#hands down to this brilliant group

[maximumdante]

Joker Out the only existing case in the world where fans prepare way better and more professional interviews than official magazines and journalists tbh.

@jokeroutsubs where do you want the statue?

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hi yes i saw hazbin requests were open??? Anything involving pining Lucifer. Or lucifer seeing reader dressed super nice for like a fancy party or something (full makeup, fancy revealing dress, that sorta thing) for the first time. Maybe feelings are revealed? I’m a sucker for pining

I love that we are all so disgustingly thirsty for this man. He deserves it ❤️‍🔥 but seriously tho…all my Lucifer posts have gotten at least 100 likes in the first day that they’re posted. Like damn yall, we need to talk about our husband more! We all have such good taste 😌 I love our little short king. Thanks for the request. Enjoyyyyyyy~

Notes: fem!reader, reader wears a dress in this one

TW: suggestive themes, hardcore pining, heavy making out

🪽The King of Pining🪽

This morning, Charlie invited everyone to the lobby of the hotel, shouting out that she had great news and a wonderful idea. Husk and Angel grumble about their annoyance with it being too early in the morning and them being way too sober for group activities right now as they plop down on one of the couches. The rest of the group files in, finding spots to relax as Charlie bounces up and down in her spot, bitting her lip and clenching her fists out of pure excitement. You follow along, deciding to stay standing and a bit behind the group, glancing back to see Lucifer coming to join the pack, standing just behind the couch that sat Vaggie and Nifty. You stare at him for a moment and when he finally glances your way, you offer him a sleepy smile and a quick wave of your hand. A small smirk finds its way to his lips as he nods his head at you, quickly looking away after.

“So…what’s the news?” Vaggie finally speaks up once everyone is settled and all eyes are on Charlie standing front and center. “Sooooooo, I had a brilliant idea that will be equally fun and beneficial to the hotel. Ready? Ready for it?” Charlie looks around the group, looking as if she might burst into flames of enthusiasm any moment now. “WE ARE GONNA HOST A BALL!!!”

Angel smirks as he nudges Husk beside him. “Heh, balls.” “She said ‘ball’, jackass. Singular.” Husk spits back, rolling his eyes as he scoots away from Angel a bit.

“It’ll attract new recruits for the hotel! We can mingle, talk about all we have to offer. AH! It’s gonna be soooooo funnnnnn.” Charlie is yelling now, she can’t control herself in the slightest.

Charlie goes into explaining the details- it is to be a huge party with a formal dress code that everyone and anyone is invited to. It’ll be here at the hotel, with an open bar (Husk wants to die) and music! The group lets out noises of mixed emotions, Nifty and Angel shouting out of excitement and anticipation while Husk and Alastor both let out noises of dread. You, on the other hand are nervous but looking forward to having a fun night and getting to know the hotel staff and residents better. As Charlie’s speech ends, the group begins to disperse and talk amongst themselves.

You watch as Charlie approaches Vaggie, shyly dropping to her knees in front of her on the couch so that they are eye level with each other. “Will you…be my date to the ball, Vags?” You can’t help but smile as you watch Vaggie laugh, her cheeks and nose slowly changing color. “Of course, you goofball. You’re my partner. There’s no one else I’d rather go with.” They share a long hug, a beautiful positive energy radiating off of them.

“They’re just adorable, aren’t they?” The low, charming voice that sounds right next to you causes you to flinch a bit, now turning to see the king of hell himself standing beside you. “Oh! Hey. Yeah. They are pretty cute. They make a great couple.” You look back to the two girls holding hands and giggling but Lucifer keeps his eyes on you, taking this opportunity while you’re distracted to examine all the little details of your face up close. Hopefully no one else catches sight of him in this moment of utter hopeless romanticism.

When he finally snaps out of it, he lets out a sigh before putting on his best smile, clearing his throat just to get your attention again. “Speaking of great couples~” And as soon as your eyes land on him again, your lips curved up ever so slightly, his courage quickly leaves him. Lucifer freezes for a moment, mouth going dry as he tried to find a way out of this. Say something you idiot.

“I-I ha! I uh…I wonder what other great couples we’ll see at this party. Maybe some of hell’s highest royalty?” Nervous chuckles just keep rolling from his lips and he’s really hoping you don’t notice the way his hands are shaking as they rest on his cane. One of his trembling hands comes to the collar of his shirt, lightly yanking it down as if that would help bring air back to his lungs, the air you’ve sucked out of him with one simple glance.

“Hm. Yeah. Maybe.” You reply plainly, looking back to Vaggie and Charlie and before you can converse with Lucifer any further, he’s walking off with his tail between his legs, eyes wild and full of doubt. “You’ll be there. You are the king of hell after all, I’m sure everyone will be too focused on you and Charlie to notice any other royals. Are you uhm…planning on going with anyone?” You ask, still watching the two girls near the couch. Your voice stops Lucifer in his tracks, making him pause for a moment as he listens. He turns slowly back to you, wearing a bashful smile as he tucks both his arms behind his back.

“No, actually. I hadn’t even thought of it.” He lies, watching as you finally pull your gaze from his daughter and relax it on him. He slowly saunters back your way, unable to control his wandering eyes. “And what about you? Do you have anyone in mind that you’d want to go with?” And now his nervousness is rubbing off on you, making your voice shake as you respond. “Me? No, no…I’ll probably just tag along with uh…”

As you look around the room, it seems all couples have already paired up. Vaggie and Charlie sat on the couch still, Charlie’s legs strewn over her girlfriend’s lap. Angel and Husk seemed to be having a bit of an argument over what they will wear together. Angel wants to wear all pink but Husk is like FUCK NO. Even Sir Pentious was trembling in front of Cherri, as he looked to he asking her out. Obviously, Alastor is bringing his shadow along. That’s kind of a date…right?

“Uhm I mean, who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone there.” The pride that inflated Lucifer’s chest just seconds ago seems to suddenly be punctured and drained by your lack of acknowledgment to his flirty hints. He wants to ask you to be his so badly it’s making his chest hurt now. Not his for the night, not his during the party, his all the time, any time he needs you. As he opens his mouth to speak, he hesitates and then decides to let out a heavy sigh instead. “Well..I will see you there.” And with the tip of his head, he finally turned and left you standing alone in a herd of conversing couples.

~night of the party~

You figured there’s no harm in showing up fashionably late tonight. At least, that was your excuse for showing up late. In reality, you were fully ready before the ball even started but your legs were so weak and shaky, you couldn’t find the strength to get yourself out there. So instead, you’re sitting in your room, fully clad in your nicest dress along with some accessories, sunken into your plush bed as you try to steady your breathing. Maybe if I stay here long enough in this dress, I can just say I was there but not actually go…

A knock on your door has you straightening up in your spot, a warm surprised feeling lighting up your chest. “Come in.” You respond, wondering just who was coming to see you right now. You assumed it was Angel trying to get you to come out and start partying with him. To your surprise, the princess of hell pops her cheerful little face inside your room.

“(Y/N)! I was wondering when you’d be coming…out…there. Oh my gosh! You look so gorgeous EEEEE!” Charlie steps into your room now, her big yellow eyes shining with enthusiasm and hope as she fangirls over your getup. “Oh, thank you. You look stunning yourself.” Charlie watches your eyes fluttering all around the room, unable to focus. “Yeah…I’m coming. Just…feeling anxious I guess.” Taking a deep breath, you finally stand, straightening out your dress and checking your hair in a mirror quickly. “Oh stop it! You look flawless, (Y/N). Let’s go have some fun.” Charlie quickly links arms with you and drags you out to the lobby full of people, lights and music.

Within just a few minutes of joining the party, you find yourself looking around a sea of strangers all on your own. Seems the princess of hell has a line of guests wanting to meet and greet with her. Understandable, but you’re starting to get overwhelmed. You’re desperately looking for a familiar face, needing a buddy to help you feel included and secure. As you swim through sinners and other residents of hell, head turning side to side, you finally spot Lucifer after nearly an hour of wandering around alone.

Sure, His typical white suit is nice, very flattering on him. But, oh boy, did he look fantastic tonight, heavenly even. For this special occasion, Lucifer was dressed in a deep red suit with accents of white and no hat, instead sporting his pretty, slicked back blonde hair. You’re not quick to rush to him, I mean are you trying to look desperate and pathetic? No, just stay calm. But once again, you two share a glance from afar and give each other a small wave of the hand. Lucifer looks…pained. He looks like he might just collapse to his knees and start vomiting. His shift in body language causes your smile to drop, your expression shifting to one of concern as you mouth to him ‘you okay?’.

From Lucifer’s point of view, the room became silent, empty, dimly lit with you there at the center of it all under this glowing golden ray of light. You looked angelic, innocent and sweet, elegant but also nervous and out of place and adorable and fuck it, he can’t wait. He nearly pushes the sinner trying to talk to him aside, rushing to you as his brain became overloaded with ideas of what to say to you.

With each and every stride he takes, your cheeks flush deeper shades of red. With every step, his knees begin to feel more and more like jelly. Finally, he’s joined you in the spotlight, the rest of the party fading away before both of your eyes as you stand just inches apart. Now, it’s all wandering eyes and heavy breathing from both of you. Licking your lips first, you force words out to break this awful silence.

“Wow! Y-you clean up well. You look nice, Luci.” As your voice reaches his ears, his dream-like state abruptly ended. The room floods with loud music, chatty people and bright lights again. He seems to perk up at your compliments, feeling like a dog in heat as his eyes travel up and down your lovely outfit. You watch as his eyes finally leave your waist and come up to meet your own gaze.

“Holy hell. You look absolutely divine.” He scoffs quietly, wondering how an angel like you ended up down here. “Oh, Lucifer.” You swat a hand at him and you can feel your face burning up, sweat starting to form on your upper lip and forehead. “Stop it. You flatter me.”

Lucifer looked as if he might pass out, becoming more and more flustered the more you blush. Although, a pleased smirk graces his face because oh~ you like when he flirts with you, huh? It’s okay, he’s hella into you too.Together, you’re just a ticking time bomb of gushy feelings and sexual tension. He figures if he wants to have any chance of confessing his feelings to you tonight, his best option is to lead you out of the way and put a little distance between you two and the crowd. So, he reaches out and gently takes your hand, pulling you along to the now vacant bar with an extremely forced and up tight grin.

Husk is standing behind the counter, looking not as irritated as you’d thought he would tonight. Luci pulls out a stool for you, gesturing for you to sit before he does because he’s a gentleman and ladies always go first. “Hey. Whatcha want, doll?” Husk ask you first, giving you a wink after you answer. “And for you, sir?” He eyes Lucifer who shakes his head, politely refusing his offer. As Husk begins whipping up your drink, yet another tense silence falls between you two.

“Are you having a good time?” The blonde finally speaks up, side eyeing you. “Eh. I’m not a big party person. I’m not a fan of big crowds either so…not really.” At long last, your unhappy and disappointed attitude brings all of Lucifer’s courage and gall to his mouth. Now’s his chance. “Let’s get out of here then.” He blurts out as Husk slides your drink to you, the bartender giving you an awkward look. “What? But all these folks wanna meet you.” Once you look over to him, a devious smile makes its way to Lucifer’s thin lips as you take your first drink. “And? I’m the king of hell! I do as I please.” He teases and now you’re both smiling brightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you push his arm playfully. “I love Charlie but I hate this party. Let me finish my drink first, yeah?”

Lucifer continues to side eye you and also scan over the entire room, checking out the scene as you sip on your drink. You can see his casual glances and the way he quickly diverts his attention as soon as you catch him staring. Now you’re the one feeling some bravery. You quickly and smoothly slip your hand into his, letting your thumb rub back and forth across his knuckles as you try to quickly suck down the rest of your drink.

The grip you have on each other grows stronger, tighter with each second that passes. You notice Lucifer bouncing his leg now, growing impatient and needy. As soon as a slurping noise comes from the straw at the bottom of your glass, Lucifer is trying to pull you up off your seat. He’s not worried about hiding his eagerness from you at this point, not when you’re looking like you do now and getting so blushy and shy at his flirtatious comments. He has to shoot his shot, he has to try. You’re the only person who’s made him feel young and love sick again after Lilith, he can’t afford to let you slip away too. That would crush him more than the weight of the embarrassment and discomfort he is feeling right now.

Lucifer leads you to the library, doubting anyone would be occupying it at the moment and he is correct. Finally, alone together, his hand in yours still, fingers interlocked. His big eyes, full of worry and second thoughts stare deep into yours as he gives himself a moment.

“Oh, my. Where do I even begin?” His other hand comes to yours, holding them both oh so delicately. “You…I’m so….” You nod, smiling to give him some encouragement to continue. “I want you so bad. I want to hold you, I just want to touch you already. I need to kiss you. (Y/N), I love you-“

You’re not sure what came over you but now your hands are exploring his blonde locks, your lips moving feverishly against his. Besides the faint, far away music playing, all you two could hear was each other’s soft gasps and the smacking of wet lips. At first, Lucifer was very engaged in the kiss but he was hesitant to touch you, unsure of where to put his hands. Like hell he wants to rest his claws on your hips or your butt, but he waits for you to give him the okay, his hands balled into fists and held up near his shoulders.

Finally letting him have his way, you guide his hands to your torso before breaking the kiss to whisper, “It’s okay, Luci. You can touch me.” It’s more of a whimper than a whisper but Lucifer isn’t complaining in the slightest. The tone of your voice and the feeling of finally touching your perfectly soft body had his eyes glowing bright red now.

Quickly and without warning, he crashes his lips back into yours sloppily, his long forked tongue gently gliding across your lip, giving the slightest bit of attention to your teeth. He would devour every bit of you right now if you only asked. He wished you would ask right now. He’d even beg for it…You happily let your mouth open more, inviting him in as his arms slowly stretch their way around you until he’s holding you tightly against him. Lucifer squeezes you tightly as he savors your taste for a moment, pulling a soft whine from you before loosening up.

With your eyes closed, you tried to just follow his lead and do your best at impressing and arousing him but he’s sort of doing the same. He hasn’t been with anyone like this in so long, he’s rusty as hell. So, yall are an absolute mess. After about a minute of wild making out and rapidly moving hands, you’ve found yourselves on the floor. The two of you sit up on your knees, holding onto each other as if your lives depend on it. Your hands held his cheeks so tenderly, pulling his face as close to your own as you possibly could.

Lucifer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth, a soft laugh leaving him as he remembers all those nights he dreamt of this exact situation- you looking beautiful and magnificent as always and him having the freedom to let his hands roam your darling figure. He’s been craving you, dreaming of you, wishing for you, praying for you. The laugh that escapes him results in you pulling back to get a look at him. And fuck was he gorgeous- hair a disheveled mess, the purple shadow on his eyelids smudged ever so slightly, his once impressive suit now wrinkled and shifted awkwardly on him, his lips still shiny from your saliva, his breathing loud and heavy and his smile just kept getting bigger, toothier.

“What are you laughing at?” Lucifer rests his forehead against yours, his eyes moving across your breathless, flushed face, just dying to know what’s on your mind now. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages, darling. More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire existence, I’ve wanted to be alone with you like this.” A breathy giggle leaves you, your hands shaking as they travel down from his face to his biceps.

“Oh really? Why don’t you stop telling me and…keep showing me?” You tease, your hands coming to rest on his puffed out chest. Your touch combined with your sweet flirting and breathy voice has all of his wings popping out momentarily. You can’t help but laugh at this, but Lucifer is all business right now. You told him to show you, and oh darling, he’s gonna teach you a whole lesson on how beautiful and ethereal you are to him…and he’s gonna teach you with only his hands and his mouth.

[phefics]

veritaserum

ship: fred weasley x reader x george weasley summary: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. warnings: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) word count: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

[dabisqueen]

trick or treat

Trick or Treat

Ghost/Dabi x fem!Reader x Konig/Shigaraki

⇢ word count: roughly 3.2K ⇢ plot: It's Halloween and you make the mistake of knocking at the wrong door.  ⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, tw smoking, consensual rough sex, rough kissing, rough manhandling, a bit of degradation, slapping, oral sex (m receiving), deep throating, cum in throat, unprotected PIV-sex, anal fingering, deep creampie, Ghost and Konig aka Dabi and Shiggy are actual sweethearts and take care of the reader later ⇢ A huge shoutout to my beta @blankexpressions-and-falsefires. without you, this wouldn't happen. without you, this wouldn't be as great. i am forever grateful for your help!

You and your friends were on your way to a Halloween party, which was going to take place in an old warehouse. The invites had been distributed months ago already, and everyone had been looking forward to it. 

What you were wearing wasn't very unique at all: Black high-heel boots combined with a short, ruffled red velvet skirt, a black petticoat underneath, and a matching red underbust corset. It pushed your boobs up so high that they nearly popped out any time you bent over. Thankfully, a white, off-shoulder blouse helped to keep a little bit of your decency intact. The last finishing touch was a red velvet cape. 

You guessed it—you'd picked the Little Red Riding Hood as this year's costume.

Getting off the subway station, your group walked down the dimly lit street, the wind blowing leaves and scraps of garbage along the street. The clacking sound of your high heels echoed off the walls and you wrapped your cape tighter around you and hoped that the warehouse would offer some shelter from the cold. Trying to avoid the cracks in the concrete with your pointy heels, you followed the rest of the crowd—as something off to the side caught your attention. 

A lone, lit pumpkin sat at a shabby door, a flickering lamp above it shedding just a bit of light.

“Hey girls!” you called out. “There's someone inviting trick-or-treaters over here!”

Your friends stopped and looked at the door you were pointing at. Nonetheless, they turned while your best friend called over “It's just a prank, forget about it!”

“I want some candy, though.” Pursing your lips into a pout, you stalked over to the other side of the street, calling over to the rest of your small crowd, “Go on ahead. I'll catch up to you later!” 

You didn't mind them rolling their eyes at you—cause you have been known to have the sweetest tooth of them after all.

Taking a deep breath you raised your hand and knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

No answer. 

Okay, you reason, it was just a prank. Just as you were about to turn, you heard voices closing in behind the door.

"Didn't think anyone would fall for this shit.” A dark voice hissed. “What kind of dumbass are they?"

"Beats me." Another husky voice spoke.

The door swung open and you inhaled sharply. Before you stood two men dressed head to toe in combat suits, one of them wearing a sniper hood, the other a Balaclava complete with a hard plastic skull attached to the disguise. 

Each of them was a character from the game Call of Duty– Konig and Simon “Ghost” Riley. 

The one dressed as Ghost casually leaned against the door frame. His eyes scanned over you, and your gut tightened, watching the brilliant cerulean of his irises take you in. His skull Balaclava, obscuring any other feature on his face, sent chills down your spine. The other's smoldering amber gaze grazed the curves of your body and lingered especially long on your décolleté before stopping back at your face. As far as you could make out, they both looked well-toned, and your gut instinct told you that they were stunningly attractive underneath those masks. Your heart started beating faster.

“Oh, look what we have here.” The man dressed as Konig mused in a sneering tone. “If it ain't Little Red Riding Hood.”

“What a coincidence—" his friend chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Cause you can consider us the Big Bad Wolves—”

It sent goosebumps crawling up your spine,  but you still bravely muttered with a shaky voice, “T-trick or t-treat?”

Konig and Ghost looked at one another, chuckling, before their gazes went back to you. 

"You really looking for a treat, little red?" Ghost cocked his head, brilliant blue seemingly burning into you.

Both men's lustful stares were unmistakable as they looked at your body with a desire mirroring the feeling that rose quickly in your chest.

"U-uhm, I guess?" You stuttered, heat rising into your ears now.

“Treat it is,” he said. With that, his strong fingers circled your wrist and he pulled you inside, Konig slamming the door shut behind you.

A shriek left your throat when he pressed you against the wall, his ghostly mask hovering right in front of you.

"You really want this?" He asked, tilting his head, "We'll only proceed if you do."

One hand propped him against the wall, the other trapped your jaw between thumb and forefingers. His hips wedged you in place and it sent a jolt of pleasure right between your thighs. You shamelessly squeezed them together, cheeks starting to glow with fear—and excitement.

"I-I don't know," you licked your lips as subtly as you could, and you could swear you felt him twitch in his pants. 

His eyes fixated on your lips as he pulled the Balaclava down from beneath the skull, tucking the fabric under his chin to reveal the lower half of his face. His lips alone, sharp and sultry, had you aching for more.

"I think you do," Ghost chuckled, his warm breath fanning your lips, the hard plastic of his mask almost brushing against your nose. His fingertips felt scorching yet delicate when he pulled you in for a kiss.

His tongue pushed past your lips, moving languidly around yours. The kiss turned raw and bruising, growing rougher by the second. His cold mask dug into your skin but the thrill of it all made you forgive it easily. Groaning into his mouth, your hands ghosted over his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his clothes. Your legs buckled, but Ghost was quick to react and slip a leg between your thighs to hold you in place. His firm thigh pressed right against you, delivering much-needed friction to stimulate your growing desire. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, half-lidded eyes smoldering with desire when he broke the kiss. He pulled the Balaclava back and straightened up, chuckling at the sight of a wet spot left on his pants. "You really love this, don't you?"

You nodded hazily. You were given no chance to catch your breath as he dragged you to a small, square table nearby. His grip was rough but gentle enough not to hurt you. You shrieked again when Ghost pressed your chest flat against the surface. Konig stepped close, his hand stroking the heavy and full shape of the growing bulge beneath his clothes. Ghost clasped his hand tightly around your wrists, pinning them against your back, holding you down. 

“P-please be gentle,” you pleaded, having seen both outlines of their dicks —not small in size—  strain against their boxers, ready to be strangled by your tight pussy.

"Don't be a chicken. You agreed to this.” Konig rasped. “So, we get to destroy you, corrupt your little pussy—" 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and your heartbeat started to pick up as you struggled against Ghost's iron grip.

"Aw, don't scare our little bunny, Shigaraki" Ghost tutted, stroking your back with his free hand. "We aren't gonna hurt you, doll."

Something in his voice made you feel like you could trust him — you felt that he meant it — and your body relaxed, your breath evening out.

"Party pooper–" Konig grumbled behind his hood, as he rounded the table to stop right in front of your face. 

"W-what are you gonna do to me–" You swallowed thickly, thrill shooting through your body in a rush of  adrenaline. 

“You want us to be gentle,” his voice suddenly deepened, “Or should we treat you like the little tramp you are?” 

“I am no tramp—” you replied breathily.

“Hm— Am I wrong to think that this turns you on?” Ghost chuckled. “The idea of getting fucked by two strangers just like this?” 

Ghost's hand trailed up your thigh, hiking up your skirt and petticoat to reveal the curves of your perfect ass cheeks. A growl erupted in the back of his throat at the sight, his hand stroking the soft skin he found there. The coil inside your stomach tightened as you felt his crotch grind against you from behind. You realized he was giving you a small taste of just how much of a treat you would be getting. Trying to push yourself back against his thick meat, though, earned you a harsh slap against your ass with his tactical leather gloves.

“Ow!” you cried out, the stinging pain driving tears to your eyes.

"Fucking lay still." Ghost growled and you instantly froze at the sheer authority in his tone, a hot pulse shooting straight between your legs.

He leaned over, whispering against the shell of your ear. "So, little Red, what's it gonna be for you?”

Your lips parted in a strangled whimper. You didn’t want them to be gentle. You didn’t want them to be respectful. This was thrilling, you've always dreamed about being roughly taken, about being manhandled. 

“Fuck me, please.” You pleaded.

“It's Sir to you!” Ghost slapped you again, the pain searing this time.

"Yes—Sir—treat me like your cumdump!” You choked out, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

"Atta girl." He purred and you could almost hear the amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Ghost pulled your soaked panties down until they dangled between your ankles and dropped to the floor with a wiggle of your heels.

"Why do you always get to use the pussy, Dabi?" Konig whined, annoyed even as he unzipped his combat pants.

"Cause you only know how to fuck, boss." Ghost chuckled behind you. "Not how to please."

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heart beating so fast.

His hand gently stroked your ass again as he hummed. "This is supposed to be a treat after all."

A sense of comfort washed through you but you knew better than to rely on it. And oh boy, were you right.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, moving to stand in between them as you eagerly complied.

Konig freed his hard cock from his pants. It was so thick and heavy that it was hanging low even though it was fully erect. 

"Open up. I’m gonna fuck your face," giving it a few lazy pumps, he closed in on your face. His shameful words sent electricity to your nerves, and your mouth started to water as you opened it in eager anticipation.

Konig slipped the fingers of his free hand into your strands, holding your head still as he slotted himself at your lips before pushing his length between them. His spongy tip quickly slipped in and he let it rest on your tongue for a brief moment before pressing deeper.

Groaning against Konig's cock, you barely made out the sound of a zipper being undone behind you. Ghost lined up his cock with your soaked cunt, gathering your slick on his spongy tip, and only then was it that you knew that this really was going to happen. He snapped his hips forward without warning, quickly hitting resistance. 

The force pushed you down on Konig’s length further until its tip hit the back of your throat. He was breathing hard, bucking his hips forward, loving the way you loosened your jaw and let him fuck your mouth.

The man behind you slowly started thrusting into you, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder continuously stroking your insides, his Prince Albert piercing kissing your cervix and making you tighten and flutter around him. Each time he pulled out, his cock was covered in more of your glistening juices.

“Ah—fuck—look at that dripping cunt—” Ghost growled, rocking his hips against your behind, watching how your greedy, sloppy pussy kept taking him, even if he could only fit halfway.

They filled you up so perfectly—Ghost’s thick, pierced cock stretched your whole pussy without getting close to being balls deep, Konig’s heavy one sitting deep in your mouth, his fat testicles slapping against your drool-covered chin with each thrust forward. A gargled moan bubbled up your throat, feeling so stuffed from both ends, with Ghost's piercings rubbing perfectly against the spot that made stars erupt before your eyes.  

Goosebumps erupted all over your body as your mind began to swim.

"Aw, are you enjoying yourself?” Ghost leaned forward. "We'll make you feel even better soon...”

Then he started pounding into you, again and again until your brain was shut down. You choked between gasps as every thrust he made knocked the air from your lungs and forced Konig’s cock to slide deeper than before– until it was buried deep down your throat. You struggled to take it, breathing heavily through your nose, pleading watery eyes shooting up to his face to silently beg for a second of reprieve. 

"You look so beautiful, stuffed with my cock like this–” Ghost said in a voice that was just a low rasp. 

You were dizzy, breathless as he kept filling up your pussy with short, harsh strokes. He watched you writhe in pleasure on the table, your sloppy mouth stuffed with Konig’s dick. Ghost bent his head down and you could feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent. 

"You're taking both of us so well, little cockslut." Konig's words made you whimper even louder, glistening eyes meeting his as you struggled to breathe.

With Ghost’s hand still pinning your wrists behind your back, there was no escaping the assault. He slammed his hips harder against your pussy until you mewled out in pleasure, his piercings rubbing your g-spot just right.

The feeling of both men relentlessly working themselves in and out of you was overwhelming. Heavy grunts and growls accompanied the wet sounds of your sloppy holes getting fucked as they worked themselves into a frenzy. Ghost's cock drove deep, but you knew with a little effort, you could accommodate more of him. You parted your legs further to give Ghost even more access to your cunt. His dick began to throb and twitch, his hips bucking back and forth to find the perfect angle to thrust into you. 

And he did find it. Your body shook with pleasure, making you squeal deliciously around Konig's length. Ghost let out a breathless chuckle and spread your ass cheeks, wetting his thumb before sticking it into your puckered hole.

His friend watched the scene before him, half-lidded crimson eyes glazed with lust and desire. The sight before him turned him on so much that his hips stuttered and he came without warning. He let out a strangled groan, his hand grabbing your hair tightly as he forced you to take his entire length, his tip slipping past the back of your throat. You moaned, feeling him twitch on your tongue, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you. His free hand rose to massage your throat, savoring the way you gulped and swallowed around his twitching meat.

“That's it, baby, take every drop of his cum," Ghost praises you. "Fuck– you're such a good girl.” He looked down to where you two were connected, his thumb buried deep in your ass, a sticky wet mess covering the base of his cock.

You tried to breathe but Konig didn’t budge, staying buried deep inside of you as Ghost picked up the pace now. He gave you strong thrusts that grazed the right spot, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. You moaned, your vision turning blurry. The lack of oxygen, the continuous onslaught from behind— it was too much. it pushed you over the edge and you came, clamping around his dick while your sounds of pleasure remained muffled by Konig's cock still buried deep inside your throat. 

Ghost kept pounding into you while you rode out the high of your orgasm and finally, Konig pulled his softening cock from your mouth, letting you sputter and gasp for the air he'd denied you. He let himself fall back against the table behind him, his flaccid, drool-covered cock still massive in size and twitching slightly. Reaching out, he pushed your hair behind your ear before wiping off the saliva dribbling down your chin as you frantically gasped for air.

Ghost behind you kept up the pace, rutting his thumb in and out of your little pink hole in a contrasting beat to his thrusts. It became too much— you completely lost it, overstimulated and moaning unabashedly like a porn star now. Your cunt spasmed around his cock for a second time and you threw your head back in ecstasy, crying out through your climax.

“There you go, you're so fucking hot coming for us, doll." Ghost praised, continuing to rock his hips against yours. His deep thrusts grew messier and messier, being himself close to his release. 

Konig watched, eyes glowing with re-awakening desire as he tucked himself away.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside of you." Ghost let out with a low growl in his throat, sending goosebumps along your body. “Gonna fill you up, gonna breed you so good—”

He gained speed and with a final snap of his hips, he groaned out loud when he came, his hips stuttering as he shot ropes of hot cum against your womb. You could feel his cock throb with each shot, before he plummeted forward, breathing heavily. His chest pressed against your spine, and you felt his semen seep out, dripping onto the floor below. Silence took over the room while all of you tried catching your breath, hair sticking to sweaty foreheads, cocks sticky with release. 

Ghost started chuckling, pulling out of you with an obscene pop. His eyes were still glazed with desire as he watched how your pussy struggled to contain the load of his release. "You look so damn pretty filled up with my cum." he said with a hidden smirk as he kept pushing it back into you with his fingers. 

He stepped back to tuck himself away, and you stood back up on wobbly feet, brain foggy from the orgasms. Carding your fingers through your messed up hair, you reached for your panties but Ghost was quick to grab and stuff them into his pant pocket.

"Nu-uh," he tutted, his brilliant azure eyes twinkling with mischief. You sighed in defeat, trying your best to smooth down your skirt.

He pulled his balaclava down, slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, and lit himself one. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled slowly. “So, what were you doing here anyway?”

“I was on my way to a Halloween party with my friends.” You coyly replied, carding your fingers through your hair. 

“Ya still wanna go?” He cocked his head, smoldering azures taking you in.

“What do you mean?" You looked up at him through thick lashes, still damp with the heavy tears that had sprung from your eyes in the struggle to keep down Konig’s cock.

“What Dabi wants to know is if you wouldn't rather continue our little party.” Konig snickered.

“Oh.” Was your simple reply. 

“C’mon doll, let's get ya cleaned up," Ghost pressed a kiss against your forehead. "In the meantime, Shigaraki is gonna get us some  drinks.” 

He swung an arm around your shoulder, leading you toward the door next to the dimly lit bar on the far side of the room. “We still have more treats for you…”

Happy Halloween and thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you comment or reblog, you'll make my day!

[violet-eng]

fem!reader studies Neuviotter! | Fluff 🧸 with Otter Neuvillette… 🔞with Human Neuvillette.

Summary: You're a Sumeru's researcher obsessed with Fontaine otters. So you basically adopt one... unfortunately it looks like that isn't an otter at all...

Warning: 🔞 MDNI. ALL SMUT IS WITH HUMAN NEUVILLETTE! Somnophilia, oral (fem! Receiving), p i v. Unprotected sex.

1.8k words.

Not edited.

⏜︵⊹︵⊹︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜⊹︵⏜︵⊹︵⏜

The prestige of your research precedes you. A diligent student with a flamboyant gait, brilliant ideals and precise knowledge. You arrive at Fontaine from the Sumeru Academy with a precedent never seen before, with your lively, attentive eyes and your notebooks covered in leather the same color as your eyes.

Word spreads immediately that the wise y/n, scholar of the Academia, has come to Fontaine to study a creature that has captured your attention to leave the green land for that of the primordial sea. Could it be that you want to study a mythical creature that lives in underwater caves? Or perhaps a glorious bird has captured your thirst for knowledge?

How surprised your guides were when you shouted with excitement, unable to contain your joy like a little girl, when you spotted a little otter poking its head out of the crystal clear water. You jumped up and down, unable to contain your happiness, exclaiming how amazed you were to see one so close.

Alone, you photograph the otter and go so far as to dive underwater with it, surprised more by how clever it is than by your new curious ability to breathe underwater. What a joy it is to find a group of creatures frolicking with a clam in their midst, spinning in the water and turning to look at you. You may have been down there for an hour.

Back on the surface, sitting on a rock with your feet in the water, you jot down the details in your notebook, tracing with the vague lines of a sketch the elusive shape of the little animals. Concentrating on your task, on defining the details of its snout, you notice on the other bank an otter, different from the others, grooming its head with its small hands.

You watch it carefully, the creature seems a little larger than the others, slender and almost like a gentleman...

"A gentleman otter," you whisper, enraptured by the delicate and magnificent figure grooming itself in front of you. 

The otter makes sounds as he wipes his own face, lying on the surface of the water, carving his features and nose, while his two gnawing teeth peek through his pearly fur. Its small hands wash its own belly, almost ironing its fur as if it were the robe of a great lord. Deeply adorable. You hastily sketch the picture in front of you, not missing a tender detail of the cuddly toy floating carefree on the calm current.

The otter watches you with a lost look, black eyes that seem not to contain a single thought. The bliss of the ignorant. And you wave at him from your rock with a smile.

The otter swims toward you, and when he's within striking distance, he watches you, as if studying you. 

"How smart you look," you say, clutching your notebook to your chest, "and very adorable. Look at you," you show him the drawing.

The otter stares at the paper with a certain analysis, but his unmistakable expression doesn't change. Then he seems to comb an invisible curl out of his furry head and approves your sketch with a formal nod.

"What a gentleman," you squeal, climbing down from your rock and returning to get your things. The otter emerges from the water, shaking his body to dry himself from the water, though he remains fluffy.

"I thought you were waterproof," you laugh at the sight of the expressionless furball, seemingly oblivious to his adorable embarrassment, "you're different, aren't you?" you approach him with a rag, trying to dry him.

You pull him onto your lap, paws up and his belly exposed as you dry his chest with your cloth, as if he were a baby. Then you wipe his little hands and then his paws. His face is now dry. The otter played with your bracelets, making funny noises and showing his little pearly teeth.

"Do you like it?" you ask, putting it down. The Otter nods enthusiastically. "It would look very cute on you," you add, taking off one of your bracelets and placing it around his neck.

The elastic of the bracelet is lost in his white fur, and the pendant stands out as if it were the clasp of a breastplate. 

"You're missing a hat, and you could pass for another Fontaine gentleman," you exclaim, pleased with the result, as the otter poses like an elegant gentleman, his small chest puffed out, almost proud of how adorable he looks.

"It's getting dark, I should get back now. See you another day, Mr. Otter," you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving your hand.

The otter hurries to follow in your footsteps, prancing subtly near you, his wet nose brushing against your ankle.

"You want to come with me, huh?" you kneel before him, and he touches your nose with his paw. "Fine, fine. We'll have a sleepover."

The place you're staying in is small but cozy, and it gets even cozier when you turn on the heat and put food on the table. The otter sits in a chair across from you, on a mountain of books, and tastes several of the snacks you've served him, though you see him going crazy over some consomme purete and the big glass of pure spring water you've served him.

"You like that, I noticed," you say.

"Burp," the otter replies with a burp that he seems to regret immediately.

"You have more manners than many people," you tell him, wiping his whiskers with a napkin.

"Okay, I'll brush your teeth and then off to bed," you say happily, with the idea of reading to the little animal before bedtime.

You sit him on your sink in front of the mirror, lift his jaw and brush his teeth with your toothbrush and toothpaste, first one side and then the other, make him drink some water and then spit it out, although he swallows it.

"Not your thing to waste water, apparently."

The otter nods.

Then you brush his head, chest, back, and tail, letting him groom himself, and when you try to remove the pin, he hides it in his small hands.

"Okay, okay... I'll leave it to you," you smile.

And then you lie in bed with him in your arms, illuminated by the dim light of your lamp, holding a book with an adventure story in it. You read aloud to him, stopping when you hear him whistling and snoring. 

"Good night, Gentleman Otter," you kiss him on the forehead before turning off the light and going to sleep. ....

You're not one to dream, not at all, but ever since you came to Fontaine, you couldn't help but have these nightly fantasies about Iudex Neuvillette. That stoic and serious man, how good his face would look contorted with pleasure as you sucked his cock.

You had dreamed of a similar situation many times, you had dreamed of him against you as he pinned your frail figure against his desk and thrust into you, biting your lower lip. You had had your first fantasy after a trial, thinking how manly he would look behind you, his cock buried in your ass....

All those dreams had been vivid fantasies, and tonight's took the prize.

You lay on your bed, him biting your neck as he rests behind you, his hands playing with your breasts at his whim, his tongue sliding over your skin, enjoying the nectar of your pure complexion, his cock swollen against your clothed ass.

"Mmmmhhhh, Monsieur~" you moan, writhing in his grip.

The wonderful thing about these dreams is that you don't know how you get into these situations, but you know how to enjoy them. Because from one moment to the next, the oh so taciturn Iudex Neuvillette has his face buried between your legs, tasting your folds and your clit with his trained tongue.

"Right there~" you moan, arching your back as you feel the desire well up from his mouth, his tongue drawing lustful strokes across your sex, his deep sighs stoking the fires of your passion.

His hands wrap around your legs, and for a moment you swear it's real, the way his nails dig into your skin, leaving reddened marks in their wake, and his thumbs sink into your thighs, anchored to you with no intention of letting go.

Then you feel him thrust into you, opening your silken walls in his wake, his thick cock making its way to your center, molding your walls to his erect, large form. You feel him rub against you as your insides embrace him with little restraint.

You hear him moan and feel your legs rise up over his shoulders, his cool hands at your ankles pressing down on you, thrusting slowly but deliciously, almost as if you were made for him. 

"Monsieur Neuvillette~" you moan, clutching the pillows, your hips bucking at the growing warmth in your belly, your hands seeking your own pleasure.

"Warmer than I thought," he whispers, "

it is almost like n your dreams... though this time it feels so real...

You look at him for the first time, his face sweaty, his cheeks flushed as his locks of white hair fall down your legs. His strong arms hugging you, his pecs rising and falling, holding breath... lower down, his chiseled abdomen twitching as his cock buries itself relentlessly inside you.

The sound of his balls against your skin blows your mind and makes you realize that it's not a dream, that Iudex Neuvillette is really fucking you (and very well, much better than you expected).

"Monsieur..." you try to sit up, but he has touched your cervix with his cock, and you do nothing but collapse under him, filled with the pleasure of his gentle thrusts.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks you reverently, in a tone of sublime courtesy and lofty superiority, as if he were not mercilessly fucking you at his whim while you sleep.

"Don't stop," you whimper between words, not wanting to waste the opportunity you've been dreaming of since the first time you saw him, "damn it," you exclaim at the wave of heat surging through your chest and legs as you hear him chuckle under his breath, quite pleased with what he's managing to make of your body.

The orgasm hits you warm and rough, just as Neuvillette did with his cock, careful not to leave his seed inside of you. And your breath comes back as you feel him caress your back as if to reward you.

You feel his lips on your forehead, and the way his arms hold you beside him as your eyelids droop at the inevitable.

"How did you get here?" you babble, half asleep, caressing his chest as he draws soft circles on your arm. 

"You invited me," he whispers as he brings your hand to his neck where your bracelet encircles his skin and the charm falls to his chest.

"You'll explain it properly tomorrow," you murmur between confused shuffles...

[tropes-and-tales]

Good Girl

Day 2:  Dry humping (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; praise kink; smut (dry humping; outercourse; whatever the youths call it now - clothed grinding and such); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2996

AN:  This is loosely related to the very loosely-formed Seresin cousin mini-series, found here. It was requested for Kinktober by @justreblogginfics!)

You and Bob continue your little dance for months.

You know the man likes you.  Every time you fly into town to visit your cousin Jake, Bob is always nearby, staring at you on the sly like a lovesick puppy.  He’s always just at the edge of the group gatherings—nights at the Hard Deck, parties at Nat’s house, afternoons at the beach—and you always feel those big blue eyes tracking your movements.

Everyone else notices it.  Harvard and Yale corner you at the Hard Deck, ask if you’ve noticed that you have an admirer.  Nat pulls you aside at her barbeque and obliquely gives you a rundown of Bob’s numerous good traits.  Only Jake holds his tongue, but you catch him narrowing his eyes at the WSO enough that you realize even your cousin—your cousin with his penchant for being self-centered, the handsome narcissist with the blinding smile—has noticed Bob’s crush too.

Bob never makes a move.

Nights at the Hard Deck when you blatantly lament being single.  The party at Bob’s house where you stayed behind to help him clean up.  The little touches you chance:  brushing your hand against his, a light hand on his shoulder, friendly hugs…they are an invitation, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

It’s Rooster who clues you in.  The man takes your hand one night at the bar and tugs you outside where the ocean crashes along the shore in the darkness.  In the dim light, you can just make out the man as he peers down at you.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.  “But you’re going about it all wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You catch the white of his eyes as he rolls them.  “C’mon.  It’s obvious you like Bob, but you gotta make the move if you’re interested.  You gotta be blatant with him.  He won’t get it otherwise.”

“Why not?”  Your stomach twists unpleasantly; you wonder if perhaps you’ve misread the situation.  Maybe Bob has a crush, but maybe it’s just a crush, and maybe there’s someone else he loves and this is just a passing bit of madness—

“Guy’s a brilliant wizzo, but he’s clueless with women.”

Now you roll your eyes at Rooster, and he chuckles at the gesture.  

“I’m serious!” he continues, and he holds his hands up, helpless.  “I think he misread a situation once with a girl when he was younger, and I think it scared him off of making the first move.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.  I got food poisoning from bad tacos once but I still eat tacos.”

Rooster chuckles again.  “Yeah, but you women can be devastating when you reject us.  I think poor Baby on Board was crushed before and now he’s just a pining little asshole, staring at you from across the bar.”  

You shrug helplessly and glance back into the Hard Deck:  you can see Bob in profile, and you get the impression that he’s just turned away, that he didn’t want to get caught watching you.  Watching you and Rooster together, chatting outside, laughing outside.  You feel a wave of sympathy for what Bob must be thinking—that you’re flirting with Rooster, that maybe Bob has missed his chance.

You turn back to the pilot.  You square your shoulders.  “Okay, I hear you.  I’ll be the brave one.”  A beat as anxiety blooms in your chest, makes your ribcage feel a fraction tighter, makes it just a bit harder to draw a full breath.  “And you’re sure he likes me?  You aren’t misreading this somehow?  I don’t want to look like an idiot, Bradshaw.”

He laughs outright, and he hooks an arm around your neck to pull you into a friendly hug.  

“Ah, kid, he loves you.  You make the first move, he’ll probably go ring shopping next weekend,” he says, and he lays a smacking kiss on the side of your head before releasing you, shoving you gently back towards the bar.

-----

You may be confident, but that confidence doesn’t always extend into your romantic life.  Still, you decide to be brave.

You make the first move.

When you go back into the Hard Deck, you notice that Bob seems quieter than usual, and you guess that he saw the hug, the friendly kiss between you and Rooster.  You guess that he is drawing incorrect conclusions about what he thinks he saw, and you hate to think of him suffering needlessly.

You sidle up to him, and you feel another wave of tenderness towards the man when he turns to look at you—still with that soft smile on his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes despite what he must be thinking.

“It’s too noisy in here,” you say close to his ear.  “I was going to take a walk on the beach.  Do you want to join me?”

The hope in his eyes turns blatant.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  You wanna go?  C’mon.”  You don’t give him a chance to stammer his way out of it; you thread your arm through his and tug him towards the door, and he follows you without any resistance. 

You catch Rooster’s eye, then Nat’s as you leave.  The former tips you a knowing wink.  The latter gives you a nod, and she lifts her glass in a salute.

You don’t release him until you’re at the water’s edge, and you bend down to untie your sneakers and peel out of your socks.  He hesitates a beat then joins you, and he rolls up the pants to his uniform so that his shins are bare.

The two of you walk along the shore in silence for a bit.  It’s one of the things you like best about Bob—how he lacks the braggadocio to always talk, to always fill up every bit of silence with the sound of his own voice.  You know he’s perhaps more shy than the average person, but he doesn’t seem undone by it.  He seems comfortable just to be himself:  quieter than most, willing to sit back and watch.  

Case in point:  you hold your shoes and socks in one hand, and you take his hand with your free one.  Maybe he’s nervous, but his palm is warm and dry, not sweaty or twitchy.  If he’s nervous, it’s not obvious.

And he breaks the silence, after a while.

“Growing up in the Midwest, I never even saw the ocean until I enlisted,” he says.  

“Same,” you reply.  “I mean, growing up in Texas, we went to Galveston a few times, but that was technically the Gulf, not the ocean.”

“You like it?”

You feel the water lapping around your ankles, the give of the sand underneath your soles.  “I do,” you admit.  “There’s something really peaceful about it, and I love poking around at low tide and looking for sea glass.”

He glances at you, and you can hear the teasing in his voice when he replies, “I’m gonna tell Hangman that his cousin only visits him because he’s stationed along the coast.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them.  “Maybe I only visit Jake because I like one of his coworkers.”

The light-hearted feeling of the moment deflates; Bob goes silent.  He takes a beat to reply, and when he does, his voice sounds strained.

“Bradley.”  It comes out curt, two quick syllables.  A statement, not a question.

You shake your head, let out a grumble of disagreement.  Up ahead, you can see the outline of a lifeguard station, painted white and rising ghostly out of the night.  You want to sit with him and finally talk with him, so you tug his hand and lead him there.  The two of you sit on the steps, side by side, hips touching and facing the ocean.

“Not Bradley,” you tell him as you pick up the thread of the conversation.  

“I saw you tonight—”

You shake your head again, cut him off.  “He wanted to talk to me,” you tell Bob.  “About you.”

You feel him go rigid beside you, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.  If there was more light, you’d see the furious blush that breaks out across his face, but it’s dark enough that you can only guess at his embarrassment.

And now that you’ve opened the Pandora’s box, you can hardly take it back, so you plunge forward.  Usually confident, you’re glad for the darkness too—you hope it hides your shaky hands, your inability to turn and meet his eyeline.

“I think you’re great, Bobby.  Honestly.  I thought you were handsome the moment I met you, but then I got to know you, and you’re quiet but you’re funny and sweet, and I was giving all these signs that I was into you, but nothing…I mean, I like you a lot and it’s just…”  You trail off, lose your words like an idiot.  You hadn’t enough time to rehearse this in your head; you just grabbed him at the Hard Deck and dragged him out here, and now you’re fumbling it completely.  You drop your head and swipe your sweaty palms along the sides of your shorts, and you take a deep breath—

You hear his soft “hey,” and then a split second later you feel his warm hand on your face, tilting your head up and turning you to face him, but nothing on earth could prepare you for the way Bob Floyd kisses:  gentle but firm, only a bit hesitant.  His lips are soft, and he breathes out a quiet groan when you reach up and lay your own hand along the side of his neck.

Your thoughts go fuzzy.  Your concentration—all the words you were fumbling to say—is shot, but when you try to break the kiss to finish what you were saying, Bob shakes his head faintly and mumbles against you lips.

“I know,” he says, and you can hear his accent breaking through.  “I know, honey.  Me too.”

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, and a moment later, when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you open yourself to him, allow him to taste you.  You taste him too, and Bob Floyd tastes like the grenadine-laced Coke he nurses each night at the Hard Deck, never much of a drinker even on the rowdiest night.

If nothing could prepare you for the way he kisses, then certainly nothing could prepare you for how sweetly dominant he is, how perfectly he walks the line between gentlemanly and not.  Your clumsy confession must have given him the wherewithal to take charge, and you’re surprised when he puts a hand on your waist and gently urges you to turn towards him…then how he just as gently urges you to climb onto his lap.

It doesn’t take much urging, you find.  You’ve been ravenous for months for this exact moment, and you had thought it’d never come.  You break away long enough to study his face—this close, and with the faint light of the half-moon in the sky above you, you can see his wide blue eyes, his parted lips as he gazes back at you.  You don’t see any hesitancy in his expression at all, but then he breathes out, “please, honey” and he squeezes your waist, so you clamber onto him with no grace whatsoever, but neither of you care because the moment you’re settled on him, you bend your head to kiss him again.

As it turns out, maybe Bob was just as ravenous for this moment too.  He puts his other hand on your waist too, draws you closer to him, and you can feel the nudge and brush of his growing erection against your inner thigh.  He makes a strangled, pained sort of groan in the back of his throat the first time you touch him there, and his hands spasm on your waist, grip you tighter before he schools himself and apologizes.

You break the kiss, slow the moment down.  You cup his face between your palms and hold him steady, tilt his face up towards yours.

“Bobby, why didn’t you ever say anything?” you whisper.  

He shakes his head against your hold and offers you a rueful grin.  “Didn’t think you were interested.”

You snort and press a light kiss to his forehead, then another few to his cheeks, the tip of his nose.  You can feel how flushed he is under your lips.  

“You think I just randomly hang back at parties to help the host clean up?” you tease.  You shift your head, whisper the words in his ear, and you note how he squirms under you.  He’s growing harder, even at your playful kisses.

“Just thought…ah, just thought y-you were bein’ nice.”  His accent comes out stronger, and his hands squeeze you tighter again before he loosens his grip.  “You’re always so…so nice to everyone.”

“I’m nicest to you,” you point out.  You kiss a trail along the line of his neck, and he tilts his head to grant you the space.  At his pulse point, you can feel his heartbeat thundering away there, so you bare your teeth and nip him—not enough to hurt or even sting, but he groans out “shit, honey” and wraps a strong arm around your waist, hauls you right up against where he’s straining against his uniform for you.  His other hand finds the back of your neck, and he draws you to him, kisses you breathless as he guides you against him, sets a steady, rocking motion against him.

It's too much:  the way his clothed erection hits you just right, how he pushes you back and forth, over and over, until you are so wet that you’re certain you’ve soaked through your panties and your shorts.  Everything feels sensitive, swollen, but he keeps guiding you, lifts his own hips in time to the rhythm he sets.  It’s too much but it’s not nearly enough, and you wish you’d known how this entire evening was going to unravel because you would have just taken him home instead—

“This good?” he asks.  His face is tucked against your neck; you’re a fraction higher than him, perched in his lap, and he works his mouth almost lazily against your neck, your throat, the underside of your jaw.  He has one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him, but his other hand settles against your ass, kneads you there, digs his fingertips into the fat of your ass like he wants to own you.

You start to make a joke about being surprised to find he’s an ass man, but then he dips his head, works an open-mouthed kiss right where the swell of your breasts begin.  You whine at the sensation and thread your fingers through his hair.  You hold him there, and the desire coursing through you—the sharp ache between your thighs, the prickly-hot flush across your skin—makes you feel fuzzy, light-headed.  You remember he asked you a question, so you answer him, nod hard and mumble yes, he’s making you feel good, he’s making you feel amazing, but what about him?

“Don’t worry about me.”  He nips at your collarbone, runs his tongue along the line of it, dips his tongue into the divot at the base of your throat.  “Wanna make you come, honey.”

Hearing those words come from his mouth makes your desire rachet up higher, hotter.  You grip his hair harder, whine out his name, but then he adds, “you gonna be my good girl and come for me?”

There’s no way he could have known of your praise kink, so it’s just a lucky guess, but the unexpected phrase—my good girl…fuck if it doesn’t make you cock-drunk and stupid.  No other guy really ever cracked the code of that kink for you.  A few had made half-hearted attempts when you mentioned it, but Bob Floyd stumbles over it immediately, and your mind goes blissfully blank:  yes, you want to be his good girl.  Yes, you want to come for him.  Whatever he wants.  Anything he wants.  Everything he wants.

You let go of your hold on his hair, and you cup his face again, tilt his head up so you can kiss him.  “Yes,” you whisper just before you slot your mouth over his, push your tongue against his, kiss him so deeply that you’re sharing the same breath, mapping the inside of his mouth with your tongue, memorizing every bit of him you can.  Yes, yes.  Yes to all of it.

Mind blank, your pleasure overtakes you:  you feel the heat and friction from where he sets you grinding against him, you feel the bulge of his cock hitting you perfectly, and every bit of him—his subtle cologne, the soft feel of his hair, the quiet little groans he makes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you—pushes you close to the edge.  You teeter there, you ride him faster, the seam of your shorts pressing deliciously against your swollen clit, but it’s his words that push you over.  His quietly domineering orders.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and it’s a harsh, punched-out sound that makes your stomach swoop when you hear it.  “My good, sweet girl.  Come for me.”

Your orgasm breaks around you like a wave, and Bob releases his hold on your ass to draw you closer to him, let you ride it out as you shudder against him.  Both arms wrapped around your waist as pleasure sparks outward from your core, travels up your spine and courses through your limbs until your head is swimming and he’s tucking you against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers into your hair.  “Good girl.  So fucking good for me.”

And all you can respond with is yes, yes.  Only for you, Bobby.

[avis-writeshq]

02 — haunted

summary: “something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst warnings: rated 16+ for alcohol, religious talk (inaccurate portrayal of Christianity), vomit, INCREDIBLY CANON COMPLIANT ‼️IF YOU WERE TRIGGERED BY S2 EP15 REVELATIONS IN CRIMINAL MINDS, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ wc: 10.1k a/n: another special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading and hyping me up!! love you loads zahra 🤎 (she's also doing an AMAZING derek morgan series that i have the honour in beta-in so if you have time please do check it out!! it is an absolute work of art) SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

There is never a dull day when working at the BAU. After weeks of cases and paperwork, a night out was exactly what everyone needed. A place to get drunk, have fun and unwind– and O'Keefe's was the exact place to do just that.

“You know, you can at least try to look like you’re having fun,” Emily muses, nudging your shoulder. 

Emily joined the team soon after Elle had resigned, and as much as you missed your friend, you enjoyed Emily’s company. She’s too observant for her own good; grinning at you from across the room whenever you have the slightest interaction with certain people. She’s a brilliant addition to the team, much to your chagrin, but you know it’s all in good fun. Well, all in good fun for her.

You shoot her a playful glare, sipping on your drink. “I am having fun!”

“Liar,” Emily says instantly, grinning at you. “C’mon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you deny, “I’m just tired. Things have been… busy to say the least. I’m just glad that the team is getting some R&R. Well deserved, might I add. How are you? You know, with joining the team and all that.”

She smiles in your direction before downing a shot and shrugging. “It’s been good! Yeah, everyone is so… welcoming. It’s nice.”

“Different to a desk job?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice. 

Emily laughs softly. “Yeah, totally.”

Your gaze shifts to where Spencer is sitting, for once enjoying himself in such a crowded area. He’s talking to two strangers at a table, his hands gesticulating as he explains something and the two people seem thoroughly amused. 

“So… Spencer, huh?”

You frown. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Emily laughs, “You’re staring at him with heart eyes. Anyone can tell. Except for him, apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For a profiler, you’re a horrible liar.”

You let out something that sounds akin to a dying cow, turning your attention back to your drink. Your attention wavers and it shifts back to Spencer who is enthusiastically talking about something to the two amused guests. He grins at them as they drink, his own cup still full. Derek is thoroughly enjoying himself as he dances with a group of girls, and you can see Aaron and Haley dancing together on the floor as well. It’s wholesome, seeing everyone in their casual wear and just having fun.  

“You should talk to him,” Emily tries again, nudging you. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me to talk to my best friend?”

“I’m bribing you to give me entertainment,” she corrects, laughing.

“You’re horrible,” you tell her, smiling, as you walk past her in Spencer’s direction. “I expect that drink to be delivered to me.”

“Deal!” She calls after you, downing a shot as she watches you. 

Spencer smiles when he sees you make your way over to him, shuffling his chair to the side to give you more room. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling your seat closer to him. “Having fun?”

“I should be asking that to you,” you respond, smiling. The two people he was once talking to take their leave, giggling about something you couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t mean to scare away your company.”

He immediately shakes his head at your words. “I’d rather talk to you anyway.”

You can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face or the way your cheeks heat up and you cough. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Spencer laughs, his hand gravitating to your knee and he squeezes good-naturedly. “You exceed them.”

You think he’s trying to kill you and you swear you stop breathing as you choke out, “I’m glad.”

It isn’t long before Emily makes good on her promise, and a waiter appears on your left. He presents a drink to your table, the glass adorned with a lemon rind and a raspberry, and you eagerly take a gulp. 

Spencer frowns a little as he watches you drink. “Aren’t you going to question who it’s from?”

“I know who it’s from,” you respond cheerfully, letting out a contented sigh. You offer the drink to him, moving the straw so that it’s pointing in his direction. “Want some?”

He eyes the pink drink suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s a Pink Bikini!” You chirp, sipping the drink again. “Like… coconut rum, raspberries, and lemonade. It’s good, Spence, you can barely taste the alcohol.”

His nose scrunches at the idea of coconut rum. “I dunno.”

“You’re not gonna get drunk from one sip,” you protest happily, a little tipsy. “It’s good! Besides, how do you know you’re not going to like it if you never try it?”

“You’re literally drunk right now!” He points out, laughing a little and moving the drink out of your reach. “Give it to me.”

“That’s only because I had a couple drinks earlier,” you argue, lunging for the glass. You’re quick but Spencer is quicker (and taller), and he chugs the drink before slamming it back onto the table. “Spencer!”

He grins at you, smacking his lips as he plays with the paper straw. “I’m protecting you, (Y/N). Who knows what you would’ve done if you drank any more.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chastise half-heartedly, “I was thirsty.”

“I have water,” he says, fishing a plastic bottle out of his satchel. He cracks the lid open, taking a sip himself before passing it to you. “Drinking even moderate amounts of alcohol can lead to dehydration. Drinking water slows down this effect, allowing the liver to metabolise the alcohol that was already consumed. This also means you won’t have as bad a hangover tomorrow morning.”

You beam at him, taking tentative sips from his water bottle. The fact that you’re drinking from the same bottle as him is not lost on you, nor the fact that he finished your drink by using your straw– your lipgloss stained straw– and he didn’t even bat an eye. 

“What would I do without you?” You croon, handing his bottle back. 

“Probably die of dehydration,” he responds, taking one last gulp of water, before returning the bottle back to his bag. 

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” you laugh again, beaming at him. You’re not sure if it’s from the drinks, but you can feel your cheeks begin to flush. Did it get hotter in here?

“Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have a case,” JJ pats your shoulder sympathetically, frowning. “Horrible timing, but it’s urgent.”

You all but whine. “But I’m tipsy.”

“I’ve got aspirin in my bag,” JJ says, “you’ll be fine.”

“Stupid serial killer,” you huff, getting up from your seat. “They owe me a day off.”

*** 

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m getting my groove thang going, bam! We’re back at the BAU,” Derek says, pouring himself a much needed cup of coffee and sitting at the roundtable.

Spencer shrugs. “You know, statistically, a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a… trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more.”

“Besides, how long does it take for you to get your ‘groove thang’ going anyway?” You tease, sipping from your own cup of coffee, and Emily cackles from beside you. 

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon comments, walking into the conference room and taking off his coat. 

Hotch’s brows raise in a mixture of surprise and concern. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian,” he grunts as he sits into his chair.

“You missed a good time,” Emily insists, smiling.

“I had a good time,” Gideon responds, his attention turning back to the screen where JJ was getting ready to present the latest case. 

“Well, that’s definitely over,” she says, flicking the screen on. “Georgia. The Kyles– Dennis and Lacy– were murdered an hour ago in the suburban Atlanta home.”

Hotch’s brows raise in surprise. “An hour ago?”

JJ nods. “Police were on the scene unusually fast.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning over the table.

“One of the UnSubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

You huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house.” JJ purses her lips, gesturing to the transcript that was printed out in their files. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

“‘Sinners’?” Hotch echoes.

JJ nods again, a grimace painted over her features. “The 911 centre is going to send Garcia the tape.”

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asks, glancing at the screen.

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds. During which time Raphael was able to do…” JJ clicks a button on the remote and an array of gruesome crime scene photos popped up onto the screen. “This.”

“In four and a half minutes?” Emily asks incredulously, frowning. 

Garcia immediately turns away from the screen, clutching her mug closer to her chest. You can’t help but cringe as well from the violence presented in the photos: blood everywhere, smeared across the walls and floors of the house, and the victims lifeless. 

“Mr. Kyle is a dot-com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s going to be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

Another image appears on the screen, this time a page of the Bible placed into a plastic evidence bag with a certain section highlighted. 

“Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8,” Hotch reads for the rest of the team.

Derek can’t help but scoff. “They’re killing sinners.” 

“These guys are on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer says with a wince. 

“‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death,” Hotch begins, eyes trained on the Bible page.

Gideon continues, his voice quiet and grim, “And Hell followed with him.”

*** 

You sigh tiredly as you slump into the seat beside Spencer, playing with the cap of your water bottle. The sky outside is painted in oranges and purples as the sun begins to rise, and you try to hold back the frustrated groan when you see the blaring ‘4:22AM’ flash on your watch. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks quietly, looking over at you.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this case. There’s something… off about it.”

He hums in thought, “we’ve dealt with religious motives before, though.”

“I know but just–” you huff, leaning against the headrest. “It’s just weird. I mean, usually if one of the UnSubs were partnered with someone who was a liability, they’d eliminate them. But that’s just not happening here.”

“Don’t think about the case,” Spencer says gently, resting the palm of his hand flat against your knee. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

When you don’t respond, he pokes your cheek gently shooting you a lopsided smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope it will be,” you respond quietly, moving so that your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “But you saw those images; what the UnSubs can do in less than five minutes. I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before but–”

“(Y/N).” He squeezes your knee again and you flush as he continues to speak. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be back home before you know it. Trust me.”

You nod, although you can’t shake this feeling off. “Promise you’ll be safe?”

Spencer smiles at you. “Promise.”

*** 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, turning away as the video of Mr. Kyle being murdered plays on repeat. Your stomach churns at the mere mental image that pops up in your mind, and a chill run downs your spine. 

The case is a lot more gruesome than you expected it to be, especially when it came to the team’s attention that a video of the murder was circulating the internet. The video was currently being played on loop, with the voice of the UnSubs playing out of the computer. You thought you saw it all but this was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

That is, until Spencer stood from his seat. 

“Agent Franks?” He whispers, looking towards the lead detective. “Does this building have wireless internet?”

Agent Franks nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Spencer swallows, gesturing to the computer. “That camera’s on right now. The computer has connected itself to the internet; it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.”

Hotch’s concern only deepens, along with the frown on his face. “Can we trace the stream to the destination?”

“If we keep it open, Garcia might be able to–” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by a beeping from the computer.

In bright red lettering, the words: ‘THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL’ flash against the black screen before turning off.

“So, they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you can totally access someone’s computer remotely. It’s actually done a lot today when a mortal calls for tech support. Instead of giving you instructions the tech can work on your computer from wherever she is,” Garcia explains through the phone. 

“And they maintain the access even after the work is done?” Hotch asks.

“They’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse.”

Spencer turns to Gideon. “Something left in the computer to be turned on later. It’s the same way that websites get pop-up ads onto your computer.”

“Garcia can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called tech support in the last six months?” Hotch requests as he flips through the Kyle family’s folder. 

“Right-o. Oh, and if you get me the laptop I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

Hotch nods. “As fast as we can.”

“By the way, this video? It’s gone crazy viral.”

Gideon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire Internet. Worldwide. And judging by the responses people seem to think it’s pretty cool.”

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch mutters, before the phone hangs up.

“Honestly, they probably don’t even realise that the video is real,” you say quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I mean, you see a video on the internet. The last thing you’d think is that it’s actual people being murdered.”

“They probably think that it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ adds on, but the look on her face is just as disgusted.

“Well, the UnSubs were right about one thing,” Derek mutters, nodding grimly. “The world is pretty screwed up.”

*** 

After hours of going through files and trying to find a paper trail, you’re left with a mountain of paperwork in front of you and sore eyes. You press the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eyes, slumping over the table. 

“Hey.” 

Spencer’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and you peek a look at him. “Hm?”

A takeaway cup of coffee is placed in front of you and you immediately perk up. He chuckles softly, patting your head. “You looked like you needed it.”

You spy the name written across the paper cup and frown. “It’s your coffee.”

“You need it more than me,” he says honestly, smiling. “Besides, I’m okay.”

You take a tentative sip of the drink, the sweetness of the sugar overwhelming the bitter taste of the coffee but you don’t mind it. Instead, you didn’t actually mind it; especially because it’s from him. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “We can share it if you want.”

He shakes his head ‘no’, turning back to the files on the page. “Where did you get up to?”

“Nowhere special. Agent Franks is right; there’s nothing in any of the files relating to knife fights that are remotely similar to the case,” you say, slumping against the table and leaning your head on your arm. “I’ve got six or so left to go through but I’m not getting much luck anyway.”

At that moment, JJ enters the room, holding another cream coloured file. “What if we were looking at this the wrong way?”

Hotch turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for unsolved home invasions. Three months ago there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

Your brows knit together at her words and look up at her. “A prowler?”

JJ nods. “The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?” Hotch asks. 

“Apparently.”

“Was the witness able to describe the man?” Spencer questions.

JJ looks into the papers before shaking her head. “If he did, it’s not in this case file.

Hotch looks at JJ then back at the corkboard. “Is there a name and address to the witness?”

“Tobias Hankel,” JJ reads. “Lives about an hour from here.”

Hotch lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr Hankel, and see if he remembers anything.”

You immediately frown, perking up at his words. “I can go too, sir. There’s a safety in numbers.”

“You’re exhausted and we need you here,” Hotch says, immediately shutting your suggestion down. “We don’t need three people to talk to a witness.”

Your face falls and your stomach churns. “I understand that, sir, but it’s late and wouldn’t it be safer if more people go?”

“We’ll be fine,” Spencer reassures, squeezing your arm. “We’ll be armed and we’ve got our phones.”

A small breath escapes you and you nod slowly, chewing your bottom lip. “Okay. Be safe.”

He smiles. “I will.”

JJ snickers lightly, turning to Hotch. “Be safe,” she echoes, grinning.

Hotch can’t help but chuckle as he returns with, “I’ll be so safe.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

JJ grins. “But how will that keep us safe?”

You throw an eraser at her shoulder in response and she laughs loudly, walking out of the room. Spencer squeezes your arm again, rubbing your shoulder through the fabric of his jumper before following after her. 

It isn’t long before the lead detective rushes into the room, his words flying out of his mouth. “Agent Hotchner, we got another murder.”

*** 

“Tobias Hankel is the UnSub.”

Five words is all it takes for your world to come crashing down around you. Hankel? The UnSub? Your mouth is dry as the head detective explains about the dogs and you think you’re going to throw up. Your mind spins and your chest pounds with anxiety because oh God, what’s going to happen to the others? 

“We sent Spencer and JJ there,” you whisper, your throat closing up. You tug desperately at your collar, trying to breathe. “Oh my God, we sent them there. We sent them there.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek is quick to ground you, gripping your shoulders firmly. “They’ll be okay. It’s Spencer Genius Reid and Jennifer Bad-ass Jareau. They’ll be okay.”

You shake your head firmly, pulling away from his grasp and clutching your head. “I should be there with them. I should have gone with them. We don’t know what Tobias is capable of, Morgan, something could have happened to them.”

“We’re dispatching police now,” the detective says, getting off the phone. 

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes and you try to keep your breathing steady. It doesn’t work. The room is spinning and you can’t see straight. The words your team are trying to get through to you fades into background noise and you let out a choked sob. 

“They could be–” Your words don’t make it off your tongue and you turn, gesturing to the black screen that was once playing the video of the woman and the dogs. “Oh my God.”

“(Y/N),” Emily holds your shoulders tightly, her words a mixture of firmness and care as she tries to snap you out of it. “They’re going to be okay. We have to go there now.”

“They can’t be gone. Spencer can’t be gone,” you say, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go. We have to find them.”

The others don’t need to be told twice. You get into the passenger seat with Emily, trying to calm your breathing. One hour is too long. Why does Tobias have to live so far away? You press the palm of your hand to your mouth, the lump in your throat getting bigger. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as the world becomes a blur of flashing lights and you try not to cry. It’s your fault. You should have been there with him. There’s safety in numbers. Why didn’t you trust your gut?

“Don’t do that,” Emily says sternly, gripping the wheel tighter. 

You can’t bring yourself to respond, merely shaking your head adamantly. 

“Stop blaming yourself,” Emily tries again, glancing at you for a second before turning her attention back to the road. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should be there with them.” Your voice cracks pathetically and you wipe furiously at your eyes.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

She looks at you again. “Stop. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. You’ve learned that this is the hardest part of the job: losing someone. Losing someone because of a job. It seems ridiculous, considering that it’s something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, and yet it is the most common factor in divorces. A lack of commitment. Instead of committing to something that actually matters and can’t be replaced, their attention turns to something so lacklustre. If Spencer were here he would tell you the exact statistics. If Spencer were here, you wouldn’t even need to think about the statistics. 

The sound of sirens echo through the once quiet country area and the police officers file out of their cars. You fasten your Kevlar vest over your chest hastily, fumbling with the clasps as you jump out of the car. 

“John, Bobby, take the house with Hotch, Gideon and (L/N),” the captain orders, pointing towards the house. 

Your stomach lurches as Hotch busts the door open, and you move upstairs with your gun pointed out. 

“Clear!” You yell, rendezvousing with Hotch and Gideon soon after. 

“Downstairs is clear,” Hotch says, nodding towards you. 

“Then where the hell is he?” Gideon mutters, looking around the rooms of the house.

The blood rushes to your ears and the air grows thick. You can’t breathe. The house is unmaintained with mould growing in the corners of the rooms and dust gathering on the shelves, the paint on the walls cracking from water damage. Your eyes sting as the air pricks at your skin, and your legs carry you down the stairs and out the house.

“JJ,” you breathe, your eyes wide as you meet the blonde sitting at the back of an ambulance. You pull her into a hug. “You’re okay.”

It’s a different JJ to what you’re used to. She’s always been put together with not a hair out of place. She’s usually so full of life and mirth, bringing a sense of serenity and security when you need it most but this… 

Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying and she’s shaking miserably against your body. She scratches at her wrists and picks at the bandages, her bottom lip trembling. Her gun is set beside her, not in the holster she usually carries it in.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” You demand. “Where’s Spencer?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I tried–”

“Where is he, Jennifer?” You ask, pulling away from her like she burned you. “Where is he?”

She sobs again, clutching her head. “I don’t know, we separated–”

“What do you mean you separated?!” You’re trying not to scream. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Spencer is gone. He’s gone. “Why would you do that?”

Jennifer lets out a wail, trying to explain herself through broken words. “We didn’t– he said– I’m sorry I’m sorry–”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring him here, does it?” The words are harsh and low, and you tug at your collar again. “He’s not here, Jennifer! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“(L/N), that’s enough.”

Hotch’s voice makes you snap your head in his direction and you see red. 

“I told you I should have gone with them,” you snap, and it doesn’t even occur to you that this man is your boss. “If I went with them, Spencer would still be here right now!”

“(L/N).”

“No.” You glare at him menacingly, too deep in your anger to even comprehend anything else. “He should be here right now! He should– he should be spouting out statistics or coming up with some theory! He should be here and he’s not!”

“We’ll find him. Trust me.”

“I did!” You yell, your voice fervent. “I trusted your judgement! And look where that got us. Spencer is gone. He’s not here, Hotch, because I trusted you!”

“(Y/N), enough.” Hotch is firm and he stares you down. “That is enough, do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

In an instant you stop, your heart lurching and you quiver. “... This is my fault.”

He immediately shakes his head no. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with him. I should have– it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Your eyes well with tears and you tug at your hair erratically. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’ll figure something out. Why didn’t I do something? I should have–”

“Stop it. (Y/N), stop.” Hotch grips your shoulders squarely, bending down so that he’s eye level with you. “Take deep breaths.”

Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, hot ragged breaths leaving your lips shakily as you cover your face with the palms of your hands. Tears fall down your cheeks and gather in your hands as you make a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. It’s all too much. The sky is pitch black and the feeling of cold rain stings and bites your skin. The sounds of sirens fade away and for a moment it’s just quiet. Quiet, except for the words and the voices that swirl in your mind. 

“A man that matches Hankel’s description was spotted in the next town over.”

Derek’s words bring you out of your thoughts and you manage a soft, “What?”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, before turning back to you. “Go back to the police department.”

“What?” Your ears are ringing. You must have heard wrong. “No. No, no, I can’t– no, Hotch, I’m not going back to the police department. Spencer is missing.”

“You’re too close to the case.”

A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you stare at him. “We’re all too close to the case, Hotch. Look around!”

“You attacked JJ and you raised your voice at me. I want you to go back to the police department and work the case from there.” He speaks to you as if he were speaking to a child and it makes you feel sick.  

“Oh, so you’re punishing me?”

“No, I’m using you,” he says firmly, and then his voice softens. “It won’t do you any good to be here, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Aaron,” you try again, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Go back and find us something that we can use.” He turns to one of the policemen. “Make sure she gets there.”

The policeman nods, tipping his hat, and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Wait I– let me talk to JJ. I need– just, please,” you say quickly, clearing your throat. “Sir.”

He’s sceptical before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You don’t need to be told twice. In moments you turn back to the ambulance, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

JJ shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re right. It was my fault.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “I know Spencer and I know you. It was… probably his idea to split up.”

She smiles wryly, fiddling at the bandage on her arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say again. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore. “You went through something too and I ignored that and that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

JJ sniffles, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you respond quietly, patting her arm. “I need to go. Um, Hotch wants me off the case, or something.”

She nods. “Okay.”

You look at her again, the guilt building like bile in your stomach. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

You don’t respond.

*** 

Everything hurts. His head is pounding and he can feel the sticky blood drip from the side of his head and against his cheek. His feet hurt from each thwack of wood, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. It’s cold. So, so cold, and he feels so weak. No amount of knowledge or training could have prepared him for this.

Spencer’s throat throbs from crying. No matter how many times he tries to convince whatever personality is taking over Tobias, it never seems to work. What’s the point of being a profiler if he can’t even save himself?

The creaking of the door brings him out of his thoughts and he jolts. Tobias, at least who appears to be Tobias, enters the room carrying a slaughtered animal. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine and all he can do is watch. 

“You need to eat,” the man says, his voice strangely soft and oddly calm. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, his voice small.

The man looks back at him. “Tobias.”

“Tobias, who was here before?” The fear is obvious in his voice and Spencer just wishes for an ounce of Hotch’s stoicism or Derek’s bravery. 

Tobias chuckles weakly. “It was probably my father. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Before he could comprehend his movements, Tobias takes off his belt and walks over to him. Spencer fears the worst. Did Tobias’s father take over again? He tries to inch away, struggling against the restraints as best he could.

“W-What are you doing?” Spencer asks shakily, trying to pull away from him.

Tobias doesn’t respond, slipping one end of the belt above his elbow. Everything begins to click.

“No, no. Don’t. Please, please don’t.” He resorts to begging. 

In this moment, Spencer hates the way his mind works because he doesn’t need to know the statistics. He doesn’t need to know that 75% of drug abusers started out using pain killers. His head swirls with what Tobias could be using. Codeine? Heroin? Opium? The list goes on and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“It helps,” Tobias says, ignoring the way Spencer trembles and shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t tell my father. He doesn’t know they’re here.”

Tobias takes the syringe and the bottle out of his pocket and Spencer sobs even harder. He tries to appease him again, shrinking away as best he could in his chair. 

“Please,” he tries again, his chest heaving and tears wetting his waterline. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Please,” he begs, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

Tobias doesn’t listen. 

The effects are far too quick for codeine, heroin or opium and Spencer can feel it hit. He knows it’s wrong. He can go on for hours about the statistics about it but the feeling so euphoric that he can’t help it. And then he sees it. 

“We have another recruit as well. Came in a couple weeks ago,” Derek told him, walking him through the halls of the BAU headquarters. “She’s part of the academy Honours program. Top of the class, apparently.”

“Oh.” Spencer nodded slowly, fidgeting with the zip of his bag.

Derek grinned. “Relax, kid. You still have the most impressive résumé. She’s just an intern; doing paperwork, mainly.”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t worried about that,” Spencer stammered, wetting his bottom lip. “I mean– not that I think she isn’t smart or anything. I just meant–”

“Kid, I mean it when you have to relax,” Derek snorted as he opens up the door to the bullpen “Meet the rest of the team.”

He walked through the doors, ready to make his mark. He’s spent so long believing that he was nothing but now… he took another step, meeting Hotch’s gaze and– he didn’t get very far when something catapulted into his side. There was a flurry of paper work and cream coloured files, case details splayed all over the floor. Spencer grunted a little, tumbling to the ground like a house of cards. 

“Oh, my God, I am– I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was running and I am not used to office attire! I am so sorry!” 

The ramblings of a girl– she couldn’t be older than him, at least, not by much– filled Spencer’s ears and he grimaces. “No, it’s– it’s okay. Don’t– uh– don’t worry about it.”

“(Y/N)...” JJ huffed out a quiet laugh, helping the other girl to her feet. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, slowly getting to his feet. 

The girl didn’t do the same, instead scrambling to pick up the multitude of papers that litter the floor. “I’m fine! Just– great. Great. Brilliant.”

Spencer immediately started to reach for the papers, trying his best not crumple them up anymore than they already were. “You’re… the intern?”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, breathless. “I’m still getting used to all…” You gesture wildly to the interior of the bullpen. “... this.”

“(Y/N), meet Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s the youngest addition to the team. Reid, meet (Y/N) (L/N). She’s part of the Academy Honours Program,” Gideon introduces, peering at the two of you from behind his glasses. 

“Hi,” you said meekly, stretching out your hand.

His words hitched in his throat because once he’s gotten past the flying papers and the fact that you literally ran into him, he realises just how beautiful you are. You were right there in front of him, close enough to touch but–

“I don’t shake hands,” he said quietly, the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. His fingers twitch at his sides and he moves them to grip the handle of his satchel. “Sorry.”

You smile at him and his heart thunders in his chest. Is this how Romeo felt when he met Juliet? Or how Charles Bingley felt when he met Jane Bennett? 

“It’s okay,” you told him, tucking the papers under your arm. “Don’t worry about it. So, you’re a doctor? That’s really cool!”

“Reid here got accepted into the BAU without even taking a physical exam,” Derek chimed in, practically bragging about Spencer’s intellectual prowess. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“I’m not an athletic person,” Spencer said awkwardly, his worries dissipating when he heard you laugh good-naturedly. Regardless, he felt the urge to defend himself. “I’m not weak.”

JJ laughed along. “We know, Spencer.”

“I’m not weak… I’m not weak…”

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong.” 

Spencer barely manages to blink his eyes open as he hears the familiar timbre of Tobias’s father’s voice fill the room. He’s slowly coming down from the high of the drugs and the room spins as he does. 

“Yell all you want boy,” Tobias sneers, bending down so that he’s eye level with Spencer. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you where you are.”

As if to prove his point, he begins to scream. Deep and rumbly, and it jolts Spencer back to reality. He wishes he was careful. He wishes he was with you.

*** 

“Tobias has dissociative identity disorder,” Garcia explains to you through the phone, and you slap a hand to your forehead. 

“That makes so much sense,” You mutter to yourself, pacing around the room of the police department. “I should have seen it. It was right there in front of me and I missed it.”

Penelope hums, her voice tense with worry. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one knew until we started digging into the journals and cross-checking dates.”

“I know but–” You rub your eyes, cringing as stars litter your vision– “it was just so obvious. What else have you gotten?”

It has been a little over ten hours since Hotch sent you back to the police department and you haven’t gotten much sleep. You tried, you swear you tried, but every time you see the terrified face of Spencer and it makes you sick. The whiteboard in front of you is littered with different evidence files and profiles. Profiles on Tobias, profiles on the victims, geographical profiles… the list goes on. 

“We know that Tobias is an addict,” Emily says. “He picked dilaudid as his poison.”

“For someone so hellbent on following the Bible, he’s incredibly hypocritical,” You say, jotting down the words onto the whiteboard. 

“His personality is split into that of his father, Charles, and Raphael,” Emily continues, and you can hear the frown in her voice. 

You’re about to say something when Garcia’s voice raises by an octave. 

“Oh God,” she squeaks, and you can hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Morgan? Emily, get the others, oh my God!”

“What’s going on?” You demand urgently, gripping the phone tighter. “Garcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” her voice is hushed and far from the speaker, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

“What happened? Penelope, what happened?”

“We have to go,” she says hurriedly, and the sound of footsteps from the rest of the team fill the speaker.

“No! Wait, don’t hang—“

The sound of the prolonged dial tone echoes in your ears and you resist the urge to scream. You press the pads of your fingers to your eyes, hot tears wetting your skin. Crying will get you nowhere and you know that. You know that Spencer is holding on. He’s relying on the BAU to save him. 

You gather all the available files on Charles Hankel, spreading them around the table. There’s not much to read; he’s lived a relatively quiet life. He was a farmer, his wife left him… dead end. Again. You’re at your wit’s end and you grab your keys. 

“John, want to work on a federal case?” You ask, shaking your keys. The younger policeman nods eagerly and you point to the door. “Great. Let’s go.”

It’s a small country town in Atlanta. Someone has to know something, especially if Tobias was a drug abuser. 

“We’re going to a few Narcotics Anonymous groups,” You explain to John who looks a little too excited to be sitting in a federal car. “Ask questions on Tobias Hankel and Charles Hankel. Someone has to know something.”

“All due respect, um, ma’am,” John stammers, and you raise an eyebrow amusedly. He coughs before continuing, “why aren’t you with the rest of the team?”

You falter, turning your attention back to the road. “They need me to work it from here. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Two miserable hours pass by with not much luck. Two hours that could have been used for something more meaningful than asking a bunch of drugged up assholes about the UnSub. Anxiety claws at your chest again as you flick through the answers. It’s nothing you didn’t already know. 

“I got something,” John says a little breathlessly, jogging back over to you. 

“Yes?” You need something. Anything. 

“A few sheep were stolen off of a farmer’s property,” he says, flipping through the notebook and reading off his scrawny handwriting. “Wasn’t Charles a farmer?”

“What does that have to do with–” You feel your mouth go dry and you turn to him. “Which farm?”

“Which– um…” He swallows. “Mcallister? Shawn Mcallister.”

In seconds you’re dialling Garcia again and she picks up with a trembling, “hello?”

“Is Spencer alive?” You ask firmly, slamming the car door. 

“Y-Yes. He’s– it’s not good, (Y/N),” she whimpers, clicking on the keyboard. “There was another murder. Spencer had to– he had to– he had to choose who to save. The UnSub fed a video to us, (Y/N), it’s horrible.”

There was another murder? John seizes up beside you and you grimace. You keep forgetting that John is practically a kid, barely twenty-one, and he hasn’t even seen the horrors of the world yet. 

“But he came back, right? To Spencer?” You ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an effort to keep yourself steady. “Penelope, Tobias posted a video of the latest murder, right? When was it posted?”

“9:23,” she says woefully, typing away.

“Okay, and…” you check the police radio, biting your lip nervously. “Okay, it says that the call for the murder came in at 9:04.”

There’s a little static in the background along with some shuffling before she responds. “Um… okay?”

“John, I need a map. Where’s– goddamn it– where’s the map of the area, John?!”

He fumbles, spreading the paper open. “Here!”

“That road– it’s 60 miles an hour, right? That means he needs to be–” you scribble across the map, frowning. “That’s within seventeen miles of the crime scene. There’s a farm, uh, poaching or something. Mcallister farm?”

“We’ll find something,” Penelope says quietly. “I’ll try find the farm area. He is going to be okay, I promise.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

*** 

The guilt alone is enough to kill him. Spencer knows that he is not at fault for this; Gideon said so. Regardless, he can’t get their faces out of his head. They were happy. What if they had kids? They were good people; they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Spencer’s head pounds as he slumps against the chair, his breath quickening when he realises that Tobias is right there.

“Sorry, I had to leave for a while,” Tobias, the real Tobias, says quietly, strapping the belt to Spencer’s arm again.

He’s felt this so many times now. The high, and then the inevitable low. There’s no point fighting it, Spencer tries to justify, it’s biology. 

“You can leave again,” he says softly, “and you can take me with you.”

“My father would be angry,” Tobias says, drawing the liquid up the syringe.

“Not if he can’t find us.”

Tobias scoffs. “He always finds me.”

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come and they’ll save us,” Spencer pleads, trying to look him in the eye.

“We can’t be saved,” he says dismissively, flicking the syringe. 

Spencer sniffles, and for a split second he feels the fear course through his veins. “We can. We can, I promise, if you tell me where we are I’ll save us both.”

“Listen to me. It’s not worth fighting.” Tobias pauses, readying the syringe. “Tell me it doesn't make it better.”

The silence that follows is humiliating. He hates the way that he isn’t fighting anymore but he can’t. It’s almost as if his body doesn’t even want to listen to him. Tobias doesn’t waste another moment and the familiar feeling of artificial ecstasy floods Spencer’s mind.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

The phrase was so unfamiliar and Spencer’s brows furrowed as he looked at you. It has been a couple weeks since you were officially indoctrinated into the BAU and he couldn’t be any happier. It felt nice to talk to someone who was his age, especially because he never really knew anyone of his age back in Las Vegas. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

You laughed and his heart fluttered in his chest. He remembered the feeling distinctly; how could he forget? The feeling is still the same now.

“I mean… tell me something not a lot of people know about you. Like… okay, I’ll go first. Um… my favourite flowers are hydrangeas. The purple ones.” 

He committed that information to memory. Every year for your birthday he would buy you a new pot of hydrangeas for your apartment or something flower related like an automatic waterer or a replacement sun lamp. 

“Hydrangea macrophylla,” Spencer said slowly, his cheeks flushed. “It means… gratitude, grace, and beauty. It’s fitting.”

He relished in the way your eyes lit up and the way you smiled at him. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um… my middle name is Walter?” He chuckled awkwardly, wetting his bottom lip. “No one really calls me that, though.”

You typed something on your computer, reading out loud, “The name Walter is Germanic in origin and means ‘commander of the army’.”

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” You grinned at him. “Walter.”

Spencer choked a little, the hairs on his neck standing on end and heat crawling up his cheeks. “You– you don’t have to call me that.”

“I won’t if you don’t like it,” you told him. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said quickly, his eyes widening. “I’m just not used to it.”

He remembers the way you beamed at him and the way he felt knowing that he made you happy. 

“Well then,” You began, meeting his gaze, “I guess that means I just have to call you that more often.”

Tobias’s yelling brings him back and all he can do is stare as he watches him slam on the keyboard angrily. A bright red pop up is flashing on his computer, and Tobias turns to Spencer with a murderous scowl. 

“They’re trying to silence my message.”

“I can’t control what they do,” Spencer defends tearfully, his voice wavering. “I’m not with them, I’m with you.”

Tobias scoffs again. “Really?”

He types something onto the keyboard and Gideon’s face show’s up on the screen. He’s leaning towards the camera, his words a mantra that Spencer repeats in his mind. 

“Reid,” the crackly audio sounds with Gideon’s voice, “if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this, understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

Tobias slams the computer off, walking back to him. “You think you can defy me?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about–”

“You’re a liar!”

Spencer can only grimace in response, the words caught in his throat. Tobias must have been able to see something and the fear creeps into his heart again as the man lunges for his arm. Tobias forces Spencer’s sleeve up and the guilt crashes like waves. 

“You’re pitiful,” Tobias sneers, “Just like my son.”

Spencer wracks out a sob, silent pleas of mercy never leaving his lips. Maybe he does deserve this. Maybe, in some sick and twisted way, the universe is out to get him for all his shortcomings. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Tobias turn the camera on, maybe he does deserve to die this way.

“This ends now,” Tobias snarls. “Confess your sins.”

“No,” he whimpers. 

Tobias’s fist collides with the side of Spencer’s face with a resounding slap. 

“Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything…”

His fist meets Spencer’s cheek again and all he can do is recoil in his chair.

“Tobias, help me,” he manages, but his plea is shut down almost instantly. 

“He can’t help you, he’s weak. Confess!” He hits him again and the pain is almost too much to bear. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer sobs. “No…”

In a fit of anger, Tobias throws Spencer to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts as he feels the back of his head meet the cold musty ground. He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s underwater. Have to breathe, he needs to breathe, why can’t he breathe? He needs to see you again. He can’t die like this. He can’t, he can’t, he needs to breathe. He tries to take a breath of air but it’s like his mouth is full of water. And just when he thinks he reached the surface, he’s pulled under once again. 

Warmth. The feeling of his blood pumping to his ears is the first thing Spencer feels and his fingers twitch. He’s alive. There’s only one reason why that must have happened. 

“I was given CPR,” he rasps out, Tobias’s words swirling in his head. 

“There are no accidents,” Tobias says slowly. “How many members are in your team?”

Spencer can barely whisper the word. “Eight.”

“Seven, not including you. ‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to Earth’.” He hoists Spencer’s chair upright, standing before him. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

Spencer blanches, looking up at him. “What?”

“Your team members. Choose one to die.”

He doesn’t need to think when he responds, “kill me.”

Tobias jeers. “You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.”

“Your team has seven other members. Tell me who dies.”

Spencer breathes in as if it were his last. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his jacket pocket, spinning the cylinder before aiming it for Spencer’s head. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Tobias clicks the trigger and nothing happens so he repeats, “choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

The trigger clicks again and nothing happens. “Life is a choice.”

“No.” 

Spencer’s mind is racing. His first thought goes to you. He knows you would understand any and all references he throws in your direction, but it makes him sick just thinking about putting your life on the line. He needs something. He needs to think. 

“Choose.”

“I choose…” his voice stammers and he can barely see straight. “Aaron Hotchner.”

*** 

“We got him.”

The words echo in your mind as you pace up and down your hotel room, chewing on your destroyed nailbeds. It’s nearing two in the morning and you can’t sleep. The rest of the team are awake. Why should you be given the privilege of rest when none of them were able to? Why should you be given the privilege of rest when Spencer is out there fighting for his life? It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

When you hear the sirens outside you run out the door. Blood is pulsing in your ears and you’re still wearing the thin hotel slippers but it doesn’t matter. How could anything else matter? The car door clicks open and Emily helps Spencer out of the car. She whispers something to him and he looks in your direction. Those big hazel eyes stare at you with so much hurt and you can’t contain it anymore. 

“Spencer.”

His arms wrap around your waist, his nose pressing against your neck as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your vanilla perfume. He almost doesn’t believe you’re real. He pulls you impossibly closer, sniffling, and he can feel your fingers run through his hair. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper, trying to be reassuring, but he can hear the way your voice cracks. “You’re okay.”

“I should have listened to you,” He whimpers, feeling the cold wet rain soak through his shirt. “I should have– I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be, Walter.”

The moment he hears that name spill from your lips he begins to cry. He’s okay. He’s with you now. You’re right here. 

“I thought–”

You shush him for the first and last time, squeezing his arms. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wonders how a person could be so warm. Even in the cold Atlanta weather you’re still so warm. 

“Hotch wouldn’t let me work the case from the house,” you tell him quietly as you sit beside him on the bed. “Understandable. I screamed at him.”

He chuckles a little, flinching when you gently pull the bandage off the side of his face. He feels a lot better now that he’s clean, the shower more than necessary and he savours the feeling of warm water on his skin. The gash on his head is oozing sticky blood and you dispose of it accordingly, reaching into the first aid kit. 

“It’s gonna sting a little,” you tell him, pressing a damp cloth to the wound. 

He hisses at the contact, gripping your arm and he tries to change the subject. “Why did you scream at Hotch?”

You hum, continuing to clean the blood off his head. “I was mad at him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

You smile at him, applying a new bandage to his head. “It’s okay. I was able to help the case from here, anyway.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “Please?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course, Walter.”

He curls into your side, an arm wrapped around your middle and he breathes in the scent of your strawberry and honey shampoo. Your fingers curl in his hair, untangling the knots when your eyes flicker to your desk, the letter of resignation tucked inside your bag. He doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

*** 

You knock at the door of Hotch’s office, chewing on your bottom lip. You remember being in this office for the first time four years ago when you were an intern; the way you shook with nerves and anticipation as you handed in your résumé for the honours program and then again when you were hoping to take the job full time. It’s ironic that you’re back at his office again, but for a very different reason. 

“Come in.”

The breath that leaves your lips is shaky and you take a seat in front of his desk. “Hotch.”

“(Y/N).”

You place the pristine white envelope onto the desk,watching the way his face shifts from stoic to surprised.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, not touching the envelope. “The situation at hand was stressful. No one blames you for reacting the way you did.”

“It’s not just because of that,” you say slowly. “You were right. I was too involved.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say quickly, a humourless laugh slipping at your words. “I would have killed him.”

Hotch looks at you, his eyes meeting yours. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” you say surely. “After what he did to Spencer, if I had found him I would have killed him. And I would have– I would have slept well. I love this team, Hotch, but I can’t separate those feelings when I’m on the field no matter how hard I try.”

He’s quiet for a moment before nodding, rising from his seat. “I’m assuming it’s a two-week’s notice?”

You nod, also getting up from your chair. “Yeah. I– I don’t want to just leave, you know?”

“We’re going to miss you,” he says, walking with you to the door, “but this will be good for you.”

“I know.” You can feel the stares of the rest of the team through the glass and you can’t help but smile. “They’re horrible at being nonchalant.”

“They’re profilers,” Aaron chuckles. “Can you blame them?”

“I guess not,” you muse, pulling the door open. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You always have a place here, (Y/N),” he says gently as you walk back down to the bullpen. 

It doesn’t take long before the overflowing dam of questions burst and in moments Emily is crossing the room and sitting next to you. 

“You’re leaving the BAU?”

You look at her with wide eyes before laughing a little. “You… are very good at your job, huh?”

“Oh…” Penelope tackles you in a hug, her arms tight around your frame. “We’re going to miss you.”

JJ sniffles a little, joining the hug. “Don’t forget us.”

“As if I ever could.” A bittersweet smile rests on your lips. 

Derek hugs you as well, his chin on the top of your head. “Look after yourself, kid. We’ll make these last two weeks the best you’ve ever had.”

“If you ever need anything…” Emily begins slowly, squeezing your hands. “I’m here, okay?”

Gideon pats your shoulder lightly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good person. Never forget that.”

You nod, trying to blink away the tears that fill your eyes. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

The opening and shutting of the BAU doors brings you out of your thoughts and the familiar head of brown hair stalking away makes your face fall. Gideon meets your gaze, gesturing towards the door. That’s all you need to run out of the bullpen. 

“Spencer– Spencer, wait, please.” You tug on his arm desperately. “Please–”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asks, his voice cracking. It has only been a few days since the incident and he looks a little better. The scratches on his face are still visible, but they’re fading slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–” you falter, flinching at the pain and hostility in his voice. “It was never a good time.”

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his arm. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t just randomly tell you,” you say, frowning. “How would that be fair?”

Spencer rubs his eyes, the dark bags beneath them even more prominent. “Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” you say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love this job but I can’t do it anymore–”

“Why not?!”

“Because–!” You exhale, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I swore an oath when I took this job that I will put this country above myself. And I can do that. I would die for this country to protect the people in it, I will hunt down the people who make this country so unsafe and I will sacrifice myself willingly, but you? I can’t– I can’t lose you. If I had to choose between catching the UnSub and saving you, I would save you in a heartbeat. Even if that meant letting a bad guy go. Even if that meant more people would get hurt I would still choose you and I can’t let that happen.”

Your words deem him speechless and he shifts his weight on his feet. For a moment, all he can do is stare at you as your reasoning sinks in. It makes sense. He hates that it makes sense. 

“So that’s it?” He asks quietly, finally looking you in the eye. “You’re actually leaving?”

“Not for another two weeks,” you tell him truthfully. “Besides, you can still text me. And call me. You know where I live so you can always visit.”

He bites the inside of his cheek anxiously, teetering on his feet before hugging you tightly, burying his nose into your hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

His grip is tight around you and if you paid attention you could feel him tremble. “I can’t do this job without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You can, Walter. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

There are so many things he wishes he could tell you. You’re right here. He doesn’t have to yearn for your touch anymore because you’re right here in his arms. He wants to tell you so many things. Like how he adores the colour of your eyes, or the way you smile, or the way your hair falls. He wants to tell you how much he likes spending time with you and how he feels so good with you but he can’t. The words are at the tip of his tongue so how can he not say anything?

“I–” love you– “I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “Me too.”

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[jarofstyles]

Put Your Records On

This is a little thing I came up with at 2 am and kept writing till 5 lol. It's pop star y/n x rock star H. I don't do a lot of canon H and some things are changed/ don't fit into the real one but that's on purpose. Part two will be up very soon!

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WC- 4.2k

Warnings- dirty talk, mention of bullying (Brief)

She saw him from across the room- well, more like felt him. The room had a buzz in it that it hadn’t before.

It was common knowledge that he was going to be there. One of his best friends was hosting the after party for the BRIT awards, and she had been lucky enough to be invited considering her manager had been friends with the group for a while. Actually, it was a bit shocking that she’d never met the man considering how close their circles ran. She’d met a lot of his management and production team, even a few members of his band- but never the man himself. 

It was her second year after making it big on the music scene but her entire life, she’d been working towards this. School musicals, voice lessons, guitar and piano lessons, music had become her flesh and blood and she was determined to make it her bread and fucking butter. She’d been blessed with her voice and a talent like hers wasn’t one to waste, that’s what her parents had said as she grew up- and it had all paid off. She went home with Best New Artist and was coming down on the buzzing high of another huge accomplishment of her career. 

Harry was infamous, at the top of the damn world and everyone knew his name. He was just about to hop back on tour, one Y/N had been invited to attend by his manager himself. It seemed like today was the day they would finally meet in person, and judging by the recognition in his eye, he had heard about her too. 

God, that made her want to vomit. Growing up she’d been a casual fan of his band, been to a few shows even after scraping together enough money for a ticket along with her best friend. Said friend was lost somewhere in the room and Y/N knew she had a knack for awful timing, but as the man got closer to her she felt her insides begin to bubble. She wasn’t one to get starstruck super easily, thank god, but it was hard not to feel intimidated as he approached her. A black blazer with a very sheer pink blouse underneath, pants tight on the thighs and flared at the calves, necklaces hanging in a thatch of thin chest hair, she’d felt her mouth dry as his smile was given directly to her. Someone she’d grown up singing to in her bedroom, right into her hairbrush, was grinning at her like she was someone important. 

“So we finally meet.” Harry reached his hand out to shake hers. Clunky rings covered the digits as her own took them, shaking his warm hand with her own smile on her face. She’d been on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, and yet he was a bit more intimidating. Still she was going to do her best to use her brief acting skills and pretend her heart wasn’t in her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you- your album’s fucking brilliant.”

He was tipsy, she could see that much. His eyes were slightly hooded and he had a looser demeanor than he had seated at the table ahead of her at the awards show. Good for him. It wasn’t likely that he did this too much. It was well known that he wasn’t much for drinking during his working season and he’d won two awards! That called for drinks all around. 

What took her off guard, though, was the fact that he’d listened to her album. He listened and he had said it was good? Her cheeks heated as she realized he was still holding her hand, gently letting it fall as he took a step closer. It was a little loud out there but not too bad if you were close enough. “You think so? I’m hoping it’s all good things.” She let out a laugh she hoped sounded natural, adjusting her hair. The girl had always been one to fuss with her clothes when she was nervous but hopefully he didn’t realize that. “So is yours. Got quite a few on my playlists.” 

“Yeah?” His smile grew bigger. “Which ones?” Y/N felt the lump in her throat as she tried not to think about how good he smelled. It was so creepy, noticing that. There was a faint hint of tobacco and the tiniest bit of alcohol, but he smelled really warm. Cuddly, in a way. It made sense in her brain, but she was also a drink in at this point. 

“Mmm, I have a few from other albums but from the latest? Satellite, that’s the go to for the gym for me… Late Night Talking, very relatable for me. Erm… Boyfriends, unfortunately.” She saw him give a playful wince. “Yeah, men are shit- no offence. And then I’d say Daydreaming is a personal favorite. As It Was was brilliant, obviously, but Daydreaming is my favorite.” It felt like maybe she word-vomited a little but he’d listened to every word, seeming pleased with her answers. 

“Daydreaming isn’t one I hear of being a favorite, usually. M’chuffed that it’s yours.” He genuinely seemed happy about it. “I really liked the closing track of your album- it’s so rare to find albums that tell a story, that are thoughtfully laid out, at least at this point in time. I love to listen from front to back and it was laid out perfectly. Usually m’a bit of a snob and would have some critiques but you nailed it.” 

Y/N preened. It wasn’t a compliment she got often and it shocked her because that meant he’d really listened. Really paid attention to her music and took time with her album. It was extremely flattering. Surreal, really. Who could have told 15 year old Y/N that Harry would be a fan of her fucking music? She’d probably pass the fuck out. “I’m shocked you got that, but thank you. Yeah, I did the same thing growing up. It was my favorite part of music I’d find, seeing how stuff flowed together. Top to bottom and then bottom to top, then I can shuffle.” It was said in a slightly joking tone but she was fully serious. 

“You get it, Y/N.” He reached out to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to meet you for a bit but my schedule’s been hectic. Thought it wouldn’t be since we’ve been going for a bit now but tour prep… can be brutal, y’know?” 

Y/N did know, but on a minuscule scale compared to what his tour probably entailed. He was doing stadiums, for god’s sake! Y/N’s arena tour sold out quickly, but there was a huge size difference in where they were. Hopefully she’d reach his level one day. “I do, I do. It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think you were avoiding me or anything.” For a bit she did, but that was wiped away when she’d realized he released the tour dates. It had been months of almost meetings but she had faith in the universe. When it was meant to happen, it would. 

“God no, I was excited to. Did y’want to come sit with us over there?” He motioned to the private area she was allowed into but not been brave enough to venture to quite yet. 

“Sure, that would be nice.” Y/N hadn’t expected to be invited to sit with him personally, let alone feel his hand on her back as he led them through the crowd of people in the room. The star said hellos as he walked through but somehow had mastered the art of saying hi without being caught into a conversation without seeming rude. That was a skill she sure as hell was envious of.

His hand was really fucking warm. She could feel slight calluses on his fingertips, in true musician fashion, but they weren’t as rough as one would originally expect. Her backless dress did her no favors in hiding the warmth and how nice and comforting his touch felt, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank or scowl at her stylist. It wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the dress they’d pulled for the carpet, thankfully this dress was a slinky, emerald green one with room for her legs to actually move. Her updo had been taken down to a mess of curls that nearly reached where his hands were- the power of extensions. As heavy as her head felt, she couldn’t deny that she felt exceptionally beautiful. Thank god the universe had chosen today to meet Harry. 

“Finally!” Sarah sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you two to meet for ages. Come sit.” The woman had always been very sweet, even more sweet with a few drinks in her. Saying her hellos to the familiar people, she felt Harry sit himself next to her in the booth and immediately drinks were brought over. So this is why it was VIP. It was a lemon drop, something Y/N did happen to like. Harry handing her one before taking his own was unexpected but very appreciated, a gentle thank you exchanged as he settled back next to her. 

It was unreal to be here. To be sat at a table of friendly but insanely successful people, feel like part of the ‘in’ crowd, it had completely blindsided her. This was the sort of thing that she’d always thought about when she was in her bed at home as a teenager, hoping one day to rub elbows with the people she once admired so much they had space on her bedroom wall, and here it was. Someone who’s face was on her favorite bedtime tee shirt (Those merch shirts were expensive and she wasn’t about to get rid of it because a member was now in her circle). 

“Y/N, did you know that H added some of your songs to the preshow playlist in his dressing room?” Sarah hummed. 

“You did?” The girl gasped as she looked at him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she saw a bit of a pink glint to his cheeks. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

“He did, and he’s been raving about it to Mitch. Sometimes he’s singing it when we pass, that one song about the… what’s it called? The Raven? Some sort of bird.” 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Mitch had to laugh at her airing a bit of Harry’s business, but she was a chatterbox when she was drunk. 

“That’s so nice!” Y/N said shyly. “You’re on mine too, actually. The dressing room for me and the one the fans listen to, I can hear them sing it from backstage.”

Harry’s leg was pressed into hers so she didn’t have to turn far to look at him, watching him finish his drink as he nodded. “I do, yeah. Told you I liked your music. I meant it.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t he wouldn’t mention it. That’s why when he met that girl earlier he just said it was nice to meet-” Sarah was cut off by her husband asking her if she wanted to see something on his phone, putting Harry out of his misery. 

“M’not an ass.” He groaned. “I just didn’t vibe with the album, y’know? I won’t say things I don’t mean but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”

“Agree, 100%. It’s easy when it’s just a taste thing, but I’ve found it harder with people I’ve seen or heard talk bad about me and it’s confirmed. Dunno how you’re able to do that.” Y/N struggled to not show her nerves or distaste of people sometimes and it was something she was constantly working on. Her best friend often had to tell her to adjust her facial expressions and she’d even gone viral once for a ‘stink face’ she’d made at someone. It was accidental of course, but it’d also caused one of her first big waves of hate. 

“It’s not easy, and anyone who says so is lying.” Harry confirmed. “It’s taken me years. Said something about pussy on tv not realizing the cameras could see, so It’s trial and error.” The joke had the both of them laughing, Y/N not divulging that she indeed already knew that. “I think it’s important to just remember they’re humans and probably just as nervous t’see you. It’s just a short interaction and you can move on quickly. I also think working out, yoga, all of that helps a lot with my inner calm. It isn’t easy, like I said, but you’re also in the beginnings of your career in this sort of light. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to have a good poker face by the end of the year.”

“God, I love that song.” Y/N sighed. “Poker face, loved that one I mean. But thank you. I really do appreciate the advice. I was terrified coming tonight. The award shows are much scarier than your own gigs.” 

“Oh, definitely.” Harry whistled, taking another drink from the tray and handing a fresh one to her. “S’like, you know the people who go to your shows are there for you. It’s like a little family get together, it’s safer. Those people love you enough t’buy a ticket, travel got knows how long, wears a shirt with your face on it. It’s mental to think about but incredible. These things?” He motioned around the room. “All marketing and partying, but more drama. S’crazy how many people have slept with each other in this room.” Harry realized a bit too late that he’d said too much but thankfully Y/N just giggled in agreement. “You seem to take to it quite well though. Not to sound weird but I saw you accept your awards and socialize a bit here, you’ve probably got the whole room fooled.”

That was a relief and a compliment in her opinion. The goal was to make sure no one sensed the weakness. Unfortunately she’d learned early on that these people could sniff it out like a shark in bloodied water. “That’s the goal.” She replied, leaning back into the seat. Her back was killing her from the bloody heels on her feet and how tight her other dress was, so it was a relief to have this reprieve from them sitting here. 

“So tell me about your tour then. What’s going on with that?”

—-----------

Y/N was drunk. Certifiably hammered. She had one too many lemon drops and apparently, so did Harry. Some of the people had vacated the booth and it left them alone as they talked amongst themselves. With the aid of the liquid courage, she wasn’t losing her mind over how close they were. Sure, her heart was still going a million miles a minute, but that was due to his fingers fiddling with the strap of her dress. Harry was, evidently, a touchy drunk. Clingy. He’d even followed her to the bathroom and waited for her outside before they’d returned. 

In all honesty, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe all of this in the morning. That Harry had ignored everyone else in favor of talking to her, tucked away in VIP at a round table, his body closer than it needed to be considering the space. They’d talked about a lot of industry things, but more so the fun and personal. She told him about her collection of band tee shirts and admitting to not having listened to all the bands she wore, but he didn’t judge her for it. Said he went through a phase of doing the same while in the band. She told him about her cat, a Siamese named Simon and he’d cooed over photos on her phone about how cute he’d looked with his collar that had a little flower on it. So many topics were covered, so many things discussed in the last two hours that she felt like she was getting a handle on who he was. 

Though this many drinks, it was bleeding into oversharing.

“Your ex was at the awards?” He asked, eyes slightly red but widening as she dropped the tidbit.

“Yep.” The p in the word was exaggerated with a pop of her lips and an eye roll. “Note to you for the future, don’t fuck anyone involved in your production team. Makes for a nasty breakup and a lot of rude ‘inside sources’ with the press.” Her lips flattened. “And he couldn’t even make me finish, so. Fuck him.”

Harry’s eyes widened further before he groaned, his head dropping to the side onto the leather booth seat. “No, not that, Y/N. C’mon.” He seemed a bit distraught. “It’s always those guys that make your life hell, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I did learn that a bit early on.” He seemed to remember it but she didn’t ask. If he didn’t divulge it, she wasn’t going to pry. “You got the shit end of the stick. It’s one of my embarrassments being a male. Y’don’t have to be a rocket scientist to learn how to pleasure a woman.”

“You’d think.” She scoffed. “Swear, men in LA don’t know how to use any of their appendages. Used like a human fleshlight so I stopped hooking up with people. It got discouraging after the fifth time I left. Not a single one know where the clit is.” It was an unfortunate truth. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places or had a string of bad luck, but she’d been voluntarily celibate because of it. “Doubt you know what m’talking about, Mr Watermelon Sugar.”

Y/N realized her internal thought had become an external one when he broke out into his own giggles, her face heating. She’d definitely not meant for that to be said out loud, but thankfully he didn’t seem offended. It was the truth anyways, any man who loved pleasuring a woman so much that he wrote a whole song about it had to know what he was doing.

As his giggles came down, he replied. “Well, I’d like t’think I do. I…” He swallowed. “Know we just met, but overshare?” Scooting closer, he watched her nod. “I think I get off more on getting other people off, if that makes sense. Like, making someone feel good. I dunno if it’s some sort of ego thing, but I enjoy it a lot. Being the cause of pleasure. Think it probably ties in to a bit of a praise kink I’ve got, but it’s the truth.” 

Y/N had never thought she’d get into this sort of conversation with the man, let alone in a dark corner at the BRITs afterparty, but she wasn’t about to complain. “So it’s true then?” She rose an eyebrow. “You really love eating pussy?” Drunk Y/N had officially taken over. A bit of a drunk, horny Y/N she’d been trying to repress. In the morning she would be mortified that she asked that, but right now she was genuinely curious. 

“I do.” He smirked. “I dunno there’s just something about it. Being the one to make someone gasp. When it feels so good they try and push and pull you at the same time. Love the taste, love t’hear the noises. Maybe it’s a little arrogant of me but your name sounds better when it’s said with pleasure, don’t you think?” 

Y/N should have known better than to ask. Harry was a very attractive, alluring man, he was close to her and smelled so fucking good and god damn it, she was already horny. Her cunt throbbed and she knew she was going to have a wet patch in her thong when she left, but she was a glutton for punishment. “I do. I like giving for the same reason.” She admitted. “I’ve always had a lack of gag reflex so, it’s made it easier for me than other people probably have it.”

Harry’s interest seemed to be stroked, fingers brushing over her bare neck as she spoke. It was hard to concentrate here, with him so close. But Y/N always did like to be a bit of a tease, brushing the tip of her foot over the back of his leg. Maybe they were playing a dangerous game talking about this, but no one else was around. She didn’t fall back when his head dipped slightly, getting closer than necessary. “Look at us then. What a pair.” 

“I know. You’re just bold enough to write a whole song about it.” Her finger poked him playfully in the chest. 

“M’not apologetic about it. A woman’s pleasure is important and often overlooked. Makes me sad that no one’s made you feel good in that long. I hope you’re taking care of yourself at the very least.” Oh, she was. And she would be when she got back to her hotel tonight. Thank god for the suction vibrators. 

“I do, but it’s not the same as having someone else do it for you.” Her drunk self told her it as a good idea to pout, trying not to breath too hard as his fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I just miss the touch of another human, you know? Even innocent touches but, there’s nothing like being fucked so hard you feel it the next day. Feels like it’s impossible to find it anymore.” 

“It’s not.” He replied. Eyes were staring into her own. “You’re fucking stunning. Especially tonight, you could pull anyone in the room.” Gaze dipped down to her cleavage, not hiding that he was looking. Heat that had been bubbling in her stomach spread through the rest of her body, his touch igniting a bit of a spark. 

“Anyone?” Her head tilted to the side. The tension had been growing a bit with the two of them but now it was thick in the air. There was no denying that there was an attraction between them but it was palpable now. “So if I wanted to, I could pull you?” Y/N had no idea if he was even available for anything right now. It wasn't’ a smart idea considering how closely they worked near each other, but right now all she could think about was the fact that she had full confidence that Harry could give her the feelings that she wanted- the fuck she needed. 

“Absolutely. M’hanging on by a thread here.” His voice deepened, face far closer to hers than should be appropriate for two people who just met. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman all night. M’a bit of a slut sometimes but hookups aren’t usually my thing. Was trying to figure out a way to ask you out but, I’ve been a little nervous.” Fingers curled around the back of her neck as their noses brushed. ‘But fuck it, right?” Warm breaths puffed against each others, leaving the ball in Y/N’s court. 

“Fuck it.” 

Harry took that and ran. Lips pressed against hers as he cradled her neck, angling her how he wanted while he slowly kissed her. It was shockingly intimate despite the setting, smooth, soft lips sucking lightly against hers. There was no sign of stopping as her mouth opened for him, letting their tongue brush and the heat rise between them. His body angled slightly to cover hers from view, he let out a low groan in his throat as her hand raised to his hair. It was soft and a bit long for him as of late, but it felt good between her fingers. His other hand held the side of her face, so gentle but solid that she knew she’d give into any of his demands. 

The party raged on behind them but they got lost in the kisses, one turning to three, turning to ten and they hardly came up for air. There was no doubt her makeup was going to be fucked up, that her lipstick was done for, but there was no better way to ruin it. “Y’taste so sweet.” Harry’s words were whispered against her swelling lips. “And you smell so good. Been driving me a bit crazy. Wanted to meet you for ages cause I knew we’d get on… but didn’t think we’d get on this well.” He chuckled into the kiss, squeezing the back of her neck and making her melt slightly into him. “Hoped for it, though.” 

“You did?” Her own voice was breathless as she tried to catch up to his kisses.. It was hard not to get butterflies when he hummed in agreement. Harry had been excited to meet her. “Had a little crush, did you?” The statement was fully meant to be a tease, but he agreed. 

“Suppose I did.”

[emmasbrain]

Miscommunication (the fun kind)

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption? i think that’s all, nothing NSFW in this one

Synopsis: Your good friend Penelope sees you in a bar and begs you to sit with her and her work friends. You realise you like one. She also realises you like one. She however, thinks you like the wrong one.

The moment Penelope spotted you, she gasped. “Oh my god!” You spun round on your seat on the bar towards her running over to you in unrunnable heels, a brilliant smile gracing her face and a surprised one falling to yours as you saw each other.

“Penelope?” You hopped off your bar stool and pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long darlin’. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in years.” You gushed, definitely over exaggerating your circumstances.

“Didn’t we go for coffee last Thursday?” She giggles, and you see the familiar glint in her eye that she only got after a couple of margaritas.

“Like I said, years!” You giggled right back, and she held your hands, leaning in towards you more.

“Who are you here with?” She questioned, looking around.

You shrugged casually, “I came with some girls from work, but they all left with guys and I decided to drink my loneliness away… Except I haven’t actually had a drink yet because I’ve been sitting here debating whether I really want to drink alone.” Your words, though holding a little weight, came out with a laugh and a self deprecating sigh.

Penelope gave you a look, and you knew she was brewing something. “What if… you come sit with us?” Before you can ask questions or protest, she continues, “You know I’ve always wanted to introduce you to the team, which is who I’m here with, and it would be good for you too ‘cus it means you can drink not on your own.” She gives you puppy dog eyes, and clasps her hands together waiting for your answer.

You relent, deciding the sooner you had an interaction with her FBI friends the sooner it was over. You had heard some things, and they seemed lovely, but they were her friends and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be very welcome with your job as a journalist. “Okay fine, but you can’t mention my job. I don’t want them to hate me on the first impression.”

“It’s okay they know, I told them ages ago about what you do. Alright you stay here, I’ll go tell them and then I can introduce you.” She was practically buzzing, so excited you could see it in the air around her. She shuffled away happily, and came back to drag you over a moment later.

As you approached the group, she introduced you in order of where they sat around the table. “That’s JJ, Derek, David, Hotch, Emily, and Spencer. Everybody, this is my friend Y/N.” She smiles all big and goofy and then scrunches up her face in disappointment. “There’s no chairs left.”

You take this as an opportunity. “Well, I suppose that means I should g-“

“Here, you can have mine. I’ll grab one from over there.” Spencer quickly finds a solution, standing to walk over to an unused table and fetch another chair. You follow him with your eyes as he lifts it over. Doctor Spencer Reid. Penelope had mentioned the man on multiple occasions. Ever the problem solver, you gathered from her ramblings on the things he would do and say.

Penelope sits in the chair between JJ and Derek, and the latter lets his arm rest on Penelope’s shoulders. As you sit down in Spencer’s sacrificed chair, he pulls another one in between you and JJ, and you both awkwardly smile at each other before you look down to your hands in your lap. “Thank you.” You whisper to him.

“What for?” He whispers back.

“The chair.” You mumble, and he nods.

“It’s no problem.”

“Okay, I say we get some drinks. How bout it, pretty girl?” Derek's words snap you from your awkwardness, and you smile, realising he’s given you a nickname already.

“I am in dire need of a beer.” You reply, and Emily looks at you from your right.

“Beer, huh? I woulda coined you for a vodka redbull kinda girl. All for the thrills.” She looks at you with a smirk and you shake your head with a giggle.

“I’m normally a whiskey kinda girl actually, I get that from my parents. I only very rarely drink vodka, it just makes me want to make out with people.” The embarrassment soaks in the moment the words come out of your mouth and you realise you’ve just told a group of behavioural analysts that vodka makes you horny.

“Alcohol oftentimes does have the effect of making you sexually confident and can heighten feelings of affection and make you more open to try things sexually. One could assume that your specific set of hormones are just more affected by the chemicals in vodka in comparison to other alcohols.” Spencer pulls his lips into a straight line, and you giggle at his readily available information. Penelope wasn’t joking.

“Thanks, Doc.” You bump his shoulder, and he looks a little confused but mumbles a “No problem” anyway. As he looks away towards Derek and Penelope, you take the chance to study his features discreetly. The angle of his jaw perfectly contrasts the softness of his eyes, the honey brown colour almost sparkling within the dim lighting of the bar. His cheeks are tinged pink from the currently inaudible teasing from Derek, and there’s a little smile on his lips that you could almost envision yourself kissing.

Derek breaks you out of your head a second time. “Hey pretty girl, you wanna go get those drinks now?” He flashes you a grin and you smile, nodding.

“Yea let’s do it. Does everyone know what they want?” As you’re trying to split everyone’s orders between you and Derek, Penelope gives you a look that says “do you have the hots for my friend?” and you give her a look back that says “maybe..” she gasps and the whole table turns to look at her, making her realise that she’d turned the conversation into an out loud one now.

“You know what? Us girls can handle those drinks, Derek. Why don’t you have a seat.” She drags you up to the bar and orders quickly before she forgets, and then whips round to face you.

“You like him. I saw it on your face. You like him!!” She whisper shouts and you glance back to Derek and Spencer hunched over the table chatting. You smile.

“Look at him! Of course I like him, who wouldn’t like him? He’s simultaneously cute and hot and I swear men aren’t supposed to work like that.” You whisper shout back at her, and her smiles sadly.

“I wish I could set you up, but he’s taken. And his girlfriend is amazing so I can’t even be mad about it.” She sighs, and you slightly deflate.

“Oh man, I can’t believe the first time in years that I actually want a guy he’s taken. Just my luck, I suppose.” You laugh, and grab the drinks that have been sat on the bar. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” You shrug your shoulders and head back over to the table with her, handing everyone their drinks and sitting back next to Spencer to sip your own.

After an hour or so, conversation was going a tad dry, and you decided to use an old icebreaker your college roommate had taught you to get things flowing again. “Okay, one after the other I want everyone to tell the group something embarrassing. It can be anything, as long as it’s about you.” Everyone nods in agreement, and Derek starts.

“There was this one time I was flirting with a girl while I was out with my mom. Now that was my first mistake, my mom comes over and starts talkin to this girl askin if she’s my girlfriend. I said momma I’ve only just met her, and she said ‘well then you better hurry up, this girl is far too beautiful for you to pass up’. Before I could even speak, the girl says ‘I think you’re too beautiful to pass up’. She was talkin to my mom! And I just thought hey maybe she’s just tryna get on moms good side, you know? You win over mom, you win over me. But then she spent 10 minutes flirting with my mother until I had to drag her away. My mom will not stop bringing it up just to mock me.”

Spencer cracked up beside you at the story, and you couldn't help laughing a little with him.

Penelope pipes in, “Tell them when this happened.” He grimaces.

“Last year.” He barely says it loud enough to hear, but you all catch it and it sends you all into a fit of laughter.

Rossi reminisces about the time he proposed to one of his ex wives, and she said no. In public. Then later in the day said yes, telling him she just wanted to embarrass him the way his public proposal had embarrassed her.

Hotch talks of the time he finished work early and decided to pick up Jack from school. The teacher had asked him if he was Jack’s grandfather, and he had to explain that he most definitely was not.

“I once hugged my friend from behind to tell her goodbye at a party. It wasn’t my friend.” Is all Emily gives for details. She grimaces at the sheer memory of it, and you can’t help the little smile that graces your lips.

“My turn then?” You question the group, and they nod. “I probably should’ve used this time to think of what I was gonna say. Well I suppose I’ll use the only one that’s currently present in my mind,” You turn to face Spencer, “I was gonna ask you out before Penelope had to drag me away and tell me you were taken. Which was slightly embarrassing for me in the moment, but as I’m saying this I realise I’ve just embarrassed myself even more.” You nod through your internal pain at how stupid you felt, and took a deep breath before trying to move on. Spencer looked too taken aback to let that happen.

“You were gonna ask me out? And Penelope told you I was in a relationship? Why would she do that?” He looks plain confused now, and you mirror his expression.

“I never told you Spencer was in a relationship. I told you Derek was in a relationship, because I thought he was the friend you said you liked! Wait. So when you said he was hot you meant Spencer?” Now even Penelope looked confused, although not exactly for the same reason you were.

“Yes! Of course I meant Spencer! No offence Derek, you’re lovely but you’re not my type.” You rushed, giving him a sheepish smile.

“And I am?” Spencer speaks again.

“Pretty much yea.” The smile he gives you at your words makes you look away nervously.

“So what you mean is that if you hadn’t been told I was taken I could have went on a date with you?” He’s looking inquisitively at your face now, tracing for signs of a lie as he waits for you to respond.

“You still could go on a date with me.” You suggest, with a little shrug and a smile that reaches your eyes.

“I’d like that.” He nods, slightly enthusiastic but trying to play it cool.

“Me too.” You nod with him. “I should probably be heading home, I have work I still need to catch up on. But I could give you my number and you could take me to your favourite place or something. Somewhere I can get to know you just from looking around.” You suggest, gathering your things and scribbling your number down on a spare napkin.

“That sounds good- great. That sounds great.” His eyes are filled with a mixture of excitement and something else you’re not sure about, but the look on his face makes you smile.

“Call me then.” You nod finally, getting up to leave. You give everyone their goodbyes, hugging them all lightly and giving Spencer a little wave.

Over the next few days the anticipation of his call is almost overwhelming. And when your phone begins to ring, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen, you bite your nail before clicking the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

A/N: I don’t actually really like this, but it’s fine. I wanna do a part two, someone tell me to do a part two plsplsplspls. (May rewrite this once i’m not jet lagged and cramming it between studying but idk)

[gglitch1dd]

HIIIIII!! I am so glad the anon feature is back Im so shy!

could I please request a small little blurb of Izuku beating up kaachan just overall tired of getting berated and things like that from katsuki. idk im rewatching the series and just want Izuku to put katsuki in his place one time for the one time! ORR a small story of reader, Izuku, and katsuki being friends and growing up together and reader always stood up for my boy Izuku.

pink and green heart anon (im on my laptop and can't access my emojis)

Ooooh Someone speaking my language. Hello 💚🩷 Anon!! I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I've been busy IRL and with my main fics so I haven't gotten to all my asks but I'm sorting through them. I hope you're doing okay sweetheart :)

Fuck you

Midoriya Izuku x Reader

You sat in the common room of the dorms trying to think up of a plan for this years culture festival. Being in third year UA High School, the past two years you had always done something musical themed, but now your class wasn't entirely sure on what to do this year.

"I think maybe a combined project with Class B could work." Midoriya pitched in. The green haired hero had certainly changed the past three years. He was taller now, with added muscle gain too, however often than not you barely noticed unless he was shirtless. His emerald eyes looked over at the group of you that stood around the table. "They are good at plays and we are good at music. Together we could put on something that caters to both and inbetween audiences."

Iida Tenya nodded his head with furrowed eyebrows. "I can talk to Kendo-san but i doubt she would be opposed to it with them."

Asui let out a ribbit as she smiled. "That sounds like a great idea Midoriya-kun." She stated.

You nodded your head as you looked at the green haired teenager in your class. "It is a brilliant idea. We could do a musical!" You suggested. "Why didn't we think of that before. Good job, Midoriya." You praised as well with a light shove to the side of him.

A light blush went to his face but he just smiled, grateful for your support. He opened his mouth to speak but a TSK was heard.

Leaning back in a chair around the table was Bakugou Katsuki, who you were even shocked was here in the first place. Judging by Kirishima (the big man he was starting to turn out to be) was standing behind him, you could only guess it was his idea. "That's a stupid idea, but no surprise considering it came from Deku."

"Whoa dude." Denki let out surprised a the unnecessary friendly fire.

"Bakugou, don't be so rude!" Kirishima hissed down at his best friend. His ruby eyes moved up to Midoriya who stood with a frown on his face. "I'm sorry Midoriya."

"I'm not." Bakugou let out as he stopped leaning back to sit up straight. "The last thing we need is a combined project. It takes too much time and our two classes have different scheduled times too."

Momo had her hands holding her arms as she kept her sweater tight around her. "I'm sure we can work around it." She suggested with a gentle shrug.

"Not with the way Aizawa has been grilling us into the ground. I mean, really Deku? Joining with Class B? A fifth grader could have come up with that!" Bakugou shouted.

"Bakugou, just stop it okay." You said with a frown. "Leave him alone, it's a good idea!"

Instead of looking bashful of shy or ashamed, Midoriya just stared at Katsuki with emotionless green eyes. Midoriya had started getting more and more fed up with Bakugou's antics and the two started butting heads more and more. "What is your problem?"

"HUH?!"

"You fucking heard me, don't make me repeat myself." You had to double take as you looked to Midoriya, shocked that you just heard what he said come out of his mouth. He kept his hands in his pockets as he looked down at Bakugou in half disgust. Iida was shocked himself, not even trying to correct Midoriya on his language.

Bakugou paused with a disbelieving look. He closed his crimson red eyes and let out a light scoff as he moved to put his hands on the table as he stood up. "My problem? If I find an idea stupid, I'll call it stupid."

"No." Midoriya denied with a shake of his head. "No, this is deeper. You have an issue with me and I want to know why? What did I ever do to you!?" He asked as he put a hand to his chest.

"You coming to this fucking school." Bakugou specified. "You trying to act like you aren't the same quirkless little loser that you were four years ago! A hand me down quirk from All Might will never change that."

"Oh my God." Midoriya laughed in disbelief. "Why won't you grow up, Kacchan! How on earth you can feel threatened by me is something I can't even try and understand!"

Bakugou's eyebrows raised. "Threatened by you? Oh no, Deku. I can't be threatened by nothing."

You gasped as you snapped to look at the blond. "What the hell!"

"That's not very nice, Bakugou." Todoroki let out with a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

Bakugou just stared at Midoriya. "I preferred you in middle school. At least then you knew your place."

Midoriya didn't move for a moment before he slowly started to nod his head. Almost like he understood where Bakugou was coming from. However, not even a second later, Bakugou was on the floor and there was a flash of light.

Midoriya had pinned Bakugou to the ground as he raised his right hand up and punched the blond again with little to no humanity in his eyes. The green haired boy, seemed more determined to kill than anything.

"MIDORIYA!" Kirishima shouted as he tried to pull the green haired boy off of Bakugou.

Bakugou grinned as he laughed with a bloody smile but just managed to get Midoriya on the side of his face. A spark of his palm was aimed at Midoriya's face but Midoriya easily dodged with One for All, before punching him square in the nose.

Suddenly Shinso's binding cloth wrapped around Midoriya as he was pulled off of Bakugou. He frowned with a similar expression to Aizawa Sensei. Sero quickly managed to tape up Bakugou to keep the blond away from Midoriya as well. With the both of them restrained and restricted from each other.

Midoriya let out a frustrated growl as he fought against Shinso's binding. Bakugou let out a laugh as he grinned. "You punch like shit!"

"FUCK YOU!" Midoriya shouted at the blond with thin small pupils as he untangled himself and walked out of the common room.

-Glitch1d

[demusewriter]

Baked with Love

Summary: You once dreamed of having your bakery where everyone could use it as a safe refuge from reality, similar to the shop from your childhood. It seems to work as one of the famous boy groups uses it to hang out to temporarily escape the spotlight, especially by one member who seems to be fond of the place. Genre: Fluff Pairing: Idol! Jungwon x Baker Fem! Reader Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: Slow-burn (?); the reader is slightly oblivious; mutual-pinning (?); the introduction is too long, it took 1k words before Jungwon is introduced lol; the reader and Jungwon is both in their mid-20s Author's Note: This is my first time writing fanfic, so I apologize if the story does not fit to your liking. 😅 English is also not my first language, so forgive me for the wrong grammar and lack of vocabulary. 😔 I will try my best next time. ☺ Regardless, I'm hoping that you all will like this. Enjoy reading! ☺

Ever since you were a child, you've been wanting to own a bakeshop. You remember how you accidentally stumbled into this shop when you tried to hide from the kid who constantly bullies you. Your trembling body and the constant sob that came from your mouth magically disappeared when you saw a bunch of colorful pastries displayed on those shiny glass cabinets.

You recall how the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies engulfs your small body with a sense of comfort, and the soft jazz music that plays in the background whispers in your ear, easing your fear.

"Why is such a pretty young lady having a sad look on her face?" `You look up to the source of the soft voice, and your eyes settle on the old lady on the counter with a warm, gentle smile on her face.  You intertwine your little hands and shyly look down.

"I am hiding," you mumbled.

"Hiding?" You nodded. You heard a footstep coming near you, then a gentle hand rubbing your small back.

"Why don't you eat something while you hide?" You look up once again at the lady. You see how those wrinkles stretch with the soft smile she has on her face; that softness somehow brings security to you.

"Cookies?" you said in wonder. The lady let out a giggle when you spoke with sweetness, your eyes twinkling in the process. How can she turn down such a cute lady like you?

"Yes, cookies! And you can also have some of those sweets that we have!" You wipe your teary eyes, then hold the hand of the old lady and let her guide you to the rest of the shop with the widest smile on your face.

At that moment, the little Y/N always finds herself munching on sweet pastries in the old lady's bakeshop. The shop becomes your escape, which eases your worries about the bullies. In return, you try to assist the old lady with baking by simply putting flour on measuring cups, cracking eggs, and sometimes kneading the dough.

However, the shop that had grown to be your safe refuge was lost when the old lady died from sickness. Due to this, the bakery has to be taken down, as no one claims to continue the business. You remember crying for days because of the sudden loss of the person you adored and the shop that became your home.

That event brings blossoms to your dreams of having a similar cozy shop where people entering the place instantly light up their eyes when they are greeted by rows of pastries that you freshly bake with passion.

You looked up to the small shop where there were tables outside, each with a brown vintage-style umbrella with brilliant lighting inside. You smiled when you saw the big signage that left you sleepless for nights from thinking of a perfect name for the shop.

'Sweet Greets Bakery'

As you make your way through the transparent door, a blanket of the sweet smell of baked pastries engulfs your now-grown body bringing back your childhood memories of the old lady's bakeshop. You also smell the roasted coffee beans that saturate the air.

As you grow older, coffee becomes your best buddy every time you pull all-nighters, which becomes endless when you enter college. Drinking coffee also helps you relax your mind while reading your favorite book on weekends, which fuels your growing addiction.

Because of this, you consider offering various coffee and tea drinks that will perfectly match the pastries that you bake.

"Noona?" You looked at the counter and saw one of your employees with wide eyes. You chuckle at his reaction like he has seen a ghost.

"Hi!" You greeted as you joined him at the counter.

"You're back!" He joyfully exclaims and even claps in excitement. A door from the storage room burst open, slightly startling you. You saw two ladies emerge from the room with the same disbelief on their faces.

"Unnie!" You let out a giggle when they engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug. You wrap your arms around the two teenagers and return the gestures while swaying their bodies from side to side.

 "We miss you!" Narae one of your employees pouted. You playfully flick the girl's head.

"I'm only gone for a week, 'Rae"

"Still" she mumbles while massaging her forehead. You only shook your head at her silliness and reached for the brown cap under the counter that was similarly worn by the three teens.

"How's Switzerland?" Chuwon asked while drying the mug using the table napkin designated for it.

"As usual, loaded with work." You sigh. Owning a bakery is your ultimate dream, and you did achieve it. However, the process of getting you where you are right now is a rough path. You apply for different jobs and dribble tons of tasks to save money for your dream shop, and up until now, you’re still doing it to keep your business running.

And it happens that one of the jobs for which you apply requires you to travel to different places. It gives you a lot of money, so you have no problem with it. Although it somehow makes you feel sad as it lessens your time to spend working on your bakery.

"Did you find yourself a potential Swiss boyfriend?" Seoyun asked while wiggling her eyes, helping you to divert your attention from stressful work. You pulled your tied hair on the hole at the back of the cap and slightly tugged the visor to adjust it in your head before sending the girl a playful glare.

"I have no time for that." A disappointed groan erupted from the three teenagers at your reply. You only chuckle and shake your head while continuing to put on your brown apron. Being the only full-grown adult working in the bakeshop with the civil status of single, your young employees can't help but wonder about your romantic life.

But your reply stands true; you have no time to get into a romantic relationship.

Nevertheless, it does not mean that you will turn it down once you meet someone who captures your heart. You, yourself are a hopeless romantic. The books in the romance genre displayed on the bookshelves at the right corner of your shop say it all.

And if it happens that your 'the one' walks someday in your mundane then, who are you to deny. Right?

The sound of a bell chimes in, indicating that someone has entered the shop. You immediately smile and greet the customers with enthusiasm.

"Hello, welcome to Sweet Greets Bakery!" You bowed along with your three employees. You saw the seven young men return the gestures and proceed to the counter while looking at the menu drink display at your back and the pastries on the glass displays. You keep your genuine smile on while waiting for their orders.

You can't help but observe that every single one of them has different fashion styles, which you can easily identify by whether they are into casual style, semi-formal, aesthetic, or just want to wear comfy clothes. They have different tastes, but it seems like they all get along as they are in tune with each other while discussing their orders.

The only similarity they have at this point is that all of them wore facemasks that covered half of their faces.

"Good morning! We would like to order a three-chocolate chip Frappuccino, two iced Americanos, one vanilla latte, and a mint chocolate drink." You nodded at the guy who wore a snapback and quickly punched their order on the monitor in front of you.

"Would you like to add some pastries to match your drinks?" You ask politely. All of them look once again at the glass cabinets where the pastries are displayed.

"Ah, we'll take slices of chocolate and strawberry cake. That's all." You smile and completely place their orders.

"That will be 71,432.91 won." The men look in unison at the guy whose fashion style gives you rich uncle vibes.

The man flinches and then lets out a disappointed sigh while reaching for his pocket. He gives you his black card, and you quickly slide it at the card reader. You heard them all chuckle at the poor man and slap his butt for comfort.

"You can find comfortable seats while we arrange your orders. Thank you!" You gleefully thank them as you give back the card accompanied by a receipt and a small round pager with your two hands.

"I bet they're idols" Narae whispers beside you as you grind some coffee beans. You saw her staring at those men on her tippy toes to get a better look.

"How'd you know?" You wonder. Although you grow up in a country where being an idol is everyone else's dream and exposes people to that kind of industry at an early young age, you seem clueless about it. Guess your mind is so focused on building a bakery that you missed that part as you grew up.

And it seems that you're right when Narae looks at you like you just grew two heads.

"Unnie, look!" She simply gestures at the men who found themselves sitting in a secluded corner, quietly observing the interior of your humble shop.

"They are obviously wearing masks to avoid the crazy media" she pointed out.

"They're seated at the back of the shop, so fans won't notice them." Seoyun chimed in beside you.

"And they chose this small, unfamiliar bakeshop so no one would find their location" Chuwon added. The three squeeze themselves beside you, looking at the men while hiding behind a huge espresso machine.

"They're indeed idols" all of them whisper at you in unison. You shook your head at their silliness and poked their sides, which earned you squeals and giggles.

"Okay, okay. If they are idols, then we need to stop staring and leave them alone." You scold, to which you only receive a playful stick of their tongue before they proceed to help you with the orders.

While filling the cups with ice cubes, you can't help but glance at those men. Chuwon is right; your bakery is still unfamiliar since it is new and has only been running for five months. Although there aren't a lot of customers, you remain optimistic as your business has only just started.

If ever those young men are indeed idols, then you're glad they found your bakery a safe place to hang out, even just for a minute. That's been the main purpose of your shop: to become a safe refuge for everyone, even an idol. With those thoughts in mind, it made you smile throughout the day.

Weeks passed, those young men kept coming back to your bakeshop, to the point that you already memorized their regular orders. Due to this, your three employees become busy browsing the internet to find out which group these mysterious men belong to.

You put both of your hands on your hips when you saw the three once again inside the storage room, gathering in front of your laptop to find the identity of these men during their lunch breaks.

"I told you to quit doing that, you're invading their privacy." Your words fell on deaf ears when they didn't even give you a single glance. You sighed and decided to leave them alone. You proceed instead to stack the single pack of colorful macarons that you made last night.

"Oh my god!" Your head snaps back at the storage room where you hear the scream.

"Unnie, your bakeshop will finally become famous!" Narae squeals once you enter the room.

"What?" Your brows furrow.

"Noona! Those men are hella popular!' "Chuwon exclaims.

"They’re Enhypen!" The three shouted. You were startled by their loud voices, which made you put your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart.

"Okay," You calmly respond. "What's the connection of them making my bakeshop famous?" you dumbfoundedly ask.

"Unnie, if people saw them here in your shop, there would be plenty of customers who would come here to see them. And if they came here, they would also buy your delicious pastries because their idols seemed to like them for constantly coming here." Seoyun explains with matching exaggerated hand gestures.

"So you're saying we would expose them that they've been constantly hanging out here to make the bakery well-known?"

"Exactly!" The three of them exclaim in unison like you just announced that you won the lottery. Their faces lit up when you pulled out the sweetest smile you could muster.

"No." You flatly said. Their jaws dropped as they didn't expect you to disagree despite knowing that it would help your shop. Just like a light switch, your face suddenly turned serious.

"We're not going to use their vulnerability so we can gain something. Leave them alone and let them enjoy the privacy they have in this shop." You put back your sweet smile.

"If I ever find out that you all still did it behind my back, your vacation leave will be denied." You warned on sing-song and returned to the counter when you heard the chime of the bell.

And it seems that your threatening worked when more weeks passed and those men still went to your bakery without getting recognized or mobbed. You're thankful; however, the three are starting to become their fans that the only topic you can hear from their mouths is about the group's music, variety shows, and concerts.

The slow jazz that was used to play in the background in your shop? It was now replaced by the group's songs.

Although sometimes you find yourself humming and bobbing your head to their music.

But the soft jazz music makes a comeback to your bakery, as today is the start of the exam week. Meaning, the three crackheads are off duty as you did not allow them to work during the exam.

The shop is not that busy, so you have no problem handling the tasks alone for a week. As a good employer, you want them to focus on their studies without worrying about their work shift.

The day went by quickly, and the night sky was quickly blanketed with stars that stretched to infinity. The pale crescent moon started to shine like a silver claw, outshining the bright city lights.

The night just started; however, for your shop, it's closing time.

You often close your shop by 10 p.m., but since you don't have any staff around, you decided to close it earlier as it becomes dangerous for a lone worker to work at a very late hour, which you also strictly apply to your three employees, especially since they are minors.

As you neared the door to flip the 'open' signage to 'closed,' the bell chimed in for the last time. Then a man in his iconic orange hoodie steps into the shop.

"Hi, thank you for visiting, but we're closing early," you sadly informed. The guy's tired eyes flickered with sadness before he nodded and turned around without a word to reach for the door.

You felt your heart squeeze with sadness as you saw how tired his eyes were. Even though his face is hidden with a mask and a thick black beanie, you can practically imagine the dejection on his face. You felt like you had failed to fulfill the main purpose of your shop.

"But if you want, you can stay while I'm tidying the shop" you tried to offer. The man halted his step and looked at you with hopeful eyes.

"Is that alright?" He asked. His voice immediately sends a tingling sensation to your body that you cannot explain. This is your first time hearing his voice, despite him constantly coming into your shop since his friend often order for the rest of them.

His voice is so soft and soothing, yet it sounds very manly.

"Yup, it's not a problem," you quickly reassure him. You heard him heave a sigh and bow at you.

"Thank you." You smiled and returned the gesture.

"You want your usual?" You continued to flip the signage and went to the counter to prepare the food he usually orders.

"Yes, please." You give him a thumbs up and quickly arrange his meal.

Instead of sitting in the back corner, where he and his friends are usually seated, he opted for the table near the counter you were working on. For the first time, he removed his mask and proceeded to busy himself on the phone.

Although the group often visits your shop, they are still cautious about removing their masks; they only do it if the food is ready to dig in. So, seeing him remove it comfortably surprised you a little.

If you remember correctly from the various videos and images that are forcefully shoved in your face by your annoying staff, his name is Jungwon. He is Seoyun's bias, as she claimed that she was captured by his cute but manly features, his adorable yet savage personality, and mostly by being an amazing singer and performer on stage.

A complete package, according to Seoyun.

Even though you cannot confirm any of those claims against the man as you don't know him and don't pay much attention to the group's performances that your three employees are constantly watching, you can totally agree with one thing that Seoyun said.

He is indeed handsome.

"Here's your chocolate chip frappuccino and strawberry cake. Enjoy!" You smile as you serve the food on his table. For once, you saw him smile, and although you could tell it was a tired smile, that still didn't stop his dimple from showing and his eyes from forming into a crescent moon.

You quickly turned around like a soldier in training and tightly hugged the tray in front of your chest when you felt your heart suddenly beating like a horse on a race track. You don't know why your heart reacted to a simple expression, so you tried to shrug it off and didn't make it a big deal.

As you put the cake and pastries back in their respective containers before placing it in the refrigerators to preserve them, you take a quick glance at your only customer for the night.

You immediately stopped in your tracks when you saw him leaning on his knees with eyes closed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

From the look of it, he must have been stressed out about something that made him this exhausted. You felt a wave of sadness as you could practically imagine how tired he must have felt.

You can't help but wonder. 'Is being an idol can be this draining?'

Now, you were pondering whether it would be a good or bad idea to give him a slice of Oreo cheesecake that you baked yesterday to try to cheer him up. Plus, this cake is still not officially on the menu yet, so you can't help but overthink if he will like it or will find you weird as you try to offer him something.

As you paced back and forth inside the storage room while eyeing the poor cake, the bell rang from the counter which is used for the customer to call a staff member. You were startled by the sound and hastily put the sliced cake in the box.

"Done?" You politely ask when you see him waiting in front of the counter. He lightly smile and nodded in reply. You smile and punches his order to the monitor to compute the total of his purchase.

While waiting for the receipt to be printed out, your mind is still trying to contemplate if you're going to give him the piece of cake. You bit the side of your cheek when you gave him the receipt, and he started to make his way to the door. You sigh and give yourself a try.

"W-wait" you called out. He immediately turned around and gently raised his brows at you. You secretly pinch your side to give yourself courage. You left the counter and finally gave him the box.

"I can't help but notice that you seem quite a bit exhausted." You averted your eyes to the floor as you felt yourself getting embarrassed. "H-here's a piece of Oreo cheesecake to cheer you up a little" you nervously said, while slightly nudging the box at him.

"Oh, no. I've been intruding on you too much." He gently tried to refuse your offer. You shook your head and let out a genuine smile.

"Trust me, you did not. You're always welcome here, anytime." His face washes with gentleness, and it feels like some weight on his shoulder has taken off from the sincerity of your words. The softness of your voice made him smile, then he reached for the box and accepted it wholeheartedly.

"The stress has been draining my energy lately, so this will really help. Thank you." His appreciation made you smile and eased your worry earlier. Suddenly, your mind made a suggestion, just like a light bulb.

"Just a second." You quickly made your way back to the counter and tried to reach something on a cupboard with your tippy toes, which made Jungwon chuckle as he found you cute while doing it.

You mentally cheered when you saw the box of tea that you were finding. You went back where he stood and gave it to him.

"Here's a chamomile tea. This might help you relieve your stress." Your thoughtfulness brightens Jungwon's mood and quickly sends a warm feeling to his heart.

"Is there anything I can do to repay your kindness?" he asked. He cannot think of ways to express his gratitude, but if you request something, he will grant it devotedly.

You, on the other hand, were ready to decline and reassure him that he didn't need to do it when something popped an idea into your head once again.

"How about you give me your honest taste review of the cake?"

Ever since your interaction with Jungwon, you've started to get a little bit curious about him and his group.

At first, you just wanted to see current news or articles about them to find some answers about the reason he was exhausted that day. But now, you find yourself rewatching their performance videos on various music shows that Narae and Chuwon showed you before. This time you paid attention, and you got to admit, they are pretty good.

Especially, the guy with similar eyes of an adorable cat.

You can't help but get a little bit excited for their comeback, which is said in one of the newest articles you find about them. You came to the conclusion that this might be the reason behind the stress that Jungwon felt that night.

"Welcome to Sweet Greets Bakery!" You automatically greet without looking up when you hear the chime of the bell. You were so focused on putting the icing on top of the cupcake that you failed to notice a young man that you were just thinking about looking at you with full admiration.

"Would that be on the menu?" You looked up when you heard a familiar voice speak. Your smile immediately made its way to your face when your eyes made contact with his boba-shaped ones.

"Yup!" You put down the bag of icing you were holding and went to the counter where Jungwon was leaning over, ready to take his order. You looked at the back corner and saw his friends already seated comfortably there.

"The usual?" He nodded and let out a chuckle, as he found it amusing how you grew used to their presence. While you're busy punching their usual orders, he can't help but stare at you with softness in his eyes.

That night was the first time he actually paid attention to you. He might be hanging with his members here often, but he kept his interaction with anyone minimal as he didn't want to gain anyone's attention. But now that he got to talk to you, he can't help but regret those times that he could have used to get to know you.

Nonetheless, he was thankful that he made the right decision to go to your shop that night to unwind.

"Can I still have the slice of cake you gave me?" He shyly asked while rubbing the back of his neck. Your fingers stop pressing the items on the monitor, and you look at him with a hint of hope in your eyes.

"Did you like it?" Your question came in whispers, afraid to hear his answer about disliking your cake.

"The Oreo cheesecake was fantastic!" He looked up like he was trying to remember about its taste. "It felt smooth, and the sweetness definitely tasted like home," he praised, then he looked at it with full sincerity swimming in his eyes.

"I enjoyed every bite of it."

As the words hung in the air, the bulletproof shield around your heart trembled. Of course, you had heard compliments before, but none had touched you the way Jungwon's heartfelt words did. His simple compliment tore open a new doorway to your emotions, making your heart flutter like a trapped bird, banging against the confines of your narrow chest.

"So, I was wondering if it can be my usual order now?" He mumbled and lowered his head trying to hide his apple cheeks, which were blazing with redness.

Just like Jungwon, your cheeks are now a deeper shade of red, and your heart is still dancing in the confetti of admiration.

"B-but it is still not yet on the m-menu." You stutter as you put your attention on the monitor once again and slowly complete the orders. You bite your lower lip and look at the young men through your lashes. You tried to suppress your giggles when you saw a sad pout adorning his face.

"Though I can make an exception for you." 

From the moment you handed him the slice of cake he specially requested. A friendship unexpectedly blossomed, stretching far beyond the typical baker-and-customer set-up. Jungwon, being the leader of a well-known boy group, felt comfortable letting go of his duties when he was with you inside your comfy bakery.

Soon, Jungwon's late-night visits to the bakeshop became a tradition.

"How many eggs should I put in again?" Jungwon asked you, clad in a brown apron similar to the one you were wearing.

One such evening, while you were discussing with him the recipe for your Oreo cheesecake, he suddenly got the idea to let you teach him the process of making it so he could use it as content in his short vlog and impress his Jay-hyung.

And so, you and Jungwon's baking adventure began. Your simple and quiet evening in your shop was now filled with laughter, occasional flour fights, and piles of failed cookies he tried to make. Slowly, you began to look forward to his late-night visit.

"You ready?" you asked him while you carefully took the Oreo cheesecake out of the oven, which he had solely made without your help.

With eyes closed, he nodded in anticipation.

"You can now open your eyes." Once his eyes did, his mouth slowly hang open.

"I made that?" You softly laugh when he eyed his cake with disbelief.

"Yes, you did!" You cheered. The cake really turned out great for his first attempt, you couldn't be even more proud of him. Jungwon jumps with happiness making you giggle.

He raised his hands at you, asking for a high-five, which you quickly reciprocated and clapped hands with him. You thought it was just a brief contact, but Jungwon decided to intertwined his fingers with yours and clasped them tightly.

A wave of unexpected electricity rushes through your veins and sends your heart to flutter.

Every time you spend your night with Jungwon, you always experience this peculiar feeling. Making the fluttering of your heart more frequent and pronounced. These little flutters seemed to build into a crescendo, filling your heart with a strange yet sweet emotion.

"Y-you want to t-taste it?" You quickly removed your hands from his hold and quickly turned around to find some utensils and to hide your flushed face from his heart-melting stares. As you did it, you failed to see how his face filled with disappointment from the lost contact.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungwon was also experiencing the same surge of electrifying waves within him. His insides also fluttered in a way he only felt when he first walked into the cozy, aromatic haven of your bakeshop.

However, this time, the butterflies were not from the sweet baked goods but from a newfound emotion he felt for you.

"Can you send me the cake instead" You halted your action when you heard his request. It was odd, however, you just thought that he wanted to show his members the cake he made. Although you're quite disappointed that you couldn't taste it.

"Sure, when would you like me to send it to you?"

"On February 9." That's three days from now; the usual span of the cake is 4 to 5 days before it expires. The cake will still make it.

"I'll take note of that." You smiled.

The slow jazz music that helped set the mood for your relaxing shop was short-lived when your three staff members returned after the long week of exams and a well-deserved vacation leave that you granted. You were judgingly watching them as they danced to one of Enhypen's songs while they arranged the chairs and mopped the floor.

"Omo! Jungwon is on live!" Your ears suddenly perked when you heard Seoyun exclaim. The two immediately surrounded the girl, who was watching something on her phone. You tried to stop yourself from joining them, as you didn't want to be seen as suspicious for having a sudden interest in him.

Although you somehow did.

You were saddened that he failed to visit the shop three days in a row, and you got to admit that you missed his presence, which slowly became part of your small shop. However, you understand that his job can be a little demanding.

Still, you're slightly thankful that he didn't suddenly show up, as your three staff members will literally scream with enthusiasm and confusion when they see him having a comfortable conversation with you since you never told them about your growing friendship with him while they were gone.

You got a little bit curious behind their giggles, so you tried to sneak a peek from behind them.

Indeed, you saw Jungwon, with a wide smile, having fun talking to his fans. On his back were blue foil curtains with silver balloons around them, while in front of him was the cake he made that you just delivered this afternoon with a cake topper and candles.

Then it hits you.

Today is his birthday.

"Where did I get the recipe for the cake? From 'Sweet Greets Bakery!' They sell the best pastries, yoii~"

You know your heart is in trouble when it automatically flutters like a kite in the wind at the sound of his voice, even if he is away from you.

The unusual skipping beat of your heart when you heard Jungwon's laughter at your dry jokes, the always-fluttering when he listened to you attentively, and the feeling like something was missing when he was away were so unfamiliar, yet they made your heart full of so much happiness and affection.

This realization shattered the protective wall around your heart that you had meticulously crafted. The only one thing that you had never felt before was happening.

You are in love.

You are falling in love with Yang Jungwon.

Eventually, words about Jungwon liking your bakeshop spread like wildfire, sending fans into a frenzy. Your shop, which was almost empty of customers, was now filled with people trying to taste your baked goods, especially the Oreo cheesecake.

It was overwhelming not only to you but also to your three employees, as this is your first time taking so many orders in a day. It is tiring, but it feels like it magically vanished every time you saw the genuine reaction of your customers at every bite they took from the pastries you passionately baked.

It was a long, eventful three weeks, but your heart is grateful.

You were just basking in the quiet surroundings, as you had already closed your bakery and let three teenagers go home earlier, when someone knocked on the door.

A bright smile immediately made its way onto your face when you saw Jungwon in his thick gray hoodie and dark bucket hat waving his hand cutely at you through the glass door.

"What are you doing here?" are the first words that come out of your mouth once you unlock the door.

"I was supposed to visit you earlier, but the bakery is quite busy." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I really wanted to see you, so I came back."

You tried so hard not to put a meaning behind his words, but your heart seemed not to want to listen as it beat like crazy, and it feels like a cage of butterflies has been set free in your stomach.

"W-well, thanks to you, my bakeshop got a lot of recognition." You sincerely thanking him, even though you use it to try to ignore the last thing he said.

Jungwon felt his heart torn into pieces when you brushed off the words that reflected his overflowing affection for you. Yet, his heart is still filled with hope.

"You watched my live?" You were frozen from his question.

In fact, you did. Not the only part where you sneak a peak on Seoyun's phone but the whole birthday live. You personally made an account just to watch the replay of his live that day.

"I d-did" You averted your eyes. "Although it was a replay," you pursed your lips as you felt ashamed of yourself for doing it and letting him find it out.

Jungwon felt his heart jump with giddiness when you showed signs of interest in him.

"Yoi~" He adorably cooed and gently brushed his shoulder with yours. The sound of your giggles from what he did sends butterflies to his stomach.

"Oh, I have a surprise for you!" You exclaim after you remember the gift that you prepared for his birthday, even though his birthday was three weeks ago. You went to the storage room, leaving Jungwon full of anticipation.

Soon, you emerge from the room, holding your present for him. Despite the excitement of seeing his reaction, you were still nervous as it took you so many attempts to make your gift presentable. Plus, it was your first time making this design in your entire baking life.

However, your worries dissipated when you saw his mouth hang open in amazement at the cat-shaped cake that you were holding. You started singing him the birthday song while slowly making your way to him.

As you softly sang, his vision magically became blurry, and the only thing he could see clearly was your pretty face, which was always clad with gentle and genuine expressions. Your soothing voice is like a whisper in his heart that slowly dances and sways to its rhythm.

Those days that he couldn't see you, he felt something was missing. Your smiles, the melody of your laughter, and your comforting presence keep lingering in his mind. The only thing running through his head is to see you and spend his time with you once again.

The three long, agonizing weeks of not seeing you make his heart yearn for your presence, like a parched desert yearning for rain.

From the moment you hand him the slice of cake as an offer to relieve his stress, he knows he is down. Being away from you only confirms his feelings for you.

He is in love,

with you.

"Make a wish," you said after finishing the song. You expect Jungwon to close his eyes as he makes his wish, but your heart begins to race when he looks you in the eye, gazing at you with only a soft and gentle stare.

"I wish—" He removes your hold on the cake and carries it instead with one hand. Then, his other hand found its way to yours and slowly intertwined them without breaking eye contact.

"—I can spend the rest of my birthdays with you."

A torrent of emotions—warmth, joy, and love—fused together, igniting an electrifying light show within your chest. It feels like a burst of the sparkling fireworks display, not in the sky but in your heart.

You felt his thumb softly draw small circles in your hand, quickly sending tingles through your body.

"My bakery will go bankrupt from sending you birthday cake each year," you joked. Jungwon chuckled and gently squeezed your hand, still looking at you with sparkles in his eyes.

You pressed your palm on his cheek and rubbed your thumb against it with full affection, making him lean to your touch.

"Your wish is granted, Jungwon."

It was like both of your hearts exploded into an incandescent shower of feelings that mingled with the colors of the frosted night sky—a vivid, heart-pumping confetti of joy and love.

You both giggle at the strange way of confessing to each other. Although it was an odd confession, it was enough to convey the euphoric feelings you have for each other.

You and Jungwon's bond, baked and constructed in the 'Sweet Greets Bakery' hearth, had matured into love. From friends, you both seamlessly become lovers, with the love story orchestrated by fate and shared fondness for the bakeshop that brought you two together tying in the sweet, aromatic embrace of love forever.

Jungwon thought that the bakery was the only safe refuge he could have away from the limelight. He thought it was a place.

But it was a person.

You are his safe place.

©2023 Demuse Writer. All Right Reserved.

[ultralightpoe]

Full House - Eddie Munson

Authors Note: Wow. I think I went too far with these, lmao.

Word Count: 5,258

Warnings: Dad!Eddie. That's it.

Description: Stepdad!Eddie and his girls that gives nothing but Uncle Jesse Vibes.

Part ll HERE

(Thank you for the gif @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal )

Enjoy!

(Eddie is not the step dad, he is the dad that stepped up)

Eddie Munson was many things in life. 

Triple senior, Satanic Freak, Dungeon Master, High School Graduate, Vecna survivor, Waynes son, and now Mechanic shop owner. But his favorite title came by accident, a truly brilliant accident of course. 

Nancy and Steve had planned a vacation for themselves, the first vacation they had since the birth of their adorable son Edward…..okay they named their kid Vince but Eddie thought that name was ugly and had spent the past 5 years continuously mocking them over it. So, in everything Eddie, he had named him Edward Jr. this week. 

Anyways, Nancy and Steve were having a very lovely trip at Niagara Falls while the rest of the group watched little man. While Eddie was at work Joyce Byers took him, and when Eddie had gigs Dustin took him and they ‘studied’ together which meant Dustin used him as an excuse to play games rather than study for his senior year. 

It was all going splendidly, until Eddie got a call in the middle of his work shift telling him that he would have to go down to the school immediately since Edward Jr -Vincent, had gotten into a little bit of a fight. 

So Eddie booked it, still in his greased out mechanic suit, a bandana on his head and the biggest concern that Steve’s kid would be kicked out of his school while he was away. What had he done to the kids? Had he broken their noses? Made them bleed?

Here was the problem, Eddie forgot that he was talking about Steve Harrington's kid, so when he arrived at the school to see his nephew bleeding and whimpering he realized the mistake. Vinny had gotten beat up, not the other way. 

“What happened, bud? Who did this to you?” Eddie was gonna fuck a kid up, he was gonna scalp someones son. He was going to absolutely annihilate some random ass boy. 

His nephew whimpers, using the back of his hand to wipe away a fresh tear as Eddie takes a gentle hand to assess the damage. “L/n….” 

Eddie was gonna kill this L/n punk. “What’d he do? He been bullying you?”

“You must be Mr. Harrington.” A saccharine voice fills the air, drawing his attention up to an older woman with narrowed eyes. 

“No, I’m Vinny’s uncle actually. Eddie Munson.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand which the woman glares at, and he realizes then that he was still covered in grease. So he pulls his hand back, embarrassed and nervous. “Sorry about that, rushed from work-”

“Never mind that. Let’s go.” The teacher nods her head. “You too Vincent.”

Eddie, now partially annoyed by the use of his nephews full name in such a tone, grabs his hand into his own and follows the old bat into the office where two more three more figures sit. The sight before him makes him stop, blinking slowly as a heat crosses his skin. 

Was he blushing? Shit, he was. 

Sat in the chair is the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with a small baby in her lap and a small girl softly crying sitting on the edge of the chair, hiding half her face in the womans shoulder. 

“Have a seat Mr. Minson.” The old bat snaps, moving around the desk to sit in the cushioned chair. 

“Munson.” Eddie corrects, sitting in the chair beside yours while trying to keep it cool. Vinny takes the arm of the chair, holding onto some of the fabric of Eddie’s jumpsuit tightly. The woman blatantly ignores him as she shuffles around some of the papers on her desk. So Eddie turns to you slowly, holding out his hand again. “Eddie Munson.”

“Y/n L/n.” You smile, taking his hand in your own. “I am so sorry about your son-”

“I prefer the parents not to talk until I explain.” Old bat snaps out making Eddie sit up straighter. “I brought you both in here because it seems that Motley has violently assaulted Vinn-”

“ASSAULTED?! They are 5!” You snap out as the girl, Motley, begins crying which leads the little baby in your lap to start crying as well. And right on cue Vinny himself starts crying. 

“Woah woah woah.” Eddie starts, pulling his nephew closer. “Bud, why don’t you explain what happened here?”

“She hit me!”

“He pushed me!”

“And then she bit me!”

“He pulled my hair!”

“Okay, ease it up.” You sigh, rubbing Motley’s back in soothing circles. “I am so sorry about your son, and I will totally get if you’re upset but they are 5 and I don’t really know about the assault word-”

“Miss. L/n.” Old bat interrupts but Eddie shakes his head. He will just handle this just as Nancy liked to parent. 

“What can make this better, huh Vinny? Like your dad always says, an apology?”

“Y-yeah….” Vinny whimpers which makes Eddie smile and imitate the whimper voice. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you can apologize, Motley?” You ask and Motley sticks out her tongue to Vinny.  Eddie tries to hold in his laugh at this, the little metal head was not backing down. “Motley.”

“Fine. I’m sorry Vincent.” She snaps out. “But the next time you pull my hair-”

“I think we got it.” Eddie laughs, picking his nephew up. “Let’s go get some ice cream and forget all about it.”

He smiles at the principal before tearing out of the room, keeping Vinny held above the ground as he rushes out of the school. He is rushing too fast to hear you calling behind him, until they make it out of the school. 

“Wait! Sir-” He turns, blushing wildly as he attempts a smile. You smile back, still holding the little baby in your arms and Motleys hand. “I am so sorry about all of that. Motley has been a bit…. Aggressive since her dad left. How about we all go get ice cream and it’ll be on me today?”

And then Eddie, as terrible as it is, gets excited. That meant your single, single and very pretty. So he smiles. “Sounds metal to me.”

The giggle that escaped Motley makes him happy. 

Soon enough Eddie found his entire world wrapped around his three ladies. You, the little 5 year old named Motley and the little baby Ziggy. (Both named after rock music. You don’t like it then name em something else.) 

His life did an entire tilt and he found himself going from the freak to being ‘Daddy Eddie’ as his girls liked to call him. 

- 

“Lemme get the straight.” Eddie starts, holding up one finger and leaning back as he takes in the scene before him, Motley covered head to toe in flour and smiling from ear to ear. “The bag of flour just happened to knock down from the shelf and fall on you?”

“Yup.” The girl nods, still smiling. 

“And you don’t know how the step stool got there?”

“It was there when I walked by.” She shrugs. 

“I see. And you didn’t know that we hid the cookies on that shelf?”

“You do?!” She feigns shock, bringing both hands up to slap her cheeks. “What a coincidently.”

“Yeahhhhh. What a coincidently.” He imitates, bringing his own hands up to slap his cheeks in shock, trying very hard not to laugh at this entire thing. From her covered in flour, or her grammar and especially not the innocent act. Do not laugh. Do not laugh.

  “Motley! What did you do?!” You cry, coming into the kitchen in the pajama shorts Eddie loved so much, to see your daughter covered in your flour. 

You had both been in bed…..snuggling….. When you heard the sound of bowls falling. 

“I am innocent!” Motley cries, waving her hands like she truly could not believe you would think it was her. 

“She’s innocent!” Eddie follows, doing the same as her. “Tell her you want a lawyer, Mot.”

“Motley, do not-”

“I want a lawn mower!” She snaps out before you could warn her away from it. The room falls silent for a second after her words slip out and both you and Eddie try to control yourselves, but before you know it you are cracking up. 

Tears springing from your eyes as you cackle, Eddie finds himself using one arm to lean against the wall as his other arm holds his ribs, pained to be laughing so hard. 

“What’s so funny?” Motley asks, a puff of flour blowing out as she giggles herself which just sends you and Eddie into yet another laughing fit.  “Mama! Daddy Eddie!” 

“What Mot?” You laugh, swiping the tears from your eyes. 

“You’re being mean!” “Aww, we’re sorry Motty.” Eddie coos, moving closer as you do as well. Before she knows it you are both launching to hug and kiss at her, covering both of you with flour as she giggles and screams to escape. 

Eddie steals her another cookie before you take her to the bathroom to shower her off, you both lay with her to read for bed before you lead him back to your room, taking a shower together before going to bed yourselves. 

- 

Eddie was completely at peace, laying on the couch after a long day at work, with Ziggy laying on his chest slobbering all over his shirt. Motley laid on his legs, her head shoved between his hip and the couch as she snored away. 

They were sick, and you were in the kitchen making some chicken soup. Eddie had been in charge of getting them showered and ready for dinner, the only problem was the steam from the shower had cleared their noses which meant about 10 minutes of getting them both to blow into a tissue. And by the time that was done all their energy was gone, so he led them to the couch to lay with them and try to ease their whimpers. 

They passed out soon after and he was trapped in a pile of heat from their fevers and their slobbering snores. But he was at ease right here, their warmth making him just as tired. One hand rubbing Ziggy’s back while making sure she didn’t roll off his chest while the other hand slowly rubbed Motley's scalp. 

Before he knew it he slowly began falling asleep himself, and by the time he woke up he felt your fingers rubbing his forehead very very softly, a small smile playing on your lips. 

“Do you want me to grab them?” You whisper, which makes him shake his head. 

“Let em sleep, they don’t feel good.” He whispers back, turning bleary eyes to Ziggy who was currently crawling her way up his chest, she whimpers and whines until she is able to put her mouth around his nose. The gums touch his skin as she sucks on his nose, and he laughs slowly. “Apparently she is teething too.”

“I’ll go grab her ice pack.” You laugh, moving to the kitchen to grab it as Motley wakes up. 

“Daddy…. I hurt.” She whines and he nods, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the couch to give her room to get up, she does and quickly crawls until her head is in his lap. 

“You want some soup? Huh pretty girl? Maybe we can listen to Elvis before bed.” He offers, watching a small smile break out on her face that she tries to hide. Eddie teases her by leaning to see it and laughing when she covers her mouth. Then he pulls out the big guns, taking up the Elvis voice as he stares at her. “Let’s go eat some soup sweetie pie.”

“Hunka hunka burning love!” She giggles, jumping up to dash to the kitchen, when she passes you she nearly knocks you over but you manage to lean out of the way just in time. 

“What’s the rush?”

“Promised her Elvis after dinner.” Elvis was the king of rock, which albeit wasn’t the rock that Eddie liked, but Motley had grown overly obsessed with him lately and he was cool with that. Anything his girl wanted. 

- 

Blurb song inspo hereeeee . 

The opening of King Creole began, Motley stood on yours and Eddie's bed wearing his sunglasses and his leather jacket. She held a ukulele he had found from a garage sale, and thought it was the perfect size for her to play guitar. 

Ziggy stood on the ground, using his nightstand to help herself stand as she swung her butt up and down to the music. 

Eddie stood by the bed, with his guitar in both hands as Elvis Presley's song blasted through the speaker, wearing his newer leather jacket and a random pair of shades he found on the dresser that he was sure belonged to you.  Motley giggles loudly as Eddie sings the lyrics, playing his guitar to it as Motley pretends to play guitar as well. 

You were at the store and Eddie was supposed to be practicing for his gig coming up, and when you left he had Ziggy set up in her little play crib before Motley came in with the leather jacket on. One thing led to another and they all were playing along. 

“There’s a man in New Orleans who plays rock n roll!” Eddie sings, leaning in at the same time Motley does so their noses press together and then leaning back as she does and shimmying their shoulders. 

They sing and scream, dancing along as you pull back into the driveway. When you come in to get his help to carry in the groceries you are surprised by the loud music, even more surprised by the Elvis playing with the Metal twist to it. 

“Eds?” You call from the door, watching both him and your daughter shimmy their butts to you as they sing before you lean and stop the music which makes them both twist quickly to find you. 

“MAMA!” Motley cries, excitement crossing her face as she whips his glasses off, dropping the ukelele on the bed and launching into your arms. “Daddy Eddie was teaching me guitar!”

“I see that.” You laugh, keeping a hold of her as you lean to kiss Eddie, laughing when you see him in a pair of overly feminine glasses. “Nice look baby.”

“I thought they were very metal.” He laughs, kissing your lips softly, holding your jaw before Motley groans out a ‘ewwwww’.

“Did you like the music?” You laugh, looking down at her. “Even Daddy’s guitar.”

“He made the song better!” She laughs before you set her down. 

“Go get ready. We are having Vinny and his parents over.” At your words she groans, rolling her eyes which makes Eddie laugh out and reach a ringed hand to pull one of her pigtails lightly. 

“What’s with the attitude, pretty girl? Your rock n’ roll career is already getting to you?” He laughs, leaning to kiss her cheek before sliding off his jacket, moving to pick Ziggy up and make his way down the hall as his baby girl giggles happily. 

“I hateeeee Vinny.” Motley groans, following behind and snatching the chain that hangs from his pants to slow him down. “Daddy Eddie, pweaseeee.”

“Ohhhh, not the puppy eyes!” He whines, looking up to the ceiling. 

“No!” You call, covering her eyes. “Not this time.”

- 

Eddie sat on the floor of the living room with his back to the couch, water dripping from his hair onto his exposed chest as Motley sat behind him taking a brush through his hair over and over. He wore a towel around his hips, keeping him covered waist down but all his tattoos exposed as rubbed lotion on them, allowing Motley to have fun playing makeover with his hair. 

You sat near him, your feet in his lap as you read through a book you have promised yourself you would finish for months now.. Ziggy played with her toy blocks near as well, babbling along to the movie that played on the tv. 

Nights like this were perfect, no hustle and bustle and he got to spend time with his favorite girls. 

He rubbed some lotion on the bat tattoos, not really paying attention to what was happening around him only to be interrupted by a sharp gasp falling from your lips. Instantly he is sitting up grunting a bit when the brush Motley was holding puls his hair. 

“What? What’s wrong?” “Ziggy is-” But he already sees her, wobbling as she tries to stand without using anything to help her, blabbering quickly. Excitement courses through him as he sits up, Motley giggling behind him. 

It takes her a moment but she stands, turning to you and Eddie with a tiny smile. “Come here. Come of Stardust.”

Eddie coos gently and Ziggy wobbles, moving to take a step before landing on her butt. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay baby. Try again.” You coo, reaching your arms out. Ziggy giggles and picks herself up again, and once again she tries to take a step. Then, still giggling, she walks. 

Clumsy and heavy, she takes step after step until she falls into Eddie’s arms while everyone coos around her. 

“Da-Ed-ay.” She giggles and Eddie’s heart stops. Oh my god. 

“Did she just….” He gasps out as you tear up beside him. 

“Mix your name and daddy as her first word. Indeed she did.” You laugh, moving forward to kiss his cheek as he pulls Ziggy in to kiss her face all over.  

“THAT’S MY GIRL!”

- 

Eddie was beginning to get a little pissed off, his body thrumming with it as he watches his girls very closely. He keeps a firm hold on the neck of his guitar to fight the urge to punch someone in the face. 

That someone was Gareth. 

His band hadn’t had much exposure to kids, he knew this. The closest any of them had been to a kid was Jeff’s sister and she was only 2 years younger than her brother. So when Eddie had introduced his girls to them they hadn’t really known what to do. But he assumed they would get used to it by now. 

But his friends hadn’t. In Fact they did nothing but complain when Eddie showed up to band rehearsal with Ziggy on his arm and Motley's hand held within his own. She twisted his rings around, smiling from ear to ear when they walked up to the boys. 

Motley had been worried and had taken far too long to pick an outfit since she wanted to look as cool as Daddy Eddie and his friends. She ended up choosing the Hellfire shirt Dustin had made for her 6th birthday and his older jacket, she even let him braid her hair. And when they walked up she gave them a well rehearsed devil look, even sticking her tongue out just like Eddie does whenever she is throwing a fit. 

The only problem was Gareth and Paul both groaned outwardly, Jeff was the only one that seemed to try and smile, shaking his hand in an awkward wave. Eddie, now irritated and tense simply explains “Y/n had to go and help Nancy with something, I offered to take the angels.”

“Of course you did.” Paul scoffs, turning to grab a beer from the fridge with Gareth and Jeff in tow. Eddie bends down so he was level with Motley, rubbing her arm. 

“Don’t take those geeks to heart, yeah? They’re just nervous. You scare them.” He smiles which makes her smile. 

“It’s okay Daddy Eddie. Papa never liked when I bothered him either. We’ll stay out of the way.” She shrugs, kissing his cheek and taking her chalk set to the sidewalk before he places Ziggy on the couch. 

The papa comment unnerved him and he was already defensive. He didn’t like that they were in a situation that they could remotely compare to their deadbeat dad. It made him sad. 

They start practicing, but soon enough Motley is running up and dancing around in the garage as they play. “PLAY TIFFANY!” 

“Whose that?” Jeff asks, covered in sweat. 

“Please tell me it’s not that teenager that sings ‘I think we’re-’” Just as Gareth starts groaning, Motley begins singing and dancing to it. 

‘Ithinkwe’realonenow. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around!”

“Stop stop stop!” Paul snaps. “This is band practice. You can’t just-”

“I think we should play it.” Jeff smiles. “You have the tape Eddie?”

Of course he had the tape, it was Motley's favorite song at the moment. So, with a deep sigh since he already knew he would get shit for it he pulls the tape from his pocket, holding it in the air between two fingers. 

Gareth sighs, snatching it from him and taking it to the stereo system. 

An hour later and many snide comments, Eddie was about to lose it.  Motley had, at some point, gotten a little upset and chose to sit on the couch with Ziggy who was beginning to get whiny and sad. She hadn’t napped all day and Eddie knew it was time to call it a day before he punched one of his friends. 

“I think I’m gonna get the little ones home.” He mumbles, grabbing the tape from the speaker and putting it in the case as he looks over to where his girls were. Ziggy had her pre-cry face on and Motley was half asleep in the cushions. Eddie shuddered at the thought of how many times Gareth had sex on that thing. 

“Next time don’t bring the rugrats and we can practice actual music.” Gareth scoffs and that tight string in Eddie finally snapped. He pushes closer to his friend, getting in his face as one hand snatches itself in his shirt tightly and in a threatening way, his other hand holding the tape up to his friend's face. 

“THIS IS MUSIC!” He screams, eyes wild before he shoves his friend back and takes a deep breath, turning to where his daughters sit. “Come on, pretty babies. Let’s go make dinner.”

He scoops Ziggy up, then Motley, casting one more glare to his friends before walking off. 

- 

“I cannot believe they would be such assholes. To MY nieces.” Steve scoffs, hands on his hips as he stands next to Eddie. Tonight was the school recital, so both of them were dressed up to attend. 

Steve had dressed himself in a button up with a nice sweater, making sure to match Nancy who was carrying their 3rd kid, the blue of the dress making her light up. Meanwhile Eddie chose a button up with his leather jacket, or well Motley had demanded he wear the leather jacket because it was a part of the look. 

 You, as per usual, looked truly stunning. He made sure to keep a hand on your hip or the small of your back to make sure everyone knew you were with him, that’s right. Eddie the freak munson had the hottest woman around and two of the prettiest and most talented daughters in the world. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Eddie sighs. “Talking to my girls like that?”

“They are just jackasses who can’t even play guitar.” Steve scoffs once more, looking past Eddie to check the door. “Ah, there they are. DUSTIN! ERICA!”

Dustin spots them, smiling as he holds Erica’s hand and shuffles closer to them. “Is Mike coming?”

“No. He has a date to make El jealous.” Nancy laughs. 

“Where is El tonight?”

“Going out with Max.” Nancy explains, and Eddie feels you tense under his hand. He casts you a quick look to make sure you’re okay, watching Ziggy lay her head on your chest as she plays with your necklace. 

“You good?” 

“Yup.” Your answer is clipped, and Ziggy lifts her head up to copy you with a ‘yupyup.’

“Where’s Lucas?” Steve asks Erica, leaning to kiss her forehead. 

“He had an away game. Asked us to film it.”

“Then asked me to stop dating his sister.” Dustin laughs which makes Steve and Eddie break out in their own fit of laughter. 

“Da-Ed-ay.” Ziggy giggles, reaching for him so he grabs her quickly, kissing her lips to make her happy. 

“I’m sorry? Did she just mix daddy and Eddie?” Steve gasps and Eddie shrugs. 

“I’m telling ya, my girls are geniuses.” He smiles, leading you into the auditorium so watch Motley's recital. 

He sits with Ziggy on his lap, holding your hand tightly in his own as Steve pulls out a camera and squats in the aisle to film everything. 

Motley and Vinny come up to do their dance, the audience laughing loudly when Motley steps on Vinnys foot after he tries to trip her. They both blush, Vinny takes a bow and Motley holds up a rock sign, which makes Eddie cheer loudly and stand up to yell for her. 

- 

Song Inspo for this blurb hereeeeee 

“Aruba, Jamaica, ooo I wanna take her.” Eddie sings, holding Ziggy on his shoulders easily as he dances with you. The Hawaiian shirt you picked out for him is light on his skin as the sun beats down on you both, the sweat from the day sticking to him. 

This was the fourth of July celebration, everyone in the group met at the beach to enjoy the day…… which meant Steve had shown up at 4 am to save the spot. Eddie had already applied sunscreen onto Motley and Ziggy twice, you had done it three times and you both were still scared that the girls would burn. 

You had gotten Ziggy the cutest toddler beach outfit, that included a purple swimsuit; hat; and sunglasses. And his baby girl looked absolutely rocking. 

Then Motley got her very own swimsuit, inspired by her favorite artist of the time Tiffany, and Eddie (who had been practicing braiding hair for weeks, your scalp was sore.) had put her hair into two pleats that she had proudly shown to her Aunt Robin who had spent the next 30 minutes complimenting her favorite niece. 

“Daddy Eddie! Come swim!” She yells out, running up to him. “Puh-lease!”

Now here was the problem, Eddie hated showing his abdomen in front of his friends. It was easy for Steve, who liked to say the scarring was Tom Cruise's amount of cool. Eddie however had never shown them how disgusting his scars were. 

“Daddy daddy daddy.” She calls, jumping up and down as Vinny dashes past to get to Dustin. “We’re gonna play chicken and I need my daddy.”

“Maybe Uncle Lucas can help you.” He mumbles, squatting down with Ziggy still on his shoulders, the toddler pulling at his hair sharply as she blubbers. 

“I don’t want Uncle Lucas. I want my daddy! Only you can help me!” She cries, grabbing his arms. His heart melts, and he tries to smile. 

“Okay pretty girl. Let me get Ziggy settled.” He sighs and she lights up, dashing to go tell Vinny as Eddie moves to hand you Ziggy. 

“I’m gonna help El set out the food. Be careful.” You mumble, leaning to kiss his lips before moving to the table as Ziggy waves over your shoulder. Eddie takes his shirt off, rubbing his abdomen in worry as he makes his way to the water where Motley now stood. 

“See?! My daddy has cool ass scars because he’s awesome and he’s gonna kick your slimy little ass.” Motley brags to Dustin, who stares at her with wide eyes that make Eddie laugh. 

“Language, pretty girl.”

“Sorry.” She blushes, turning back to Dustin. “My daddy has sick scars and he’s gonna beat your toothless ass.”

“Woah.”

And suddenly Eddie felt a little better about his scars, smiling from ear to ear as he lifted Motley up, dashing into the water to help her win a game of chicken.

- 

Thanksgiving was spent at yours and Eddies house, after hours in the kitchen and a quick fit from Motley you had fully prepped the table. 

Now everyone sat around it, trying not to laugh as Dustin tries to convince you to eat the mac n cheese he made, practically shoving the spoon in your mouth. 

“No! I eat that and I die!” You laugh, slapping the spoon away. 

“Who would take care of the kids?” Jonathan gasps in fake astonishment. “Me right?”

“You’d only get the kids if Lucas died.” You shrug which makes Lucas smile in triumph.

“I knew it-”

“And you only get my girls if Erica dies.” Eddie interrupts. “And that’s if Dustin is dead.”

A laugh tears from your throat as Dustin claps, but you’re quick to stop him. “And that’s if Steve is dead.”

“And if Steve has them then Nancy is dead.” Eddie laughs. 

“Who has to die for me to get them?!” Mike asks, face red and puffy. El laughs and Max rolls her eyes. 

“Let me guess, if Nancy has them then I am dead?” Max scoffs, and you go a bit tense. 

“Well in this entire hypothesis that means I am dead, so that’s a bit mean.” Eddie giggles. “Because if my girl is dead then they go to me.”

“No they wouldn’t.” Max laughs, which makes the table go a little quiet. “They’d go to their dad.”

“What?” Eddie asks as Motley giggles out a “PAPA!”

He turns to you, eyes wide. “That true?”

“Technically yes.” You mumble out, looking extremely guilty. “But only because-”

Eddie doesn’t want to hear anymore, he slams his silverware down and storms down the hall, slamming the door loudly. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry-” Max starts, only to have you glare at her and move to grab Ziggy. 

- 

It had been a week since Eddie talked to you, he slept on the couch and only talked to the girls. The only communication he had with you was through the girls, and that was it. 

He made them pancakes, and took them to school and daycare. 

Right now he sat in Ziggys nursery as he tried to get her ready for the day, her only in a diaper as he sat in front of her. 

“Aw, come on. Gimme a smile, little baby.” He coos, wiggling his shoulders. “It’s such a cute dress and you know you want to wear it. Huh?”

“No, Da-Ed-ay.” She giggles. “Wuv yu.”

“Aww. I wuv yu too.” He laughs. “In fact I love you THIS MUCH!”

He opens his arms out wide which makes her giggle. “How much do you love me?”

“Dis Muck.” She giggles, opening her own arms wide. 

“Our arms are open, we gotta hug.” He laughs, pulling her in quickly which makes her scream and giggle, pushing him away as he kisses her stomach over and over. 

“PAPA IS HERE!” Motley screams from the living room which makes Eddie whip his head around to the door that had been closed. 

What? “MOMMY! MOMMY MOMMY! IT’S PAPA!” 

Eddie stands up quickly, Ziggy in his arms as he swings the door open, meeting your shocked face as you come up the stairs. 

“Did she say-?” He starts.

“I’m hoping not.” But as you are saying it there is a knock on the front door. So Eddie makes his way to the living room with Ziggy in his arms as you run to catch Motley before she answers the door. 

Choosing to do it yourself, Eddie watches with his heart in his stomach as the door swings open and he is met with-

No.Fucking. Way.

Part ll HERE

(Would y'all want a part 2? If you send in requests for blurbs or scenarios of Eddie and the girls I will 100% write them. Send em in.)

Taglist:: (let me know if you want to be removed)

@localemofreak @paradise-summertime @jenniquinn @eddiesxangel

[doliacuddles]

LUXURY UNVEILED.

𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

❝Though surrounded by opulence, you appreciate the man behind the luxuries.❞

Who would have thought? Who would have imagined that you would end up in Lucifer Morningstar's bed? A simple sinner seeking redemption at the Hazbin Hotel, now found herself lying on his bed, covered with his red velvet sheets. The scene seemed like something out of an extravagant dream, but it was the most tempting reality you had ever imagined.

Just a few months ago, the idea of being with the King of Hell would have seemed utterly insane. You with Lucifer? Ha! How funny that would have been. But life has a strange way of surprising you, doesn't it? After the first encounter at the Hazbin Hotel, Lucifer was completely mesmerized by you. His burning gaze and magnetic charm swept you up in a whirlwind of emotions that you still didn't fully comprehend.

From that day on, Lucifer would leave gifts for you whenever he could, and each day he outdid himself even more. His gifts were extravagant, exclusive, and filled with an irresistible charm that left you breathless. From dazzling jewels to ancient artifacts of incalculable value, each gift was a testament to his affection and devotion to you.

One day, he surprised you with a jewel called Cœur de la Mer, a dazzling creation that rivaled the beauty of the ocean itself. With tears of emotion in your eyes, you vaguely mentioned that you remembered a similar jewel called the Hope Diamond, famous for its history and incalculable value.

The next day, you found a black velvet box waiting for you on the table. With trembling hands, you opened the box to discover the Hope Diamond resting inside, its flashes of light reflecting in your eyes with a brilliant intensity.

You sighed with a mixture of fascination and nervousness as a faint smile curved your lips. You were well aware of the legend of the Hope Diamond, would you fall into disgrace like the other former owners? Was Lucifer aware of it? A million thoughts swirled through your mind as your fingers delicately caressed the surface of the jewel.

Before you could lift it from the box, a knock on the door echoed in the room, taking you by surprise. "Come in!" You shouted from inside your room. The door opened seconds later, revealing Charlie with a nervous expression on her face.

Upon seeing her, you quickly turned to greet her properly. "Hello, Charlie. Is something wrong?" Your voice sounded serene, but your thoughts were still fixed on the jewel behind you.

Charlie entered the room with a restless step, and as she talked about a new activity for the guests of the Hazbin Hotel, you noticed how her eyes lingered on something behind you.

"Oh, what a beautiful jewel! Where did you get it?" Her voice resonated with genuine surprise and admiration, breaking the tense silence that had filled the room.

You responded with a soft laugh, finding Charlie's reaction entertaining. "A secret admirer left it for me. Isn't it beautiful? It's called the Hope Diamond. It's said to have a curse. Anyone who owns it will fall into disgrace and die over time." Your tone was calm, but you couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you spoke those words.

Charlie's expression shifted from admiration to compassion upon hearing you mention the curse of the jewel. Before she could articulate a word, Vaggie interrupted the scene, urging Charlie to join the rest of the group for the planned activity.

You turned to delicately close the box and placed it in one of your desk drawers. You directed a comforting smile at Charlie as you took her arm, following Vaggie into the main hall of the Hazbin Hotel to participate in the day's activities.

As the days went by, the connection between you and your mysterious admirer became increasingly evident to the guests of the Hazbin Hotel, especially when they saw you impeccably dressed in elegant and exclusive Hellish attire on weekends.

Days before, during one of Lucifer's visits to Charlie, he found you in a hallway. With courage, Lucifer invited you on a date, a proposal you eagerly accepted. Since then, you went out together to luxurious places in different rings of Hell.

Lucifer made sure that each date was unique and memorable. He never allowed you to repeat the same clothes or jewelry from the previous date. Always the next day, he left some custom-designed designer garment exclusively for you, leaving you speechless at his generosity and attention to detail.

As months passed, your life underwent a surprising transformation. What was once a modest wardrobe became a treasure trove of elegant and exclusive garments, reflecting the refinement and luxury that now surrounded you. Your room, once simple and discreet, was transformed into a sanctuary of opulence, adorned with art and objects of inestimable value. Lucifer, with his magic ability, mysteriously expanded your space, turning it into a stage worthy of a fairy tale. This extravagance did not go unnoticed among the guests of the Hazbin Hotel, who raised suspicions about the relationship between you and the King of Hell. However, Lucifer responded with his typical charm, explaining that his gestures were a demonstration of his faith in your capacity for redemption.

Despite the growing speculation, no one suspected the true bond you shared with Lucifer, and that was precisely how you preferred it.

And so, with all this in mind, you find yourself in the current situation: in Lucifer's bed. Although your relationship had been platonic until now, the sexual tension between you had been increasing since your dates became more frequent. The scent of wine permeated the air, serving as a catalyst for the spark that finally ignited between you.

But how did you get to this point? The wine undoubtedly helped to relax inhibitions, but it was also the result of accumulated tension and an increasingly deep emotional connection that united you. Every gesture of affection and every gift from Lucifer had created a bond between you, a bond that now manifested itself in intense and burning passion.

You sat on the edge of the bed, letting your gaze wander around the room as you tried to make sense of what had happened the night before. Details began to emerge slowly in your mind, like scattered pieces of a puzzle that slowly came together.

You remembered the feeling of Lucifer's fingers on your skin, a caress that seemed to ignite flames within you. Although in other contexts it might have been painful, for you it had been a source of pleasure and ecstasy.

You delicately searched for a robe to cover your obvious nudity, aware that you were venturing into unfamiliar territory. With confident steps, you walked down the familiar hallway, your steps guided by a kind of mental map that led you straight to the kitchen.

The paintings on the walls, once mere decorations, now took on a new meaning. The images of Charlie, Lucifer, and Lilith evoked emotions that you had previously ignored, a mixture of nostalgia and longing that left you breathless. A flash of insecurity pierced your heart, but you quickly dismissed it as you crossed the threshold of the kitchen and encountered Lucifer.

The King of Hell turned his head upon hearing the door open, and his smile illuminated the room when he saw you. "Hello, duckling," he greeted you cheerfully, showing you the skillet he held in his hand. "I made pancakes, sit down, I'll serve them to you soon," he added before returning to his task.

Surprise painted your face as you watched Lucifer, and all the doubts you had harbored moments before vanished at his warm welcome. "Of course, Lucy," you replied with a smile, taking a seat at the kitchen table and starting a conversation that flowed with comforting ease.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 26 - Texas Hold 'Em

The long awaited chapter is here! Thank you all so much for being patient with me!

Next on the schedule is Mexico and then I'm planning to do "Across Every Universe" pt. 2 because I have so many AU ideas that need to be written. The Brazil race is canceled due to a hurricane in my version of the 2024 - for plot purposes.

So get your cowboy hats on and yee-haw here we go!!

Everyone wasn’t surprised when you showed up in a particular outfit in Austin. The fans had been waiting for another themed outfit since you debuted in Vegas last year. So, they weren’t really in awe of what you were wearing. 

What they were surprised to see was the whole grid in matching outfits.

Thee. Entire. Grid. 

And yes, you had somehow wrangled everyone into matching beaver onesies from Bucees. How you convinced Max, Lewis, Kevin, Nico, Zhou, Valtteri, Pierre, and somehow Esteban as well? No one will ever know (there might have been bribes and threats, but they didn’t need to know that). 

Along with the group was a familiar Monegasque, also in the same onesie. You laughed as you saw everyone stair at the massive group. 

“This is amazing,” you giggled behind your hands. 

To be honest, only a few were actually happy to be in the pajamas. (Lando, Daniel, Oscar, Logan, Alex, and Arthur.) The rest could have said no. But who wants to say no to you. 

Photographers flashed their cameras every few seconds. Apparently, fall had actually come that October in Austin, so it wasn’t as hot as everyone thought. For a second, they were thankful to be wearing the long sleeves of the outfits. 

Except when everyone made it back to their respected garages, they all tore them off. However, a couple of them kept them on. And that group was up for a larger media conference. 

On the couch, the order was right to left: Lando, Oscar, Logan, you, Max, Daniel, and then Charles. All of you had yet to take the fuzzy clothes off. 

The interviewer was a little shocked to see the reigning world champion in kids clothing. Yet, they took one look at your smiling face as you animatedly talked to Max, they knew exactly who he was doing this for. 

The conference started, and the drivers put on their media faces, but it was hard to take them seriously when they were all dressed in the brown and bright red. 

“So starting off, what’s the story behind the outfit choices today?” 

All six drivers immediately looked to you, who sheepishly grinned. 

“Yes, Y/n, why don’t you tell the story,” Max said in a teasing tone. You hit his shoulder before raising the mic. 

“Well, it all started when most of the grid had said they hadn’t been to Bucees. And that is like the worst crime known to man. I mean, Daniel and Logan have been, but the others hadn’t.” 

Charles raises his mic next. “So she gets the brilliant plan to text everyone at midnight about going to Bucees.” 

You pulled an accused look. “Hey, everyone didn’t have to respond, but they did.” 

Oscar pulled a face. “I was pretty much dragged.” 

A gasp came from his right and left. Logan shook his head while Lando had his hand on his heart. 

“Osc, I am devastated. You went by your own will. It was also for her birthday, you know this.” 

The journalist piped up. “Happy birthday Y/n.” 

You smiled sweetly at the man, “Thank you so much.” 

Your head whipped to Lando, “Can I get back to the story?” 

The males quieted. 

“As I was saying, I texted everyone cause I was bored. Bucees is open all night so I knew it would be open. And we had the multi-passenger vans, so we could take everyone. I really thought that no one would show up.” 

“Darl, you have little faith in me.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I knew you were coming, you texted me on the side. But when the meeting time came and everyone was down in the lobby, I wasn’t expecting it.” 

The interviewer smirked. “Who drove? We saw that you had a little trouble after Singapore.” 

You, Logan, Osar, and Lando all winced. 

Logan brought his mic up. “Yeah. That one was one me. I didn’t know that roofless cars weren’t allowed in Singapore.” 

Your finger shot up. “At least we weren’t really arrested. The officer was super nice.” 

Lando smirked. “Yep. We got a warning and he let us off.” 

Your hands clapped. “Anyway, Max drove one van and I think Lewis drove the other one?” 

Max jerked his head to look at you, a smile on his face. “Yeah, don’t want you or George taking off again.” 

The microphone picked up the sound of your hand hitting his shoulders. 

“What did everyone think of Bucees?” a man from deeper in the crowd asked. 

Charles brought his mic back up. “Best place on Earth.” 

You watched as everyone climbed out of the vans and stopped to stare at the yellow and red sign. The big beaver was almost smiling down at you. You, Logan, and Daniel watched as the grid stared at the automatic doors and gingerly step inside. 

“Welcome to Bucees!” an overly energized worker shouted. You looked around and were thankful that not many people were there. 

You waved to get everyone’s attention. 

“Ok boys, er, men, welcome to the best gas station on earth. You can find everything your little hearts’ desire so have at it.” 

The group immediately shot out into different directions. You saw Lando and Oscar immediately head to the rows and rows of drinks they offered. You knew that the Brit would definitely get a slushy when he noticed. 

A lot of the older drivers went to the home decoration sections. Lewis and Valtteri were definitely looking at all the cooking supplies. 

Daniel looked down at you. “So ‘darl, where you wanting to go?” 

You had noticed that Logan had broken away to probably visit the vast fishing supply section. There was a high possibility that he had dragged Alex as well. 

Max, Charles, and Arthur were standing next to the coffee. You shuddered as you remembered as all of them drank it straight black. The opposite of what the creamers and flavors were supposed to do. 

“You wanna get a drink and then walk around?” 

You nodded eagerly before grabbing one of the giant cups. A few drivers watched as you and Daniel filled the styrofoam with Dr. Pepper, before going to the coffee station to add cream. 

“What the hell did you just do?” 

Your eyes widened as you looked at Pierre, Max, and Charles (who all had disgusted looks on their faces). 

You held the big cup up as you swirled the liquid. “Dirty soda. It’s really good.” 

Arthur already had his cup, the same way that you did, except his had Root Beer. You had taught him the ways during early 2023 when you two were teammates. The younger Monegasque rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t look disgusted until you try it.” 

Charles still looked at him strangely. “That will completely mess up our diets.” 

Daniel’s hand clapped Charles’ shoulder. 

“That’s the point Charles. Now get a cup and start concocting.” 

You, Danny, and Arthur left them to their devices and confusion and headed for the beef jerky wall. Zhou was staring at all of the flavors with eyebrows pinched. You knew the look of a beef jerky lover with no clue which one to get. You quickly picked on up and handed it to him. 

“The Korean one is my favorite. But the ghost pepper and garlic are a close second.”

The Romeo driver showed you a quick smile before he walked away. You grabbed the flavors that Daniel and Arthur had asked for, as well as two bags for you. Your head swerved as you tried to find the two men. 

Your eyes widened as you heard Danny’s laugh, loud and clear above everything. Your feet quickly took you to the toy and clothing section. By the time you reached them, Daniel already had a onesie on. 

“Great idea Danny,” you said as you gave everything over to your boyfriend, who had smartly grabbed a basket. 

You were quick to put the pajamas on and pose with the Australian. The two of you fell into laughs as you tried to find Arthur’s size. By now, most of the grid came over to see what was going on. Lando’s eyes flashed with mischief as he tried to find ones in his and Oscar’s sizes. 

You grabbed a few off of the hangers and handed them to the drivers you thought would want one. You watched as George and Alex put them on and laughed as you saw that the pant legs were too small and came up before their ankles. 

Before you knew it, the entire grid was in once section. You and Arthur gave each other looks before dashing to Max and Charles, who immediately shook their heads. 

Max gave you a stern look. 

“No, I am not putting one on. End of st-”

Moments later, Max was brooding in a brown and red onesie. The twenty of you goofed around for almost three hours before Lewis suggested that it was time to leave. (He only said something when he noticed that you were dead asleep on Max’s back. And everyone knew that Max had the widest back so ergo, more comfortable for nappage.)  

“So that’s it. And I thought it would be a good idea to come dressed in these.” 

Charles began talking. “So again she sends a text at 5:30 am asking for everyone to wear the onesie.” 

You gave him a playful glare. “Once again, you did not have to wear it.” 

The Monegasque winked back at you (or tried to anyway). 

“But I look good in it non?” 

A scoff arose from Max. 

“You look good in anything mate.” 

You gasped as you looked at the cameras. 

“Everyone heard it right? Lestappen is real!” 

The rest of the group started to laugh loudly as Max and Charles blushed. You wiggled your eyebrows at the Dutchman, making him swat at you. 

You grumbled as you were led away from the conference. 

On Thursday, Arthur was glued to your side as you watched one of the F2 drivers use your car for free practice 1. You watched as he had his eyes sharp on the car, a sigh leaving his lips every so often. 

You bumped his side. 

“We can go to my room if you want to?” 

Arthur didn’t even respond as he made a beeline for it. You quickly took your headphones off before following him. It didn’t take long for you to catch up and slide into the room as he closed the door. 

The moment you turned around, Arthur had you pinned to the door, lips locked tightly. A small gasp left your lips as he pressed into your face. Your hands gripped the polo material and bunched it at his sides. You made quick work to stick your hands against his skin. He let out a small hiss at your cold fingers. 

“Your hands are never warm are they?” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Poor circulation,” you were able to mutter back before kissing him again. 

His left hand had made its way into your hair, lightly gripping the roots. He gently guided your head to the side and decided to attack your neck. 

You shook your head. “Marks. Please no marks.” 

Arthur respected your request as he placed a gentle kiss before going back to your lips. His right hand had made its way under your shirt. It was slightly going up before a knock at the door made him jerk it away.  

You sucked in a deep breath. 

“Yes?” 

“Kid, we’re needed in the garage,” Max’s voice sounded through the door. “Oh, and Charles is looking for Arthur, have you seen him?” 

You wanted to snort at the irony. You patted you hair a bit before responding. 

“I’ll let him know. Be out in a second.” 

You and Arthur held your breath as you heard his footsteps start to grow quiet as he walked away. 

Arthur smirked down at your flushed appearance, happy that he could make you as flustered as possible. 

“I will see you later then?” you asked, placing one last kiss on his lips. “After Sunday the guys are wanting to try to go line dancing if possible to celebrate for my birthday.” 

Arthur nodded excitedly as he stepped back, trying to straighten his shirt. 

“You go first, and I’ll follow a bit after.” 

The plan was a go as you snuck out of your room, looking around as you made your way to the open garage. 

Once Arthur thought he was in the clear, he poked his head out. Not seeing anyone directly, he also snuck around the door. His head was turned around, not seeing the body in front of him. He collided into a firm chest before whipping his head forward. 

He came face to face with Max. Arthur gulped as his hazel eyes met icy blue ones. Max just looked down at the scared 23-year-old. The Dutchman smirked before planning a hand on Arthur’s shoulders. 

“Use protection please,” was all Max said before turning around and walking in the direction that you were headed. 

Arthur glowed red at the statement before heading out. His face definitely matched the shade of his red Ferrari polo. 

Back in the garage, your mouth was wide open as you looked at the leaderboard. 

“How did a Williams get there?” 

The blue “W” shone brightly in the P1 spot. “SAR” was right next to it. 

Christian shook his head as he looked at his notebook. 

“They got an upgrade from Mercedes and decided to use it for this race.” 

Max also was boggled at the sight. You looked back at Christian, wanting to gulp with concern. 

“How are we looking?” 

The Brit sucked in a harsh breath. “Not the best. But we’ll get there.” 

“Hey kid!”

Your head whipped around at the sound of Mitch yelling your name. As you were gawking over the Williams positions, you were completely oblivious to the entirety of the garage getting closer and closer. In her hands was a small-ish white cake. A small Lightning McQueen figure was on top. You let out a small gasp as Max quickly lit the candles that were shaped in a 2 and a 1. 

Everyone soon began to sing a rendition of Happy Birthday. Toward the end of the verse, your eyes started to water. When the song ended, you lightly blew out the candles, earning several rounds of applause at something so miniscule to you. 

Yet, this act of kindness really showed how much your team loved you. Christian tried to shove your face into the cake but he really underestimated how strong your neck really was. If anything, your head didn’t move much. You just gave him a stink eye as you glared at him. 

Mitch gently set the cake in your hands as you just stared at it. The little candles illuminated the tears that were falling down. 

You looked up at everyone. Some were holding their phones, taking photos. Many where mechanics that you really had no relation to. 

You were able to croak out, “Thank you.” 

The cake was split up and soon many were munching down on small slices. You were tucked between Max and Mitch as you ate your slice. 

The Dutchman nudged you just a bit. “You seem quiet.” 

You swallowed as you looked down at the cake. “I’ve never really had this. I’ve only ever celebrated my birthday a couple of times before. A few with Enzo and then with Arthur last year. My teams have never done this before.” 

Max gave you a sad smile, silently noting to continue the tradition of getting a cake. 

On Sunday, “Not the best” became an understatement. 

You and Max had definitely done terribly in qualifying. You two made it out of Q2 by the skin of your teeth, all while Logan and Alex were happily in the top four. Q3 resulted in you and Max getting a respectable P4 and P7. The latter position making it difficult for the Dutchman to be happy with the weekend. 

During the parade on Sunday, you were standing next to the two Williams drivers. You leaned over. 

“So how did you switch out your cars for ours?” 

Logan laughed loudly, currently on cloud-9 as he was on his maiden pole position. Alex was a little jealous but was happy for the blond, since the 2023 season was not very kind. 

Alex decided to join in. 

“While you two were sleeping, we snuck out here and just swapped. Logan is pretty good with spray paint.” 

That had you laughing with your next stretched out and your head leaned back. Suddenly a hand was on your neck as you looked at the arm it was attached too. Oscar was looking at you with big round eyes while it was Lando who’s arm was at the junction of your shoulder and neck. 

You gave the two papaya boys a weird look before Oscar leaned over. 

“You have a little something on your neck.” 

Your hand quickly clapped onto your neck over Lando’s hand. You flushed bright red. 

“I told him no marks.” 

Max, who had seen the entire thing, came over and handed you his pullover. You muttered a quick thank you before pulling the oversized thing on. You just hoped that no one else saw. 

When you changed into your race suit, you stared at the red marks dotting your neck. 

“Arthur Leclerc, I’m going to kill you,” you mentioned to no one in particular. For the Austin Grand Prix you had a Captain America styled helmet. The red, white, and blue shone around the garage as you got into your car. 

You took a deep breath as you looked at the cars in front of you. Logan, Alex, and Oscar were all ahead. Lando, Charles, and Max were behind you. You felt a bit alienated from your teammate, who you normally were able to catch a bit of tunnel from on the way out to bold. 

It kind of reminded you of Monza. 

When it was lights out, you were quick on the throttle. You got the immediate jump on Oscar, putting you in P3 before the first turn. 

However, Alex was really using his degree and the masters in defense. You were frustrated at the Williams driver, yet you were really impressed with how he held you off. 

But, a slow pit stop for them and a fast one for you saw your Red Bull overtaking his easily. Yet, it seemed like the Brit had taken on a student. 

One that goes by the name of Logan Hunter Sargeant. 

You were so focused on your own race that before you knew it, you were over the line with the checkered flag waving freely. 

You pressed your radio button as you taxied. 

“Great race everyone. Congrats to Logan on his first win. Ah, I thought I had him in some places.” 

Mitch on the radio knew you sounded a bit dejected. Since the Azerbaijan race had been canced before the Singapore grand prix, she knew you wanted another race win soon. She knew you were expecting to take the win from Monza and ride on that high for as long as possible. But with a hard podium in Singapore and a car that didn’t work well in Austin, she could see you getting annoyed. 

“What was Max’s position?” 

“P4. The team had a bit of trouble with his tyres. So that’s Sargeant P1, you P2, and Piastri P3.” 

Your eyebrows raised. 

“Good job for Oscar.” 

You undid you steering wheel as you watched the American celebrate his win. The crowds seemed to roar for him as they did for you in Monza. You watched as he ran to his team, who welcomed him home with open arms. 

Funny, he got his first points in Austin last year, and his first win this year. 

Strange how the world worked. 

On the podium, you watched as the crowds placed their hands over their hearts during the Star Spangled Banner. As expected, Logan was shedding a few tears. Oscar looked so happy for the blond. COTA finally brought back the cowboy hats with the numbers on them instead of the flat caps. 

Your mind went back to the Lacy edits on Tik Tok. 

Finally, Logan was no longer being compared to Oscar. 

He could finally be himself. 

You and the Aussie were quick to douse the American in sticky champagne. Logan just laughed as he got sprayed, giving in knowing that he wasn’t going to win against the two of you. 

“Are we still going line dancing later tonight?” you asked him as the three of you stood for a picture. 

“Aw hell yeah! Bring it on Texas! Yee-haw!” 

You took the special cowboy hat off your head and tipped it to the crowd. The two boys doing the same. 

Yee-haw indeed.

williamsracing has posted

williamsracing the man, the myth, the formula 1 race winner! I guess our pronouns are USA

liked by oscarpiastri, y/n.89, logan4president, and 803,193 others

logan4president RAAWWWW WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER

williamsduo Logan Sargeant win before GTA6

y/n.89 your Americanness is showing

logansargeant yes, and? y/n.89 do not quote ariana grande at me sir

y/n.nation the helmets today were peak >>>

logan2sarg I know right - the eagle on Logan's dannyric Daniel's hook'em horns one was immaculate

iamred_iamyellow so glad they brought back the cowboy hats for the podiums

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 it's a real life boogey and a real life hoedown

liked by arthur_leclerc, redbullracing, circuitoftheamericas, and 750,294 others

y/n.nation HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!!!

leclercbros dang, she finally taught Arthur and Charles how to wear cowboy boots

leclerc4ever she just taught them how to dress period

formula_fan does anyone know what went down tonight lol

box_box_express so they went to a local bar, y/n and Daniel taught everyone how to line dance, surprisingly Logan and Oscar are very good at it formula_gossip I was also there, Carlos and max got on the mechanical bull, most of the grid was there, and Fernando was playing darts in the corner with Lando

maxverstappen1 happy birthday kid

y/n.89 thanks maxie! even if you didn't let me get the drink I wanted maxverstappen1 I don't think a fireball is an appropriate drink for your first one y/n.89 right...my first drink...totally

beyonce now that is how you celebrate

f1 YEE HAW

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[kquil]

How about the marauders meeting their match in reader from Slytherin and falling for her, but reader is oblivious?

Btw i love your writing, you're literally my favorite writer

I tried! it's not my best work but i hope you like it anyhow, darling

i also hope i interpreted this request correctly (┳Д┳)

length : 0.8k

You go barrelling into James’s chest with a yelp and take a moment to recover, “oops! Sorry about that!” you grin up at the Gryffindor chaser as he and his three other friends stare down at you in bewilderment. Most Slytherins would scoff or pull a disgusted face at the sight of a Gryffindor so your apparent and undisturbed rapture was bewildering. 

“GET BACK HERE YOU DAFT COW!” It was then that they finally saw the merriment be wiped from your face and get replaced by slight terror. 

“gottarunbye!” you push away from James’s chest and speed away as the marauders stare at you, still bewildered at what they just witnessed. Not long after you made your prompt exit did a group of Slytherins go run past them with warts all over their faces. 

“Wow…” Sirius whistles lowly, impressed by your handiwork, “Rosier, Macmillan, Lestrange, Malfoy and Nott too,”

“To her own house as well,” James voices in shock. 

“Somehow, I hope she gets away with it,” Remus tucks his hands into his pockets as he smirks at his friends. 

“Me too,” Peter pipes in, “I was partners with her in Potions once, she was civil, friendly even but still guarded,” the boys listened to his observations closely, even leaning in to do so, “I thought she was just shy but…”

“Interesting…” Remus hums to himself, speaking what was on everyone’s minds.  

The next time they see you is during charms. The room was circular and the podium for the teacher to explain spells and communicate openly with the students was in the centre, while the students were seated all around and at different levels, much like a circular theatre. From their side of the room, James, Sirius and Remus watch as you snicker to yourself, using the ‘wingardum leviosa’ charm to sneakily move the quill of the Slytherin in front and below you from their right side to their left, then back again when they found it but didn’t have use for it at that moment. 

Sirius giggles along with you when you make eye contact across the room. You wink at him and mouth a ‘watch this’. He focuses his gaze on the scene and has to hold back a devious cackle when you momentarily transfigure the quill into a spider just as the Slytherin student went to reach for his ‘quill’. This pulls a piercing, girlish scream out of your victim but when the professor swiftly turns to see what was wrong, you had already turned the spider back into a quill again. Promptly, Slytherin was deducted house points for causing a disruption in class — a small price to pay. 

“She’s my new idol,” Sirius sighs with his chin propped up on his palm, a dreamy look in his eyes, “forget her being a Slytherin,”

You meet eyes with Sirius once more, who silently claps for you as you pretend to tip a hat at him. Looking down you see James with his jaw slacked and mouth open at you in awe. He couldn’t believe how brilliant you were and his mind was racing with thoughts of whether he should try to compete against you or celebrate your small but remarkable victory. So caught up in his admiration of you, James overlooked the elegant swish of your wand and almost screamed in fear when he felt something ticking his chin. Abruptly pulling away with force, he watches as his feathered quill slowly floats down to his desk, beside his parchment. 

“She tickled me…” James awes, “with my quill…” 

“She’s a pretty little minx, is what she is,” Sirius comments with a chuckle, unable to take his eyes off your sweet face and pouty lips. Beside his two friends, Remus stares at you with a captivated gaze and can’t seem to keep his eyes away for too long when they have to return to taking notes for class. You became a prominent distraction for Remus, leaving Peter to seek help from the student seated on his other side, who wasn’t much good either. 

After some moments, Remus looks up at you only to make brief eye contact with him, which he embarrassingly, swiftly pulls away from. He looks at you several more times, still avoiding your gaze, until he catches you folding up a small piece of paper. He proceeds to stare in fascination as you create an origami bird that you gently breathe life into, sending it across the classroom to him, flapping its delicate wings for flight. The dainty bird lands gracefully on his parchment, where it falls lifelessly. Meeting your eyes again, you subtly signal him to unfold it and read the message written inside while Sirius and James lean over to have a read for themselves. 

‘Who’s more ticklish between you and Sirius?’

The question makes Remus look up and stare at you with a raised brow. However, the sight of your impish smirk as you twirl your wand between your fingers makes his heart hammer in his chest frantically. The brunette turns to James who was holding in his laughter and trying to hide his grin behind a closed fist. 

“Looks like you two are next,” the Gryffindor chaser chuckles under his breath as Sirius and Remus share a look before gulping apprehensively. They look at you with tense shoulders, nervous eyes and butterflies in their stomachs.