’s an important human tradition then I would honor it. Your culture and customs are just as important as my own.”

You wanted to argue further, but he was being so sweet and thoughtful you only sighed. You could also tell this was something he was going to be stubborn about.

“Alright.”

You hadn’t even finished speaking before he resumed dragging you back to camp.

You got back to camp and Fili turned to you with a big smile, which was quickly replaced with a frown at his brother’s intense expression.

Kili quickly walked up to Will and got down on one knee in front of him. Will looked over Kili’s shoulder at you and you shrugged. He turned back to Kili when he started speaking.

“Will, would you do me the honor of courting me?”

Will blinked and your jaw dropped. Silence fell over the camp. Everyone looked either at Kili or each other in bewilderment.

Ori stood up beside Will and glared at Kili so intensely that he’d have died on the spot if looks could kill.

“You knew I was going to ask him to court me! How could you?!”

Your brother (who had been looking at Kili like he’d grown a second head) turned to Ori quickly.

“Wait what?”

“Don’t ask me, it’s some sort of human custom!” Kili said.

You, Will, and Ori all began talking at once.

“Why would you - talking about - FIGHT YOU FOR HIM”

Will turned to Ori with an “Again, what?!”

Kili turned back to you with a fearful and very confused face.

“You said I had to ask him first.”

You blinked at him for a moment then burst out laughing so loudly Oin fell off his log.

The rest of the company stared at you in shocked silence for a moment before Will asked you (or maybe just the world at large) a question.

“What’s going on?”

Unfortunately, you were laughing too hard to reply and poor Kili didn’t understand any better than the rest of them.

Dwalin looked at Ori (who had turned a brilliant shade of red) and then moved to stand between Ori and Kili.

“Kili I think you’d better explain what happened when you and y/n were in the woods before Ori bursts a blood vessel,” He said

By now your face was starting to hurt. Kili looked at you in worry before he began.

“When I proposed Y/n said,” Kili paused here and turned his eyes to the sky as he tried to remember the exact wording “Of course, but you have to ask my brother first.”

Will started laughing too, and by this time you were lying on the ground near passing out from lack of oxygen.

Bilbo came to Kili’s rescue as most of the company was doubled over laughing now, having realized what you meant.

“I think what y/n meant was that you have to ask Will for permission to court. Not that you have to ask him to court you.”

You vaguely nodded as you continued to wheeze on the ground.

Eventually, you stopped laughing long enough to get off of the ground and you wiped your eyes. Kili gave you a slightly betrayed look as Fili used your shoulder for support to keep himself from falling over.

Will had managed to pull himself together long before you, so he was only chuckling when he said “Kili, I give you full permission to court y/n.”

He got far more serious as he turned to Ori who was now calm and growing shyer by the second.

“And I would love to court you, Ori.”

Ori smiled and nodded and they went off to the edge of camp to braid each other’s hair.

You noticed Nori was having to nearly physically restrain Dori from storming over to them.

You turned to a bright red Kili. “Aren’t you supposed to be braiding my hair?”

Kili took your hand and slowly began leading you to the edge of camp.

He sat behind you and while you expected to feel his hands in your hair, you didn’t.

“Kili?” You asked.

When he took a moment to respond you turned around to look at him. He was looking at your hair with a strange mixture of longing and sadness.

You sighed.

“Kili, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, I-“

“Are you sure you want to court me?” He cut you off “I would understand if you didn’t, I mean I pretty much ruined the whole thing.”

“Kili” you whispered as you put your hand on his cheek.

“There is no one I’d rather be with,” you said.

“And besides, just think what a wonderful story this will make,” you said with a smile “plus if you hadn’t, Will and Ori might not have ever gotten together.”

He barked out a laugh.

“Those are very good points, ghivashel.”

“I know, I’m the one who made them.”

Kili pulled you in for a soft kiss. It quickly got more heated and your whole body was screaming for you to climb into his lap. Sudden whooping (from the company members) and exaggerated gagging (from Will and Fili) reminded you that you had an audience.

You lightly slapped Kili’s knee and said “get to braiding” as you turned back around.

He did and you reveled in the feeling of his fingers twisting in your hair.

“Now, tell me what ‘ghivashel’ means.”

-

-

Tag list: @elvish-sky @kumqu4t @anjhope1 @thewhiteladyofrohan @claraofthepen @dat-pan-dwarf @messiambrandybuck @shethereadinghobbit @cassiabaggins @animallover81

[daydreamsandcaffeine]

Naughty or Nice

Author: @daydreamsandcaffeine

Card number and prompt: Card 3 - Santa

Title: Naughty or Nice

Rating: A very, very light M

Summary: Peeta lost a bet, so now he has a temporary new holiday uniform. Katniss reaps the benefits. Modern AU

Word count: 963

Author’s notes: Merry Christmas Eve, friends! (Or maybe I should call y'all dreamers? 🤔) This story is written for @talesofpanem Everlark Holiday Bingo 2021. The plot bunnies started churning in my mind after watching a scene in With Love. There is also a very brief mention of my NFL team. All mistakes are my own. Cheers to @jhsgf82 for encouraging me to expand this story a tiny bit. 😉

Katniss was 10 minutes early for her shift at Abernathy Pub, so she wanted to hang out in the staff break room before facing the crowd of out-of-town patrons only here for the holidays. When she stepped into the room, she was met with an unexpected sight and bewilderedly exclaimed, “What the hell?”

Finnick and Peeta, two of the pub bartenders, were putting Santa hats on their heads, but that was not what threw her for a loop. The tall and lean muscled bronze haired man and the shorter but stocky muscular blond were completely bare chested and only donning red velvet shorts, black boots, and said Santa hats.

Peeta shrugged and simply said, “Lost a bet.” Finnick peacocked at her, his brows turned up suggestively, and winked. “Like what you see, Kitty Kat?”

Scowling and choosing to ignore the happily married man’s question, she switches her attention over to the brunette with the pixie haircut in the corner of the room. Johanna, a pub server like her, looked like she was having a field day.

“Relax, Brainless. These two bet that their beloved Seahawks were going to win out the rest of the season and make it to the playoffs, but they lost on Sunday, so now Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum have to be sexy Santas for the rest of this week, and I get a cut of their tips.” Jo explains with flair. “It’s a win-win. This getup is going to drum up business; I make extra money without even trying…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Plus, you, Brainless, get a free show from Blondie and all his glory.”

Finnick guffawed; Peeta looked bashful, and Katniss turned tomato red. Why did she have to drunkenly ramble to Johanna about her crush? But by the shy looks Peeta was giving her, perhaps the feeling was mutual?

—

That’s how Katniss finds herself back in the break room standing next to a still shirtless Peeta who apparently doesn’t care who sees him nor is he cold, so he doesn’t bother putting a shirt back on. Both of their shifts have ended, and as much as she will not admit it out loud, Johanna was right, she did like watching Peeta in his “sexy” Santa getup. Getting to see his muscles ripple and move as he went about making drinks and tending bar made her insides warm and radiate with energy.

They’re both walking out into the hallway towards the pub’s back entrance when Peeta turns his head down towards Katniss. In his best Santa impression, he asks, “So Katniss Everdeen, have you been naughty or nice this year?” The twinkle in his eyes accompany his teasing smile.

Katniss directs her smokey grey eyes straight into his baby blues in a coy manner and steps in closer to him. Feeling bold, she skims a finger down his bare hard chest which flexes at her touch and sultrily answers, “I’ve been nice all year, but tonight I’m feeling naughty.”

A look of shock and pleasure flash through Peeta’s darkening eyes, her comment catching him off guard. She takes this moment to step away and walk towards the back door of the pub. She stops midway, turns back to him, and continues sexily. “So, Santa Mellark, are you going to reward me or punish me?”

Broken out of his stupor, Peeta sprints to her, grabs her by the waist with both hands, and draws her body so tightly close to his, it leaves no room for the holy ghost. The heat from his unclothed upper half seeps through her white button up shirt. Goosebumps dot her skin in anticipation; her nipples stiffen against her nude bra, and wetness pools in her panties. He tugs the ends of her braid as his lips move to graze her ears, and his whisper sends a delicious shiver down her spine. “Guess that depends on just how naughty you are the rest of tonight.”

Not letting nerves dictate her next move, Katniss turns her head so their lips lightly brush up against each other. She places her hands on the back of his head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. Sparks fly, and the two forget that anything else exists but each other.

It’s lips on lips, tongue against tongue, going after each other like the world is about to end. He gently nips at her bottom lip, and she lets out a moan. She lets her bottom half brush up against those velvet shorts where she feels an ever hardening thick swell, and he groans. The palms of her hands roam the smooth skin of his back; muscles tight and firm. He moves his hand up her torso, cupping her breasts gently before giving them a squeeze.

“Oh hell. Fornicate at ho-ho-home, not in my hallway!” A gruff voice demands. The culprits, caught in the almost-act, are apologetically sheepish as they try avoid eye contact with the pub’s owner, their boss.

Katniss hides her face on Peeta’s shoulder farthest away from their interruptor; her companion speaks for the both of them, “Sorry, Haymitch. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Putting an arm around her shoulders, Peeta turns the two of them back towards the door, and they finally make their way out the pub. Though a little embarrassed, both are still oh so wired and eager to continue their merry (naughty) night.

“Fucking kids. Shouldn’t have let Johanna convince me about the increase in business with that stupid getup while drinking that extra strong eggnog. This is a bar, not a strip club.” Haymitch grumbles to himself as he goes back into his office.

—

All the while from the entryway that leads into the bar, Johanna and Finnick, with knowing grins on their faces, high five each other and shout, “Finally!”

Fin.

[isagisyoichi]

PINKY STAR (RUN) :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

SYNOPSIS: isagi as your boyfriend

CHARACTERS INCLUDED: isagi yoichi my boyfriend of many several years

WARNINGS: swearing? i think idk i forget also yah pretend they all go to the same school and stuff. also horribly self indulgent if u couldn't already tell

A/N: if you remember my old one delete it from your memory it was literally so bad help anyways the re-up because my boyfriend deserves better. also i really like this one and i feel like it’s more in character for him :P lol i've had this in my drafts for like, ever <3 but also my last post for a while because i have ap exams and my sat soon :P

FOR: the anon that asked me where my original isagi bf hcs went :’)

after the initial awkwardness of being in a new relationship fades and you two become comfortable with each other, a relationship with isagi would be like dating your slightly awkward best friend who you make out with sometimes.

like, i don’t really see isagi being high maintenance, so i feel like a relationship with him would definitely be on the relaxed side, but still romantic, you know?

isagi’s inner monologue is so funny and he definitely lets his thoughts out to you. it makes you laugh to see your usually friendly-to-all boyfriend have his moments, too.

you guys are one of those couples that give each other a look when someone’s doing something weird in public #telepathicconnection <3

but, isagi’s really such a sweetie with you. i know user isagisyoichi may be slightly biased when they say this, but believe me when i say that isagi’s 100% boyfriend material.

walks you to class whenever he can. always either holding your hand as he listens attentively to you complaining about school.

writes down things he feels are important about you in a digital note entitled “y/n 💗,” so he can remember them in the future.

isagi's used to talking to all kinds of people, so even if you're not the most talkative, he can adjust with no problem.

and he’ll always entertain you about whatever stupid conversation you wanna have.

kinda basic with pet names. babe, baby, dork (he would, i don’t wanna hear it), are his usual rotation.

randomly compliments you/says these really romantic things out of nowhere because he can’t control himself and often blurts things out.

“yeah, of course, when we get married, i’ll-”

“when we get married?” you inquire as you cut isagi off. you two have never discussed marriage, just but the thought of isagi wanting to spend the rest of his life with you is enough to make your head spin.

isagi’s eyes go wide when he realizes what he’s said. damn his mouth that moves faster than his mind.

swallowing hard and taking a breath, isagi says, “y-yeah, when we get married,” further affirming his statement with a nod, albeit a bit of a nervous one.

now both of you guys are flustered LOL.

likes to sit his head in your lap and have you play with his hair, while you two talk or just sit in silence.

such a good listener, perfect person to rant about anything with. he’s very understanding, he’ll hold you if you need him to, wipe your tears if you’re crying, give you advice if you need it, just overall so sweet.

also always knows when you're sad because of his intuition. isagi encourages you to open up to him, but ultimately doesn’t force you, just lets you know that he’s always there for you <3

(that's kind of lie because isagi does pry a little LOL, but he means well)

takes care of you! nags you a little, tries his best to make sure you're not doing anything stupid, and if you are, that someone responsible (him) is watching you, looks after you when you’re sick, etc.

gives you his jacket when you’re cold (he’s been waiting to do that his whole life bro LMAOO), carries your things, always texts you good morning and good night, just overall sooo good to you.

but as soft as he is for you, isagi does have this tendency to get these random spouts of confidence, so sometimes he’ll say or do something really bold out of nowhere.

like, he’ll suddenly grab your waist and pull you closer to him, or he’ll kiss you out of the blue. the flustered expression that rests on your face for a change always makes him smirk *heart eyes*

in general, though, isagi's still kind of awkward sometimes regardless and does say or do things that make you go "???" and make him be like "why did i do that" LOL he's so cute though <333

he’s pretty basic with dates, usually opts for things like restaurants, walks in the parks, movie nights, or stuff like that, but they’re still really fun!

but, if you ever want to do something out of the norm, he wouldn't be opposed to it, either. but, you do have to tell him ‘cause he's not a mind reader lol.

(okay but, one time, isagi tried to watch a scary movie with you because he wanted to do that thing where he wraps his arm around you during the scary parts, but HE ended up being scared instead 😭)

isagi’s the type to put your name with a heart emoji or the date you guys started dating in his instagram bio LOL

y/n 💓 IHS Forward #10 ⚽️ *insert some soccer quote about grinding*

it’s a bit middle school, but you let it slide because you know he just wants to show you off <3

study sessions are normal between you two but, you guys always get bored or distracted halfway through and start watching youtube or something LOL.

it’s canon he’s a thigh man lol, so if he ever sees you wearing an oversized shirt, especially one of his, with shorts, isagi will literally short circuit in real life.

he keeps his hand on your thigh when you guys cuddle that day, tracing patterns on your skin, or just squeezing it every now and then.

in general, though, isagi likes poking at and playing with them whenever they're out <3

once, isagi wanted you to do that trend on tiktok where he sits between your thighs and stuff, but he had no idea how to bring it up LOL

so, isagi just watched tiktoks of it in front of you and hoped eventually you would get the hint 🙄

and you did, thanks to his incredible lack of subtly. he doesn’t even care when you giggle and tell him how bad he is at being slick, isagi got your thighs around him, he won!!!!!!

takes a picture (or two or three) to savor the moment.

(even though he could literally just ask you to do it again in the future, but whatever, i guess)

when you’re dating isagi, the team comes with him too LOL

they’re always snapchatting you pictures of isagi when they’re hanging out without you, with stupid captions like, “look how sad your boyfriend is without you 😞”

isagi’s not even sad in the picture, he’s just confused as to why they’re shoving a camera in his face 😭

isagi one hundred percent attempts to get you to run the mile with him during gym if you don’t already.

“babe, just try!” isagi pants, as he catches up to you and your friends, as you guys are still on your second lap.

admittedly, the effort is cute, but beloved, i hate to break it to you- i will not be doing anything of the sort.

he will sit down or walk around with you after you finish the mile, though. if he’s not already playing soccer lollll.

when he does choose to go with you, expect exclamations from the team about how isagi “abandoned us for his little relationship” 👎

isagi’s receiving love language is words of affirmation (also basically canon LOL) so, he really values the compliments you give him with his whole heart.

you could tell him how his hair looks nice in the morning, and isagi will think about it all day.

whether it be about how cute he is, or how talented of a player he is, isagi really is happiest when you praise him <3

speaking of soccer, isagi has this tendency to get lost in the moment and talk your head off about some soccer related tangent that probably makes no sense to you.

his eyes light up and his voice is just oozing with passion for what he does as he goes into detail about how he made this crazy goal at practice while you stare at him with the biggest heart eyes ever, adoring his dedication.

and of course when isagi realizes he was rambling, he apologizes profusely for “boring” you, like the gentleman he is.

but when you reassure him that he could never bore you and that you want nothing more than for him to go on, isagi begins to feels lightheaded due to his adoration for you <3

if you're the type to go all out when it supporting isagi at soccer- like make one of those corny signs, yell from the crowd, wear his spare jersey to games, isagi will physically have to withhold his heart from jumping out his chest.

he's a little embarrassed that you're doing all that for him, but the effort means soooo much to him.

and speaking of soccer, it would mean a lot to isagi if you not only supported him at games and stuff, but expressed an interest in learning more about soccer as a whole, too.

you know, learn a little more about the game on your own accord, ask him to teach you how to properly play, or even challenge him to a one on one, do stuff like that, and he’ll literally be head over heels for you. well, more than he already is.

(he always goes easy on you on your guys 1v1's and he thinks your efforts are adorable, no matter how much you may or may not suck)

he'd repay the effort and try to get interested in whatever your hobbies are!

also, you can get him to do almost anything if you pout and beg hard enough, you’re literally so hard to say no to in isagi’s eyes <3

isagi’s the type to not realize when other people are flirting with him LOL

he just thinks they’re being nice (unless they’re being straight up) and i don’t think he would really process it because he’s so focused on you romantically, if that makes sense.

once he realizes you’re jealous, isagi apologizes earnestly, reassuring you over and over again that you're everything he could ask for and that he would never intentionally try to hurt you and all that jazz.

although, i will admit, sometimes isagi’s kinda smug when you're jealous, especially when it’s over a dumb reason 👎

however, when he’s jealous i feel like it could go one of two ways-

on normal days, isagi would just stand there to “intimidate” the other person, maybe cough a little for emphasis until they go away lol.

but on days where he’s already mad/filled with adrenaline/or someone’s really not taking a hint and you’re visibly uncomfortable- oh boy, it’s like a switch flips in him.

has those same fiery eyes he has during the climax of a game. the energy he’s exuding is dead serious, and that alone is enough for the person bothering you to go away. not bad for a man that’s only 5’8 🥰

adding on, isagi doesn’t take any shit about you, ever. even if it’s from his friends. usually isagi’s very neutral and doesn’t actively try to start conflict, but there are some things he’ll always defend and you’re one of them.

isagi always listens/watches/reads/etc whatever you recommend him (on that note, please recommend him good anime because isagi’s out here willingly telling people his favorite anime is darling in the franxx), even if he doesn’t necessarily like it LOL

you could show isagi objectively, the worst song ever and he would be like “yeah, it was good babe!” (it was not)

also does the same thing when you bring him shopping with you, like he's absolutely NO HELP 😭

you could try on the ugliest sweater known to man and he’d like “you look nice 🙂” pls be honest isagi, you can say it’s hideous!!!!!!

but isagi’s also being somewhat truthful in his statement because he does genuinely think you look nice in everything <3

also loves when you wear his clothes- always feels a mixture between pride and slight shyness?

kinda lol idk but overall, isagi really is sooo happy you wanna show him off that much, especially when you're wearing something of his around his friends :')

he says “i love you” first, no doubt.

he’s a bit nervous when he does because he doesn’t know if you’ll reciprocate, but he really does love you and he feels like he physically can’t hold it in anymore.

“i promise you don’t have to say it back!” isagi reassures anxiously. “i know it’s a really big commitment, and if it’s too early for you right now-”

“i love you, too.”

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Chipped Cup

Stiles dropped a coffee cup and it chipped. Derek reassures him everything’s fine.

For @imagine-sterek​ Christmas in July 2021 event

(You can also read it on AO3, here)

There was a loud crash in the other room.

Derek jumped. He set aside the book he was holding and leapt to his feet.

“Stiles,” he called as he ran through the open doorway and into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

Stiles was standing in the kitchen. He stared down at the floor, the dark depths of his smoky quartz eyes glistening with welling tears and his hands trembling. His lips quivered as his voice caught in his throat, his words dying away.

“Stiles?” Derek said, his voice soft but firm. He reached out and cupped Stiles’ cheek, gently encouraging him to meet Derek’s gaze. “Stiles, look at me. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Stiles was able to say, his voice raspy and broken.

Derek’s brow furrowed slightly. He looked down at what Stiles was staring at: an ombre mug with speckled paint that faded from white to shades of grey and black down the bottom lay on the floor.

Stiles pulled away from Derek and crouched down to pick up the cup. His hands shook as he held, slowly turning it around in his hands.

He froze.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

The rim of the mug had been chipped; a piece of the painted ceramic broken from the lip of the cup, exposing the beige clay.

Tears began to fall down his mole-speckled cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Stiles, it’s okay,” he reassured him.

“I chipped it,” Stiles said, rising to his feet again. He cradled the cup in his hands, staring down at the broken rim.

“It’s just a cup,” Derek said softly. He took the mug from Stiles’ hand and set it down on the counter.

“I can fix it,” Stiles offered, his heart racing as he began to ramble. “It’s only little, and if I glue the piece back in you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“Stiles, look at me.” Derek cupped his cheeks, turning Stiles’ face towards his.

Stiles kept his gaze down, not meeting Derek’s eye.

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head.

“That’s what matters,” Derek said. “Now, what’s going on? You only ever freak out this much if you’re anxious about something.”

“It’s my first time staying over at your place since we started dating and I’ve already made a mess of everything,” Stiles said quietly.

“No, you haven’t,” Derek said softly, reassuringly.

“I broke your cup,” Stiles said, looking at the mug on the counter.

“I have more cups,” Derek replied, fighting the urge to chuckle at how sweet Stiles was. Derek craned his neck to meet Stiles’ gaze. “But there’s only one you.”

Stiles looked up through his teary eyelashes, meeting Derek’s pale aventurine eyes.

“What are you really worried about?” Derek asked.

Stiles dropped his gaze.

“Are you scared that a couple of accidents are going to make me break up with you?”

“I’m a walking, talking disaster, Der,” Stiles answered.

“You’re my walking, talking disaster,” Derek corrected. “And if a couple of chipped cups is the price I have to pay to be with you, so be it.”

Derek took a step closer, resting his forehead against Stiles’.

His voice was low and soft as he whispered, “I want you, Stiles. I want to be with you.”

A tear rolled down Stiles’ cheek.

Derek gently brushed it away with the ball of his thumb.

He leant back slightly, lifting his chin and pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“I’ll fix the cup,” stiles promised, his voice still quiet and raspy.

Derek looked over at the cup.

“You know what?” he started, letting his voice trail off. He picked up the cup, carrying it into the loungeroom. He set it on the mantle above the old brick fireplace before picking up the small bouquet of dandelions that Cora had picked for Derek as a joke and moving them into the chipped mug. He poured the water from the small vase into the cup and stepped back, admiring he bold yellow flowers that stood out against the ombre monochromatic mug.

He heard Stiles shuffle into the loungeroom behind him.

He turned, holding out his arm as Stiles stepped into his arms, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder as Derek pulled him close to his side.

Derek turned and kissed the top of Stiles’ head. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”