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azrielbrainrot · 5 months

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Such a Perfect Place To Start

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3911

Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.

There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.

You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.

After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.

You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.

As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.

At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.

The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.

“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.

“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.

“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”

The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.

Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.

You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.

Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.

The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.

Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.

“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”

You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.

“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”

You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.

Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.

Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.

“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.

“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.

“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.

“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”

He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.

“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.

“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.

“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”

“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.

“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”

“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”

He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.

You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.

“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”

“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”

“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.

“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.

You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.

Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.

As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.

You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.

You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.

You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.

However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.

Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.

He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.

Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.

You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.

Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.

As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.

Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.

“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?

He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.

“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”

“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.

You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.

You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.

“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.

“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.

The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.

An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.

Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.

Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.

You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #divider by saradika #healer!reader

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chloeangelic · 10 months

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Belong to me, I: Chosen

Line cook Joel x waitress reader

Line cook Joel AU masterlist

Summary: You desperately want a baby and hope that your grumpy coworker will help make your dream a reality.

Warnings: Smut, yearning, mild angst, age gap (Joel is 40, reader in her late 20s), mild brat taming, creampie, breeding kink, size kink, description of glass related injury/blood, social smoking, dom Joel (not degrading), ovulation sex, unprotected PIV, mutual pining, rough sex, size kink, ass play.

A/N: Posted a day early cause of the overwhelming response on the masterlist🥺🤍 I'm turning this into an AU that I can post to at random and just kinda use as a creative free space like I did with this, so there will be more parts :))

Word count: 4.8k Rating: 18+

You had a dream one night.

A dream that you were holding a child, your child, a little baby who came from you, whose home was your body for the overwhelming majority of her life. You held her in your arms, cradled her, ran the very tip of your finger over her little nose, stroked her soft cheek and looked into her eyes, seeing yourself in their reflection.

You had dropped her off at your friend’s house to watch her while you went and visited your parents, but when you returned, you could not find her. You searched and searched, asked every person you came across if they had seen her, but nobody had. And when you woke up, you felt that same gut wrenching anxiety over your missing child that you felt in the dream. Like she was still out there, but you had no way of getting to her.

And ever since then, you’ve felt a vacancy in your heart somehow, a pull towards something intangible, something you know you will love and cherish with your whole heart and take care with all the energy you can muster, as soon as it is in your hands.

Yearning.

A deep, almost excruciating yearning for a baby, the baby in that dream, a baby you will not have anytime soon if you are dependent on the presence of a husband or even a boyfriend to provide you with one. For as long as you can remember, you have wanted to be a mother, and it feels as though your opportunity is slipping through your fingers, even at your young age, as you watch friend after friend go off with their significant other and establish families, and you’re still single, not even looking for a special someone.

You want what they have, unbearably so, and have gotten to a point where you think you might crumble if you never get the chance to raise a child, but the idea of dating does not appeal to you, and you would rather just do it all yourself.

One time your friend asked you, “If someone put a gun to your head and told you that you have to have a kid with someone right now, who would you choose?”. You didn’t have an answer at the time, but you do now. It’s been simmering in the back of your mind for a while; the answer to that question. You’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, about how it feels like the right time for you to have this baby you so desperately want.

During the afternoons and evenings, you serve tables at a busy restaurant downtown. It’s not the world’s most interesting job, but you think you’re generally well liked at that establishment, you’re friends with everyone, and the shifts go by relatively quickly.

You walk in through the large doors, waving to Maddy as she escorts a couple to their table, swinging past the bar stools, making your way to the back office to take off your jacket and slip into your heels, giving your hair a quick look over in the mirror before you walk into the kitchen.

And there he is - the answer to your friend’s question. Too tall for the countertops and always hunched over, too broad for the narrow hallways at the back of the house. Big, very big, so muscular, with shoulders and biceps so large you wonder if he spends all his free time working out. Grumpy, never in what one would call a 'good mood', convinced that approving or disapproving grunts count as full answers when someone asks him something.

Joel, a scowling and silent mountain of a man.

Sometimes you sneak out during his break just to chat him up behind the restaurant, even stealing smokes from your coworker to give him a reason to spend more time with you. His scent is intoxicating every time you sit there huddled next to him, especially when it’s cool out and you shove your entire body into the side of his arm and his thigh, his skin as hot as a furnace.

Even his sweat, at the end of the worst shift one can possibly imagine, smells good. He smells like cologne and fresh laundry and what you presume to be combo shampoo and body wash considering he doesn’t give much of a fuck about anything that isn’t his daughter and he’s not exactly what one would call vain.

It seems, however, as if he gives a little bit of a fuck about you.

Sometimes it even feels like he looks out for you.

And you wouldn’t have had this suspicion had it not been for the fact that you brutally cut your hand on a shard of glass a few months back when a vase tumbled and you stupidly tried to catch it. You looked at your bloody hand, heard the snap of Joel’s fingers and a few commands before you were suddenly in his truck on the way to the ER.

He sat there with you, pressing a wad of gauze to the cut until you were called in by the doctor, waited until you came out, then stopped at the pharmacy to get an excess of things you might need, and drove you home. He even stayed with you until you were fed and passed out watching a movie on your couch.

After that day, you’ve felt like his eyes are always on you, his scowl seeming more concerned than menacing, his hands suddenly there to catch you every time you’re about to trip over yourself. Something about the feeling of being protected by him has made your heart and ovaries twist around themselves, making that yearning for a baby incredibly urgent.

You want his baby now, whether he’s present or not, and you’ve decided that you’re gonna ask him for a little favor when ovulation comes around and you feel slick and needy and desperate for his come.

Which just so happens to be tonight.

The restaurant seems to get busier the second you step into the dimly lit lounge, sending you back and forth between the kitchen and your tables more times than you can count, trying to think of how to formulate yourself, how not to scare him off.

You eventually check the time and see that it’s close to Joel’s usual forced break time, and decide that you might as well take your own break now too, needing to speak to him as soon as possible. So you hear the clicks of your heels as you nearly run through the kitchen, grab the lighter from the office and push open the doors to see him already sitting there outside, his face tilted up so the sun hits his skin and bounces off the silver in his otherwise brown hair.

“You mind?” you ask as you close the door, and he nods for you to sit down next to him, already reaching down to commit coworker theft. It always feels casual, calm, even relaxing in some way, to sit out here with him, but tonight you’re on the edge, knowing he’ll never speak to you again if your request falls flat.

He puts the cigarette between his lips and looks at you while he waits for you to light it, but your hands tremble around the lighter as you try to hold it up. His eyes narrow for a moment, then his hands come up to hold around yours, making them disappear under his large palms, holding them steady and looking into your eyes until the flame catches and he pulls back. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, his accent slurring the words together slightly.

You have a speech ready, an explanation about this longtime want and need and yearning to become a mother, a rationale for why you’re ready, why you want to do this as a single woman in her late twenties, an excuse for why you don’t want to go to a clinic and find a donor who’s a Harvard graduate in his early thirties.

Why it is you want him, Joel, to be the one to give this to you, and how he doesn’t have to do anything, emotionally or physically or financially, when you finally get what you want.

But your plan falls flat as you open your mouth, your gaze locked to his dark eyes. “I wanna have a baby” is all that comes out, breathy and longing and absolutely not casual like you planned.

You watch as he flicks the ashes off the cigarette and takes a drag, looking at you with an unreadable expression, then exhaling away from you before he says, “Sweetheart.. The fuck does that gotta do with me?”.

You roll your eyes at him, never threatened or intimidated or insulted by his tone. There is something you find oddly charming about his ability to be grumpy for hours on end and seemingly never cheer up, any pleasant surprise met with the raise of his eyebrows and a slow nod. “I wanna have a baby, now, I don’t wanna wait to meet some prince charming and get married and do all that shit.. I’m happy raising it by myself, I-”

“And?” he asks then, the creases around his eyes getting deeper as a look of confusion creeps up on his face, “Why exactly are you tellin’ me this and not your girlfriends?”. You take a moment to figure out how to damage control, how to reel the situation back in and not scare him off any more, while you watch the smoke rising from between his two fingers, one thick arm resting over his knee.

“I want you to get me pregnant, Joel” you finally say, running your hand up his thigh, unable to cover the expanse of it with your fingers splayed out, and the feel of his muscle tensing under your hands makes you clench around yourself, warm wetness starting to seep out into your panties, “Please? I promise I won’t waste your time”.

He’s frozen, looking at your innocent expression and the subtle slouch in your shoulders. It’s too fucking hard to resist you, your doe eyes and little pout, and there’s something in your tone that makes his shock die down quickly, getting replaced by a strange feeling of flattery. A feeling he’s not used to. Not to mention the disbelief he feels at the prospect of you wanting to get in bed with him.

He can surely find it in himself do this for you without getting attached, without worrying about this child day in and day out, or about you. He hopes he can, hopes that he's too old to worry now. He won’t bother you, he’ll stay out of your business unless you need something. It’s an act of kindness from him, really, and it’s about time he does something nice for someone other than Sarah, who’s been the only one on the receiving end of all his care and love for the past sixteen years. Besides, you're a nice girl, why wouldn't he want to do something for you?

And more importantly, why on earth would he pass up the opportunity to fuck you? To have you under him, to see what’s hiding beneath those black pants stretched to their absolute limit by the thickness of your ass, to hear what you sound like when you come, to know what you taste like, to know how your lips feel on his, not just on his cheek when you thank him for putting food aside for you.

You’re too pretty and too young for him, he knows that, he’s known that since the first time he felt that little flutter in his chest at the sound of you calling his name. Now all he can do is cook for you, leave it under tightly wrapped aluminum foil on the desk in the back office so it stays warm, knowing you’ll look for it there when you run away from your shift in search of something to eat, with a post it note on top, your name sharpied on it, waiting for you.

Just like he waits for you, waits for the moment he sees you every day and hears you say his name again. Hey Joel, the same as always, nothing special, but bubbly when everyone else seems intimidated by him.

He has a little crush on you, a massive one actually, one he hates to admit that he's had for a while now. Ever since you sat out on the stoop behind the restaurant with him for the first time and shared a cigarette you stole from Jermaine. The guy thinks he hides the pack well, but sometimes when Joel comes out to get some air and you’re the only other one who shared the idea, you fish it out from under the steps and slip one out, seldom enough to where he’s sure not to notice.

You teased him for something that first time, and he can’t remember what. A year has gone by, but the sound of your giggle at his disapproval has rattled around in his mind every day since. You frequently tease him, wait for him to roll his eyes, then attempt to tickle him before he grabs your wrist and holds it tight until his break is over, and he pulls you up to your feet, with his other hand on your waist, letting you in the door first before he shuts it behind him.

One time, when he held your eyes for a little longer than normal, he considered asking you out, but thought better of it and closed his mouth as soon as it opened. He wonders why you're single, how it's possible for a man not to want to make you his, why-

“Fuck”, he jumps a little as he lets go of the cigarette and flicks his wrist frantically, trying to soothe the part of his fingers burnt by the ashes creeping down to his skin as he sat there speechless and not paying attention.

“Well?” you ask as if nothing happened, watching his muscles flex under his t-shirt, “What do you say?”.

“Jesus” he whispers, a contemplative shake of his head as his eyes dart around. He should ask why you want him to do it, should suggest every other dumbass working in this place, should tell you no, that he’s too old for you and you’re too beautiful and full of life and too good for this place. But he can’t find it in himself to pass up this chance, and he knows he would fuck you right. He would be good to you. He wants to be good to you.

“That’s all you want?” he asks dryly, then a long exhale, staring into your eyes, “You want me to fuck you?”. Ten years ago he might’ve been more subtle, but he's lived too much since then, and trying to find ways to sugarcoat what needs to be said feels like a waste of his time. The sound of his deep voice makes you shudder.

“I just need you to come inside me,” you purr, nervous as hell all of a sudden, wrapping your finger in his hair, ”And I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time, so.. You can do whatever you want to me”. He glances at your lips as you talk, shoulders shifting under his t-shirt and a swallow passing through his throat. “So you’ll do it?” you ask after a moment.

He’s not passing up on this chance, already half hard at the mere idea of being inside you and counting how many goddamn seconds he has left on his shift. All he does is nod in response, his eyes going a little wide. “Thanks, Joel” you say then, as you stand up and brush off your pants, “I’ll send you my address, I need you over tonight, okay?”. You lean down to place a kiss on his cheek and disappear back inside.

He stays sitting out there a few minutes longer than he’s supposed to, regretting not jerking off in the shower that morning, running his hand down his face and trying to figure out how he can make himself last longer than a minute.

More than anything, it’s strange to see him like this, to see a new side of someone you’ve been around so much. It’s difficult to conceptualize the side of him that is private, intimate, personal. You've thought about him as just a man sometimes, not a coworker, and wondered what he might be like in situations like these. In bed. You wonder if you’ll see him differently after this, if it’ll be impossible to look him in the eyes at work when you’ve felt the size and shape of his cock, when you know what he sounds like when he comes, how he tastes, what he likes.

“So, uh-” he says, as you sit on his lap with his feet planted on the floor at the edge of your bed, “What's the best way to do this?”. He corrects himself after a second, “How do you wanna do this?”. He has his hands around your waist, big and warm, and your arms are wrapped around his neck as you lightly tug at his curls.

“I didn't really think that far” you giggle, and he chuckles softly, likely picking up on your nerves.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks then.

“Um, yeah, sure” is all you manage to say before you feel his hand around the back of your neck, holding the weight of your head as he kisses you like you've never been kissed before. The scratch of his mustache against your skin is oddly soothing, and his lips are soft, his tongue molten and slippery as it sweeps into your mouth. You exhale into him until your lungs are empty, becoming entirely pliant in his hold, one hand steadying your back as you try to keep from collapsing into his chest.

A whimper escapes your throat, and he whispers, I got you, as he lays you down on the bed and rests his weight on his elbows, hovering over you and spreading your legs. His clothed cock pushes into you as he rolls his hips, forcing more of those little whimpers out and you can feel your pulse deep down where you buck your hips to grind on him.

He undresses you carefully, not leaving a single item of clothing on, wanting to see your naked form. He rolls you onto your stomach and takes the opportunity to let his hands and lips and tongue explore every part of your backside, from your ankles to your ass to your shoulders, giving a little extra attention to your plush cheeks, that he pulls apart and then lands a swat to on one side, making you giggle as he soothes his hand over the mark, already starting to sting from his strength.

You roll onto your back again and start to claw at his shirt. He reaches back to pull it off, revealing the muscular upper body you’ve wondered about for what seems like forever - years, now. A strange smile tugs at your lips as you look at him, at his arm flexing as he opens your knees to spread your legs, and he leans down to kiss you as he drags his knuckles up and down your center.

He pushes two fingers into you and you moan, loudly, too loudly. He shushes you, kisses you again as you writhe under him and grind against his hand until he finds the right spot, the one that makes you arch your back and start begging him to fuck you. He slides his fingers out and looks down to see a thick, glossy string hanging between his two of his digits, raising an eyebrow in what you assume is awe. “Told you I needed you tonight” you purr.

He huffs a little in response, “I can tell”.

He immediately finds your clit with the pads of his fingers, and rubs, slowly then fast, slowly then fast, as he unbuckles his belt with his other hand and shucks off his jeans, then his boxers, and lays on your side with his hard cock resting against your hip.

You start to squirm as he pushes his thick fingers inside you again, curls them a few times and slips them out, going back to massage your clit. “I know” he coos, “You want more, huh?”. All you can do is moan and nod, feeling your orgasm starting to pool at the bottom of your spine.

“It's okay, just let me take my time with you”, he rubs you a little faster, firmer, as he watches your breathing get erratic, “Wanna fuck you right”. He wants to watch you come, has been fantasizing about it for such a long time, wants to see it and hear it and feel it. “I’m gonna give you my cock soon, okay?” he murmurs, “Don't want it to be painful for you, my girl, need you to come for me first”. And something about his words gives you the last push you need, making you come as you whimper his name over and over.

He gets between your legs then, knocking his knee against yours to open you up, and leans over, taking his cock in his hand and nudging the leaking head into your opening. You can feel your thick, slippery wetness spill onto him, and you hear him grunt, fisting his length a few times with your slick and pushing in slowly, stretching you obscenely and filling you to the brim before he’s fully inside.

You shouldn’t be surprised at the overwhelming size of it, considering how he towers over you and is the only person you know who makes you feel tiny, but his cock rubs against every soft spot inside you and stimulates every nerve in your body, reaching a depth nobody has ever touched before.

He fucks you with deep strokes, reaching all the way to the end of you before he withdraws halfway and pushes back in, breathing hard and squeezing his hands around your hips so tightly you can feel the marks forming. You need him even deeper. “Harder, Joel, please, please“ you beg, “I’m so fucking wet and you feel so good, I- please, oh god, please”. Your voice is filled with desperation, and he wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life, the sound of you on your knees for him, wanting him and everything he can give you.

“Relax.” he says sternly, shoving you into the mattress with a thrust and holding you there with his strong hands, trapping you under him and forcing you to stay still as his cock slides in and out smoothly.

“I can’t, just hurry up, please, fuck me faster, I need it” you nag then, whiny and annoying, snapping your fingers.

He pauses then, leans over to stare down into your eyes, “Do you want my come or not?”.

“Ugh, yes”, you groan, letting out a few soft grunts as you try to shift around in his grasp and push down onto him harder somehow.

“Settle then”, his voice is stern again, commanding but patient, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Come on, Joel”, you stretch your back and try to escape his gaze, digging your nails into his shoulders and feeling your walls fluttering around him.

His hand wraps around your throat then, and his face is close to yours, that dark gaze unrelenting and demanding your attention. “Settle down” he says calmly, and holds you pinned right there until he feels your body relaxing, your slick dripping down his shaft and your nipples tickling his chest.

He flips you over and pulls you up and onto your knees, arms stretched out over your head as he slides all the way into you and the pressure on your cervix makes you try to squirm away. A useless endeavor. His hands rove around your ass cheeks and you hear a quiet shit above you, followed by an equally low fuck me as he squeezes your flesh, pulls it apart, then spits onto your asshole.

You feel him smear it into your skin with his thumb, whining at how he teases you, pushing his thumb into your tight hole slowly while he jacks himself with his other hand. You plead again, a long, drawn out please, Joel, then another oh god, please, a last more, more for good measure, and then he’s pushing the head of his cock into you, filling you with his thickness and finally inching his thumb into your ass. The intensity is overwhelming, and your eyes roll back as another orgasm nears.

“Give me one more, baby, come on” he coos as he reaches around and rubs your clit.

You respond, barely coherent and not wanting him to stop, “I don't- I don’t think it'll determine if it takes or not.. How many times I c-come”.

He gives you a few strokes, overwhelming and hard and squelching with your arousal before he says, “I read in a fuckin’ article that it helps, or, I don’t know, something”.

You shift your eyes around a little, wanting to laugh, “You read an article saying that orgasms increase your likelihood of conceiving?”.

“Just shut up and let me make you come, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Stop talkin’ so much”. His voice is low and husky as he rubs the back of your hip with one thumb and the other sinks deeper into your ass as you tighten around it.

“Why?” you ask, breathy and whiny, “All I need is your come, I- I’m not expecting-”.

He cuts you off quickly, whispering, “Jesus…”.

“I’m not gonna have sex with you if you don't enjoy it, okay?” he says, “So just shut up and take my cock like a good girl, I know you can, I know you want it”. His hand snakes up to find your tit, squeezing it before rubbing your nipple with two of his fingers.

“Besides, I know it makes you feel good, you can't hide it," he runs his palm down your back, smacks your ass firmly, then grabs it tight to stop the recoil, “You're about to soak my cock, I can tell.. Gettin’ all tense and shit”. He lifts your torso with his hand on your sternum, pulling you up and into him, shoving his face into your neck so you can listen to his growls while he fucks you.

Your orgasm hits you quite suddenly, and your head falls onto his shoulder as you pant. “How does it feel when I make you come? Huh, little bunny?”. You can’t answer, too blissed out and too fucked out to think, only mustering up a mumbled, uhhh. “Use your words now” he says, and flips you onto your back.

He lines himself up and slams back in, folding your legs and pushing your thighs into your chest as he pounds you, “Come on, baby, tell me, how’s it feel to come all over my cock?”. You grab at the muscles of his arms, his shoulders and his chest, trying to get words out but only managing an incoherent mess of moans. So good, Joel, so good, you whimper.

Then he wraps your legs around his waist and slips his arm under your back, and supports himself on his fist right beside your head, lifting you up to pound you harder, deeper, with more force as his thrusts gradually slow down and he breathes heavily, staring down at how your tits slide up and down your chest. “Say you want me to come inside you”, his voice is strained, and you can tell he’s holding back by the way his cock twitches.

You take a deep breath, and coo, as softly as you can, “Want you to be my baby daddy, Joel”, and watch his face contort, his eyes closing and feel his arm tightening its grip around you. You moan a little, eyes rolling back at the intensity. “Come inside me, please,” you beg, “Wanna be full of you, want you to give me a baby, your baby”.

He groans at that, then pulls you up into his chest so closely you can feel the sweat dripping down from his hair and onto your skin, and his cock pulsating as he fills you with his come. You can tell it's a lot by how he throbs inside you incessantly, and moans, long and ragged, while he digs his face into the crook of your neck.

He lifts your hips up, staying buried inside you, and shoves a pillow under you as a mix of his come and your slick runs down between your asscheeks, onto the cover. He wraps his hand around your throat again and growls, into your ear, “You’re mine now, little thing, all mine”.

I have ditched my taglists, due to the majority of tags not working, and have created a notifications blog instead. Follow Angelic Notifs and turn your notifications on if you want my new fics served directly to you!

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller #dom!joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #brat tamer!joel #joel miller one shot

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007reid · 8 months

Note

request for reader having dated spencer (early seasons) and then she finds out what happened w lila </3

hi hi hi!! sorry this took a while hun :( you were vague with your req so i just wrote whatever i wanted to write and because of that i meant for this to be a drabble but it didn't work out that way... enjoy!

secrets. spencer reid

part 1 | part 2

pairing: spencer reid x jealous fem!reader, 1.8k

summary: spencer will never be able to escape the effortless wrath of derek morgan, not even when it's the weekends and breaking bad is playing and you're pulling on his hair.

warnings: no smut you filthy animals, though i did intend there to be smut im just in a fluffy mood rn :// tiny angst if you squint, spencer's blushin a LOT, morgan's evil, bickering and just cutesy couple stuff. me when.

spencer’s secret was the last thing that you were, and you know this.

you and spencer have been dating for three months now, not including the two months talking stage because spencer is deadly afraid of commitment, and between all that time, you’d say you’ve gotten to know spencer pretty well. you know him well enough to trust that he knows what’s best, anyway. it’s been three months, and spencer hasn’t uttered a word about you to his team, his family, and you understand why.

really. you do.

“they’ll never let me live in down,” spencer had whined, one person imminent on his mind. derek fucking morgan. spencer dreads just thinking about it, the teasing, the inappropriate jokes, the winks and the whistles. it’s dehumanizing. “when someone ask me or mention something about it, i will tell them. until then…”

the unspoken reason was there. spencer’s a talker, definitely a talker, but he doesn’t spend much time talking about himself. he never reveals a bit of himself unless he’s directly asked it, and he feels uncomfortable sharing otherwise. the team’s too used to spencer being physically and emotionally repellent to the female race to really ask about stuff like you anymore, and spender’s not too eager to share neither. not out of the blue. it’s unlike him. this you understand. 100%. locked safely in the noggin.

you never think much about it anyway. it doesn’t bother you. what bothers you, though, is secrets.

you know spencer has loads of those, tucked behind that carefree and open-hearted smile and attitude of his. you examine him carefully, searching his face for ticks—okay, maybe you were just looking really creepily because he’s pretty and you try to commit every feature into memory but you are, searching for ticks that is.

you know he hides things. somethings not worth bringing up again because it’ll only bring up bad memories. some other things, however, definitely worth mentioning again. you just have to find the right target questions. sometimes it feels like you’re dating a stranger, with how little you know about spencer’s life. sometimes it feels like you’re dating the love of your life. it’s all very relative.

you and spencer are cuddled up on the couch, breaking bad playing on the tv. it’s one of the shows spencer doesn’t like pointing out the scientific inaccuracies of because he’s too fond of the main character to really say that he’s wrong, and sometimes you miss his voice chiming in between all the movie’s dialogues, but you think the reason why he’s quiet today is because he’s not in the mood to talk. the last case’s gotten him pretty shaken up, and he’s still healing, head in your neck every night and when he pulls away your skin is damp with tears.

“you okay spence?” you say, moving your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. he hums softly, and then you both suddenly hear the vibration from under your asses. spencer shifts around, digging his phone out from where it’s lodged in a random cushion of the sofa.

he groans inwardly, showing you the screen, not having to explain. in big letters, the caller says: bau--derek morgan.

“he usually never calls me on weekends,” spencer frowns, watching the phone vibrate. “you think i should answer?”

“he’s a friend,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair under his ear. “answer him.”

“okay,” spencer says hesitantly, then swipes the green button on his screen. he clears his throat as the call connects. “you’re on speaker,” he warns, looking at you anxiously and then back to his phone again. morgan’s a wildcard, and spencer would have to hide his face everyday for the next three weeks in front of you if morgan happens to drop something embarrassing about him just out of pocket. spencer isn’t ready.

“not like there’s anyone with you to hear,” morgan scoffs, and didn’t let spencer answer before continuing. “the team’s planning on a bar night tomorrow—“

“the team?” spencer questions, suspicious. morgan sighs loudly.

“garcia and i,” he corrects reluctantly, “are planning for a team bonding night tomorrow. what do you say?”

“no.” spencer says immediately, looking at you and hope you get his unspoken answer. spencer never goes out on weekends, not unless it’s with you. with his highly demanding schedule at the bau, it’s rare that he has any time off at all, and it’s hard to maintain a healthy relationship that way. any time he gets to spend time with you he’d take.

“come on,” morgan says, enthusiastically. “when was the last time you properly went out, huh?”

“last month, when you and garcia planned another of these team bonding bar nights,” spencer says monotonously. he rolls his eyes. “morgan—“

“don’t be rolling your eyes at me now, genius,” morgan warns. you stifle a laugh, and spencer sends you a wounded look. you forget that they’re basically family, like siblings to knows each other to a tee. “listen, have some fun in your life. who knows, maybe we can find you another lila at the bar.” morgan’s tone is suggestive. and now, that got your full, undivided attention.

and spencer, predictably, looks like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at you in horror was you narrow your eyes at his screen. you prod at his leg, prompting him to answer so morgan can elaborate.

lila?

“i don’t think—“ spencer starts, but got immediately cut off.

“don’t lie and say you didn’t like it, lover boy,” morgan whistles and spencer cringes. “now that we’re talking about lila, actually—“ spencer’s mind is screaming, shut up shut up shut up! as morgan proceeds to feed you more information, completely oblivious to his sins. “do you guys still keep in touch? she looked pretty into you. never knew you had it in you til then, man--”

by now spencer’s beet red head to ears to toe and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, but also off of yourself. you’d say you’re a jealous woman. not too jealous but definitely not not jealous.

“morgan,” spencer starts again, voice a little wobbly and embarrassed and morgan laughs.

“seriously though, do you guys still talk? them eyes never lie,” and morgan sounds so casual, so nonchalant while destroying spencer’s life.

it’s not that spencer doesn’t want you to know about lila. he couldn’t careless if lila waltz into his life right now because he knows they would be nothing more than friends—you’re all he’s ever wanted and he would trade you for nothing. it’s just embarrassing, is all, him being exposed like this, and he feels smaller, feels like he’s actually 5’3 with the glare you’re sending him.

“anyway, that don’t matter,” morgan remains completely ignorant and in his own world and still on speaker. oh morgan. “i want to see you at our bar tomorrow. it’s a yes, right? good. i’ll tell garcia you said yes.”

“morgan!” spencer says quickly. “i have a gir—“

morgan hangs up.

spencer dreads looking at you, so he takes his time getting out the app and then clears all of the background apps on his phone. he doesn’t like seeing you mad and he can basically sense it, the fumes blowing out your ears.

“who’s lila?” you say casually and he looks up. he doesn’t mistake your tone for friendliness, your eyes are narrow and suspicious.

“someone on a case a while ago,” spencer responds honestly. because that’s all there was to lila. it’s not like he’s never had his first kiss before her, so she doesn’t even count as his first kiss (she’s his second) and other than that minute-long moment they shared there was nothing else remarkable. she just happens to the only girl the team knows about who’s spencer been involved with and they are encouraging to help him find another ‘lila.’

it’s all very complicated. and humiliating. he should’ve definitely told you the entire backstory beforehand, because it’s not scandalous or weird or anything. it’s innocent and harmless. but now the problem seems to be blown out of proportion.

“just someone?” you press. spencer hesitates. he hates lying, especially when he’s lying to you. his hesitation gives you all the answer you needed.

“we kissed once,” he says, and gawks at you for approval, for forgiveness. “but that was it. i swear.”

something awful bubbles in your stomach. you know spencer’s not lying, and it’s not worth getting upset with him about because it’s all in the past—it’s not like you go talking about your precious conquests to spencer anyway. but you can’t help the envy and jealousy boiling so hotly it makes you dizzy.

spencer feels obliged to fill you in, to patch up the little bump and to get back the sweet atmosphere that was before morgan called. he knew morgan would somehow manage to ruin his life in some kind of way. he knew it before he even accepted his call.

“she was an actress in this case we were working on and she just, i think, really liked me or something and she was in a pool when i came to see her just to ask some questions and she just pulled me—“

his rant got interrupted by you seizing him to a rough kiss, hands coming up to rest behind the nape of his neck and nails unconsciously digging into his skin. spencer remains mostly unresponsive and soft, surprised and don't know how to respond. you keep prying, teeth digging into the soft of his bottom lip and spencer starts nipping at you back, gentle like he always is.

it frustrates you, how hard it is to be frustrated at spencer. you pull away from him and spencer tilts his head curiously, lip shiny and eyes looking at you like he's never seen you before and he just looks so sweet, so innocent and eager, like a precious pup. you roll your eyes, swatting at his chest, annoyance and jealousy and anger evaporating from you like a cloud.

spencer licks his lips and you collapse back into him again, returning to the position you were before morgan so unmindfully interrupted your weekend. breaking bad continues to play on the tv. long limbs wraps around you and spencer presses a kiss in your hair.

"i'm not going tomorrow," he declares.

"you should," you say nonchalantly. you cuddle up closer to him, turning around until the both of your are facing each other, wiggling your way on top. you begin to trace stars on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "and maybe you should bring someone with you. just to act as a guard for future lila's. maybe you can introduce that person too," you flick your hair behind your back and shrugs at spencer's amused smile. "it's just a thought."

"okay," he says quietly, eyes so soft. "okay. who do you suggest i bring?"

"that's for you to figure out, doctor reid," you say flippantly, turning back to the tv. "now shush."

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signedmio · 4 months

Note

hi, I hope you’re having a good day, I’d love to leave a request for Hazbin Hotel.

Could I request Alastor, Angel Dust, Lucifer, Vox and Lucifer (feel free not to do them all if they’re too many) and how they would react when their s/o finds them crying and comforts them and gives them a hug? I’d love some reverse comfort for them they’re my favs, also gn reader pls!

hello!! i’m having a good day, i hope you are as well!! this was a very interesting concept to think about, especially for alastor haha, it may be a bit out of character but i tried my best lol

Warnings: Potentially OOC Alastor, S1 Finale Spoilers, Swear Words, Mentions of Valentino, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Mentions of Injury (Scars, Bruises, Blood, Ect), Mentions of Depression, Mentions of Sex (No Smut)

Alastor, Angel Dust, Lucifer, Vox x Reader (Reverse Comfort)

Alastor

Alastor wasn’t one to express much emotion - other than his signature smile, let alone cry, but you caught him - even if it was barely

He felt like he was on the edge of pure insanity and psychotic, and he, the almighty Radio Demon, would’ve never expected something so little to give him his final push

After the fight between Adam and Alastor, he had lost his cane, his cane gave him almost every ounce of power and control his soul had gained since entering Hell, and he was going insane without it

You watched Alastor silently drift away from the crowded hotel lobby after Lucifer made some petty comment about losing his staff.

Despite that small part of you trying to convince you against it, you followed him.

You trickled behind him slowly to his room, all the way on the other side of the hotel.

He left his door open a crack, and you opened it slightly and stood in the doorway, and there he was.

Alastor’s usually neat and tidy hotel room was now a disaster with blueprints on the floor, you took a glance at them, some looking relatively old and some looked quite fresh, they were sketches and plans for a new staff - although you knew Alastor no longer had the magic the make it.

You hid as he came into your view, he was pacing the room, a very strained smile present on his face as tears pricked in his eyes, as he ran his fingers through his hair, tossing around blueprints and plans and other papers that seemed to be plans for a new staff, searching for a solution to his despair.

Slowly, you approached Alastor, patting him on the back softly before retracting your hand, remembering he doesn’t like to be touched.

He shook his head and sighed, the same drained smile was still present on his face, he looked down at you, and you never noticed the bags under his eyes until now… I mean, you knew he wasn’t one to typically sleep, but he never had bags before…

“I’m sorry, my dear.” He said, fixing his posture, and straightening up his suit. “One might say I’m a bit distraught at the moment. What is it you need?”

“Well.. uh, Al, you looked a bit sad recently, especially after what Lucifer said about your cane, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” You said, providing a bashful smile, at the fact that you’d be caught snooping.

“Ah, well, how awfully kind of you, my little doe. Just know, that I’m doing quite alright-” Before Alastor could finish his sentence you engulfed him in a hug, he paused for a moment, before slowly wrapping his arms around the small of your back.

His face was in the crook of your neck, as he sighed, you couldn’t see his face, but you could feel him give a soft smile onto your neck, not a grin, but a smile.

Angel Dust

You knew Angel’s job at the studio was far from easy, and shifts could last several hours at a time, but now? You were starting to worry…

He hadn’t been home in nearly two days. And it was starting to freak you out.

You sat in Angel’s bed in the hotel, snuggled next to Fat Nuggets, he let out a small snort as you cradled him in your arms. “I miss him too, baby.” You muttered, kissing his forehead, tearing up at the thought of all possibilities of what could’ve happened to him.

“Papa will be back home soon.” You nearly whispered, your voice cracking softly, you just wanted to see your boyfriend. The movie that was on in the background began to fade away as you fell to sleep.

You woke up again at about 1am from a slam of the bathroom door that was connected to Angel’s room. You blinked your eyes a few times, groggily, not entirely aware of what was going on until you heard sobbing coming from the bathroom.

You rushed the warm, pink comforter off of you, leaving Fat Nuggets on the bed asleep, urgently swinging open the bathroom door, finding Angel wailing, clinging onto the sink, halfway on the floor.

His shirt was off, and a few bruises and scars were visible. He let go of the sink, and slid down the floor, cradling his body.

“Handsome, shit..” You murmured, kneeling down to his level, you put a comforting hand on his knee. “Baby, look at me.”

You requested softly, now using your hand to comb through Angel’s hair, when you didn’t get a response, you used your free hand to tilt his face up to you, and the sight broke you.

His eyes stared into yours, afraid and hurt, there was smeared eyeliner under his eyes that traveled a bit down his face, there was blood coming from his mouth.

You felt tears prick in your eyes, you hated seeing him like this, “My love, can I hold you?”

Angel nodded as his body fell into your arms, you rocked him slowly, shushing his sobs, turning them into a small sniffles.

You pulled away from him to look at him, you wiped the smudged makeup off his face with your thumb, and looked at him. “Wanna talk about it, Angie?”

“You already know the deal by now, it’s just Val..” He said, wiping his eyes, hiccuping before continuing, “I had a rough week, and I wasn’t off-script, and he just said to improv it, and I just fucked it up.. and he, well..” He gestured to the bruises and scars on his body, referencing what happened, giving a dry chuckle, you tensed above him.

“Baby.” You started, cupping his cheeks, pulling him to look at you, “I don’t know how yet, but I will fucking get you out of this, I don’t care who or what I have to go through, but I will fucking get you out of this. No one gets to hurt you and expect to get away with it.” You vowed, as your foreheads connected,

“Sugar, there’s no way out.” Angel murmured. “He’ll find me..” He said barely above a whisper, his voice cracking in fear, your heart ached for him.

“I’ll figure it out, handsome.” You said, pecking his forehead, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Lucifer

You’ve known since before you even started dating that Lucifer had depression, and you knew it hit hard, but you had never really been around to experience that before.

Whenever you could, you always tried to help him out with it, which was a bit hard since he had a tendency to brush it off a lot

It wasn’t until you came home to Luci having a depressive episode where you really got a grip on his depression

You came back to you and Lucifer’s shared home, you had just gotten out of work, and Lucifer was supposed to be at a meeting, key word, supposed to.

As you walked down the hall you heard sniffles coming from your shared bedroom.

You opened the door, it let out a small creak, and you noticed Lucifer curled up on the end of the bed.

There were tissues scattered on the floor on his side of the bed and on his night stand, his clothes that he would’ve worn to his meeting were in a messy pile on the floor, he was in boxers and no shirt, his hair messy, as he sniffled into the pillows, curled up in a thin but fuzzy duck blanket.

“Sweetie, what happened?” You asked sweetly, sitting down next to him at the edge of the bed, rubbing his scalp.

“I-I was gonna go to my m-meeting today, but when I went to get out of bed everything it just felt like I couldn’t do it.. and I started spiraling and I called Charlie and told her to go instead..” Luci explained through sniffles, clutching the blanket closer to his chest.

“Aww, darling.” You cooed lovingly, caressing his cheek, “How about this; I go run a nice, hot bath for the two of us, and then we can cuddle and take a nap, and then try to clean everything up. You can even bring in a few ducks if you want.” Lucifer perked up at your offer, nodding eagerly.

“Okay.” You smiled, chuckling softly, “Just keep your pretty little self here while I go run the water.” You said, getting up to leave, but you turned around as you got to the doorway. “Bubbles or no bubbles?” You asked with a knowing smile.

“…Bubbles, please.”

Velvette had sent you off to go check on Vox, normally he comes out of his security room to check on either her or Valentino, or you, and surprisingly he hadn’t today

You worked for the Vee’s but you were also friends, you were important enough to be basically considered an honorary Vee member, but you were unimportant enough to be cut from big social events and have a fair amount of work dumped on you last minute — And you were an assistant (as well as partner) to Vox

You knocked on the door to Vox’s office room, when no response came from the other side you slowly opened the door, and you saw a very stressed Vox.

His screen was in his hands, letting out small sniffles, but he would glitch here and there as the watery tears shocked his chords.

“Baby, you good?” You asked, standing behind him.

He whipped around, scrambling to wipe away any remaining tears, “Oh- Uh- Yeah- I’m fine.” He muttered, turning back around.

“Were you crying?” You asked, hesitantly, you’d never seen him cry before, other than sex, you both had only been together a few months.

“What? No! I don’t do that shit.” He scoffed, it was clear he was getting defensive, he didn’t like to be caught like this, but he’d rather it be you than someone else.

“Vox…” You pushed, maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did anyway. “Fine. Rough day, okay? Work is stressful as fuck.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, “Do you wanna lay down? Maybe take a nap? And you come back in an hour or two?” You suggested softly, Vox could be stubborn as hell at times, and you weren’t trying to push your luck.

Vox hesitates momentarily, before muttering a small, “I guess…”

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olderthannetfic · 17 days

Note

hi, as someone who is tragically gen Z and only ever read AO3, can I ask: what was so great about LiveJournal? Like, I know that there were fics posted there (and I've even read about the "purge", so I get why it isn't used anymore) and that it was sort of a forum-type thing. But what I don't understand, wouldn't Tumblr fill in the latter function? How was that site any different? I see a lot of people reminiscing about it and I'm confused

A big factor in LJ's greatness is timing and nostalgia.

It was genuinely great, but it wasn't quite as great as all of the Lo, shall the Golden Age ne'er come again? posts suggest.

LJ arrived at a pivotal time in the development of the internet both in terms of technical stuff and how many people had access. Many fans who are now in their thirties to fifties first discovered fandom through LJ and many were at a time in their lives when they were feeling energetic and up to making lots of new friends—and to figuring out how to make a site work for them.

I got on LJ in 2002 when it required invites. Fandom arrived in droves in 2003, first via coordinated campaigns to get invites to key people and then when LJ opened up free account creation to everyone. Back then, LJ's features sucked. It was impossible to search properly, among other things. At its height (2005-7, let's say), there was a reasonable site search, and fans had developed all sorts of community resources for finding each other.

People often remember this phase but not the early days of suckitude.

This development parallels how Tumblr used to not have that private chat feature and how a lot of fuckyeah[whatever] type tumblrs have helped curate the site and make it much more usable for fans. Fandom draining away from LJ after strikethrough also parallels people draining away from Tumblr after the purge.

There are people who talk about Tumblr the way my cohort talks about LJ...

And to the shock of no one, they are people who came of age on Tumblr, who found fandom via Tumblr, who were on Tumblr during pivotal times in their lives and ones when they had energy to make friends and figure out how a site worked.

Those same Tumblrites are now making all the same geriatric-sounding posts we LJers do about how other sites lack the required features to be good for fandom while missing that 90% of tumblr's "features" at its height (2012-2016, let's say) were actually fan-created and were basically the same as any fandom newsletter or links page or all the versions of this kind of personal curation stretching back to long before the internet existed.

What life phase you hit a site at matters.

With all of that said, no, LJ was not a forum. It was a blogging site with threaded comments.

The key point to understand is that conversation was always happening in a specific person's space. Unlike on a true forum, people were in the comments on a particular post in a journal owned by another fan. (On a forum, there's the first post in a thread, but it's still more of a communal space with less of a hierarchy.)

Overall, the LJ format can have a feeling a bit like you're over at someone's house for tea. There's more of a sense of intimacy and also behaving yourself in front of community members.

Tumblr being obscure and impossible to find anything in does give it some of the same vibe relative to Twitter, but it's still part of modern social media that tries to shove every rando into the face of every other rando.

But it wasn't just vibes: LJ also had robust privacy features where you could lock a post to this or that group of friends. You could moderate your comments section properly. Tumblr has far fewer controls to force people to behave or leave on a technical level.

The biggest thing many people miss about LJ is the threaded comments. At least by late LJ and on Dreamwidth, you can expand and collapse threads, making it far easier to deal with a massive comments section. But more than that, things are properly threaded with multiple levels of hierarchy that are all easily visible in the same place.

On Tumblr, it used to be extremely difficult to find all of the actual commentary on a post. Nowadays, it's far easier, but you still have to scroll chronologically, and multiple versions of a post with a long chain of commentary may be much more divorced from each other than what would happen in a LJ comments section.

But could we use Tumblr pretty much how we used LJ?

We could.

I do.

The key things that people tend to miss about LJ, aside from the younger and more excited version of themselves or the friends they've lost since then, are:

Heavily text-based

It may sound odd on the modern internet, but there are a lot of people whose brains don't like or handle an image-heavy site well. They were everywhere in SF book fandom. They were everywhere on the early internet. Today, they're hanging out on Dreamwidth and still going to their SF cons. They're usually not on Tumblr.

You could follow the discussion

Threaded comments help, but a lot of it is about having some place you can check for updates. It wasn't actually that easy to follow big LJ discussions unless you were subscribed to comments and reading along as things were happening instead of coming along after the entire mass of comments had been left.

The tone of the discussion is intellectual and one's enemies are "idiots", not "problematic"

All this requires is a penchant for longwindedness and an itchy blocking finger to remove anyone slinging ad hominems from the comments section.

On tumblr, it's as simple as conversations happening in the replies on a popular account and that person not tolerating suibaiting and threats.

(And make no mistake, a lot of LJ discussion was in the comments on popular accounts, not spread equally between everyone's.)

It does require that multiple people like that tone and want to engage in that way, but lots of people do want to.

These days, I interact with tumblr by checking my askbox and reading my activity page. The vast, vast majority of my posts are ones where I'm the OP, so if I block someone, they're booted from the discussion entirely.

For me... yeah, Tumblr functions almost exactly like LJ.

Also like LJ, while I'm hosting the conversation, if you hang around, you'll see the same people again and again in the comments. They may or may not also host that kind of conversation in their space, and there's a larger pool of lurkers who have some notion of which people count as regulars. Other people are watching from the shadows, enjoying or deriding the takes of the usual crowd.

People presumably do like reading my lengthy commentary or they wouldn't be here, but my tumblr wouldn't be popular like this without a healthy pool of other people who chime in regularly. It's not just that there are more people: it's that you see the same people over time. There's a bit more sense of place and community than on some parts of the internet.

So, in my opinion, the failure to just recreate LJ fandom on Tumblr was a skill issue.

Threaded comments were great, but LJ culture came from mailing lists, and mailing lists had the same issue as tumblr with the diverging threads.

We solved that back then by clipping out only the parts we wanted to respond to (you'd write "snip" around the quotation to show it was incomplete). We solved the smaller LJ issue by linking to other posts we were referencing and doing discussion link roundups. We solve it on tumblr by, again, linking to what we're talking about and even quoting multiple reblog chains in our own reblog of just one chain.

Tumblr's technical features and even general crap-ness aren't really the problem. 90s and early 00s sites regularly went down for periods of time unthinkable today.

The missing piece is people.

When one is in an active fandom with others who curate or with friends who let one know what's up, a site with imperfect features is easy to figure out and retrofit for fandom's needs. When one already feels out of touch and is between fannish passions—or at least fannish passions anyone else cares about—seeing the potential in a new site is hard.

Threaded comments are different and better.

LJ's built-in way to see everyone's blog in your own style was better. The automatic timestamps and the ease of seeing a paginated archive of an entire blog was better than tumblr's endless scroll and lack of clear date labeling. But some of that can be fixed with xkit or knowing your way around tumblr well.

A lot of it is nostalgia for the lj era and a refusal to take the time to figure out how to use tumblr in an oldschool internet way.

So by all means, people, weigh in about what made LJ great or how the culture felt at the time...

But if I see one more god damn response going "You can't have a conversation on tumblr!" in reply to my tumblr, which contains nothing but conversation, I am coming for you.

#fandom history #fandom meta

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lis-likes-fics · 5 months

Text

The Sound of His Voice

Pairings: Spencer Reid x agent!Reader Word Count: 3k words Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/vague gore, mentions of death and murder, standard Criminal Minds stuff, fluff otherwise... A/N: I started watching CM a while ago and now I can't stop so enjoy this. There will be more, I dunno when. (Should I be working on my months-in-progress-wips? Yes, I absolutely should. Am I? Mostly. I'm trying my best)

Morgan rubs his temple, digging his fingers into the side of his forehead as he shakes his head. Tapping his pen on the desk, he tosses down his file. “But here's what I don't get,” he says, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. “If the unsub thinks of his victims as prey, even going as far as to torture the victim, why go through all the trouble of tucking them into bed?”

Hotch looks back at the picture in his own hands, where he had been analyzing the scene for the hundredth time in search of something he missed the first hundred. He shrugs, “Tucking them in can usually indicate signs of remorse.”

JJ motions to the pictures. “Yeah, but look at this guy. Does this look remorseful to you?”

You lift a shoulder, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Could be a second unsub.”

You are a relatively new addition to the team. It was your fifth case with them, but they already treated you like part of the team, like family. It was easy to sink into the ebb and flow of everything, especially when they trust your skills and instincts and let you know when you're doing something wrong so you know not to do it again.

But this case was difficult. Your unsub had a strange profile: an organized, white male, with surgical experience and the MO reminiscent of a cat. He kills men and women alike, and the only connection between his victims have been their smaller statures.

The age range itself was too wide, though there was a slight reoccurrence of ages between 25 and 35. But it was still too wide, either way, not enough to work with.

He ties up and tortures them before finally ending their lives with strangulation. He uses his bare hands to get the job done, which makes him a sexual sadist. As if that wasn't enough, he carves out the victim’s heart after death and takes it as a trophy.

He shows plenty of psychopathic characteristics, but he also fits the profile of a sociopath, so it's hard to make anything stick. His MO suggests a lack of empathy and guilt, but the bed-tucking… You always lose him with the bed-tucking…

Morgan shakes his head a little, humming. “But we already ruled out multiple unsubs,” he says. You nod gently. “Besides, if this guy is mimicking the hunting habits of a cat, he would hunt alone, wouldn't he?”

Reid’s head perks up. He points a pen in Morgan's direction as he shakes his head. “Actually, no.” He licks his lips, and he's grabbed your attention like a siren to a sailor. “It's a very common misconception that cats are loners, but it's untrue. Cats prefer the companionship of others just as much as a human being would.”

You lean toward him a bit across the table, watching him as he speaks, his hands moving to illustrate his words as he does. “People often think, because of their aloof nature, that they like to be left alone or actually despise the presence of other people, including their owners or other cats—which is why people believe them to be low maintenance creatures. But they are just as social as, say, a dog. Actually, it's interesting, big cats like lions, or sometimes even cheetahs, hunt in packs to take down larger prey. Domestic cats–”

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, making a cutting motion with his hand to his neck.

Your eyes turn back to Spencer, who seems to retreat in on himself a bit as he gives an apologetic smile and a small nod. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his lips in a wide smile.

You set a hand on the table, shaking your head. “No, keep going. That was interesting.”

Spencer looks at you with these eyes that seem to shine. Your heart feels fonder, warmer, at the sight of him.

“We really don't have time to go through all of this,” Hotch says, his tone final.

“I mean,” you continue. Since joining the team, you've grown a certain affinity toward Spencer and his genius mind. Every time he's gone on his tangents, you've become enchanted by the words coming out of his mouth like he's put some sort of spell over you. You lift a shoulder, gesturing toward him. “If this guy is basing his MO off the hunting patterns of cats, we should…know everything we need to know about them, right?”

Hotch looks at you, his face hard and unreadable. You're unsure if he's considering your proposal or just trying to intimidate you. But then he sighs, his crossed arms loosening a little as he turns to Spencer.

“Reid?”

Spencer looks between you and Hotch, relenting hesitantly as he starts off slow. “Well…I was going to say domestic cats are solitary hunters but sociable creatures.” He picks up his normal speed once more, “They can be very affectionate, especially toward their owners and other cats within their households. They're also one of the only types of cats who play with their prey before killing them, which could be a reason this unsub tortures his victims so extensively in his murders.”

“Wait…” Prentiss says, catching all of your attentions. “You said ‘affectionate toward their owners’.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods.

She waves her hands gently, “How do cats show affection for their owners?”

Spencer shrugs, “Um, bunting, purring, some scratch, sometimes they leave offerings, like dead rodents, around the house–”

“Right there!” Prentiss exclaims. “They leave offerings.”

You sit up, “The hearts.”

Hotch’s dark brows furrow. “You're saying this unsub is taking the hearts as an offering to someone else?”

Spencer thinks over that, nodding. “It's possible.”

JJ sighs. “But that still doesn't explain why we wouldn't have identified a second unsub earlier.”

Spencer holds out a hand, pointing with his pen. “Actually, it could. You see, cats also have the tendency to mimic the people they hold affection for. We might not have noticed a second MO because the submissive unsub may be mimicking the dominant one.”

“Or learning from him,” Morgan says.

“Learning?” Hotch asks.

Morgan glances around, “Well, if we're sticking so close to this cat thing, older cats often nurture the young and teach them to hunt.” He shrugs, “We could be looking at…brothers? Older and younger?”

“Or lovers,” JJ suggests. She points to a picture, the image of a chest carefully carved open to reveal a missing heart. “If the hearts are offerings, it could be a Valentine.”

“And the bed-tucking?” you ask.

Hotch picks up the picture of one of the victims, “safely” and securely tucked into bed…put to sleep. “Well, if the hearts are offerings for a lover, this unsub is sentimental. He could feel some type of sympathy or guilt for the victim and want to ‘put them to sleep’ after the torture.” He studies the image, a flash of unease behind his eyes that you know all too well. He sets it down.

“Okay, so how do we find them?” Prentiss asks, clicking her pen before setting it down to begin a definitive course of action.

Spencer points to yet another picture. “Look at these injuries. These incisions are surgical,” he clarifies. “So the dominant is a doctor or a—a veterinarian, which can be implied through his intimate knowledge of cats’ behaviors.”

“And the submissive might work under him as a nurse or an assistant,” you continue, adding on to his clever insight. He glances over at you, smiling almost giddily at your understanding.

Hotch turns to Morgan. “Do you think that's enough to work with?”

Morgan thinks for a moment, his shrug melding into a nod as he turns back to Hotch. “To fit in with the rest of the profile,” he hums, “I'd say so.”

“Okay.�� Hotch nods firmly. “We'll present the profile ASAP. Morgan, get Garcia to search for any vets in the area with any records of assault charges.” He says this all while taking long strides toward the door, his red tie bouncing slightly with his movements.

Prentiss follows him with her gaze as he exits. “You think the unsub is aggressive?”

He turns briefly. “Look at the bruising on the neck. The torture alone is an indicator of anger and frustration, but the way the victim was strangled suggests force. Much more than necessary just to crush a windpipe. He's an organized killer with a lot of rage. If he moves more along the lines of a sociopath, our best guess is he's had some kind of trouble with the law at some point in his life,” he concludes. Glancing aside, he speaks again, a little more firmly. “Morgan.”

“On it,” he says, his phone already ready to contact Garcia on speed dial.

“And Reid,” Hotch says, focusing his hard stare on the younger agent.

He stiffens, straightening his back and awaiting his response. “Yes?”

There's a pause as Hotch examines him silently. With a single nod, he says, “Good work.”

He glances at you. A nod.

You nod back.

Hotch leaves in a hurry, and your gaze immediately and instinctively flicks to Spencer. He smiles at you, turning away as though he was shyly hiding that same smile.

There were two unsubs: a surgical veterinarian and his nurse. You caught them just in time, just as that knife was gleaming in the golden light of the lamps swinging above the three bodies down in the basement of the submissive unsub’s house.

And now you soared 40,000 feet above the ground with another killer put away for good.

Everyone's in their own spirit, placing you across the aisle from JJ and Spencer in their own booths, a crochet set in your lap as you continue one of your projects. Emily's eyes linger on JJ, watching the crease of her brow as she studies case files.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, setting her book to the side to shift her attention. Derek darts his eyes up from his own book, lifting his brow as he does it.

JJ looks up, breathing in and lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I know that if I got an actual human heart on Valentine's Day, me and my alleged partner would have some serious issues.”

Snorts and chuckles lift from multiple places among the seats, heads shaking and attentions shifting back to their own activities.

But as soon as you hear the first lilt of Spencer's voice, like clockwork, you're a fish on a hook.

“Actually,” he begins, “if we were set back thousands of years, that would not be a very unusual occurrence.” He licks his lips quickly, “You see, Valentine's Day’s origins actually go back to a festival called Lupercal, or Lupercalia. The festival was in itself a very violent and sexually charged affair that lasted roughly three days—from the 13th to the 15th—set in Rome. Its traditions were carried out in two separate locations, firstly–”

“Alright,” JJ rises to her feet, her eyes wide in annoyance as she closes her case file in a large announcement to Spencer. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?”

Spencer purses his lips, that same wide, apologetic grin covering his face as he leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “Uh, no. All good here.”

She nods, turning to walk away, “Great.”

You watch JJ leave, your eyes fall back upon Spencer, who's pulling his book back into his palms to turn his focus back on the pages. His eyes flit over the words at lightning speed, absorbing the information and moving to the next.

Taking your crochet set in your hands, you stand and plop down in JJ’s old spot. Spencer's eyes darts up to you, glancing between you and his book as you set your stuff down and readjust your yarn.

Beginning again, you nod toward him. “You were saying?”

Spencer, his eyes wide and confused and his lips parted in wonder and his cheeks a little pink, stares at you. After remembering he had to respond, he sputters in an attempt to.

“Uh, it's-it's really not that…interesting,” he mumbles, trailing off at the end as he sets his book down, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the desk between the both of you.

“Well,” you look up at him, setting your elbow on the table and tucking your first underneath your chin, “I was very interested.”

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. His lips form the word before it comes out of his mouth. “You were?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Looking at him for a moment—just looking at him for a moment—you take in the pretty sight of his bewildered expression, fascination and confusion and excitement crossing his face in a flurry of emotion.

You move your elbow from the table and pick up your hook, nodding toward him before training your eyes on your work again as you await his words. “Firstly?” you prompt.

Scrambling to organize his thoughts, Spencer nods. As the words form in his brain, he smiles as he thrusts himself into another rant, speaking a little softer so as not to aggravate the rest of the team.

“Well, firstly, the uh— The-the first location was in a cave called Lupercus—named after the Roman fertility god that the celebration was dedicated to—and the second is a public meeting place called the Comitium.”

You tilt your head toward him, smiling a little. “Like the word ‘committee’.”

“Exactly like the word ‘committee’,” he beams.

Your attention, as hard as you tried to split it, becomes entirely caught up in Spencer as you forget about your project and focus your gaze entirely on him. You set your arms on the table separating you and watch as he speaks, your smile definitely too love-sick to be a hint anymore. He seems to lean in closer.

“So how did Lupercalia become Valentine's Day?” you wonder aloud.

“Well,” he starts, prompting a larger grin from you, “in the late 5th century A.D., Pope Gelasius I eliminated it and declared February 14th a day to celebrate the martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead—although it's highly unlikely he intended the day to commemorate love and passion as it is celebrated now. In fact, some modern biblical scholars warn Christians not to celebrate Valentine's Day at all, due to its Pagan roots and rituals.”

You hum, your eyes taking glances at the stretch of his skin over his fingers and the way they move when he speaks.

“Do you celebrate Valentine's Day?” you ask gently, speaking slowly.

His hands fall back down to his lap, and he shakes his head as he straightens his posture a bit. “Well…I don't usually have anyone to celebrate it with, so… No, not really.”

Feeling the shyness slipping into your veins, you set your hands on the table and let your fingers slowly inch toward him, staring at them inside of his eyes. You don't want to see the rejection if it lives there, in his eyes.

You speak slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Would you like to have someone to celebrate it with?”

He swallows thickly, letting one hand lift onto the table, still close to him but building up courage to maybe meet you in the middle. “Like…” he clears his throat quietly. “Like you?”

You offer a right smile, finally flicking your eyes up to meet his and feeling giddy at the light blush on his cheeks, the nervous wideness of his gaze. “I promise no actual hearts.”

You watch him, and again…his eyes, his Adam's apple, his cheeks, his lips. “Uh…yeah,” he stutters. “Yeah, sure. I'll be your…your Valentine.”

You smile, a wide smile that splits your face in two. Spencer's own grin follows suit. Looking past you, he catches the eyes of Derek, who smirks and offers a cheesy thumbs up, proud of him for securing you as he did.

His gaze falls back to you when you begin to speak, your voice just as song-ish to him as his is to you. You're both equally as infatuated as the other. “You know,” you trail off slowly, “supposedly, Saint Valentine might be so commonly associated with our day of love because there are rumors that he used to perform secret weddings against the wishes of the authorities in the third century.”

He nods slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, that's right…” Licking his bottom lip, he speaks again. “You already knew all that stuff about Lupercalia, didn't you?”

You smile, your face squished a bit as you raise your hands and close your thumb and forefinger close together. “Maybe a little,” you whisper. But then you shrug and just keep looking at him. “But I like listening to you talk.”

Spencer suddenly doesn't think you're real, but he isn't about to question it if you aren't. There's someone who enjoys his tangents. He isn't going to jeopardize that.

“Oh,” is all he says.

With your crocheting long forgotten, you lean forward on the table and give him every ounce of attention in your mind. With a fond smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye, you rest your chin on your folded hands. “You should tell me about…” you pause, thinking, before you smile curls even more, “bees.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Okay, well,” he starts, “did you know the first civilization to practice widespread, organized beekeeping was the Ancient Egyptians, who began beekeeping around 2,500 BCE?”

Your brows lift in fascination. You shake your head, “No, I didn't.”

His smile grows. “Well…”

For the remainder of the flight, Spencer talks and talks and talks, his voice quiet and meant solely for you as he talks about whatever you want: bees and wine and marbles and Halloween. He keeps smiling at you, as you keep smiling at him. Somewhere along the way, he officially asks you on a date, and you both get off the jet together to get a cup of coffee.

You love the way he talks.

Criminal Minds taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #female reader

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everdreamofme · 3 months

Text

shower shenanigans

platonic ! slytherins x reader

just a silly little story that came to mind, based off of an episode of Friends lol

Theodore Nott was currently on his way up to the girls' dorm. The girls in question were some of his best friends: Pansy Parkinson, Astoria Greengrass, and Y/N Y/L/N, along with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle, and Lorenzo Berkshire, of course.

During his latest charms lesson, he had been absolutely whiffed, far too high to be able to take notes, of course, and was counting on stealing Astoria's to be able to complete his assignment.

Huffing when he discovered none of the girls were to be found in the dorm, he made his way to Astoria's side to begin his search, only to be interrupted by the bathroom door swinging open. Pansy had just finished showering and was currently drying off the last of her hair with a towel wrapped around her waist when she caught sight of Theo standing in her room. Both letting out a surprised scream, Pansy tried to cover her exposed upper half with a blanket that sat on the edge of Y/N's bed.

'I'm sorry! I'm sor-'

'That is it!' She hissed at the boy. 'You just barge in here all of the time; you don't knock-'

'I'm sorry, Pans!'

'You don't have any respect for anybody's privacy-'

'Pansy, wait-' 'No, you wait! This is ridiculous-'

'Can I just say one thing?!'

'Oh- what?! What?!'

'That's a relatively open weave, and I can still see your... nippluar area.' Pansy groaned in frustration as she spun to grab her wand, pointing it at the boy standing before her as she still held the blanket over her chest.

'Get out before I avada your ass, Nott!' Theo fled from the dorm, charms notes long forgotten, as he silently thanked Salazar for blessing him this fine Friday afternoon.

Pansy sat fuming on the couch in the Slytherin common room that evening, silently glaring daggers at Theo, who sat across from her, while Enzo, Draco, and Astoria looked at each other in confusion. As the rest of the gang filtered in and joined them around the fire, the conversation died out, and Theo spoke.

'Anyone up for a firewhiskey then?' Before anyone had the time to comprehend what he had asked, Pansy had crossed her arms and hissed out a sharp 'No.'

'Alright, have I missed something here?' Y/N asked, her eyes darting between the other occupants of the group, looking for answers. Enzo snickered in response, while Theo just sighed.

'No, she's still upset because I saw her boobies..' At this, Mattheo barked a laugh as Y/N gasped, Astoria's eyes widening too. Theo's response had Blaise furrowing his eyebrows.

'W-what? What were you doing seeing her boobies?' He asked.

'It was an accident! It's not as though I was peeping through the keyhole of the girls dorm!' Astoria pulled a face at the thought of this.

'Alright-'

'Can we just change the subject, please?' Pansy huffed, throwing her head back onto the couch.

'You know, I don't know why you're so embarrassed! They were very nice!' Theo interjected, causing Pansy to scoff at him.

'Nice? They were nice? I mean, that's it? Mittens are nice!'

'Alright, they were-'

'Okay, how about we direct the conversation away from Pansy's boobs?' Draco clapped.

'I'll get the firewhiskey!' Mattheo grinned, shooting up from his seat and returning shortly with a few bottles of firewhiskey.

The evening continued as a regular Friday would, laughing and joking with each other, telling stories of what had happened throughout the week when they hadn't seen each other—you know, the usual stuff.

The conversation soon turned to quidditch; Y/N and Astoria shared a look, knowing what was about to come. The rest of the group were so into quidditch, and of course they supported the boys whenever they had a match, but honestly, they could not care less about the sport. Even Pansy was an avid supporter, hence her current rant about the Hufflepuff seeker as she paced around the room.

'And I mean, why does he have to be so arrogant about it? Like, why-' Pansy looked over to Theo, only to notice his eyes glued to her chest as she spoke. Her eyes narrowed at the boy. 'Why can't you stop staring at my breasts?'

Theo blinked as his eyes darted up to hers, only to see she was already glaring at him. 'What?'

'Ugh, did you not get a good enough look before?!' She moaned. Blaise interjected, waving a hand between them.

'Alright, alright. We're all adults here; there's only one way to resolve this.' Theo looked almost bored with Blaise as he tried to find a solution, Pansy merely quirked a brow as she crossed her arms. 'Since you saw her boobies, I think you're going to have to show her your pee-pee.'

At this, the rest of the gang sat forward, intrigued. Enzo nodded along as though it were the most sane thing he had ever heard, while Astoria almost spat out her drink from laughter.

Theo grimaced. 'You know, I don't see that happening.'

'Come on, Theo, he's right! Tit for tat,' Y/N's input had Draco snorting as Mattheo's eyes darted between Theo and Pansy. Pansy grinned, looking down at the boy who still occupied the couch.

'Well, I am not showing you my tat.' Theo rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his firewhiskey and started up another conversation with Enzo.

Pansy would get him back; she was sure of it.

The next afternoon, the girls patiently waited for the boys to meet them in the common room. They had planned to head into Hogsmeade for some shopping and lunch, but they had to wait for the boys to shower first after their morning quidditch practice. Only Draco had emerged from the dorms so far, and he was happily chatting with Astoria as Y/N read a book on the armchair.

Pansy caught Blaise's eye as he made his way down the stairs, finally ready. 'Honestly, what is taking you all so long?' She had asked, causing him to laugh.

'It's Enzo! He takes showers so long, I'm surprised there is any water left in Scotland! Theo's only just getting a turn,' Pansy's brow lifted in intrigue.

'How long has Theo been in the shower, would you say, Blaise?'

'About five minutes?'

It was exactly the answer Pansy wanted. Smirking, she stood from her place on the couch and winked at Y/N.

'Fasten your seatbelts, kids; it's pee-pee time.'

Opening the door to the boy's dorm, she greeted Enzo as he stood in front of the mirror, fixing his hair.

'Hey Pans,' He responded distractedly. It wasn't uncommon to see any of the girls in the boys dorm or vice versa, so he didn't think much of it as she crossed his room to the bathroom door.

'Payback time,' She muttered to herself as she quietly opened the door. Seeing the shower curtain pulled across and a tall shadow behind it, she grinned again. Rapidly pulling back the curtain, her 'Ha!' quickly turned into a scream as the figure in the shower jumped.

'What the fuck?'

'Oh my God!' She screeched as she ran out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

'What? What's wrong?' Enzo turned to her, panicking. The bathroom door swung open as Mattheo, still soaking wet but now with a towel around his waist, stormed out with a seething look on his face.

'What the fuck is the matter with you?!'

'I thought it was Theo!'

'What - what, what's happened?' Theo ran into the room with his wand out as Pansy whirled on him, pointing an accusatory finger.

'You! You were supposed to be in there, so I could see your thing!' She fumed. Enzo's brows shot up as he stiffled a laugh, Mattheo shot him a death glare before turning back to the scene in front of him.

'Sorry. My-my thing was out there with me,' He lowered his wand and gestured to the hallway behind him, a grin crossing his face as Pansy growled and shouldered past him out the door. As she made her way down the stairs with clenched fists, Y/N looked up from her book.

'Pans?'

'That fucking idiot..'

'What's wrong?' Y/N asked again.

'Oh my God,' Astoria gasped. 'You didn't catch Theo, did you?'

Shaking her head, Pansy sat with a huff. It's safe to say the trip to Hogsmeade was filled with clenched jaws and glares from Mattheo to Pansy, and Pansy to Theo, while the rest of the gang laughed at their misfortune.

Later that evening, Astoria lay on her bed reading a new novel bought for her earlier in the day by Draco when the door to her room suddenly opened and in stalked Mattheo.

'Hey Riddle,' He nodded in response as he made his way over to the girls' bathroom door. Astoria quirked a brow and grinned slightly. 'Whatcha doing?' She already knew the answer.

'Clear the tracks for the payback express. Next stop; Pansy Parkinson.' He grinned, whipping the door open and walking into the steamy room.

'Surpri- holy shit!' His surprise attack was cut short as he pulled the curtain back, only to reveal Y/N in the shower instead of Pansy.

'Mattheo, what the fuck?!' His eyes widened as he turned away from the very naked girl in the shower.

'Shit, sorry - I was trying to catch Pansy out!' Y/N pulled the shower curtain across again and hid behind it.

'Wrong fucking girl!'

'I know, I know—I'm sorry!'

'Matt?' She asked after a minute of silence.

'Yeah?'

'Get out!'

'Right, right-' As Mattheo sped out of the room, he grimaced at Astoria, who lay still smirking as she read her book.

That evening, at dinner, Y/N stabbed her food with force as she glared at the boy opposite her.

'Right, what's happened here then?' Draco asked, his eyes flying between the two.

'Mattheo barged in on me in the shower!' She hissed, causing her friends to burst into laughter as she was now caught in the shower chronicles.

'I told you, it was an accident!'

'You got a lot more than you bargained for!' She gripped her fork tightly in her hand as Mattheo smirked.

'Yeah I did, I got a great view,' He said with a smirk, which quickly disappeared after seeing Y/N's face.

'Look, I'm sorry!' He apologised once more as she sighed and began a conversation with Enzo.

The next morning, Y/N stomped into the boys dorm, still clad in her pyjamas. Theo groaned from his place in bed.

'Y/N, it is 8 a.m... on a Sunday.'

'Oh hush, you caused this whole thing, Nott.'

Storming over to the bathroom, she flung the door open just as Enzo was stepping out of the shower. She smacked a hand over her mouth as she squeaked.

'Y/N?!'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry!' She turned on her heel and slammed the door, Theo's laughter echoed in the room.

'Where is Mattheo?!' She demanded.

'Fuck knows,' He responded, propping himself on his elbows.

'He is on a run, you little menace!' Enzo appeared behind her, a towel around his waist as he crossed his arms. She gave him a sheepish smile.

'Sorry, Enz, I just wanted to get him back!'

'This has gone way too far now,' He said as Mattheo entered the room and took in the scene before him. A cackle left his mouth as he put the pieces together.

'I'll get you back, Riddle.' Y/N jabbed a finger into his chest as she passed him by.

That morning at breakfast, the table ate in silence. Enzo huffed. 'That's it; no more shower shenanigans! We're all terrified to shower now, in case someone comes barging in.'

Pansy rolled her eyes, moving her pancakes with her fork. 'This is all Nott's fault.'

'Hey!'

'Well, it is, Theo-'

'No one asked you to get involved, Y/L/N-'

'I had to because Matt-'

'Hey, mine was an accid-'

'Enough!' Blaise's voice boomed across the table, silencing the bickering amongst the group.

'Theodore, apologise to Pansy.' Astoria instructed.

Theo muttered a quiet. 'Sorry Pans.'

'Pansy, apologise to Mattheo.' Blaise told her.

'Sorry, Matt.' She said with a sheepish smile.

'Riddle, apologise to Y/N.'

Mattheo did as Draco told him. 'I'm sorry, Y/N.'

'Y/N, apologise to Lorenzo.'

'Sorry, Enz.' She gave his shoulder a small nudge with hers.

'Right, now that's all sorted...' Y/N looked up at the girl beside her with her brow raised. 'Well?'

Draco furrowed his brows as the girl before him stared at his girlfriend. 'Well, what?'

'Aren't you three going to apologise for taking the piss out of us?' Draco, Blaise, and Astoria all shared a glance before murmuring their own apology.

The group all shared a knowing look before bursting into laughter. They could never be mad at each other for long.

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anqelically · 6 days

Text

A KISS WELL DESERVED

WARNINGS. yuta okkotsu x gn!reader, 0.3k words, fluff

NAVI | JJK MASTERLIST

yuta okkotsu doesn’t know how to tie a tie.

it’s a simple thing, really, but he couldn’t figure the accessory out no matter how hard he tried. yuta might’ve been good with his hands, yet his fingers couldn’t find their way to tie it properly. when the occasion arose for him to wear a suit, he took the easy way and wore a pre-tied necktie.

so when the two were invited to a relative’s wedding and he couldn’t find the tie, yuta’s last option was to hope that you knew how to tie the thing. fortunately, you did and offered to do it for him.

“you know,” you commented after watching his failed attempt, “you really weren’t lying about being bad.”

“why would i lie about it?” yuta asked with a small pout of his lips.

“maybe to get my attention. i’m still getting ready, after all.”

your hands reached for the untied item around his neck, and you pulled him closer to you with ease. yuta’s cheeks flushed at the action, eliciting a giggle from your lips. you said nothing as you tied the tie around his neck with ease. with your proximity, yuta could smell the scent of shampoo from your freshly washed hair.

“now would you look at that, easy as pie,” you teased him, straightening the wrinkles out of his suit.

yuta took a glance in the mirror, “thank you for that. i won’t bother you anymore. you need to fix your hair still, right?”

while yuta moved away to give you some space, you tilted your head. he was searching for his socks a few feet away when you called for his name.

“i think you’re forgetting something.”

yuta blinked, thinking hard, “i am?”

you innocently nodded and beckoned him to come closer. when he was within arms reach, you pulled him closer by his tie and softly placed your lips onto his. you also pulled away before yuta could lean in, teasing him further.

“i deserved a kiss for that, no?”

NOTE. last panel of the chapter hurt me but wtv… also this was inspired by this cover

—reblog to support an author + join my taglist !

@lovedazai @enoojnij @spenzitz @chuuyrr @ma3mae @piichuu @dreamlessimp @osameowdazai @janbannan @little-miss-chaoss @lvstyangel

#୨୧ [ writing ]#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #yuuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #yuuta okkotsu #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jujutsu kasien #jjk

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luveline · 2 years

Note

roan’s excitement and confusion when she finds reader in eddies bed the first morning reader stays over

dad!eddie would absolutely sneak you in cos he knows if roan wakes up and sees you she won't share (i don't this is necessarily the first time but its ok) fem!reader

It's nice to wake up next to Eddie. You haven't quite mastered sharing a bed with him, having started the night with your face in his chest where now he's on his side with your arm draped over his, your hand limp against his naked chest.

You sigh and stretch with an awful clicking sound. The bed creaks with your movements as you hug him properly and drop your face into the nape of his neck. Nose flat to his skin, you breathe in his smell, stroking the stretch of his chest with your hand.

He doesn't rouse. You don't want him to, content to be close to him and steal all of his body heat until he wakes. You're missing your jeans because denims not meant for sleeping but have otherwise retained your clothes. Everything aches and you're cold. Eddie's selfish with the blanket. Still, it's worth it to wake up next to him.

Eddie had called late and whispered down the line. "Hear me out," he'd said sheepishly. "Would you come over? I can't sleep, and I'm so tired it doesn't make sense. I- I miss you."

And while you'd already turned your gaze to the hallway in search of your shoes, you'd messed with him. "I don't know, handsome. It's really late."

"Just to sleep," he'd promised.

So you'd only slept. Eddie had kissed you, sluggish and sloven and slow, his lips leaving warmth over every bit of skin he could reach as you'd laid out on his chest and mumbled about your day, and then he'd fallen asleep and left you to stare at him in the dim light.

He's a pretty sleeper, even the morning after.

You would stare at him for hours but you really need to use the bathroom. You sit up and try not to wake him, groaning as you curl in on yourself. Your back whinges.

You turn this way and that, trying to release the tightness that's latched between your shoulders when suddenly small footsteps sound from the wall adjoining Roan's. Her bedroom door opens, a quiet squeal made loud from the trailer's relative silence. She only has to take a few steps before she's outside Eddie's room.

You pull the sheets over your naked legs just as she pushes the door open.

"Daddy," she says, rubbing her tired eyes with both fists, "can we have breakfast?"

You smooth down your hair uselessly and smile, trying to hide your nerves at having been found here. You're not sure how she's going to react.

Roan drops her hands and blinks at you, slow as a cat.

"I can make you breakfast," you say softly. Trying to earn her favour.

She doesn't react at all, really. She steps around your discarded jeans and grabs the mattress in small hands, trying to pull herself up into the bed with not much success. You help her instinctively, hands under her armpits because you're terrified of hurting her arms. You're expecting her to let you go of you as soon as she's on the bed, but she doesn't. Roan climbs straight into your lap and looks at you.

"You're here," she says hoarsely.

"Yeah, baby." You can't work out her mood.

She starts laughing and huffing, finally exicted to see you. It's a relief — you'd worried she didn't want you here from her lack of reaction.

"I was lonely in my house," you tell her, laughing too.

She nods, and then turns to you in her young wisdom and says, "I get lonely without daddy too."

"You do?"

"'Cos I miss him."

"When do you miss him? When you're at daycare?"

"Yes," she says, the 's' sound dragging. She's still dragging it when she drops her head into your chest, arms curling around your sides. "I miss you but you're here."

It sounds very profound, but she's just lacking the language skills to express herself. Luckily, you know what she means. She misses you but she doesn't have to right now, because you're actually here. Which implies...

"Roan, you miss me when you don't see me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask her. You're feeling self-indulgent.

"Yes. Daddy says it's okay."

"It's okay," you second, turning to look at your sleeping boyfriend with wide eyes. This is something they've talked about.

Eddie's not the only Munson who misses you when you're not around.

You wrap your arms around Roan's back and tug her up until her messy curls are tickling your neck. You tame her flyaways with your hand gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

"I miss you when I don't see you, too."

Roan lifts her head. She looks so much like Eddie if Eddie had a lovely pert nose. They both have those puppy brown eyes, pretty pink lips. You try to wipe some of the sleep out of her lashes and she moves away.

"You have a sleepy in your eye," you explain.

"Oh," she says. She giggles and lets herself back into your reach.

Roan let's you scratch the sleep out of the corners of her eyes. You pretend to wipe them in Eddie's back, to her amusement, and then slouch down onto your own back with a sigh. You leave space for her to lay between you and her dad and pat it encouragingly. She ignores you and lies flat on your torso instead.

She yawns wide. You catch it and yawn yourself, turning your face so she can't see your open mouth. Neck bared, Roan takes it as an opportunity to push her head into the gap and nuzzle you with her face.

Your chest starts to feel weird in the best way. Content. You place your hand over her back and trace a line up and down the tiny suggestions of her spine.

"What did you want for breakfast, princess?" you ask quietly.

"Um... maybe waffles with the syrup."

"Yeah? Golden or maple?"

"I don't know," she says, like you're being ridiculous.

"What one does dad usually put on it?"

"Just syrup."

You laugh with your lips pressed together, a hum. Everytime you breathe in one of her flyaways gets sucked toward your face, tickling your nose.

"They make strawberry syrup. Have you tried that?"

Roan yawns again, hot against your neck. "No... Grape syrup?"

"I don't think they make grape syrup. Maybe you can have grape jelly."

She makes a thoughtful sound and then grows silent. Weirdly, you think she weighs more once she falls asleep again, limp and languid over your chest, little hands pressed loosely to your sides. You neaten up her matching pajamas and loll your head to look at Eddie. He doesn't seem like he's going to wake up anytime soon. You've effectively trapped yourself.

You still need to pee.

It's not the worst fate in the world. You let Roan use you as a mattress and think of helpful things, like the Sahara dessert. Eventually, you doze.

Eddie turns onto his back to find his two favourite girls cuddling. It's the worst thing that's ever happened to him because he doesn't have a camera and he's also absurdly jealous. He can imagine how the situation came to pass quite easily; you and Roan adore one another.

Though he's still surprised. After all, it's mid-afternoon. By now Roan would've dragged him out of bed for cereal and the morning cartoons.

He pokes your cheek. You don't look very peaceful, less when you wake.

"Hey," he murmurs.

You move your bleary gaze to him and seem as though you're looking straight through him.

"How'd you get her to sleep in?" he asks. "She never let's me."

"She loves me more," you mumble, deadpan. You scrunch your eyes closed and then force them open, a real struggle that makes him feel very sorry for you, until you say, "Oh my god, I need to pee so badly."

"Pass her over," Eddie says.

You look down at the 'her' in question. "She's the cutest thing ever."

"She'll still be cute in five minutes, swears. I kept expecting her to get less cute, but no such luck."

"Yeah, you're super unlucky."

"Sarcasm," — he kisses your temple — "is the lowest form of wit. Now give me the girl."

You pass her over. Eddie tucks her into his chest and pats her back very carefully to stop her from waking up though she absolutely should be awake by now. The mattress springs whine as you curl onto your side and stand, stretching tall.

He won't lie and say he doesn't watch you leave but when you walk blindly into the doorframe he pretends not to see it, averting his gaze to the sleeping girl in his arms instead.

Your sarcasm might've been well-founded. After all, he feels pretty lucky. It's not everyday you have two pretty girls sleeping in your bed.

#eddie and roan #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

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arysbruv · 4 months

Text

Sorry, not sorry

You were a relatively newer student. You normally kept to yourself but you always dreamt of being friends with the main trio, especially with the infamous Suguru Geto. Yet, he always seemed to hate you, even when you openly showed you felt the opposite.

pairings: suguru geto x f!reader

warnings and whatnots: Mean!Geto, Jealous!Geto. He’s so rude to you. He’s realising his feelings for you!! Slow burn fic and will probably take a while to finish… Not proofread

Chapter 1: Are we still friends? Chapter 2: Can we be friends? Chapter 3: [currently reading] Chapter 4: Green looks good on you. Chapter 5: Runaway. Chapter 6: Burn

Silence.

That was all you were met with from Suguru throughout the morning. As you got ready. As you ate breakfast. As you got in the car and subsequently stayed in the car.

Silence, silence and silence.

Not a word from him was spoken to you.

You were confused but accepted it with grace. Yet, your thoughts still linger on the fact he wasn’t talking to you. What had you done to garner such treatment from him? Sure, he hated you but you thought his disdain for you had slowly mellowed down.

“What’s up with you and Suguru?” Shoko whispers to you as you both sat in the backseats of the car. Satoru in the passenger seat whilst Suguru drives.

You shrugs you shoulder. Shoko looks at you with a confused expression, looking at Suguru.

“Oi, Suguru!” She calls out, causing Suguru to hum in response, his eyes glancing over to Shoko and you then back to road. “Why are you so quiet lately? What happened with you? I miss your annoying voice.”

“I’m fine, just tired.” He says.

You knew it was a lie, his inflections and the way his eyes darted around showed so. Yet, you kept quiet, deciding not to point it out.

Hours passed in silence as you made your way on the highway, before making a pit stop at a fast food restaurant to take a quick lunch break. As you made your way out of the car, you noticed how Satoru and Shoko exchanged glances amongst themselves. You look at them inquisitively, eyebrow raised at them. They smile at you. They’ve been doing that for the last few hours, as if they’ve been having their own secret conversations that they were shielding from you and Suguru. You look up at Suguru, he looks at you before quickly trailing behind Satoru who headed straight to the restaurant.

Suguru had also noticed it. The knowing glances, the small grins and smiles. They were scheming.

He hates when they schemed. Especially, when he wasn’t apart of it.

He chooses to ignore it as he sits down next to Satoru, directly sitting in front of you much to his regret. He glances at you as you look at the menu from your seat, eyes squinting.

He hated how your eyes looked so beautiful in the sun.

He looks away, feeling heat rush up to his cheeks. How disgusting.

“What do you want, Suguru?” Satoru says, pulling him away from his thoughts. Suguru shrugs, admitting that he could go for anything. Satoru looks at Shoko, before giving her a nod, earning a confused look from Suguru.

“Alright! Shoko and I will go order! You both wait here and keep the table and our belongings safe!” Satoru announces, smiling at the both of you before quickly standing up.

You didn’t even have time to protest before Shoko stands up and smiles at you. “Don’t start a fight!” She says, giving you a small smile.

You sit in your seat, pouting as you watch them walk away, eventually your eyes wander to Suguru who was already staring at you.

Crap.

Feelings rush you, and a sense of unease fills you. You had a feeling he was going to start berating you. Yet, that never happened. Instead he just… looked at you, without saying anything.

He was an odd man you had to admit.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, tentatively, breaking the silence. Your eyes trained on him searching for any negative emotions.

Yes. I am furious at you for not giving me the attention I need. The love I need.

“No. I’m not mad. The hell would I be?” Suguru answers, looking at you confused.

You give him an easy smile. “Oh… Then, are you in love with me?”

His eyes widen as blood rushes to his face. His face contorting into a mixture of shock and humiliation. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watch his reaction.

“You’re such an ass! Who in their right mind would like a person the likes of you?” Suguru answers rudely, hoping to illicit a hurt response from you. Yet, a feeling in his stomach and mind immediately caused him to feel regret for airing out such words. What for? You deserved it.

You continue laughing. “I don’t know, you?” You give him a smile that causes him to stumble and stutter upon his words.

No.

He hated you.

“I would never like a girl like you. Get that through your stupid head. You wish I did like you.” He says seriously, his eyes narrowing.

Hurt flashes across your face, but you quickly mask it.

“I know, I just like teasing you!” You say, smiling at him.

He saw the hurt on your face and it caused his heart to burn. He wanted nothing more but to wipe that stupid hurt look off your face.

Admit it.

Admit that you love me so that I can love you. Admit that you want me to take care of you so I can try my best. Admit that I had broken you so I could put you back together.

All those words he wanted to say, all those thoughts. He couldn’t speak, his mouth wouldn’t let him. His body wouldn’t. His body rejected you but his heart was revolting.

Thus, he sat in uncomfortable silence with you, biding his time until Shoko and Satoru return and save the both of you from this pit of despair.

The pair of them eventually came to see the both of you in a state worse than before. You smiled at them trying to convince them you were fine but they could easily see through your deceit.

Lunch was eaten in silence.

Satoru and Shoko went to pay, asking you and Suguru to start up the car. You walk up to the car, Suguru trailing behind you. Your hands were in your pockets, gripping tightly to the inside of your pants.

“y/n.”

You look back, seeing Suguru approaching you until he was directly in front of you. You didn’t know what he wanted. To insult you? To hurt you once more like he always does?

“M’sorry.” Suguru mumbles out before walking towards the driver’s side of the car.

You stand there for a second. An apology was not what you had expected. You didn’t know what to do with it. He can apologise all he wants but if he doesn’t change what’s the point? Such empty words won’t help her in the long run.

“y/n! Why are you standing outside the car? You’re gonna get hit!” Satoru says, smiling as he pulls you away from the road, nearer to the car. You smile softly at him, thanking him. He pats your shoulder and ruffles your hair, before quickly telling you something.

Suguru watches it all in the rear view mirror. The way Satoru held you, smiled at you, the way you smiled at him. Did you move on to him?

His hand. The way Satoru’s hand lingered on you. Lingered upon your waist as he pulls you out the road. It should’ve been him. Why Satoru? His teeth grit as he watches Satoru smile and laugh with you. Is that how it would be if he was close with you?

Satoru smiles at you once more before entering the backseat, leaving you with an exasperated look. Suguru wondered what had transpired between the both of you.

The door to the passenger seat opens, you entering the car, and giving a small shy smile to him, almost as if he didn’t just wound you.

“Satoru says that he wants to hang out with Shoko at the back. He says that you’re too boring,” You state, laughing slightly.

Suguru rolls his eyes, looking at the back where Satoru gives him an unapologetic look. He turns to you, the sound of your laugh sending shivers into him. He ignores it, turning to the road and starting to drive.

Everyone had fallen asleep, everyone except Suguru. He was cruising on the road at the an average speed, the road almost empty. He glances over at your sleeping figure.

You looked so peaceful.

You hair covering parts of your face, your small movements and small mumbles that fell out of your mouth as you slept.

He swore he heard you mumble his name out.

“It’s rude to stare.” You say, eyes fluttering open and looking at Suguru.

Suguru felts knots in his stomach as your eyes concentrated on him. He clears his throat and looks in front. Ashamed that he had been called out, especially with a line he had said to you a few days back.

“Where are we?” You ask, yawning as you stretch your arms out.

Suguru’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “We’re nearing the hotel. We can make a quick stop at the next town to eat early dinner.” Suguru says, plainly.

You keep quiet, earning a glance from Suguru. You frown as you think. You were still half asleep, your eyes blurry and your brain foggy.

“Why do you hate me Sugu?” You ask, the use of the nickname causing him to shiver.

“I…” He didn’t know how to answer such a forward question.

If you had asked him that question months ago, nay two days ago, he could’ve given you a plethora of answers with detailed explanations. Yet, when you asked it right now, he was speechless.

He couldn’t answer.

Why did he hate you?

You weren’t a bad person nor mean. Annoying sure but you’ve quickly grown out of it. Your only sin was that you had fallen for him. You had fallen for a man who couldn’t deal with love.

Did he hate you?

Yes he did, he had to hate you. That’s what made sense.

Yet, why couldn’t he explain why he hated you.

“I… I don’t hate you.” He says softly, turning to you to gauge your response. Yet, what he was met with was the soft snores of you who had already fallen back to sleep.

He clicked his tongue. How annoying.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t like you.

He looks back to the road, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he focuses on driving.

He was tired.

Yes, that was it. He was tired. That’s why he wasn’t thinking straight. He was tired.

He looked upon your sleeping face. The way the setting sun shines upon your face was unexplainably beautiful, the way it lit up your face and put it on a spotlight. The ways your eye flutter slightly as the rays of gold hit your face.

He just needed some rest.

#geto x reader #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #geto x you #suguru geto angst #geto angst

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vqlluna · 5 months

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DRUNKEN TRUTHS ━━━ REMUS LUPIN

sober confessions p2

summary: both you and Remus hate each other, painfully eating away each other each time you're forced to see one another due to your shared friends. Now at a party, Remus can't keep his eyes from you. The truth comes out when you're drunk, right?

notes: f!rich!reader x poor!remus lupin, goody-two-shoes!reader x stoner!remus angst, jealousy, underage drinking, frenemies to lovers Remus is sassy

a/n: I'm forever obsessed with the rich jealous partying trope for no reason at all. Gossip Girl is influencing me too much.

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHY YOU WERE AT THIS PARTY IN THE FIRST PLACE, you didn't need to come, this wasn't exactly your crowd. You were only friends with Lily, which soon turned into a tangled mess of being friends with her boyfriend and his friends. Because you'd never be at a party with low lives wasting their days away getting drunk and smoking weed.

That's the exact reason why'd you'd associated yourself with Lily Evans in the first place, up keeping her clean slate would keep yours clean as well. So when Lily refused to attend this party, despite the pleads from her friends and her boyfriends, why had you accepted the offer in her place?

You very well justified that you needed to socialize more, besides, being so uptight wouldn't get you any farther than it'd had now, it was time for a change. You weren't stupid of course, you made sure to bring someone along of who could get you home safely, someone of your status who had good morals and ideals, which all too entirely failed.

As James drove the three of you, you noticed his insistent pestering of your plus one. Now you sat pressed against this supposedly morally good guy, drunk, dizzy, and tired, so much so that you couldn't even feel the nips he'd been giving to your neck. You rambled on to James and Mary, who sat on the armchairs across you.

Both, relatively sober, found intense amusement in seeing you drunk with a guy all over you, which was amazingly out of character for yourself. Every now and then you'd look around the room in search of something frantically determined, the two teasing you on how your eyes were popping out of your head.

You looked across the room at Sirius and Peter miserably failing at beer pong, then to Dorcas and Marlene as they swayed to whatever tracks were booming throughout the room so loud you had a slight headache.

Taking in account everyone you knew was to be there, was when you realized why you were so confused. "Where's Lupin?" you mumbled, "Haven't seen him yet."

James, the closest to you than anyone else here, looked at you in surprise, "You want to know—Moony, huh?" he poked the inside of his cheek.

"I saw Remus earlier, dunno where he'd be," Mary answered, the both of you ignoring James' delight.

You hummed as the boy beside you pressed his lips to your cheek, "Don't need to worry about other guys now, baby," the boy whispered, and even though you cringed at the name you were too tipsy to care.

A burst of giggles and snickers erupted from behind you, James raised his eyebrows in even further interest than from what he expressed before after your comment, "There's the man of the hour!"

You whipped your head around, rolling your eyes at the lanky man who entered the scene, a girl attached to his hip, bottle in hand, and a cigarette in the other. He wriggled free from the girl's arms, still telling her to follow, as he did a smug dance of a spin, "Missed me too much, Prongs?"

James snorted and titled his head towards you, "No, but someone else did," he said, nuzzling his face teasingly at your scowl. Remus slowed his steps towards you all, and you could've sworn you saw a small disgruntled frown appear on his face for a moment as noticed you and your company.

He quickly smirked, "Now who let the selfish snobs in?" he yelled, no one else paying him no mind as he plotted himself, and the girl he was with on the other edge of the couch.

You scrunched your nose, his presence snapping you out of some of the daze you were in, "Does anyone smell that? There's just this intoxicating smell of lung cancer and ignorance, absolutely vomit-inducing if you ask me," you snapped.

"Poor thing, wouldn't want you puking all over your date, princess," he remarked, putting his arms around the shoulder of the gorgeous girl who giggled at his comment beside him.

You stomach twinged at the name, that all too easily rolled of his tongue, and his tongue only. And everytime, since the first time he'd said, started a roraing fire in your stomach.

━ "Lily, have you seen my mother's Chanel bag?" you whined barging into the room. You were hurriedly getting ready for a fancy dinner you were supposed to attend.

The red-haired girl shook her head sympathetically. You seethed at her answer, ignoring the weird stares from the others in the room, "My mother is going to murder me!" you yelped, "I need that bag!"

An annoying snicker echoed from across the room, "Is the poor princess finally going to get in trouble?" he crooned, "Told you that you needed to sharpen that memory," he tutted.

"Fuck you, Lupin." ━

You grunted, not able to find anything to bite back with. Remus smirked at your silence, directing his attention to your company, "So who's the wealthy, tasteless boggart you've dragged along?"

The boy beside you glared towards Remus, "Evan Rosier," he introduced, gritting through his teeth, "And we both have much finer tastes in both people and luxuries than you ever will."

"Maybe you do, in women at least," Remus started, and your cheeks grew slightly rosy at his insinuation, "But Princess here sure does have a knack for choosing the worst men to be with."

You scoffed, "And you're to be the best option? Someone so childishly obsessed with chocolate?"

He shrugged with a grin, "Well, yeah," he answered, taking the last swig of his beer before standing up and stretching his limbs. "You lot have fun, I'm off for another drink," he declared, stumbling his way to the kitchen as the girl hopelessly followed him.

You huffed, aimlessly sitting and now listening to Mary's rant, and you couldn't help but feel extremely suffocated. Your head continued to hurt and your mind swam. You took a sharp breath and jumped up from your seat, "Gonna get some air," you mumbled without another word.

You clutched your head as you pushed through the bodies of people. Slipping out into the backyard, you breathed while staring at your shoes as they danced around in your vision.

"Y'following me now are ya?" a voiced echoed out to your right.

Picking your head up, your eyes followed to source. You chuckled to yourself seeing Remus pressed against the wall, puffing smoke of a new cigarette into the air. "You wish," you said.

Taking in his disheveled hair, stained jumper, and sunken eyes, something in you paused. Your brows furrowed as your expression was somehow a mix of confusion and disgust. Remus tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow, rolling himself off the wall.

Suddenly your legs stomped toward him. "You're annoying, arrogant, and can't dress for the life of you," you spat.

Remus looked at you like he'd just watched a jester perform for him. "M'sorry, what was that?" he mirth, leaning down as he tilted his head towards you as to hear better.

You frowned and repeated yourself, "You're incredibly annoying, stupidly arrogant, terribly dressed, and I don't like you," you announced once again.

He removed his head only slightly away from you, still close enough as you felt his breath fan over your face from his wolfish smile. He brought the cigarette from his two fingers up to his lips as he inhaled and puffed out the smoke into your face.

Your face scrunched again in disgust as he stared at you intently, you awaiting his retaliation. "I find you incredibly gorgeous, stupidly charming, and terribly cute, and I surprisingly find a great liking to you."

Blush scattered across your face at his confession, a gulp climbing down your throat whilst you trailed off, "You...?" You were speechless, not expecting his words, the grass and scenery behind him blurring and swirling in the back.

Your eyes darted around the place, avoiding his own eyes before your chin was pinched between his thumb and index, forcing your eyes to bounce right to him, his cigarette still clenched in the same hand in the last of his fingers.

Not only had you not expected his confession, but you certainly didn't expect him to lean in, pressing his lips gently to yours. It quickly escalated as his hand moved to grip the back of your head, the other resting on your hip.

Your elbows brought up to at his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair whilst you screamed to yourself to pull him away, you're body ultimately betraying you as they only pushed his lips farther into yours. That's when you found out that you were indeed, kissing him back.

Remus pulled away chuckling, letting your arms continue to sit on his shoulders. You breathed hard, staring at him with confusion with the newfound dizziness swimming around in your head. Your mouth was agape, ready to say something, but nothing came out.

"Merlin, if I knew just a compliment and a kiss could get you to shut up, I would've done that ages ago," he joked. Your face fell at the remark, your forearms brought down to his chest as you finally tried to push him away.

"Why'd you kiss me, you prick?" you sternly questioned, ignoring how rapidly your heart was beating. His hand still keeps you in place at your hip.

"Because I like you," he stated as if it were obvious.

You shook your head, letting a small laugh escape from your nose, "You're drunk, and you're high," you insisted.

"Truth comes out when you're drunk, right?"

You stood silent, begging to tell him no and denying the fact that you itched to kiss him once more. Though your lies weren't said, your truth was done as your lips soon gravitated back to his like a magnet.

Now instead of you being pressed against against the couch you were now found pressed against the concrete wall of the house, and your innocent need for one more kiss turned into necking.

A smirk from Remus continued to press on into the kiss as you two parted for air a quick second as you got in a whisper of "I hate you."

Purposely, on the next gasp for air, Remus cheekily echoed your words from earlier before, "You wish."

His cigarette was discarded to to floor as both his hands were now occupied at your hips, and both your own gripping at the sides of his face. While your back scrapped along the wall your hips were lifted away as his arms clawed them closer to his own.

His back bent over to reach down to you. Your mind flooded with the discovered thoughts and questions on how you were making out with Remus Lupin at a party, and how badly you'd wanted him for the past year.

Still, the two of you couldn't escape the quips murmured now and then.

"I knew I told you to sharpen your memory—but maybe instead you should sharpen your whole mind—if it took you this long to find out."

"Fuck you, Remus."

"I think you're in the process of doing that, yeah."

"Idiot."

"Brat."

You thought you might've drowned in his lips, if it wasn't for the parade of a voice. "Time to get going y/n!" James shouted, stepping outside.

Quickly, you pushed Remus off of you before James could catch you in the act. You felt as though you'd committed a crime.

Remus chuckled as he stumbled back, wiping your lip gloss off his lips. "Lily wants me home..." he slowed, seeing the mess of both of your guys' hair and your excessive blushing.

"Right, let's go," you readied, combing your fingers through your hair trying to fix it.

James nodded, disturbed and amused again, he slipped back inside. You panted heavily from your nose, staring at how Remus' eyes dashed across your face before they finally rested on yours.

"Best get going, Princess. You're carriage is ready and your palace awaits," he joked. You clamped your lips shut with your teeth, your stern lustful glare softened as you pursed your lips.

"Bye, Remus," you said with your arms crossed, turning on your heel you walked away, still feeling his eyes on the back of your head with his smug smirk.

As you crossed back inside you jumped at the sight of James waiting in anticipation by the glass door. "Bloody hell, James! Y'Scared the shit out of me!"

James snickered at you, "You and Moony?" he asked surprised and teasingly, though behind your backs him and Lily had counted the days when it'd finally happen.

You scowled and shook your head rigorously, "Absolutely not!" you opposed.

"Sure. And by the way, you reek of beer, smoke, and chocolate," he added cheekily, sparking the heat in your cheeks again.

"Piss off, Potter."

#remus lupin #marauders era #marauders #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #marauders fandom #the marauders #remus lupin x reader #Remus lupin angst #angst #enemies to lovers #jealousy #marauders fic #james potter #dead gay wizards

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mellaithwen · 2 months

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To hum and sway (bucktommy, 1.4k words)

[read on ao3]

Spoilers/Spec-fic for 7x06 "There Goes The Groom" After the wedding that wasn’t, and the wedding that was, after the search, and the rescue, and the drama of the day, Buck finds himself sitting in the hospital waiting room when Tommy turns up...

Now that Chimney’s been moved out of the ICU, the hospital staff have kindly set up a cot bed in his room for Maddie to get some rest beside him, while Buck stands—or rather–-sits sentry outside. While his sister clearly couldn’t have predicted she’d be reading out her vows standing between a heart-rate monitor and an IV stand, Buck’s just glad she was able to read them out to Chim at all.

A nurse shuffles past Buck down the corridor, and he pulls his legs back from where they’d been obnoxiously extended in his late-night exhaustion. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room before stretching his neck and shoulders until he hears a satisfying pop.

His hands clench into tight fists on either side of the chair he’s sat in, and he grips them tightly until his knuckles are white and the pain of his own nails digging into the flesh of his palms is enough to distract the guilt spiral he’s been fending off all day.

Maddie and Chimney will get their big-day. Buck will make sure of it. They’ll have the party that they rightly deserve, surrounded by their friends and family. A happy day, a calm day. The quiet, intimate ceremony in their own back garden that they’d wanted all along before losing track of the guestlist.

But that would be later. When they were both ready, and recovered. At least for now they got to wear the rings. At least they got to call each other husband and wife.

Finally.

“Evan?” Buck’s head shoots up from where he’d been lying back, leaning his heavy head against the wall.

There were so few people who called him by his given name nowadays...

His parents had long since left to do what they referred to as “damage control” with the guests and venue—since the rest of the 118 were more concerned with Maddie and Chimney than appeasing distant relatives who had traveled just so gosh darn far, Evan.

He’d corrected Bobby almost instantly on that first day so many years ago, that his name was Buck, and besides, his captain was currently driving Mr and Mrs Lee back home for the evening after spending so many hours in the same holding pattern of he’s stable—that’s the main thing—until Chimney had finally woken up and insisted with a raspy voice, that his Captain marry he and Maddie right then, right now...

And Eddie? Eddie had only ever called him Evan the once.

(Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t think about that moment often…)

But no, it wasn’t him either; Eddie was with Hen, roaming the corridors for a vending machine that worked until Bobby came back to bully them all into finally getting into his truck and going home. So that just left…

“Tommy? W-what are you—?”

“I came as soon as I heard he’d been found. How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?”

Buck’s brain struggles to keep up, his software in need of an update—Tommy’s here, standing in front of him. In the hospital corridor. Buck’s phone was god knows where, and with Chimney missing and his sister losing her mind with worry, he hadn’t had a chance to think about the fact he’d accidentally ghosted his date. But here he was. Standing in front of Buck like a guardian angel who’d done more than his own fair share to help in the search—all the while still wearing the clothes he’d put on as Buck’s plus one to the wedding that never happened that morning.

This is probably the closest thing to flustered he’s seen Tommy look the whole time he’s known him, and if the circumstances were different Buck thinks he would have found it endearing—but his head’s too much of a mess to even go there right now. The soft blue shirt he’s wearing is rumpled now but Buck just knows it would have been pressed and clean to start with. The slacks and matching suit jacket are both a wooly kind of mauve. Buck thinks it would have been nice to press up against the material as they slow-danced at the end of the evening. The lights would be dimmed, while the wedding band played something slow. He wonders if his parents would have noticed. He finds he also doesn’t really care.

He remembers Maddie and Chimney’s kiss under a symphony of high-pitched beeps, and the mumbled static of a tannoy announcement requesting a doctor’s presence in triage. Jee had clapped her hands in Mrs Lee’s arms before pretending to throw invisible flowers in the air just like she’d practiced with her uncle Buck.

How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?

“They’re—” Buck falters when he finally answers, genuinely unsure in the grand scheme of things. If he were to answer literally, he’d say they were sleeping. But emotionally? Physically?

“They’re…”

Chimney’s in the hospital. Maddie almost lost him again, and if Buck looks down, he knows he’ll find that there’s still patches of dried blood on the sleeves of his ruined pink jacket—remnants of the day, along with the pounding behind his eyes that he just can’t seem to shake.

Tell Maddie—

No, no Chim, don’t you dare make me do that, you can tell her yourself, okay? Just stay with me. Eddie’s gone to get help and Maddie’s waiting for you to come home—

“They’re married!” Buck finishes with a laugh that’s incredulous only so far as the circumstances of the last twenty four hours have made him seriously question his own sanity. Or maybe that’s just the last dregs of adrenaline leaving his head in a spin.

“Bobby performed the ceremony, but Chimney wore the white-gown this time.”

He’s deflecting. He’s searching for humor, for the laugh to be had at the absurdity of it all. He’s the class clown disrupting the other kids because he didn’t hear what the teacher said and he’s trying not to panic. He’s overcompensating at the academy because he has no support system to speak of in LA, and he needs this. He wants this. He can’t flunk out. He can’t fail.

He’s pushing and pushing and pushing to see where the boundary lies, to see how far he can go before he disappoints the family he’s found at the 118. He wants to know where that line in the sand is. How long until the tide comes in? How long until he drowns?

He’s….. he’s exhausted. And when Tommy tilts his head to the side and frowns, reading Buck like an open book of sad tells, suddenly the effort to keep the mask in place is too much. His shoulders slump and Buck’s whole body hunches forward with the weight of the day pressing down on him—only to find Tommy’s arms there ready to catch him when he falls.

“He nearly died,” Buck whispers into the crook of Tommy’s neck as he’s embraced. “Chim nearly died and if we hadn’t found him when we did….”

His voice cracks, the words seemingly too painful to even speak into the universe. Buck can’t bear to say more, and Tommy doesn’t ask him to either, he just pulls him in closer, squeezes him that little bit tighter, and holds him there for as long as he needs. He brings his hand up to the back of Buck’s neck, gently kneads at the knot he finds there. Cradles him like he’s something precious and deserving when for so long he’s convinced himself of the opposite.

After a time, when Buck’s breathing starts to even out, the hitch in his chest seemingly dissolved into the atmosphere, and the shock has thawed enough for him to feel the soft material of Tommy’s jacket under his fingertips, he finds that Tommy has been slowly moving their bodies into a sway. Leading, just a little bit—really they’re barely moving at all—but if Buck pretends, he thinks he can hear music playing.

“You said you wanted to dance,” Tommy says; answering the question Buck hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask yet. For the first time in hours, Buck’s mind goes quiet.

“Thank you,” he whispers a little self-consciously when the words catch in his throat.

Thank you for coming, thank you for holding me, thank you for being here with no judgment and no expectations. Thank you for caring when we barely even know each other. Thank you for treating me kindly, for being gentle and soft when all day I’ve felt like I was being strangled with barbed wire. Thank you.

When Tommy hums in response, Buck can’t help but lean into the embrace, finding solace in his arms. He can feel the warmth of his breath drifting along the side of his neck, soothing the goosebumps that reside there.

And when he presses a soft kiss on the stubble of Tommy’s jaw, it tickles.

-fin.

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