#idk the point is I'm looking to write a pain that lasts. something that lingers long after the event has occurred

[piper-2244]

goodnight moon

how spencer turns college!reader's bad sleeping habits into very good sleeping habits.

MDNI | smut! word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slightest teensiest bit of overstim, fluff to the moon, spence and reader just being sweet, spence just being obsessed and concerned with every little thing about reader authors note: hiiii. soooo this is TERRIFYING. why is smut soooooo scary and vulgar. but i've been working on this one for a long while and i think i'm happyish with it??? idk. its not really adding anything new or revolutionary to the world but i think its cute!! lemme know your thoughts. i think smut is something i'll get better at writing with time but yk. okay whatever have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy!!

There’s a noticeable tension in your shoulders as you lay down on top of the covers of your bed. Your face crushes into the soft down of many pillows, nose buried into the crevices. You trace out the clean smell of Spencer's shampoo that manages to linger on your sheets even after a week of him being away on a case, the fragrance making your head become even heavier with each deep inhale you take.

You can physically feel the exhaustion clawing at your soul. Eyes shut, blocking out the harsh shine of the overhead light you definitely forgot to turn off, you reach your arm up to work on the knot in your shoulder. You roll it back, feeling an unsettling click that probably shouldn’t be there. 

Spencer would be able to work the knot out like it was nothing, if he were here.

You shift your leg up, thinking. When did he say he’d be home earlier today? You had called him before your final exam this afternoon, for some encouragement and reminders on the principles of astronomy.

The all-consuming fog in your brain prevents you from remembering any of the important details of the conversation, such as when he’d be home, so you choose instead to just replay the soft I love yous he had said into your ear. 

By this point you’re sprawled across a good portion of your bed, back to the ceiling with one leg bent, head turned to the side. Your spine sinks down into the mattress, relieving the aches just a bit, and the sweet, sweet release of sleep ensues minutes later.

Until it gets quite rudely interrupted.

You don’t hear him enter the room. You haven’t even opened your eyes to see him. The only thing you notice when you wake is the feeling that you’re being picked up from your hips and rotated, a complete 180.

“Hello?” you ask loudly even before your eyes open.

When they do open, they see your lovely boyfriend standing above you, grimacing like he’s been caught. Spencer’s hands are holding you mid air, and you look at him, wildly confused, as you blink away the sleep in your eyes.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, the thick sweater vest that you got him last year for his birthday layered over his button-up. He must have just gotten inside, his bag was still crossed over his body. 

“Hi honey. What are you, um, doing?” you ask quietly. His nose scrunches in a cute attempt to push his glasses up his nose without using his already occupied hands.

“Hi. Sorry for waking you up.” He ducks down to kiss your forehead. “You just really shouldn’t be sleeping on your stomach. Bad sleeping posture can actually worsen chronic pain more than any other factor in your daily life,” he explains, setting you down but keeping a firm grasp on your waist. Your mouth forms an awkward little smile, matching his. “I had to intervene.”

“I know. It’s just so uncomfy. But why’d you pick me up? You could’ve just nudged me, or, you know, asked…” you grumble. You make room for him, however, as you speak. He sets his bag down and clambers into bed next to you, body seemingly rivaling yours in exhaustion. He leans against the headboard, turning his head to look at you.

“I wouldn’t normally do that, but I knew you were exhausted, so I figured you’d be less likely to wake up if your body was physically touching fewer things,” he justifies, logic drawing a soft giggle from you. You settle into a comfortable silence, the room still bathed in artificial light and Spencer still in his work clothes.

He eventually breaks the stillness after a minute, turning towards you. “How did your astronomy final go today?”

“I think I did alright. Our study sessions paid off, I think. But it was never my strong suit,” you reply, tracing your fingers over his leg. “I’m so achy now though. It’s strange what four hours of math can do to your body.” 

His hand slides up your arm in response, lightly pressing on the tense spots. 

“It’s strange what four hours of math and sleeping like a contortionist does to your body,” he corrects with his little know-it-all look, fingers circling a bit more firmly into your shoulder.

“I also really, really missed you,” you add, smiling back at him. “So be nice to me.”

“I missed you,” Spencer responds, even sweeter. “And I am being nice.”

You roll your eyes and he reaches over to kiss you gently. “Would you like me to be nicer?” he whispers softly. Your brain is all but short circuiting as you look at him, his eyes flitting between yours like he was searching the stars.

Your head is nodding even before you can actually realize what he means.

Then, his body is gone from yours. You stay silent, trying to regulate your breath, eyes following him as he stands and walks over to turn off the big light. Your eyes flicker to adjust, but with the moon’s gentle shine pouring into your window, it’s absolutely perfect. 

A blush, that you're hoping the new darkness will conceal, creeps up your cheeks when you see the soft outline of Spencer’s back as he takes off his sweater vest and pulls at his tie. He turns back and looks at you, eyes all soft and full of adoration. “Yeah? Not too tired?”

“Nope,” you murmur, convincing yourself as much as him. He finishes getting into his PJ’s and walks back to you. You straighten your back, trying to appear as awake as possible. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says back at you, voice gentle. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” A kiss, this one to your cheek, softens the blow of his words. You shake your head, but he continues. “You were sound asleep not even ten minutes ago, and you’ve yawned six times in the last five minutes.” His hand strokes the side of your waist.

“Spencer. I'm fine,” you huff. He smiles a little and sits next to you on the bed. His mouth is on yours, kissing you firmly, sweetly. 

A hand, always in motion, always calculated, slides up to your nape and presses you closer. The other slides down and thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing lightly over your skin, making it erupt in goosebumps.

His brow scrunches softly. “You’re so worked up.”

You stay silent, begging him with your eyes. He dips down and kisses right where he touched, and your hips lift a bit in response. 

“Honey. Lie back,” he says, and you do so. He readjusts his body so he’s on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. He kisses your forehead, cheeks, nose, and then moves down to your neck. He kisses that one spot beneath your ear that makes you gasp quietly. He then does it again, and again, and again, in that focused way of his. 

Wordlessly, he slides down further. His nose bumps underneath your belly button, in the thin stripe of skin showing where your top meets your panties. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Spence,” you whimper softly, head feeling like a cloud of gas from the endorphins. He peppers even more kisses there and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone. He slides your panties down an inch and immediately kisses the skin that’s revealed.

“I thought about doing this to you all the time while I was away,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss more firmly on your hips, even closer to your soaked core, sucking gently and leaving a mark. “These should be off by now,” he muses, gently pulling your underwear down. 

His hand is immediately where you want it, two fingers pushing up against your folds, and to your clit. He touches in little circles, sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach, eyes looking up to yours to gauge your feelings. 

You almost hate Spencer for how fucking good it feels. You let out a soft moan, heart pounding. And when his middle finger sinks into your entrance with no word of warning, you toss your head back and close your legs around his hand. Spencer’s mouth twists into that little smile of his, pushing ever so deep into you, and says, “It feels better when you keep your legs open, sweet girl. If you need more, tell me.” You nod immediately, desperately. 

“Yeah. I need more,” you whisper, and he bends down and gives your clit a kitten lick. Your hand goes to his hair, softly pushing him closer. He gets the message and presses his tongue flat against it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so pretty like this, under me. I missed you.”

You really do almost forget just how nice it was to have him on top of you after a week, telling you nice things and making you feel so good. He pushes his ring finger in to match his middle, stretching you slightly and adding pressure to where he knows it feels good. Your eyes screw shut and you furrow your brow in overwhelming pleasure, a soft exhale coming from deep within you.

“This good?” he asks, other hand coming to take care of your clit in his mouth’s absence. You nod frantically, looking down at Spencer. He watches where his hand comes in contact with you, pushing in and out at a steady pace. “You’re not normally this quiet. Is it a lot?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Feel so sensitive.” He presses a soft kiss onto your clit, and you jolt.

“Sweet girl. It’s been a little while, huh? Even right before I left, I didn’t use my mouth." You shake your head in agreement. “You’re doing so well for me though.” 

He resumes with his tongue, working you into oblivion. His free hand holds your hips steady, hindering you from writhing away from the mind-numbing pleasure.

His mouth is occupied and your brain is utterly ruined, so the only noises coming from the two of you are your soft exhales and whimpers, and the obscene sound of his hand pushing incessantly into you.

And eventually it does, in fact, become too much. He sends you into orbit. You lift your hips, practically pushing yourself into his face, pleasure coursing through you.

“Spence, I’m. I-” your voice gets caught in your throat. 

“I know,” he says, calm and collected. A stark contrast to whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now. 

He keeps going in the same way, steadily driving you through your orgasm. You let out one last moan and your body relaxes and limps around him, chest moving up and down rapidly. 

You come back to earth and grab his arm to tug him away. But he stays, pressing kisses all over you, watching you with his imploring eyes.

“You can take it. Missed you so much. Just one more,” he says in broken little sentences, parting with your core for just a second before resuming, hand picking up speed again. But this time, you don’t feel as awake. As alert. Your chest feels heavy, and your eyelids even heavier.

The post-orgasmic haze has settled even more into your bones, pressing you down deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of sleep once again.

The last thing you see before you succumb is the moon casting a perfect glow onto Spencer, still diligently pressing soft kisses onto you, holding your hips still so you won’t roll over in your sleep like before.

[hisredhysteria]

Blood in the Water.

[18+ MDNI]

Note: I guess this weekend is dedicated to Cutthroat...? This writing is what I was working on for myself as my (now late) birthday gift, so it's self indulgent. Since I post the wildest stuff anyways though, I thought maybe someone else wouldn't mind reading this. Even if it's 10 years from now....if you're reading this and my blog still exists in 10 years hi omg- I should add it's in my usual style so I kept the reader vague, it's not that kind of self-indulgent fic—

TW: There is no 'real smut' but it gets suggestive. blood, knives, implied murder or NSFW (depends how you choose to see it I guess... I chose to see it as murder and you may be able to tell by the way I wrote it, but rereading it....I could see how it might be taken in another way.) The reader is being threatened by a knife, so I will not call it knife play. However, I will warn that it sounds like that. So then I'd have to say noncon just in case.

Summary: You decide to take a bath ...and how dare you take one without Cutthroat.

Rainy days were when most nightmare inducing incidents at least threatened to occur. From soaking wet shoes to moist humid skin, frizzy and matted hair would seem so small by comparison. They were a day like any other however, even if it meant they were a little bit different.

An arm snaked around your waist while the two of you slept, it was all the comfort you could have hoped to ever ask for. Something that Cutthroat couldn't easily deny you of, it was just another luxury that came along with the innocent title marking you as his.

A precious angel.

Tugged in so close tonight that if he pressed into you a little further, your organs would simply pop from your mouth and sides, an unkind sickness bubbled from the whispering heat. It was delightfully suffocating, yet another thing you could rarely hope to bear. Sweat built, sticky through your clothes as the fire like warmth of his body pushed so far into your back. Breaking away from his iron like grasp was impossible, could you have even asked?

You laid with your head to the pillow, parting your lips for just another painful breath. Letting in a heavy inhale that must have caused him to stir, you shut your eyes tight with anticipation for the worst.

"Cutthroat..." Your throat unexpectedly sore, still happened to work.

"Hm..~?" A sleepy voice hummed back to you, his grasp only provoked to be at its strongest. Loosening to explore your body for just a second, you felt his bandaged hand sneak its way underneath the hem of your shirt. Lifting it, almost. With the expectation for his hand to slide across your stomach, or even just lay bare flat, it instead desperately grabbed at the waist of your shorts. It had been as if Cutthroat only knew what you were about to ask him. Sinking in your own ill feeling though, you had to bring yourself to do this.

"I'm not feeling too well... Can I go to the bathroom...?"

Silence never sat long around the Murderer, it wasn't something he preferred. His hands only tightened now, like he'd refuse to set you free.

"..But...the sun's not up yet.. If you go now, the bed will get cold...." Cutthroat's half-asleep voice whispered back in dismay, his own breath still hotter than his body against you.

"I'll be quick, I promise."

A barely audible gasp and you knew he just had to be smiling. How pretty the word promise was leaving your lovely, innocent lips. Begrudgingly still in his own right, Cutthroat allowed his hand to release and slip from your body. A growing ache only worsening as he did so.

"You really promise you won't be long...?" He asked, testing your honesty for himself.

"Of course."

A careful eye peeked open nonetheless at your words, Cutthroat wouldn't hold himself back from watching to make sure that you'd make it to the door okay. As you worked to stand up, the dizziness encountered from both heat and lack of eating that night hit you all at once and you stumbled to reach balance. Your body was sick with temperature, but it was kind enough to barely manage without plummeting straight to the floor.

Your hips bumped into the doorframe, and that was when you realized, this quick trip to the bathroom wasn't going to be as short as you swore with a promise. Head spinning to accompany your hazy vision, you placed a hand to it like there was some way your neck wasn't holding it in place quite right. Your hand wouldn't manage to hold it in place either though, and the only thing you could do was support yourself on the walls of the hall as you reached the bathroom at long last.

You slapped the dim light bulb on and wasted no time to click the door locked behind you. Hardly able to stop yourself from collapsing to the floor inside, you felt your eyes flutter like they did when you went in and out of a peaceful rest. A sigh left your lips before you'd allow your legs to rest on the cold ledge of the bathtub, so devious and white. Relief washing over you, a wandering glance couldn't be helped. Your eyes surveyed a shine, so beautiful the blinding glint to each handle bar of the tub happened to be. Swallowing hard at the knot in your stomach, your head grew with pressure as saliva slid down your throat.

"I know I said I'd be quick.." You murmured to yourself, predicting that any late appearance back to the bed next to Cutthroat would have been troublesome. "But, the worst he could do is follow me in here..."

Your thoughts weighed bricks as you fought with the idea of twisting the handles and pushing the tubs sprout down to fill a warm bath for yourself. If Cutthroat was asleep again, you could get away with it. But if he'd been awake, hearing the water run through the pipes was sure to elicit some sort of response. Be it good or bad.

Against your better judgement, a hand made contact with cool metal, so clean you could catch your reflection in it as if it'd been a mirror. Rotating it carefully at first, water drizzled from the faucet. Waiting a second, then just a few more, when Cutthroat didn't come to throw the door open, you figured yourself to be safe. A little farther this time, you turned the handle and a loud waterfall unlike any other began to spill into the empty tub. Watching it fill for a second after the sound enveloped the air, you stood to your shaky legs and slipped your clothes off. Moist with sweat soaking through from your skins rising temperature, the feeling was nearly abysmal.

Your shirt came off first, lifting it up then feeling hair fall flat back to your neck as the bottom came over your head. Next, your shorts. Slipping a finger into the hem that rested against your body, you tugged them down and off your legs, stepping out as you did so. Last were your remaining undergarments, so familiar to you that you might as well have forgotten you'd ever put them on to begin with.

Setting a foot into the waters surface, you sat opposite to the faucet, still hurrying to pour it's warm liquid into the bathtub. You'd been dangerously lightheaded, and with fear of the world swirling just a little faster, you let this bath be only a warm one.

Eventually it came time where the racing water filled so close to the brim from your distracted attention that you could ignore it no longer. Leaning in, your hand forced itself to turn each nozzle and beckon the water to a halt. A few more drizzles like rain starting to cry, small drops fell into the tub before it ceased to a complete stop. Finished with no interruptions, your hand drew back the long shower curtains to ensure an illusion of safety.

Relaxing now wasn't any word used to describe how your tense body felt leaning back against the slippery porcelain. Nonetheless, it was only slightly better than having to bear another tight hug from Cutthroat. Shifting lightly, you fluttered your eyes shut and drowned in the unpleasant feeling of your head pounding with ache. The pressure at your temples was unforgiving, almost as much as how uncomfortable you were being forced to endure your bodies own agony. A soft whimper emitting from your lips, your heart would begin to do a routine as creaks in the walls became too close for comfort.

"It's just your imagination.." You whispered, your own attempts to console yourself being very hard to prove successful. Tingles shot down your spine, a foreign feeling for the warm water that surrounded you. Something felt a little amiss, but to point your finger at it was a little too real. So real, that perhaps this imagination of yours was a dream. A nightmare your weary body went through when you began to doze off like a sleepy child.

In and out of your dazed like state, wind whistled through the cracks of the bathroom window hardly ajar behind it's curtains. An echo bounced through your ears, harsher and more deafening the longer you left it to linger. As if a ghost was trying to break down the walls and tell you something, your eyes ripped back open at a bang slapping against a hard surface. An observation dropped with horror unmatched as you forgot any aches and pains to glare through the translucent shower curtains. The bathroom door flat against the wall Cutthroat threw it against, you shivered.

"Oh...that was easier than I thought..." He noted, peeking inside the small room to catch your frame hidden behind see through curtains. How rude it was of you not to invite him, and how much ruder it was to have not invited him to a party this thrilling.

Eyeing your disregarded clothing sprawled across the bathroom rug, Cutthroat's interest only piqued. His lips pursed softly, bending down now to glance at you through the mere plastic sheet you felt a deceitful safety behind.

"Can I join~?" He hummed, forgetting any promises you made to make it back to the bed in a timely manner. Had he found you doing just about anything other than sitting in the water of a bath right now, surely he'd have been just a little more hurt.

A treacherous route to take—permitting him to submerge within the same water as you—your glance only shifted and your shoulders barely shrugged. It wasn't as though you weren't sure if he could join, it was that you weren't too sure if he should join. Nevertheless, what would happen if you tested him with the refusal of a simple no? Perhaps a long winded explanation could further deter him as he grew impatient with boredom.

"I don't mind..."

"Ah-! Good choice..! I knew my angel wouldn't...~"

It was all you had to say because in the end, a "no" would have never worked on Cutthroat to begin with.

Watching his taller frame further enter the bathroom and close the door, a sense of feeling trapped threw you off. Your mouth acted like it was ready to ask him why he felt the need to shut it, even when he often liked to leave it how it was when he opened it. You shut your mouth however, and figured he had a reason.

Half expecting him to pull the curtains back and indulge within this experience fully clothed, Cutthroat wasn't going to waste an opportunity to feel closer to his angel than he already was. Fumbling with the buttons on his white pajama top with you still avoiding eye contact, he gave a frustrated hum like they held a grudge against his fingers.

"Come on.... I can't do it..." He fussed, narrowing his eyes as he looked down at the buttons. Smug soon there after as he remembered who he was in the room with. "...But maybe my angels touch can do the trick?"

An obvious scheme to get closer to you, a trick that you left to fly straight over your dizzy head for the moment. You being the angel he spoke about, Cutthroat's hand pulled back the shower curtain as he politely peeked into the small enclosure you had for yourself.

"Come closer then.." You answered his request too kindly, watching his lovely features light up with an excitement enough to make your heart pound faster. Reeling the curtains to the side, he knelt down to the edge of the tub, allowing you an easier reach. Doing so, you'd expect your eyes to have met his at least once or twice with a tension building awkwardness. Oddly enough though, his entranced eyes were fixated on something above your head, like you had birds circling above you at all times.

Working down the buttons and stumbling across a few with a shaky and sick hand, eventually when you got halfway down, something loud and ear piercing slammed against the floor.

"Oh no, there goes my knife...." Your partner blinked, seemingly upset for the edge to become duller from a blunt impact against its blade. If he hadn't expected that, then what exactly was the knife doing up his pajama shirt in the first place..?

"Cutthroat.." You whispered, his eyes widening at the sweet tone you hit him with. "Put it on the sink."

The instructions weren't a surprise, at least not to yourself. Though, Cutthroat wouldn't let something so out of place for him happen.

"Can't I leave it on the bathtub side instead..?" He whined back, a compromise he'd hope was acceptable to you. Especially given that it was where he'd place it if you hadn't caught him with it.

Apprehensive, you agreed with a small, "fine" seeing as the look on his face wasn't something to easily argue with.

Grabbing the knife as you finished unbuttoning his top, he placed it on the very edge of the tub next to you. Shampoo bottles and every other kind of body cleansing container laid by it.

"There." You flashed him a weak smile, watching him straighten up and slip the top off each of his arms. Letting it fall to the floor on top of your own clothing, he wasted little time with his own pants and undergarments as well. Hard not to catch his eye or let him clue in on the fact that you were even threatening to look towards his bare body, Cutthroat's foot broke the equilibrium of the peaceful bath water.

An "ah..~", left his pleased lips as the surface made contact with pale skin. On the opposite side he chose to sit of you, legs close to your own. Almost like they fit into a puzzle, the stance was so intimate that his own cheeks would dust themselves in an arousing pink. Eyes filled to their maximum with your glowing beauty, a mischievous glint at the sight of you was something Cutthroat didn't dare to hide. A fool would have thought he'd sit so still with you in the tub across from him because that's exactly what he didn't do.

"Where are the bubbles..?" He asked, scanning around as his finger swirled itself amongst the clearness. Daring to dip in a whole hand and watch it drain from his grasp and back into the tub, Cutthroat shot you a suddenly bored glare.

"Isn't water its prettiest when it's clear?" You challenged, leaning your leg against his own when your body finally decided to loosen up.

Enlightened perhaps, his eyebrow cocked down at the water, then your leg touching his. He couldn't find himself to argue with your truthful observation as his own leg pressed further into yours in response.

"Huh, I suppose it is then..."

Again, your eyes shut and your back gently pushed itself into the end side of the tub. Feeling safer with every moment passed where Cutthroat didn't initiate anything, the sound of a bottle popping and releasing pent up air caused you to jump. In the split second after, your consent wasn't necessary as a hand began to rub at the skin of your leg. One eye opening to see what you were feeling, Cutthroat had been lathering soap into you with just his bare hand.

How strange.

His touch wasn't the most delicate, but it wasn't at all an unpleasant feeling. At least, your heart wouldn't tell you that was so.

"Wouldn't a wash cloth be more sanitary...?" You asked, blinking down at his hand. Eyes widening at the soaking bandages he seemed to refuse taking off even in the tub, you frowned. Sighing too, you leaned back up and put out an empty hand like you'd been waiting for him to place something in it.

"Hm, why the hand?" Stopping the lathering of soap across your sensitive skin, Cutthroat most nearly seemed confused by the gesture you had yet to explain.

"Your arm will chafe underneath your bandages if you don't take them off in the water. I thought I told you that..."

Still, his eyes looked at you. It would have been ignored had anyone else brought this up to him, but because it was someone as special to him as you were, he set his arm into your hand and waited for you to pull at the wet cloth hiding his skin. Again to add, he was impatient. Had it taken a stranger to work this long on him, Cutthroat would have already pulled away. However, he was nearly entranced by the way your fingers slipped between the crevices and worked to rip the bandages off of him entirely.

"Feel better?" You asked, discarding the soggy mess of entanglements to the tubs side temporarily. Glaring at his hand and lifting it up as if he'd never seen what it looked like underneath, his vision skewed from it's focus to center on something above your head again. If a small gasp was any indication that he'd been seeing something you couldn't, then perhaps each one should have alarmed you further.

"What is it..?" Unaware, of what swirled on top of you, you questioned him. His hand dropped and enchantment fell upon him at your presence. If... it hadn't done so already.

"Can I come closer?" He asked, a smile on his lips for he'd already started to lean in without your permission.

Flustered, your back pushed further into the white porcelain behind you. Not hard enough to disturb your body, but just hard enough so that you were no longer comfortable. Opening your mouth to speak, the sound of water shifting and spilling back into itself filled the air as Cutthroat moved into a position to accommodate his intentions. Pulling your legs in and allowing him more room to move as he pleased, you really were absolutely no help to your own pending fate.

His own legs now pressed into yours as if they weren't close enough to you previously, you were most nearly being straddled in place underneath his wet body. Streaming water dripping back into the tub from Cutthroat's stance, you got quite the front row seat of just everything he had to offer. If you hadn't been so fearful that he'd sink you by your shoulders and drown you into the tub, appreciating him would have been more possible.

"What are you doing?" You asked, so late that not even a tardy slip should have been able to excuse this.

"..Getting closer...I can't touch you when you're so far..."

It was an interesting thing for the Murderer to say, given that in a tub meant for one, you were already as many as two. His excuse to come closer wasn't too uninvited, despite all your uneasiness. Your heart would hate to inform you though, that his lips were tracing the skin of your neck.

Unsure of how to feel from the closeness at which he came, you couldn't miss the screeching sound of a knife being slid across the ledge of the tub he set it on. To help himself now was his pleasure, and with you beneath him there was little chance for your escape.

Sicker than before, a horrific feeling set at the deathly cold blade. Skimming across the skin of your collarbone, his hot breath whispered love with it.

"You'll finally belong to me now.."

Eyes growing wide at the unfair statement, you felt your legs begin to shake.

"I what ...?" You whispered back, tilting from the blades end. His motive remaining almost unclear.

For the sharp blade now beginning to tease your wet skin, pain would eventually destroy reality. Slowly sliding the tip of his dagger into your desperate body, soft moaning cries became music to his ears. In love to the point of madness, Cutthroat took careful time to not split any veins. You had to last as long as he could drag it out, and where the time between life and death could have been your chance, you simply missed it from a presumed lustful dance.

Now how selfish was it of him to watch your blood splutter like paint across the porcelain white? How much more fair was the way he watched his own fingers smear it like thin syrup into a print with the wall behind you? The surface of bath water unbalanced, crimson rocked within it, back and forth to its sides.

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

pairing: dylan o’brien x best friend fem!reader

summary: in which dylan has been your best friend for as long as you could remember. your busy lives and schedules may have pushed both of your lives in vastly different directions as you’d gotten older, but somehow you two would always be led back to your hometown, and each other, during the holidays. however, one moment causes all of that to change. 

warnings: angst (what else is new), some fluffiness, mentions of past trauma (the maze runner incident), existential crises, explicit language

word count: 3.6k words

author’s note: idk why i decided to write something christmas related in the summer but it happened lmao (also i feel like it’s slightly important to mention that this takes place in 2016)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rocks being thrown at your window were not what woke you up. Instead, you had been lying awake for hours; getting little to no sleep was something that you had become used to at this point.

However, on this specific night— or morning, depending on how one looked at it— you were glad that your sleep had been restless once again because it made it easy for you to get out of bed and walk to your window when the rocks began hitting it.

There was really no need for you to push open the curtains and check who was doing the throwing because, of course, it was Dylan. Ever since he moved onto your street in Hermosa Beach in middle school and the two of you easily became friends, he was the only person that would ever wake you up in the middle of the night with the soft pings of rocks, especially on this specific day at this specific time.

You waved at him and gestured that you would be down in a moment. You slipped on a random pair of sweatpants along with a hoodie and then placed the Christmas gift that you bought for him in the pocket. The item was small enough to fit in the not too big pocket of your hoodie; however, it did awkwardly protrude a bit.

All of this was a sort of unspoken tradition that the pair of you had developed over the many years you’d known each other. Meeting at five in the morning on Christmas day, walking to the beach that was only a few blocks away from your respective childhood homes, and exchanging Christmas gifts with each other as you both watched the sunrise. It started when you were in ninth grade, and you hadn't missed a year since, not even when the ending of high school pushed your lives in vastly different directions, especially since Dylan graduated a year before you and was almost immediately thrust into his acting career.

But, it didn't matter that Dylan's career took off, and you eventually decided to go to college in Santa Barbara, because, no matter what, you both would always come back for the holidays.

When you opened your front door and saw Dylan lingering by the sidewalk no more than ten feet away, you were quick to go toward him and pull him in for a tight embrace. It actually hadn't been too long since you’d last seen him, maybe only five or six months, but for some reason, it still felt as if the last time he was in front of you was last December.

"Hey," Dylan breathed out in a short greeting, his arms wounding around your waist.

“Hey to you too," You responded, a small smile gracing your features when you both pulled away, and you looked up at him. "How have you been?"

It was quiet for a few moments as you waited for him to answer the question, but eventually, you were met with no verbal response, and instead, Dylan simply shrugged. The short action made your heart constrict in the most painful way, and it was then that you noticed the light remnants of a scar peeking out from behind his dark hair that covered the majority of his forehead. You were quick to peel your eyes away from the scar and instead cast them down at your Converse-covered feet, but that didn't stop the memories from quickly coming back.

The Maze Runner accident had happened back in March, but to you, and you knew to Dylan as well, it felt as if it was just yesterday, especially considering the fact that he was still dealing with the unavoidable repercussions from it.

"Wanna walk?" You asked, finally looking up at him once again.

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

A silence that could only be deemed as comfortable lingered between them as the two of you took the five-minute walk to the beach and sat down side by side on one of the random empty benches.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Dylan said as he handed a present over to you. The present was messily wrapped, something that was not at all uncommon when receiving gifts from Dylan, and the sight of it made you smile.

Before you unwrapped the gift, you pulled out the one you had for him and handed it over. "Merry Christmas, Dyl."

The nostalgic sound of wrapping paper ripping could be heard as you tore into your gift. A simultaneous shocked and happy yelp emitted from your lips when you held up a Harry Potter t-shirt. But, it wasn't just any Harry Potter t-shirt; it was one with a version of the Goblet of Fire movie poster on it, which was your all-time favorite movie in the series.

"Holy shit."

"It's the original merch that was sold when the movie came out," Dylan told you. He hadn't opened his gift yet, and instead, he was playing with the green bow placed on top of it; he always liked to see your reaction first.

You looked at Dylan and then back down at the shirt as you processed his words. "Wow, double holy shit. I would put it on if it wasn't freezing right now."

Dylan laughed a bit. "Very understandable."

“Why haven't you opened yours yet? I'm dying to see what you think of it," You said. You were now holding the t-shirt to your chest, genuinely feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning again.

Dylan finally began unwrapping your gift to him, and when all of the paper was peeled off, there was a square box. "Aw, a plain white box. Thank you so much. This is what I've always wanted."

You rolled your eyes and playfully bumped him with your shoulder. "Ha ha. Please save all of these bad jokes for your stand-up act; I can't wait to boo you off the stage along with everyone else."

"So, what I'm hearing is you don't think that becoming a comedian is going to be the next best career move for me?" Dylan asked. He attempted to make the question sound as serious as possible, but there was a joking undertone to his words.

You bit back your laughter. "Please just open the box already so I don't have to hurt your feelings by truthfully answering that question."

"Okay, we'll circle back to that topic later," Dylan smiled and then finally opened the white box to reveal a slightly faded baseball. When he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the black signature written on it. "Now it's my turn to say holy shit."

You could feel yourself smiling at his awestruck reaction, and you wondered if that was what you looked like when you saw the Harry Potter shirt. The baseball was signed by one of the players of the New York Mets that had been Dylan's favorite player when he was younger, and he'd even caught a ball hit by him when he went to a game before he moved to California.

"I've had this idea for years, but I could never find a baseball signed by him," You began explaining, the excitement clear in your voice. "But, last month, someone named Paul Todd posted this on eBay and I immediately bought it. God bless that old man. It's completely authentic and everything."

Dylan was quiet for a few moments as he simply looked at the baseball in his hands, a small joyful smile on his face, and it made you happy to see him so genuinely elated with the present.

"This just made my gift look like shit," He finally said, a light laugh falling from his lips.

"I have always been the superior gift giver. I think that's my hidden talent," You responded with a playful smirk.

Dylan placed the baseball back in its box and then looked at you. "Next year you will receive the best gift ever from me. It will completely top everything that you have ever given me."

"You're saying that as if I should feel upset about receiving a trip to Italy as a Christmas gift."

"A trip to Italy?"

"In my strong opinion, that would be the best gift ever," You said with a smile and then looked down at the t-shirt, which was now in your lap. "But, anyway, I don't think this gift is shit. I'm in love with this shirt already."

Dylan let out a joking, overexaggerated sigh in relief. "Phew, okay, since you think this gift is great, that means I don't have to do the trip to Italy next year."

"What? Did I say I like this t-shirt? I hate it! Harry Potter actually su— Fuck, I can't say this with a straight face," You laughed, and Dylan was quick to join in with you.

The joking statements leading up to the laughter hadn't even been the funniest things ever, but it didn't matter because this was probably the hardest you had laughed in a while, and you were both glad and unsurprised that it was with one of your favorite people in the entire world.

You missed joking around and laughing with him. You missed simply being with him.

Eventually, the laughter died off, but there was still a smile planted firmly on your face. You looked ahead at the darkness in front of you and the ocean that looked completely black; it was still kind of early, so the sun hadn't begun to rise just yet. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, and you let out a small sigh, your head finding Dylan's shoulder as you leaned against him.

"How have you been?" You asked him, your words coming out both soft and slightly quiet, and before the mood became too serious with your question that was nothing but serious, you attempted to lighten it. "And please no shrugs as a response this time. I don't wanna get a headache due to my head bouncing off your shoulder."

Dylan let out a breath of a laugh at your final statements but refrained from answering the question for a few moments.  

After what felt like forever, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I honestly don't know. My mind has felt so fucked lately, thinking about everything. I swear I've been feeling every feeling known to man these past months."

"What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

"I'm really happy with you. This is probably the only normal and familiar thing I've experienced in a while. But, of course, there's still that confused feeling in the back of my mind revolving around everything else." He paused for a brief moment before continuing, his next words came out quieter. "I don't even know if I want to go back to acting."

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him as you pulled his hand into yours and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze.

"No matter what you decide. I'll be right there to support you," You told him and then added a "bro" at the end of her sentence along with a small smile. Whenever things became too deep in a conversation you two were having, one of you would always throw a "bro" or "dude" in there to bring some playfulness to the mood.

The corners of Dylan's perked up a bit. "So, you'll support me when I decide to become a comedian?"

You were unable to stifle your light laughter. "Yes, fine, fuck it. I'll be the loudest one laughing at all of your shows."

Dylan squeezed your hand back because he knew exactly how reluctantly true your words were. "Don't worry, I promise not to put you through that."

"Thank you."

"So, how have you been?"

"No."

"Oh, come on," Dylan said as he playfully poked your side. "I'm not gonna be the only one exposing my feelings."

You sighed and then hesitantly nodded. "Okay, okay."

The truth was you had been far from good lately. Your life was moving, but for some reason, you felt like you weren’t moving with it.

You felt stuck.

Stuck in a confusing mindset where you had absolutely no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You thought that identity crises usually happened in high school, but apparently, yours had come five years late. But, you knew that this delayed identity crisis had been your own doing because you had convinced herself that you would figure everything out once you were in college; and you were both lucky and smart enough to receive a full ride to UCSB.

And although you were finishing up your Master's degree in Creative Writing and had a TA job at the university with the department, which was the reason behind why you could even pay for the Master's program, something in your "should be great" life simply did not feel right.

However, you felt absolutely terrified to say any of that out loud because admitting it would only finally make that statement a wholehearted truth, instead of just a spiraling thought in your mind. And even though Dylan was your best friend and you knew you could tell him anything and not receive any sort of judgment, it still felt hard to let the words leave your lips.

You thought about the way to perfectly word everything, but nothing felt right. You pulled your hand away from Dylan's and covered your face as you let out an exasperated breath. "I can't figure how to say it all."

Dylan placed an arm around you and then mimicked the same question you had asked him not too long ago. "What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

You would have both laughed and smiled at the fact that he was using your exact words if the current circumstances were different.

"Scared," You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what the fuck I wanna do anymore, and actually, I don't think I really ever did. I only went to college because of the scholarship, and I convinced myself that I would figure my life out when I got there. And for a while, things felt right because I found creative writing and genuinely enjoyed it, but something doesn't feel right anymore. And I actually do like school. Because it's stable, and I am doing things, even if it's taking a dumbass test. But, it's about to be over soon, and I have no idea what I'm gonna do."

Your words were coming out like vomit, and nothing could stop it because finally, everything you had been feeling for so long was out of your head and put into the open.

"And don't get me wrong, I do love to write, but I don't know, I just can't see myself doing it for the rest of my life," You admitted and then let your next words come out quietly. "Honestly, I can't see myself doing anything. I'm so unhappy here."

You did not say it aloud, but you didn't think you were ever fully content there. Aside from Dylan and your parents, you never truly liked California. You had grown up there all your life, and although there were millions of people that adored the state, you felt the exact way someone from a state like Wyoming probably felt.

Dylan did not verbally respond to your long confession at first; instead, he simply pulled your confused and stressed self in for a hug, and you let out the simultaneous sigh and breath that you had been metaphorically holding in for years at this point.

"Maybe you should take a break," Dylan finally said; his arms were still around you, an action that made you feel completely comforted. "Right after high school, you went straight to college, and I don't think you've ever really taken a break to really think about what you actually want. Like, maybe, it's becoming a zookeeper."

Your laugh was slightly muffled by the fact that your face was pressed into the warmth of Dylan's chest. "Zookeeper?"

"I don't know," He laughed too. "You said you would support me in whatever the fuck I decide to do, and I'll do the exact same for you."

Somehow a smile found its way on your face. "A zookeeper and a comedian. What a fucking dream team."

Another laugh fell from Dylan's lips. "The best fucking dream team."

"But, honestly, I wish I could've known sooner that this is how you've been feeling. I would've been telling you to slow down so long ago, but you seemed content with everything," Dylan told you and gave you another light squeeze. "Please take a break and don't stress yourself out over the future when your next semester is over. Just relax for the first time. You can even come stay with me in LA for a little bit if that's where you wanna take your break. I'll be here for you, Y/N. Always."

Something about his words hit you hard. The wholehearted honesty and sincerity behind his statement shouldn't have surprised you, but it did. And the worry he had for you resembled the same concern you had for him when the accident happened. You two were best friends, so it should not have been a shock that you would worry about each other, but still, in that moment and for you, it was shocking because it felt like so much more than just that.

"Me too," You whispered, finally responding to his previous statement.

The long embrace came to an end with you being the one to pull away; however, you did not pull away far enough for you both to become completely detached from one another. Dylan's arms were still around your waist, and yours were still around the nape of his neck, and your faces were dangerously close. Your hand somehow took on a mind of its own as it reached around and cupped Dylan's cheek. The miniscule confusion and tickle of panic that began to prick at the back of your mind because of the action were not enough to make you pull away.

The slight way that Dylan leaned into your soft touch was the catalyst for you to take the leap and lean in the tiniest bit to close the small distance between the two of you, your lips almost too easily finding his. The inward sigh of contentment you emitted when Dylan almost immediately kissed you back made you realize that kissing him was the one thing currently happening in your life that actually felt right.

Later, when thinking back to that specific moment, you would wonder if that "rightness" had always been there between you both.

However, that right feeling, which was both comfortable and familiar, was quickly replaced with dread and angst, at least on your part. Your mind was beginning to fully catch up with your actions, and it immediately told you that the current action was both bad and stupid, and there were many, many reasons that proved that.

Maybe there were moments where a younger, and even present-day, you did want more to happen between you and Dylan, but you would always push that thought away because you knew that your and Dylan's friendship was so much more valuable.

And then it was the fact that your lives were nothing alike. Even though you were immensely confused about where your life was going, you could say for certain that it wasn't going in the same direction as Dylan's; an acting career that he genuinely loved and enjoyed too much to truly give up. Something deep down told you that, and you could feel the truthfulness behind the thought. The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect.

You abruptly pulled away, not just from the kiss but from Dylan's body entirely, moving to the edge of the bench you were on. Your hands covered your face in nothing but pure embarrassment and regret, and you wished that you could take back the last minute and a half of your life. And you also absolutely hated that you couldn't help but notice how much colder your body felt now that it was away from Dylan's.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. Fuck. That kiss— it was a mistake. I'm really sorry." Your words came out rushed and fumbled, and it probably did not make much sense, but you just hoped that there was at least a little bit of coherency with them.

As much as you wanted to look at Dylan, you refused to do so because you knew that you would only see the regret you were feeling written clear across his face.

"Hey, it's okay, Y/N. Everything's fine. Don't worry," You heard him say but could hear the uncertainty in his voice as if he really didn't know if everything truly was fine. And you knew that it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect, and you had just completely ruined that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts <3

((((already potentially thinking about doing a part 2 to this….. but idk…))))