#struck with an idea right when I was about to sleep and I just had to make it reality

[half-of-a-gay]

Hi. Can you please write Ambessa x female reader? Where reader has a crush on Ambessa, but when she was ready to confess her feelings she saw that another girl asked Ambessa out on a date, so reader just stopped trying to reach the woman she loves. And then turns out that Ambessa actually loves reader too and when reader doesn't expect anything Ambessa confesses her feelings to reader.

I hope that you will understand what I wrote. Thanks in advance.

[A/N: Hi! I decided to combine two requests for this one because they kind of gave the same vibe and i just thiught they fit perfectly together. Hope you guys don't mind. Thank you for sending the requests I really liked your ideas]

Here's the other request, it's from @bbybhr: "HI~ First of all I ADORE YOUR WRITING STYLE second can I request an ambessa x fem reader with the "love triangle " trope? Perhaps a slow burn or hurt comfort when you love ambessa but she's in love with someone else? With a happy ending :") please and thank u in advance ♡"

You met Ambessa Medarda in the middle of a war. Or rather, at the end of one.

There was ash on your boots and dirt under your fingernails when she first looked at you like you were something more than a soldier. That look from Ambessa Medarda was rare, scarecely anyone has the privilege of experiencing it.

You fell in love with her long before she even knew your name.

For weeks, you fought beside her - though "beside" might be generous. You were a tactician’s assistant, a minor position, far from her inner circle. Still, you watched her from afar: tall, commanding, enveloped in armor that gleamed in the light. She carried herself like she could crush kingdoms in her bare hands and maybe she could, but you were more struck by the rare moments when she didn't seem made of steel. Like all those late nights when sleep evaded her and you caught her staring at the stars like they owed her all the answers.

You loved her quietly, devotedly, but from a distance. As one loves a myth made flesh.

You had almost told her once.

Your hand had hovered at the tent flap when the audacity to voice your devotion came over you. You had the words in your mouth, on the tip of your tongue - soft and clumsy and full of hope.

And then-

“Ambessa,” a voice giggled. A woman. A stunning, young diplomat from Navori, if the gossip around the campfire had been true. “If I asked you to dinner, would I have to fight for the privilege?”

You didn’t hear her answer. You didn’t need to nor did you wish to. You left her tent in a rush, with your hope crumbled lying on the ground behind you.

After that, you vanished from her periphery. At least as much as you could - you still worked logistics in her camp, still offered briefings when ordered, but the pieces of you she’d once glimpsed were buried. Hidden. You smiled less. Spoke only when spoken to.

She seemed… confused, at first. Then cold.

You tried not to wonder if she noticed the way you stopped looking at her altogether. Of course she hasn't, she barely remembered your name (or so you thought).

The sun was just setting on the day that you saw them. You were just crossing the square, arms full of reports and rations, trying to stay invisible.

Ambessa had said she had a “private engagement” that evening. You hadn’t thought much of it when she mentioned it at a meeting. You were trying not to think about her at all these days.

But then - there she was. Just across the square. Dressed in something elegant but casual. No armor. No sword. You haven't seen her like that before and you couldn't help but let your eyes linger on her figure for longer that necessary.

And then your eyes landed on her and your silly little daydream of Ambessa was broken.

She was standing by her side - the diplomat. The one with the perfect laugh and the highborn smile. She was hanging on Ambessa’s arm like they’d known each other forever.

Ambessa didn’t pull away. It shouldn't have stung the way it did, you had no right to be hurt by her love for someone else, she didn't owe you a thing. And yet, when she smiled down at the charming young woman, you could feel your poor heart crack.

You ducked behind the edge of a market stall before either of them could see you, but the damage was done. You peeked out only once more - just in time to see Ambessa laughing at something the other woman said. Her smile was… soft, playful.

You stood there, behind crates of fruit and dust and hollow pride, staring like a fool while they walked off together. You stared after them with a sinking feeling in your chest and you couldn’t help but think: Of course. Of course she’d choose someone like that.

Graceful. Sophisticated. Clearly experienced. Probably tangled up in all sorts of connections and power plays. And then there was you - just a girl with ink-stained fingers and a heart too big for her own good.

And maybe, if it had just been the woman, it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

But the week before, you’d overheard two aides whispering over breakfast rations, voices low with gossip and bravado. They were laughing about Ambessa’s “particular taste.”

“She’s into those delicate little things,” one had snorted. “Men who look like they stepped out of an enchanted forest. Painted nails, silky voices, the kind she could snap like a twig if she wanted to."

“Yeah I heard she likes ‘em pretty,” the other had said with a sly smirk and a mocking chuckle. “Soft and malleable. ”

And you’d believed it.

So, seeing her smile like that at her - all eyeliner and lace and venomous wit-

It didn’t make you feel better. It made it worse. Because she wasn’t entirely the opposite of you. In some ways she was you. In all the ways you thought might disqualify you from Ambessa's interest. The softness, the quietness, the emotion you tried so hard to keep sealed behind your eyes. The part of you that wasn’t sharp enough to make you be noticed by most.

If she liked beauty, if she liked softness...

Then why not you?

But you wouldn't dare say anything. You didn't have that right. Not now. Not ever.

She deserved someone bright and effortlessly beautiful. Radiant in a way you could never be.

Not someone who held love like a wound they were ashamed to show. Not you.

---

It had been three weeks since you saw Ambessa with her. Three weeks since you turned around in that market square and walked away without looking back.

You’d done everything right. You kept your head down, your reports on time, your words clipped and professional. You spoke to her only when you had to and when you did, you made sure your tone never lingered, your eyes never stayed too long.

And Ambessa didn’t chase you which wan't surprising. Why would she? You were nothing but a trusted colleague to her at the very best.

Stll a shameful part of you was still hurt by it. That deluded, little part fo your soul, that thought there was a chance in hell she'd ever look at you twice, was weeping. It hurt even more the way Ambessa had looked at her: curious, maybe intrigued. No, what really stayed with you was that she just let you disappear.

But you made peace with it eventually. Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. You convinced yourself it was better this way. You had a job to do. A rank to upkeep. And no delusions left to feed.

Until tonight.

You were finishing your rounds when someone cleared their throat outside your tent.

As pathetic as it may sound, you'd recognize that voice and that silhouette under any circumstances.

Ambessa.

She stood half-shadowed by the firelight, hands behind her back, expression unreadable. Still in uniform, but without her usual entourage. Without any of her armor.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Nodded once.

She stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space like she had imagined this part of you before and now she was confirming it.

“I wanted to explain myself,” she said, tone controlled. “About what you saw a few nights ago. The diplomat.”

You tried to keep your voice steady. “You don’t owe me such an explanation.”

“I do,” she said simply.

Silence settled between you. She crossed her arms, needing to put the weight of what she was about to say somewhere.

“She’s... sharp,” Ambessa said at last. “Charming, beautiful... We’d worked together before. There was familiarity, but not intimacy.”

You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected.

“She asked me to dinner,” Ambessa continued. “I said yes. I wanted to be seen choosing something... something clear. She knows how to play the game. I thought maybe we’d make sense.”

Ambessa looked at you, gaze leveled.

“But the whole time, I was bored out of my mind. And worse, I realized I was... being who she wanted me to be. Polished. Strategic. Measured.”

She shifted slightly, her hands tightening behind her back.

“I don't want someone who’s already writing the ending to a story that that hasn’t even begun. I’ve built my life on power and control. But I don’t want to perform in private.”

She stepped closer.

“With you... I never felt like I had to do that.”

You stared at her, heart caught between disbelief and something you couldn't afford to feel.

“I noticed when you stopped talking to me the way you used to,” she said. “I kept waiting for you to get angry. But you didn’t. You just… disappeared. And it hurt more than I expected.”

Your voice came out small. “I didn’t think I could compete.”

Ambessa’s eyes softened, just barely.

“You think I’m looking for competition?” she asked, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of her mouth. Her brows lifted, like she couldn’t quite believe you didn’t already know the answer.

She leaned back slightly, her folded arms tightening just enough that, if you didn’t know better, you’d think she was almost hugging herself. Like she was self-soothing without meaning to. “I have enough of that,” she said softly. The amusement faded, replaced by something more vulnerable.

Her gaze flicked to yours and held. “What I don’t have is someone I trust enough to see me. The way I truly am.”

There was a heavy pause as she took a deep breath, like she was about to leap.

“And I see you, too,” she added, voice low, nearly reverent. “I want you.”

You couldn’t breathe you didn't allow yourself to, not wanting to take the chances for an embarrasing sigh of relief to tumble out instead.

The fire outside crackled faintly through the silence that followed.

You swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Ambessa reached forward, her hand brushing against yours in a tentative motion.

“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

Nither of you moved fow a moment Just stood there with her fingers brushing yours, like the it all might fall apart if you reached too far.

Then her hand shifted - strong and deliberate - sliding up your forearm, slow enough to ask without words. When she looked at you again, the steel in her eyes had given way to something raw.

“Tell me to leave,” she said, voice low. “Tell me I’ve missed my chance.”

Your breath hitched.

“Say the word,” she added, closer now. “And I’ll walk out of this tent, and we’ll pretend I was never here, that I never wanted you this badly.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because you couldn’t. Because you wouldn’t.

Instead, you reached for her, fingers curling into the front of her shirt and that was all the answer she needed.

Ambessa kissed you like she was reclaiming a part of herself she’d tried to live without. Her mouth was hungry, decisive, dragging a sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. One hand pressed against your lower back, the other tilting your jaw just enough to deepen the kiss.

It was not the kiss of someone unsure. It was the kiss of someone who knew what she wanted and couldn’t wait another second to have it.

You leaned into her like you couldn’t stop yourself, even if you tried. No hesitation left. Just the ache of finally being touched by the woman you’ve wanted for so long.

When she finally pulled away, her breath was unsteady. Her forehead rested against yours.

“You didn’t miss your chance,” you whispered.

Ambessa just smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you wonder how you’d ever doubted this.

And then she kissed you again - slower this time, but no less certain.

[freakalot]

“satoru gojo if you don’t shut up i am banning you from sex for an entire year.” ☆

satoru frowns against your neck, where he tries hopelessly to stifle his own moans. he’s spooning you in a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets, almost pathetic in his attempt to restrain himself. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.

“you know,” he half-whispers, half-moans into your ear. “i don’t think he’d care all that much if he woke up. i think he’s in love with you actually, i’d probably get to watch nanami kento beg on his knees to join us. ohh i like that idea actually, we should wake him—ah!”

you don’t know how else to quieten him down, so you reach behind you to pinch his side. all it does, really, is make him yelp and drive his cock even deeper into you, which makes you moan in turn.

you and satoru hadn’t had sex in so long, what with missions taking up so much time and the threat of societal collapse being somewhat of a libido-inhibitor. so when your joint mission with nanami ran over, and the higher-ups put you in a shared hotel room, satoru took opportunity as it struck. and you didn’t stop him.

now he’s balls deep inside of you as you lay facing the sculpted back of kento nanami. he’s laying with his back to you, breathing evenly in his sleep—each breath he takes pronounces the muscles of his back beneath the thin grey sleeping shirt he’s wearing. it does more to you than it should.

“you’re so fucking wet,” satoru whispers in your ear as his pace quickens. “what—you like this or something? being fucked five feet from nanami like this? hell, i like it. like showing you off. i'm like... sticking it to the man right now, babe.”

“he’s not even awake,” your eyes roll back as his tip brushes mean against your g-spot. satoru teases you with an open mouthed kiss to your neck, and then nips at the same spot.

"you sure, pretty?" he practically coos. "i think he's fighting for his fucking life right now. he was breathing like a monk until i mentioned him joining us."

you narrow your eyes at the sleeping man on the other bed. he's stilled and silent and obnoxiously toned and you swear you're getting wetter by the second and you also swear gojo can feel it because he's grinning against your shoulder like a fucking lunatic. you're about to brush him off, defend your coworker and friend and tell satoru to hurry up and make you cum so you can sleep when you see it: nanami shifts his hips.

it's so small of a movement that you might have imagined it, but you're too busy imagining how hard he must be to have to readjust like that. what must be going through his mind... listening to the two of you fuck like you're trying to get over something. he's either torturing himself with want right now or drafting up a letter to the higher ups in his head. maybe both.

"he's either awake," satoru reaches down and lifts your leg a little to reach sweet new depths inside of you. "or having the nastiest wet dream of his life."

something churns in your stomach, apprehension if you were a better person, and you part your lips to tell satoru to stop being an ass, but what comes out instead is a breathy moan so desperate it makes both men stiffen.

and nanami exhales. loudly. not in the sleeping man sense, this is choked out and heavy with something you don't dare name.

"oh nanamin," satoru sing-songs. "if you're going to cum in your boxers, come here and do it with a better view."

“satoru—” you hiss, mortified, melting at the same time, “stop—”

divine intervention is the only explanation. you must have some serious karma point stacked up and pocketed for a rainy day because, just as your breath hitches again, kento nanami is sitting up and planting his feet on the floor, eyes set dead on the two of you.

his pyjama pants are tight. when you let your gaze fall from his messy hair to the complete and visible outline of his hard cock, you think your heart stops. this is unseemly, and unprofessional, and everything that could be considered inappropriate. and if kento decides to walk out and complain, you and satoru are fucked, special grade status be damned.

“…you’re both ridiculous,” he says flatly, voice sandpapered. "this is wrong. abhorrent. foul."

he sounds exhausted. morally affronted. except his dick is so hard it must hurt and his eyes haven't once left where satoru's cock disappears inside of you. his gaze is heavy on you like a second set of hands. it's ungodly. you feel blasphemous, like maybe if nanami just looks at you a little longer you'd cum from that alone.

satoru thrusts deeper into you, but speaks to nanami. "you're hard."

"and you're loud." nanami exhales slowly, like he's giving himself a full ten-count to resist the urge to murder or run or maybe both. then he stands, finally meets your eyes, and softens his gaze a little. "you want this?"

your body answers for you, hips rolling back and pushing yourself deeper on satoru's cock. your thigh trembles where gojo holds it up and your voice comes out breathless and wrecked. "yes."

satoru groans, of course, and makes a show of squeezing one of your boobs in his hand. nanami doesn’t even look at him. doesn’t need to. his attention is all on you now, laser-focused and reverent like you’re a fucking sacrament. he reaches for your jaw, guiding your face up until your lips part just from the force of his presence.

“good,” he murmurs. “because i’m going to fuck you, both of you, until i can think straight again—and if i have to hear your voice even once during it, satoru, i will be gagging you."

your heart-eyed boyfriend cums inside of you at the implication alone.

and that is how you end up on your hands and knees in a twin hotel room in the dead hours of the night. kento nanami fucks his cum back inside of you for the second time that night, fingers digging so tightly into the fat of your ass that you don't doubt satoru will be teasings the marks left behind for days to come.

you splay your fingers over your boyfriends thighs, which is the only touch he's been granted since cumming inside of you. you stare up at him, he's got lidded eyes and this desperate look on his face as he watches nanami fuck you from behind, each thrust pushing your face just that little bit closer to his painfully hard cock.

though he can't complain, not with nanami's tie rolled up and stuck between his teeth. he tries, though, guttural moans and half-discernible pleads for more can hardly be heard over the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

you don't know why you never thought of satoru as a cuck. oddly, he's the type. still, that pretty look of desperation on his face is enough to have you squeezing around nanami's fat cock.

"settle down, gojo," nanami chides, squeezing your ass as if your boyfriend could feel it. "you're taking me next."

[miyaz6ki]

☆ wearing their clothes

synopsis. seeing s/o wearing their clothes for the first time :) (like shirts/sweatshirts or jackets/coats :pensive:)

the blade has spoken. erm... first draft being posted... i feel a little nervous after changing from reshinless to the user i use everywhere..

pairings. albedo, alhaitham, capitano, childe, wriothesley, diluc, neuvillette, kinich, xiao, dainsleif, wanderer

albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.

"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."

he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3

alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.

he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)

"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."

capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!

"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."

he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.

childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.

baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?

even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.

wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.

"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"

he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.

a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.

not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!

"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"

dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!

but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.

"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."

diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.

"...I don't.. deserve you."

he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.

kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!

and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3

"someone's having fun aren't they?"

you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.

when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?

and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.

"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."

he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.

finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.

but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.

you.. look.. good.

[smiteswrites]

A Different Kind of Pain

Part One

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

Tags: reader is a chemistry grad student bc i say so, shameless self insert, fem!reader, trying to avoid too many specific descriptors on readers appearance but i am new to this, reader is shorter than jack, widower!Jack, Jack talks ab therapy, trying to do justice to the fact that Jack is an amputee, but again I am not an expert, just some fluff and feelings, eventual smut, and so mdni 18+

A/N: Thank you all for the encouragement on the first version of this! It has been really really amazing to know people enjoy my ideas and writing and absolutely wild that y'all want more. I really love this idea and have many many plans for these two. I hope to get part two written and out this week. I am thinking around 3-4 parts total, but we shall see. This is starts similar to this post, but I made some changes and expanded quite a bit. I hope you enjoy and please send me asks/dms if you have any suggestions/comments/feedback on anything! I am always open to improving and learning.

gif credit - @iluvseb | divider credit - @cursed-carmine

Part One - 3k

Jack has been living in the left half of a red brick duplex, unit 101A, long enough to see a handful of tenants come and go on the right side, 102A. There was a college kid whose prefrontal cortex was just underdeveloped enough for him to be nothing but a pain in Jack’s ass. Needless to say, not his favorite neighbor. Then there was a young couple who were perfectly lovely until they had to move somewhere with two bedrooms to accommodate an incoming little one (Jack had been sure to give them his number in case they ever needed a friend in the ED). Most recently an older woman, Mrs. McAlister, who had regularly brought Jack all manner of baked goods and leftovers, had moved out and into her daughter's house. 

The unfortunate loss of Mrs. McAlister’s cooking meant that the right half of his duplex (and yes he thought of it as his by this point) was empty. Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creep in as he watched the last of Mrs. McAlister’s things be packed into a UHaul on Saturday afternoon. Would his new neighbor be another sweet elderly woman? Or would he get stuck with some obnoxious twenty something with no common courtesy? 

Fortunately for Jack, he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Housing got snatched up fast in a city like Pittsburgh, especially housing that was halfway decent and affordable, so it was no surprise that 102A was empty for under 48 hours. 

His first glimpse of the new tenant comes when Jack is arriving back home from a shift, just before 8 am on a Monday. He isn’t surprised to see a moving truck out front, nor is he surprised to see you directing the two movers on where to put furniture and boxes. He can tell you're young, in your twenties is his guess, which immediately sets his nerves on edge. Jack doesn’t think he can handle anymore house parties or loud hookups or trash left out. But you have a quiet, competent air about you that seems to indicate you aren't going to cause a ruckus. You appear to be alone, aside from the movers. He finds himself looking for evidence of a partner, husband, wife, without really meaning to. Forcing himself to not be overly nosy, Jack moves past the two men, now carrying part of a bed frame, and lets himself into 101. 

After a shower and the last of Mrs. McAlister’s roast (bless that woman), Jack is dressed in grey sweats and a black t-shirt, ready for bed. Despite the sleep threatening to overcome him, he finds himself looking out his window to check in on the status of your move. Apparently you had gotten here early, because he can see you handing the movers a wad of cash and sending them on their way. Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed his prosthetic and is hurrying to get the damn thing back on so he can step back outside. He may as well catch you as you’re heading back inside, introduce himself, make sure he doesn’t need to be concerned about having another pain in his ass next door. It is the neighborly thing to do after all, he reasons. 

Another moment finds him a couple steps outside his door, clearing his throat to catch your attention from where you’re examining the front facing window of 102. 

“I’m Jack. Abbot. I’m in 101. Figured I should introduce myself, welcome you to the neighborhood and all.” He outstretches his hand, wondering if a handshake is still what people do these days.

Smiling, you shake his hand firmly and give him your name, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. It is at this moment Jack finally takes you in fully. He was right, he thinks, you must be in your mid twenties, no ring on your finger, and certainly not a pain in his ass. You stand a handful of inches shorter than him, just enough that you have to look up to make eye contact. The smile you are giving him is radiant in a way that makes his stomach feel tight. He can see you’re flushed from the exertion of carrying boxes and helping to move furniture, and your hair has begun to fall from where you had it back. 

But even though you aren’t at your most put together, Jack is left feeling off balance, as he can only see you as the most raw and real kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that comes with a bright smile, dewy skin, and pink chinks. The kind that has as much to do with physical appearance as it does a person’s character. The kind of beauty that reminds him of his late wife when they first met. Even though he is just meeting you, Jack likes to think his gut is usually right about people, and his gut is telling him that you are exactly the type of kind, caring, intelligent person that spells nothing but trouble for him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jack! I hope the movers weren’t too much of a disturbance, it seems like a quiet little haven around here.” 

“About as close to a haven as you can get in the city,” he agrees with a small smile. “And don’t mention it, you weren’t a disturbance at all.” 

In the few minutes the two of you spend chatting he finds out you’re a fourth year graduate student, “A PhD in chemistry? You might just be a bigger masochist than me.” You somehow work nearly as many hours as he does, and he finds your work ethic dizzyingly attractive. You moved to the area in the hope of finding somewhere a little quieter, some place where you didn’t feel like people were packed in like sardines. You aren’t from PA, but you have a couple close friends in town and your family tries to visit often. You confirm his suspicions when you tell him you’re single and don’t have any kids or pets so there shouldn’t be any noise waking him up through the night.

“Actually, I’m an attending in the ED, usually on night shift. Sounds like you aren't home much during the day, but-” 

“Don’t worry Jack, I’ll keep it down during the day too. You can always bang on the wall if I’m being to loud,” 

He feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Thanks, sweetheart.” It slips before he can catch up to his mouth. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be giving you nicknames, and definitely not that kind, the pink that dusts your cheeks at the term of endearment is enough to make him want to call you nothing else. 

“Uh- listen I’ve gotta get to bed, but let me give you my number in case you need anything.  Neighbor or doctor wise,” he says, shooting you a wink. 

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you doctor.” 

And god, he knows you mean it in a teasing way, but it does nothing to help the steadily growing attraction he feels towards you. He knows he is at least 15 years too old, and far too emotionally unavailable to even entertain the idea of being with you. He knows. But when you smile at him like he’s just offered to hang the moon and stars for you, he really doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

It’s just his number, no harm in you having it, and certainly no reason it has to have any underlying intention behind it. That’s what he tells himself anyway. 

He puts his number in your phone when you hand it to him, putting “Jack Abbot” as the name and “the guy in 101A and doctor at PTMC” in the notes for good measure. You thank him again, giving his hand a squeeze as he returns the phone. You say your goodbyes, and he retreats into his black out curtain and noise machine generated paradise. The last thing he sees before shutting his eyes is a text from an unknown number with your name, just so he can save your number too. 

You are going to be a pain in his ass alright, a kind he didn’t even think to be worried about. 

After your initial introduction, Jack assumes (worries) the two of you won't see much of each other. During your initial meeting, in an effort to reassure him you wouldn’t make too much noise during the day, you had inadvertently given him your schedule: 6:45 am leave for work, 7-5 ish suffer, 5:30 pm arrive home from work. With anyone else he would be glad to know that there would be no one next door to disturb his sleep, but instead he could only focus on the fact that he would rarely, if ever, run into you. 

His assumption proved to be correct for the first two weeks of your time in 102A, only seeing you on occasion as he left for work. But, about halfway through week three, Jack wakes up earlier than normal. By the time 5:30 pm rolls around and he’s supposed to be on call for another 13.5  hours, he feels himself starting to get restless. It’s a nice day outside with a high of 75 and a low of 52, the sun has set enough to cast an orange glow on the city, but not enough that it’s going to be dark soon, and Jack has a rare burst of energy. His therapist has been telling him some sunshine goes a long way, and he didn’t spend all that money on the fucking sports prosethic to not use it. 

By 5:42 pm Jack is in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, sports prosthetic on. He makes it about two steps out his front door, still adjusting the stupid prosthetic, when he senses he isn't alone. Straightening up, he realizes you’ve just come out of your front door as well. His gaze travels upwards from your feet as he makes his way to his full height. You’re dressed similar to himself in athletic shorts with a matching jacket, and he has to force himself to not linger on the exposed skin of your legs. When he does meet your eyes, he finds you smiling at him in a way that suggests you caught his little slip up, but are too polite to mention it. 

“Hey Jack! Are you heading out for an evening run? Well- I guess it would technically be morning for you, sorry,” You laugh at yourself lightly, cheeks coloring only the slightest bit. Whether it’s from embarrassment at the slip up or something else he can’t be sure. 

Either way, he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I still consider this to be evening. I am a proud night lurker, there is no part of me that wants to be waking up before 3 pm.” A small fit of giggles overtakes you, and he feels his smile turn into something more genuine. 

“But no, not much of a runner,” he gestures to his right leg where the prosthetic is on display. “I’m on call tonight and can’t do much besides hang out here, figured a walk might do me some good.” 

To your credit, your expression only falters slightly when you take in his leg, quickly recovering to match his eye contact as you listen. You nod, humming warmly in agreement, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “I have to agree. I’m also not much of a runner but I try to walk after lab most days. I think it’s a great way to reset after a long day.” 

“Sounds like you’re the evening walk expert then?” 

“Something like that,” you joke back. 

Jack knows that the conversation is winding down, it’s time for him to wish you a good walk and find a reason to hang back until you go on your way. Wait to see which direction you turn before beginning to walk in the opposite way. But Jack also knows that you’ve been looking at him with an attentiveness that, while he gives freely, is rarely if ever matched. If there were ever a sign of not wanting a conversation to end, he thinks the way you’re looking at him is surely it. 

Fuck it. 

“Well, I’m new to this whole walking for fun thing, maybe you could show me the best route to take?” 

Your eyes brighten, “Of course! I mean, obviously I’m new to the area, but I think I’ve found a good path. It’s about 30 minutes, if that’s good with you?” 

“Of course, lead the way,” he gestures forward with his hand, indicating for you to lead the way, leaning forward slightly as he does so. If you notice the way he stumbles forward slightly as his weight shifts on an unfamiliar right foot, you don’t say anything. But Jack swears he you’re biting the inside of your cheek to fight off a grin as you walk down the steps. 

Fucking sports prosthetic. 

The walk is… nice. Nicer than Jack expected. He can hear the birds chirping in the trees that are awkwardly implanted in the sidewalk. He can hear the sounds of the city too (sirens, honking, a plane overhead) but they’re less pronounced than normal. The two of you walk side by side as you lead him through parts of his neighborhood he’s never really taken the time to look at. You point out a café that apparently ‘makes a mean oat milk latte.’ 

“I hate to fulfill the old white guy stereotype, but I only drink my coffee black.” Self-deprecation as a form of self-defence, the oldest trick in the book. 

“As horrifying as that information is,” you begin, closing your eyes and placing a hand on your chest, “I also can get behind a black coffee, so if you’re calling yourself old you’re gonna have to call me old too.” You smile at him and make eye contact for only a moment before breaking looking at the pavement a few feet ahead of you.

“Besides, you have got to be the sexiest ‘old guy’ I’ve ever seen so I’d be wearing that badge proudly if I were you.” You put your hands up in mock defensiveness and accentuate your point with air quotes. 

He really isn’t sure what to do with himself besides laugh. Looking at you now, he could tell that even if you were uncertain, you were not the type of woman to let him get away with putting himself down. Nothing to do but admit defeat. 

“I think I’ll be quite happy with that title.” 

By the time the duplex is coming back into view Jack has learned that you’ve been walking everyday for years after a suggestion from a therapist. He’s learned that you “actually thought about going to medical school, but turns out biology and me don’t get along.” He’s also relearned more about chemistry than he ever hoped he would have to after asking the simple question “What does your lab research?” 

He had told you his own therapist had suggested he ‘get his ass outside’ more often, and that maybe the shrink was right more often than he wanted to give the guy credit for. He also shared one of his gorrier work stories and had been impressed when you were hanging on to his every word rather than going green. More importantly, he had only let himself spend about 3 minutes total looking at the way the sunlight caught your hair, or the way it framed your face as it fell from the loose bun you had it in, or at your lips as you spoke rather than your face, or at the necklace laying against the soft place where your neck met your collar bones. Just 3 minutes, not bad at all, practically a record. 

As you approach the front steps you hesitate, and he feels it too, he thinks. The uncertainty of where the two of you stand with one another. Jack knows where he stands, and he has a feeling he knows where you do too, he hadn’t been the only one with a staring problem. But even if Jack thinks he knows, he doesn’t really know. 

“Thank you for sharing your route with me, I think I was right to call you the walk expert.” He shoots you a trademark Abbot smirk, trying to put a lid on whatever feelings may or may not have been simmering during the past 30 minutes. 

“Anytime Jack, it was nice to have some company.” The smile you give him in return is softer, warmer than his own. For not the first time, and certainly not the last, he feels torn about how to approach you. He knows this feeling, he’s felt it before and it landed him in a world of heartbreak and pain. It was a place he’s worked hard to move on from, and thank god he can see now that while yes feelings, raw and vulnerable, can end in pain they are also what make life worth living. 

He isn’t sure where the two of you stand, after all you’ve barely started to get to know each other. However, he is sure that he wants to at least give himself the chance to find out, no matter how scary or stupid a choice it might be.  

“Well… maybe we could do this again sometime? I know my therapist would throw a fucking party if he got word of me not only being out in daylight but also socializing outside of work.” 

“I’d love that,” you smile wider now, staring at your feet briefly and rocking back on your heels slightly before looking back up at him. “I’ll be here a little after 5:30 pretty much everyday, join me whenever you like. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he feels his own expression melt into something so sickly sweet his cheeks hurt. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight, Jack.”

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐭

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel jerks off to the knowledge of you taking a bath after waking up with a hard on.

Warnings: Male masturbation, pervy ass Joel, you are unaware that the horny old man is jerking off! Joel calls himself daddy, [ Under water ] Unprotected PIV, No foreplay no nothin just straight up fuckin’. Dirty talk. No beta, ya girl dont got TIME!

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts so I just thought I’d wrap it up and post it while im sleeping over my grandmas 😒 ALSO IK I JUST POSTED DAMN.

Wc: 2,070

Joel didn’t remember falling asleep like this.

How the thin sheet he had wrapped himself in now formed a tent over his thighs.

Oh, fuck. 

Morning– or, I guess for him it was afternoon wood. Off from work the idea of a nap sounded mouthwatering for once, the way his back sunk into the mattress no matter how firm it actually was. Feathery softness of the pillow behind his head. He hadn’t even bothered to much as wash his hands let alone take a shower.

Now aware, sentient his mind came to that familiar feeling of the need to plunge his cock into his fist. Shaft sticking straight up with his tip pushed against the cotton of his briefs. Leaking.

“Goddamn– fuck.” 

It wasn’t ideal. 

Neither was the dewiness of the sweat that had seeped uncomfortably into his skin. A musk that steamed off of him. 

He threw his legs over the side of his mattress, running worked fingers through his greying curls. Fuckin’ inconvenient. His palm slapped down onto the back of his phone that slept face-down on his end table. Picking it up to check the time. 

2:44 PM 

Before he left for work it was almost as if he could still hear your sweet voice telling him you were going out with your friend ‘til three. Sixteen minutes until you were back home. Sixteen minutes to jump into the shower and fuck himself. Unfortunately in the literal sense.

He popped up from his bed with a long rumbling moan that followed. 

Jesus Christ. He was fucking hard.

It was a heavy footed march towards the bathroom– out his door. Down the hallway. To the door on the right. 

The door was closed while he remembered leaving it open. Not that it mattered. Honestly he was so fuckin’ screwed right now he didn’t know his left from his right let alone when or if he actually closed the bathroom door.

He was just about to turn the knob when he heard something.

The grinding squeak of the faucet.

Water pouring out into the tub. Slapping against the pearly porcelain.

Just his fucking luck.

It would figure you’d be home now outta all times. It was out of the ordinary for you to actually come and leave the time you said you would. Joel got lucky sometimes. The days you actually did so.

Today, unlucky. More than usual. 

All the while you were meandering around the bathroom. Looking through every cupboard and drawer for things a fifty-seven year old man would never EVER store in his bathroom let alone go out of his way to buy.

But then one pull of the cabinet underneath the sink you saw it, the holy grail of this old man’s bathroom. One singular, milky white bath bomb. 

Oh my god. In a home like his it was as if you were a miner who had struck diamond. A rarity, absolute gem. 

You picked up the round chalky bulb within your palm, bringing it over to your bath. Using your pointer as a thermometer to check the water. Hot, steaming. Perfect. Stripping yourself from your clothes as you stepped into the tub one leg at a time. Soon enough it was your full body swimming within. Dropping the bath bomb in, biting your lip down to contain the ecstatic smile on your face as it fizzed.

Blissed.

Joel heard all of this. 

Shocks wracking to his cock just at the simple sound of the clanks of your belt as it dropped to the tiles of the bathroom. 

The water of the tub swishing back and forth as you sunk in. He could only imagine the sight. How much harder he’d be if he got to saw you slippery and wet, your naked body glistening with the hot water of the tub, face flushed from the warmth.

Fuck he’d give anything.

For weeks it was you in his dreams. The girl makin’ his cock stick up every time he woke up. At first the thoughts would make his stomach sink, chest tightening at the thought. He was sick. 

He was still sick. Although, he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed. 

He moved closer to the door as his breath hit the chipping, white painted wood. His hand moved down to squeeze his dick pulsing in his boxers. Gripping it, fuckin’ hating it for the ruthlessness. The cruelty. 

“Oh, baby.”

Whispering to no one as he pulled himself out of his boxers. His tip drippin’ with precum. Eyes screwed shut. Joel Miller was a sore fucker to in his head to tell you how he felt. Although he could easily bounce his fist up and down his stiff cock as you washed your pretty body that he spent his free time watchin’. Craving. Only separated by the door between. 

“Fuck. Makin’ daddy’s cock so damn hard you don’t even know.”

Moving lips pressed against the cold door. 

“You don’t even know, babygirl.”

No, you didn’t. And if this man wasn’t such a pussy those unspoken fuck-feelings that you damn well both felt for each other wouldn’t have to be so unspoken. 

He could tell you. He could tell you how you were gettin’ him harder than any disgustingly vulgar porno could get him. Than any pill he could swallow dry to get his dick workin’ again. The thought of you his own personal Viagra without needing to consume anything. 

The mind was a powerful thing. 

His fist pumped. Sloppy with himself as he had no need to go at a pace that made sense, that had that rhythm. He didn’t need to give himself that. Twitching as his bulbous head sputtered out slick that trickled down the length. 

His throat was tight as his hips jerked. Fuck fuck fuck. Pushing the tip of his cock into the door, already so close as if he had any need to control himself as he was trying to get this done. Get the job finished so he could go back to normal.  

Gaudily clutching, hugging his fat dick with his fist. His hips stuttering til–

“Oh, f–fuck–!” Too goddamn loud.

The hand that he had braced against the thick trim surrounding the door now palm his mouth. Oh this was really stupid. He was making it even stupider, riskier. 

If he continued to hold this sounds deep within his throat it’d explode. Or– at least it’d feel like that. His balls were drawing up, tightening uncomfortably taut. His pace slopping, slowing as ever quick yank and pull turning into a long, drawn stroke down the length. 

Another bubbled up. This time as he reached that peak. Cumming into his palm. Opaque seed spitting out onto the door.  

“Sweetie. Fuckin–!”

“...Joel!?”

The curses were the most obvious, seemingly too ashamed to really drive home those so-very-cute pet names as he moaned. 

You knew the sound of a moan, though. Maybe you were young but you weren’t a fucking dumbass. The sound of a male orgasm was much different than that ‘I stubbed my toe’ type groan. Even yell.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantaneously. He had no more excuses left in him unless he were to sputter meaningless claims. Begging you to believe he had just stubbed his toe on the bathroom door.

Aftershocks still running through his body in waves. Panting like a dog. Sweating like a pig.

You were basking in the warm water. Your heartbeat took quickly to picking up. Joel Miller. The man old enough to be your fucking father standing outside your bathroom jerking off to the little splashes of the water? Imagining your naked body on the other side.

And you. You were just a girl after all. Couldn’t help the curiosity that pumped in your veins.

“Joel, come in!”

He’d hesitate. How could he not? His breathing still ragged. His cock had hardly even gone soft. But goddamn if he didn’t see you he knew he’d absolutely be killing himself. Turning the knob like heaven was on the other side of it. —For him, it was even better than that. More exciting than eternal life.

The door was kicked open as he singled you out. Staring. Your body was slick as the lighting from the window sheened over your body. He was in there quick. Ripping his briefs off his thighs. By five seconds his cock began to stiffen again. Your tits glazed with the bubbly, soapy water that filler the bath. The normally clear bath water milky, fizz bubbled to the top from the bath bomb that had evaporated as Joel worked himself to his orgasm.

You’ve got his body overworked and you haven’t even touched him yet.

So worked up he forgot he even had his flannel on as he got into the tub. Water that just barely reached the top spilling out onto the tiles, he’d have to wipe that after. The thick fabric of his shirt clinging onto his skin like a fuckin’ lifeline. Hugging the soft muscle.

Stiffed. Once again stiffed. Slapping up against his belly as his hands gripped at your thighs.

“Joel—“ You’d mewl, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He had you.

“This pretty pussy. I ain’t never fuckin’ seen her before.

Why you been so cruel, huh?” He was rambling.

He pushed his head into you. Seeing you stretch out, getting used to the feeling of his tip first. Then he’d slowly let himself sink into your cunt. Gripping your thighs, his hips spasmed.

“Joel!” Another moan. Desperately clinging to him, wet hands placed on his fabric-covered shoulders.

“Got me jerkin’ off out there like a fuckin’ teenager.”

He whimpered, his pace already taking no time to quicken, expeditious and brisk. The man wanted to fuck you senseless. Taking your lips to his, pushing his tongue down your throat. Every moan between the two of you vibrating between your lips. Joel’s cock plunging in and out.

In. And. Out.

Rutting into you with every fiber of his fuckin’ being. He never felt a girl like this— so good, so beautiful and so fucking tight.

Joel Miller has never been so fuckin’ pussy-whipped.

The water of the tub was splashing, spluttering, it was messy. It was quick. Yet he knew afterwards, once the aftershocks yet again dissipated maybe he’d fuck you again. And again. And again—

“God— Fuck yes, Joel! Right there. Right there.”

Nibbling his neck every time his head curved up to kissed that soft spot that made you wanna squeal.

“Daddy’s gonna fuckin’ fill this sweet little cunt.”

He’d moan

“Fuck you S’good.”

His brain was mush. The filthy fucking words uttering from his lips weren’t ones he necessarily put thought into— or, better yet. He put none at all. His thrusts were getting tighter, rigid. His stiffy painful with every clenching, the contraction of the muscles in your hole.

You felt your climax right there. Right. There. Every time his fat dick carved a line right on your cervix you’d cry again, your fingers clawing, ripping down the fabric of his now soaked flannel. He was so practiced. Intently watching the contortions of your face. Your pelvis blew with the intensity of your orgasm, panting into the side of his neck, feeling that familiar euphoria you had always found by the touches of your own hand.

His peak followed close. Spilling his semen into your cunt shamelessly filling you to the brim. He didn’t fuckin’ care about the risks. Not now, definitely not now. All he cared about was how good you felt around him, deep within the hot water of this tub. His tub.

“Oh fuckin’ shit. Baby.”

Momentarily you felt as your eyes would roll back into your skull at the feeling of his cum being beat into your cunt, your orgasm forcing ecstasy making you smile against his neck. His hand braced on your belly, feeling the heat and tightness in your gut settle now that it was all done.

All done?

Miller’s been waitin’ months for this, ain’t no way in hell you were all done. He was gonna make you feel it again. Feel all of it again. Once, twice, three times over— all until you’re squirmy, all until you’re beggin’ him to let you take that breather.

“I fuckin’ love this pussy. Can’t get enough.” He’d drawl.

His face buried into the crook of your neck. Tongue flicking in light, lazy kitty-licks against the skin.

This’ll be lasting til’ the water’s cold.

[gf2bellamy]

Hear me out…reader on Spencer’s glasses and he’s struck by how pretty she looks. Or, reader puts her glasses on at work after her contacts dry out, and the team tease her for her glasses, but Spencer can’t help but find them adorable

pretty — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: i went with the first idea !! such a cute one <3

Spencer Reid took off his glasses for two seconds.

Literally.

Just long enough to scrub the sleep from his eyes, to blink away the exhaustion. The team had been working nonstop, and even his brilliant mind was starting to fog over. He set the glasses down on the table, rubbing his face with both hands before letting out a long, slow breath.

And that was all the opportunity you needed.

You had been bored out of your mind, stuck in the same chair for what felt like eternity, flipping through the same reports, waiting for something to happen. So when Spencer’s glasses sat there, unattended, you acted on impulse.You snatched them up before he could even register they were gone.

Spencer was too busy yawning, his jaw cracking as he stretched his arms above his head, his eyelids heavy. For a second, you thought he might actually slump forward and pass out right there on the table.

Grinning to yourself, you unfolded the glasses and slipped them onto your face.

The world immediately blurred. Wow. You hadn’t realized just how bad his eyesight was.

Everything beyond your own hands was a hazy mess of shapes and colors. You blinked a few times, adjusting, but nope, still useless. How did he function like this?

You were still grinning when Morgan walked in.

His eyes landed on you immediately, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face. “Well, look at you,” he said, voice loud enough to make Spencer jolt slightly in his seat. “Looking all nerdy.”

Spencer turned toward him, squinting, which was generous, because without his glasses, he could barely make out more than vague blobs of color. But then his gaze shifted to you, and his breath hitched.

There you were, his glasses perched on your nose, your lips curled in a playful smile.

“How do I look?” you asked, tilting your head.

Spencer’s mouth fell open. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because you looked nice. No, not just nice.

Pretty. Really pretty.

Something about seeing you in his glasses made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

Morgan dropped into a chair across from you, his smirk deepening as he watched Spencer’s dumbstruck expression. “Took the words right out of his mouth. Literally.”

You giggled, reaching up to take the glasses off, but Spencer’s hand twitched forward before he could stop himself.

“No, you, uh. You can leave them on. If you want.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Spencer swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. “You… uhm. You look very pretty.”

The words came out in a rushed mumble, barely audible, but you heard them. A soft warmth spread through your chest as you bit back a smile.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, deliberately ignoring Morgan’s quiet chuckle from across the room. But then you carefully slid the glasses off anyway, holding them out to him. “I think you might need these more than I do.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a subconscious pout before he could stop himself.

“You know,” you teased, “to see things.”

He turned even redder, suddenly mortified by his own words. Why would he tell you to keep them on? He obviously needed them to see. But before he could spiral further, you leaned forward in your chair. Spencer’s breath caught.

Your fingers brushed against his temples, gently sweeping his hair back as you carefully slid the glasses onto his face. You nudged them up the bridge of his nose with a light touch, your fingertips lingering near his skin just a second too long.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“You look pretty too with them on,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Both of you were silent.

Spencer stared at you. Wide eyed. Mouth hanging wide open.

And then Morgan cleared his throat. “Is he still alive?”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

series masterlist

this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

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

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

hii I was wondering if u could write something where daeho and reader are already in a relationship and they find eachother after the first round and maybe they are upset with eachother for going into the games.

anc if it could have a bit of fluff that would be nice!!

tyy🫶🫶🫶

At Least We Have Eachother

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho and you both join the squid games for the benefit of the other. Neither of you know about it, until you find each other after the first game.

Warnings- Squid Games, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- Thank you guys for the overwhelming support with my Daeho fic. I am so motivated right now, it's not even funny. He is such a sweet baby, MY SHAYLAAAA

Word Count- 1,192

Your debt was not something you were proud of. To be honest, it crept up on you. It started with medical bills, then Daeho ran into some Ex-Marines, who dragged him into a bad gamble.

From there it kind of went down hill. Struggling to pay bills, borrowing more money, making the wrong people mad. In other words, the two of you were in an extremely bad position.

When a strange man with a suitcase approached you on your way home, you were hesitant. In any other situation you might have ignored him and walked away. But, you had just had another invoice from a debt collecting company. Not to mention the loan shark that came up and threatened Daeho two days prior. The eviction notice was also putting a hole on your kitchen table.

The idea of following the funny-looking card, winning a bunch of money, clearing your (and Daeho) debts. It was too good to be true, you knew that deep down. At the end of the day, you were at rock bottom. Desperate people do desperate things.

So, while slipping Daeho a simple lie about spending the night with a friend... You took off to the discrete location alone. Where you were picked up by a van. You don't remember much after that.

The regret sunk in deep when you realized what you had gotten yourself into. When you awoke seeing hundreds of people around you, all in the same position, you were noticeably scared. You barely left the bed you woke in. Only to stand with the crowd to listen to the guards and sign the needed contract. It seemed too late to back out now...

The first game was lonely, intimidating, and revealing. The only reason you weren't lying head face in the sand dead, was your fear. It struck you stone-cold still on 'red light'. The ring of your ears pressured you to move forward on 'Green light.' Due to the deadly shots to other players. It pushed you to move so you didn't suffer the same fate.

You were much too nervous to talk to anyone, you saw little point in making friends at first. That was until the realization of any team games.

After the first game was officially over and you had returned to the common room, you'd taken a moment to think. To think how it would be if you were able to walk home now. How it probably wouldn't even matter if you had died, so many people were out for your head anyways. It was all looking dark, but Daeho was your light. He was always so positive, he kept you happy. You owed it to him to keep fighting.

To keep fighting for that adorable, handsome, sweet face. That same face that was currently staring you down....

"Daeho?" You questioned, just in case your mind was playing a trick on you.

"What are you doing here!" He ran over, pulling you further behind the layered beds. His grip was tight on your arm, once the two of you stopped, he seemed to notice. At that he quickly loosened his squeeze.

"W-why are you here! I-I thought you were sleeping over at-" You cut him off, your guilty conscience taking over.

"Daeho, what are you doing here?" You rebutted, frantically pushing your hair back. He knew you were nervous.

"To settle some of our debt, but that doesn't even matter anymore. People are dying, you can't be here!" He stressed over you. He did a few takes over your form, making sure you were not hurt in any way. You thought he was finished until he slowly brought his hand up. He stuck his thumb out and seared a few drops of blood off of your cheek. You hadn't noticed them before...

An argument against him was impossible to think of, but you managed. "Well I can say the same about you! You could get killed also. Where would that leave me!" He threw his head back, pressing both hands over his face. He dragged them down, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Ohhh, this can not be happening.. I-it doesn't matter, because you're here, where you were not supposed to be!" He started to fidget with his fingers, a sign he was distressed.

"Dae...I'm also here because... I got fired yesterday..." You looked down, picking at your nails. His head snapped to look at yours. "What?"

"They were... overstaffed and, apparently a younger employee could do the same amount of work for minimum wage... So, they just got rid of me..." He looked sympathetic, but still mad.

"You should have told me. We would have figured it out. You didn't have to lie."

You thought for a second, "Its not like I wanted to lie! I was trying to help us!"

"How reckless!" He said. It was almost comical!

A laugh pushed its way out, "Oh my gosh, don't act like you aren't here too!" You started to raise your voice, frustrated.

He took a single step back, hands on his hips. "You're supposed to be the smart one! I'm fun, loving, a burst of fricken light!" He said, his words contradicting his tone, not joyfully at all.

"Whatever! What matters now is that we were stuck in a death trap! The money is not even our first problem. We might not even be alive before the day is over! Or worse, you'll be dead and I'll be left to suffer!"

He gave another sigh, stepping forward and embracing you. It was exactly what both of you needed. His arms wrapped impossibly tight around you. You could only reciprocate the squeeze. His head fell on top of yours, he nestled in.

"I don't want to argue, I just want you safe... We will be fine." He said, keeping you in his grasp.

"I know, but I just wanted to help... The man seemed so promising, that we could have a normal life again." You wanted to let your tears flow, but you couldn't risk looking weak. You had to remind yourself that there were still a couple hundred other players in the large room.

He shook his head on top of yours, "I would live in a tent as long as I was with you.... I can manage anywhere, as long as you are by my side..."

You pulled back to look at him. Your arms still wrapping around each other. "I just, I know you're not happy... I wanted to clear everything up, one day own our own house. One that we can never get evicted from." He pushed a stray hair behind your ear.

"Oh Dae, I don't care about that. I just want you." You shoved your head into his chest.

"I love you.."

"I love you too."

"What the hell are we going to do here." You questioned, peaking up from his chest slightly.

"Were going to stick together. We're going to get out of this alive." He pulled back and down to press a firm and reassuring kiss on your lips. Maybe things would be so bad after all.

Oh, how naive you both were...

A/N- Honestly, I like my first Daeho fic better. But that's probably because I am a SUCKER for emotional hurt/comfort. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed this one. Pls lmk how I can improve!!!

[gianna-z-xdx]

His lips were warm. Desperate. Like he’d been waiting for this longer than he’d ever admit. You could feel it in the way his hands settled on your waist—strong, but gentle, like he was holding something precious. Like he didn’t want to break you.

You didn’t want to stop.

You didn’t know how long the kiss lasted—seconds, minutes, maybe more—but when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath hot and uneven.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, more to himself than to you.

You swallowed hard. “Then why aren’t you walking away?”

His silence was answer enough.

He didn’t want to walk away.

And neither did you.

Simon leaned back slightly, searching your face like he was looking for regret—but there was none. Only flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the same thing he’d been trying so damn hard to ignore: want. Need.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then turned and walked away—but only to the door. He reached out and locked it with a soft click.

Your breath caught.

The sound of that lock felt louder than any words.

When he turned back around, his entire posture had shifted. More tense. More certain.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, voice low.

“But we are,” you replied.

He crossed the room in three strides, and the moment his hands touched you again, your body lit up like a match struck too close to gasoline.

This time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was fire.

Your back hit the nearest wall as he pressed into you, one hand braced beside your head while the other tangled in your hair, guiding your mouth to his like he’d die if you pulled away. You gasped against him, fingers grabbing at the front of his shirt, and he growled low in his throat—that sound sending heat straight through your spine.

His lips moved down to your neck, slow but deliberate, and you felt the scrape of his teeth as he mumbled against your skin:

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, your hand slid under his shirt, fingers brushing the hard lines of his abdomen, the scars etched across him like a map of every battle he’d fought—and survived. He shuddered under your touch, then pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into with me,” he said hoarsely.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

His pupils dilated.

And that was it.

He spun you toward the bed in one motion, crowding you against the bottom bunk, the heat between you two nearly unbearable now. His mouth returned to yours with more hunger this time, more need, like he'd finally given in to every thought he'd buried for months.

The room was dim, the air thick, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest—and still, everything about it felt…right. Like this moment had been inevitable from the start.

But just as his hands began to roam further, exploring the skin beneath your shirt, his breath hitched and he stopped, forehead pressing to your collarbone.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I can’t… I want you. But not like this.”

You blinked, breathless and dazed. “Not like what?”

“Not in secret. Not with half my mind still in combat mode. You deserve more than just a fuck in a barracks room.”

His voice was rough. Sincere. Like it actually hurt him to stop.

Your chest ached with something deep, something unfamiliar.

“You’re not just a soldier to me,” he added, eyes locked on yours. “You’re not just someone I want to touch and forget about. You're in my head. All the time.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. “So what now?”

He exhaled again. Sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you between his legs, resting his head against your stomach. His arms looped around your hips, holding you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“You sleep,” he murmured. “And tomorrow, we talk about this. Properly.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair. “And until then?”

He looked up at you with eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“Until then,” he said quietly, “you stay here. With me.”

Hours later, you were lying beside him in the narrow bunk, bodies barely fitting, but neither of you caring.

You felt him before you heard him—the brush of his fingers against your hip under the blanket.

“Still awake?” he whispered.

“…Yeah.”

A beat.

Then: “You still want this?”

You turned to face him, barely able to see the outline of his face in the dark.

“Yeah.”

A pause. His hand slid up your back.

“Good.”

Because this time, he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t care.

taglist; @quest4cabbage

@babygurl97

@brown-girl-szn

@s-a-v-a-n-a-34

@tessakate

@lillybunni

@astridminsstuffie21

[loonylupinblack3]

Jealous

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content, slight violence

Summary: Logan see's a guy flirting with you and gets jealous

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: this was written while i was sleep deprived and had no idea where tf it was going so enjoy

Logan wasn’t a very jealous person. He never had reason to be; everyone knew you were his and he didn’t feel the need to scare anyone off. He knew you only had eyes for him, and he didn’t feel threatened by anyone else.

Usually.

Yet as he was watching you laughing with that guy at the bar, like he was somehow the most hilarious fucking person on this planet, all he wanted to do was walk over there and punch the guy square in the jaw.

He didn’t though, because he’d learnt from the past you were not a fan of his outbursts but fuck he wanted to. He could feel his claws itching to extend, to rip through his flesh and proceed to rip out that guy’s flesh. He knew you were dating Logan, he’d have to. He was a new mutant to the school sure but he’d been here for about a week. It was common knowledge you and Logan were in a serious relationship; he’d have to have heard about it by now.

So he was flirting with you knowing you were taken. He might as well have been flirting with death.

“Calm down there mate.”

Scott’s voice took Logan out of his stewing. He glanced at his friend, who had noticed his jealousy and was staring at him with an amused look on his face.

“Shut up,” was Logan’s gruff response, eyes going back to your smiling face, resisting the urge to walk over there and claim you as his right in front of the bastard.

He was also miffed with you, however. Surely you weren’t that dumb. Surely you could see the blatant attraction the man held for you. Yet you did nothing to diffuse the tension or let him know you weren’t interested.

“Dude, you’d think you had my laser eyes with the way you’re glaring at that guy,” Scott said, not helping Logan in the slightest. He wished he did have Scott’s lazer eyes so he could get rid of this irritating problem. 

Jean decided to walk up at that moment, casting Logan a weary glance. “I’m not sure how long he can take before he snaps.”

“I can hear you y’know,” Logan said through gritted teeth, though Jean wasn’t entirely wrong.

It was when the guy laid his hands on you, squeezing your arm the way Logan did, that he finally ‘snapped’ as Jean had called it.

His friends didn’t even try to stop him as he stalked towards you, knowing it’d be no use. Logan was ready to rip that man’s arm off his body if he kept touching what was Logan’s, and he wouldn’t even feel bad about it. He’d enjoy it. 

You turned towards him when he arrived, shining him a bright smile. God, you really were that naive when it came to other men. Logan knew he should be grateful, knew this obliviousness came from a place of love, where you simply didn’t see any other man that way so you didn’t pick up on the obvious cues, but right now it was doing nothing but irk him, seeing another man flirt with you and seeing you do nothing about it.

“Logan,” you greeted warmly, wrapping both your arms around one of his, and shaking the other man’s hand off in the process. A bolt of satisfaction struck him at the action, but it wasn’t enough to quench his overwhelming jealousy.

He tugged you closer, feeling a deep sense of contentment when you eagerly complied, and his irritation towards you lessened slightly. Noticing the man’s narrowed gaze as he watched the two of you however only increased it.

He raised an eyebrow at the man. “Something wrong?”

He tried and failed to mask his face, Logan seeing the twisted jealousy lurking beneath the surface. It was so similar to his own it caught Logan off guard for a second, and his own anger towards the man wavered.

That was until he opened his mouth. 

“Just the fact you can’t give your girlfriend more than five minutes of space before you’re crowding her again.”

Logan was going to kill this man.

You seemed to realise that too as your hold got a tad tighter, as if to hold him back. If you weren’t wrapped around his arm his claws would already be out, yet you knew exactly how to stop him, and had it so Logan couldn’t attack this son of a bitch.

“Excuse me?” was his response again, and the people around them quietened, as if sensing the danger.

He felt rather than saw Scott and Jean move closer, to protect Logan or the man he wasn’t sure.

The man scoffed, glancing at you who was certainly not smiling at him anymore. “You see her chatting to me and you have to barge in. It’s like you’re scared if she talks to another guy she’ll realise you’re not all that and fuck off while she has the chance.”

Yep, this man was dead. He couldn’t just run his mouth like that, in front of you, and expect Logan not to pummel him into the ground. He was going to make sure the man’s death was painful and slow, that he felt every cut and bone breaking.

Yet before he could do a single thing you stepped forward and gave the guy a glare so dirty Logan was relieved not to be on the receiving end of it.

“You speak about my relationship with Logan like you have any idea of what goes on between us again and I’ll fuck your shit up.”

The man looked so stunned he couldn’t even formulate a proper sentence. “But you- but he-”

“Did you ever think maybe I like having him around? That maybe spending time with my boyfriend is what I want? And even if I didn’t, did you really think I’d prefer you instead? A man who barely knows me yet tries to speak for me and insults the people I love?”

Logan was staring at you in awe. The way you kept going, stripping this man of his arrogance and self assuredness, ripping him to shreds verbally the way Logan would have physically, well, it turned him on. You matched each other so well he couldn’t help the smug smile tugging at his lips as he turned back to the now humiliated man.

“I think she said it all.”

He sent Logan one last glare, and he thought that would be the end of it when he caught the muttered “bitch,” the man sent your way.

Immediately Logan’s fist was in his face, slamming into his jaw, his nose, any piece of flesh he could find. He was barely aware of the gasps around him and you’re incessant tugging of his shirt as he grabbed the man by the neck and looked him in the eye.

“If you so much as look at her in any disrespectful way again, I’ll tear you to shreds.”

Then he dropped the man, watching him scramble upright and swear profusely at him- though not a single word or glance was directed at you- before getting the hell out of there.

Satisfied, he turned to find you glaring at him, hands on your hips with a stern look on your face.

Logan held out both his hands in defence. “What?”

“I had that handled.”

Logan grabbed you by the waist and tugged you close, and though you weren’t exactly happy with him you weren’t completely mad either, because the man had been a dick, and let him reel you in.

“I know Bub, I just couldn’t let him get away with calling you that.”

You sighed but pressed your head into his chest and Logan knew he was victorious. “Let’s just get out of here, yeah?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

You smirked, “I want to see how wild you get when you’re jealous.”

Logan grinned a purely animalistic smile as he brought you close, pressing his lips against your ear as he whispered roughly, “oh just you wait Sweetheart.”

[ariestrxsh]

olderbrothersbsf!matt x innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡ content warning: smut, getting caught, humiliation, thigh riding (kinda), forbidden love, matt and your brother low-key get into a physical altercation

જ⁀➴ ♡ summary: your brother figures out that you and matt have been sneaking around with each other and sleeping together

dividers by @/roseraris

Young God

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

It was a warm summer evening. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting pink and orange hues across the sky that poured in through the big living room window. Matt and your brother were side-by-side slumped into the cozy couch as their eyes danced across the screen of the television where two wrestlers were both struggling against the other to get the upper hand in the last round of their fight.

"I want to take your sister out on a date," Matt casually mentioned, peering over at your brother and scanning his face for a reaction. It had been a few weeks since you and Matt had started sleeping together, unbeknownst to your brother. "A date?" Your brother reiterated, skepticism radiating in his voice as he narrowed his gaze. "Matt, I've known you for fifteen years. I've never once seen you take a girl out on a proper date."

It was true. Matt had never once taken a girl out, paid for her dinner, and brought her back home at a decent hour. He mostly just had hookups, little flings, and casual sex, almost never with the same girl.

"Also, the answer is no," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at the fact that Matt would even suggest something so absurd. "I'm not asking. Well, I'm not asking you at least. I'm asking your sister. I was just giving you a heads up as a courtesy," Matt smirked, knowing you were already going to say yes.

"What the fuck, Matt? I told you to stay away from her," your brother stood to his feet. "She's a big girl. She can make her own decisions," Matt blurted out, making eye contact. Your brother shot him a look of contempt. "You know, I've been getting rusty. I've been meaning to practice my wrestling moves. Come on. Let's go, Matt," your brother challenged him, puffing out his chest.

"Oh, dude. Come on. I was never in your weight class. That would be totally unfair," Matt said, rolling his eyes, but your brother pulled him to his feet anyway. "Come on, Matt. Don't be a pussy." Your brother shoved him, clenching his jaw. Matt regained his balance, balling his fists. "She's not gonna say yes to you. She knows what a perv you are," your brother flatly responded, raising an eye brow. "Maybe she likes it," Matt sneered back.

When you emerged from your bedroom in your pajamas for the night, you walked in on your brother, tackling Matt to the ground and pulling him into a headlock. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled over to them. "Hey, stop hurting him!" You yelled, nearly putting yourself between the two of them to get them to stop. Your mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario - he knows.

Your brother rolled off of him and stood up. "Don't worry, sis. We were just brushing up on our wrestling skills. Right, Matt?" Your brother calmly responded, pulling Matt to his feet, but even the way he helped Matt up had a bit of resenetment behind it. "Yeah, I'm fine," Matt breathlessly answered. "See? Totally fine," your brother reiterated, slugging Matt hard in the arm but playing it off like it was a friendly gesture.

Matt winced, his hand gripping his bicep where your brother had struck him. "Yep. Everything's all good here," Matt assured you, but you could feel the thick tension in the room. Your eyes danced between both boys, searching for answers, worried that your brother had found out about the secret activities you and Matt had been taking part in together.

"I'm gonna go shower," your brother mentioned, giving Matt one last death glare before heading off down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't like the idea of leaving the two of you alone, but he couldn't stand to hear you say yes to a date with his best friend, and he certainly didn't want to hear the flirting leading up to the question.

"Were you guys fighting?" You asked Matt, your eyes filled with concern as Matt shut off the TV. "No, sweet thing. We were just messing around and showing each other wrestling moves," he assured you, caressing your cheek. "Want me to show you?" Matt bit his lip at the idea of pinning you to the ground.

You nodded. "Sure, that sounds like fun. As long as you don't hurt me like my brother hurt you," you told him, sensing his pain. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you. I'm just gonna teach you some basics. First, you gotta start off with a good stance," he told you, crouching down a bit and putting one foot in front of the other. He held up his hands. You mimicked his stance.

With his face a few inches from yours, he lightly grabbed ahold of your jaw and gently planted a kiss on your lips. You felt blood rush to your cheeks, and you gave him a shy smile. "Okay, I want you to try to take me down," he smirked at you. "You ready? Just use your body weight to try to pin me to the ground," He directed you, and you nodded in response.

You lunged, shifting your weight onto your forward foot and attempting to tackle him to the floor the same way you'd seen your brother do earlier. Matt hooked his arms around your waist and tossed you over his shoulder. "Nice try," he laughed, gently throwing you to the ground and holding you down by your wrists. "Gotcha," he whispered, his body pressed against yours, pinning you in place.

"See how I did that? Used your own attack against you? People underestimate defense in fighting. That's really how you master wrestling. It's less about attacking and more about waiting for your opponent to leave themselves open in an attack," he taught you. "And when they let their guard down, you counter their move."

Just as Matt said this, he loosened his grip on your wrists, and you took this opportunity to wiggle out of his hold, and when he went to pin you down again, you wrapped your legs around his neck, holding his head against your heat. "Wow. That was impressive. You're stronger than you look," Matt complimented you as you squeezed your thighs around his ears.

He tilted his head forward and started nuzzling your clothed clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your eyes rolled back, and a soft sound of delight slipped through your lips. He loved watching you go from being really shy and reserved to surrendering to the feeling of his mouth and forgetting how bashful you were for a moment.

"Mmmm," Matt hummed, pressing his tongue against the wet spot forming between your legs. You writhed beneath him, giving into your desire for him as he hooked his arms around your thighs and restrained your hips to keep you from moving around so much.

While you were preoccupied with the way Matt worked his mouth on you, he maneuvered out of the headlock you had him in with your thighs. He climbed on top of you, fixing your wrists to the floor and smugly smiling down at you. "See? You got distracted. If you wanna be a good wrestler, you can't let your opponent distract you," he pointed out, threading his knee between your legs.

He could feel your warmth radiating off of you. You both stared lovingly into each other's eyes for a moment, the sexual tension between the two of you building. "I know you're already in your pajamas, but how would you like to go on a date with me tonight?" Matt cooed, wetting his lips while he leered at yours. "I-I'd love to," you stammered with a surprised expression on your face.

You and Matt had briefly talked about going on a date, but after he didn't bring it up for a few days, you were starting to think he forgot. "We can go get desert. Maybe go to the drive in?" He requested, tightening his grip on your wrists. You bit your lip to hold back a whimper as Matt pressed his knee between your thighs, applying pressure to your sweet spot.

You weakly nodded, the muscles in your face relaxing. "I'd ask what movie you want to see, but I have a feeling we won't be watching much of it," Matt chuckled, leaning down and whispering into your ear as he continued rutting his knee into your pussy. His lips latched onto your neck, sending an exciting sensation through all your nerve endings.

He listened as your pretty moans floated out into the atmosphere and dissipated. He pulled back again to inspect the pleasure written into your expression, noticing your drooling cunt seeping through your layers and onto his pant leg. "Good girl," he purred as you started bucking your hips, rubbing up against Matt's thigh. He could tell you were getting close.

Your brother had just finished up with his shower, and he stepped out into the hallway and made his way into the living room with a fresh pair of pajama pants and a clean shirt on. His eyes immediately landed on Matt who was leaning over you, holding you down, and pressing his knee into your mound as he moved it in circles against your cunt.

"Like it when I push down right there?" He wondered, applying a bit more pressure and watching your eyes roll back again. You nodded, a whimper escaping your pink lips as you rolled your hips forward faster onto his knee. Neither one of you were aware that you weren't alone until your brother's voice startled you both. "Matt! What the fuck? What are you doing to my sister?!"

Matt immediately stopped rubbing his knee up against you, and his eyes flicked up to meet your brother's with a guilty look on his face, but it was too late. You couldn't stop yourself. The knot in your stomach came undone, your whole body twitching uncontrollably as you came, soaking through your clothes and onto the knee of Matt's jeans.

"You guys make me sick!" Your brother exclaimed, in shock of the depraved behavior you were exhibiting. "We were just wrestling," Matt said in a soft, unconvincing voice as he peered down at your fucked out expression, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "I don't remember learning about that in wrestling," your brother snarked.

Matt released his hold on your wrists, and you pulled yourself to your feet, sobbing and running out of the room. You were utterly humiliated, and when you sprinted into your room, you slammed the door shut and dove under your blanket.

"Dude. How could you embarrass her like that?" Matt asked, starting off after you, but your brother blocked him from getting past him. "I think you should go," your brother said to him. Matt just gave him a challenging look, snarling in his direction. "I'm not leaving before I talk to her and help her feel better."

"How? With your dick?" Your brother scoffed. Matt ignored his sly comment and went to push past him again, but your brother stopped him once more. "You've already slept with her, haven't you?" Your brother accused him. "What the hell are you talking about?" Matt shot back, avoiding his question, but his mind was flooded by thoughts of you and all the different positions he'd taken you in.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," your brother gruffed back, putting all the pieces together about how strange the two of you had been acting recently. "I'm not just messing around with her, okay? I really like her," Matt sincerely replied, holding eye contact with your brother. "Get out before I kick your ass," your brother responded flatly.

Matt knew he was testing his luck by pushing to see you, and he knew he actually would get his ass kicked if he stayed much longer, so without putting up any more of a fight, he turned around and walked out the door.

Not too long after he left, you heard your phone ring. You were still hiding under the covers, wiping your tears, and sniffling, but when you saw Matt's name on your screen, you had to hear his voice. You picked up, held the phone to your ear, and did your best to muster up the courage to say, "Hello?"

"Awh, sweet thing. You sound like you're still crying," Matt sympathetically said on the other line. "I'm just really embarrassed," you admitted after a few seconds of silence. "That's okay. It happens to the best of us. Sometimes you get caught, and then you move on," Matt told you.

"You've been caught before?" You asked, sniffling and wiping away your last few tears. You sounded a bit surprised. "Yeah, but it was even worse because my mom walked in on me," Matt confessed to you. You gasped. "Your mom?"

"Yeah, so count your blessings, because it could have been way worse," Matt chuckled into the phone. You giggled along, feeling way better after talking to Matt. "Your brother did seem pretty mad when I left, but with me, not at you. I swear, you can't do anything wrong in that man's eyes. Just give him a couple hours to cool off, and I'm sure everything will go back to normal."

You spent the next twenty minutes on the phone with Matt, finally finding humor in the situation instead of being consumed by embarrassment over it. He made you laugh, he made you smile, and he made your heart flutter when he confirmed your date, telling you go take a shower, put on your prettiest dress, and he'd be waiting for you outside in an hour.

You did just as he said, shaving your legs and scrubbing every inch of your body, the whole time looking forward to your date. You sat in front of your vanity, applying your makeup and holding a few different dresses up to your body in the mirror. You finally settled on a sleeveless black dress and a pair of strappy, black high heels.

You had just finished topping off your look with a bright red lip and spritzing yourself with a floral perfume when your phone vibrated. It was Matt, letting you know he was waiting outside in his mustang. You took a deep breath, staring down at the text and realizing you were going to have to face your brother on your way out the door.

You smoothed out your black dress, admiring the way you looked in the mirror before spinning around and heading out your bedroom door. You tried to walk quietly down the hall, but your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, earning your brother's attention as he craned his neck around from the couch where he was still watching some dumb wrestling match.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He asked, his jaw tightening when it occurred to him that you might be going on your first date with Matt, the same Matt who had been his best friend since childhood, and the same Matt he'd always warned you to stay away from.

"Out," you responded, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes and giving him the kind of attitude you'd never had the courage to give him before. Before he could stop you or try to talk you out of it, you were storming out of the house and trotting down the driveway to Matt who was pulled up next to the curb.

Your brother swung the door open after you'd slammed it in his face. "If you don't have her home by midnight, Sturniolo - !" He called after the two of you. "I'll come home when I want to!" You shouted back, interrupting him and continuing your journey down the driveway. Your brother stood completely dumbfounded in the doorway as you got into Matt's mustang.

"Fuck. You look and smell amazing," Matt told you, placing his hand on the inside of your thigh and leaning in to press his lips against the side of your neck before the two of you drove off into the night.

part six here ❣️

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Solitude Chapter 2

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Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Pirates x GN Child Reader

5.8k words

Summary: You are finally graced with an opportunity to be off the ship, but can you handle it?

Warnings: kidnapping themes, violent assaults, death, decapitation, angst, trauma, ptsd symptoms, yandere themes

The much requested chapter two is here, and I hope it lives up to expectation! Thank you to everyone who left such kind comments on the last chapter, it really helped to motivate me to continue!

When you lost consciousness after those pirates surrounded you, you honestly hadn’t been expecting to ever wake up. You made the foolish mistake of stealing from them, so now they would make you pay with your life. That made sense to you. It’s what pirates were supposed to do, right?

So why were you still alive? And why were these pirates so… 

Weird.

There wasn’t any other way to describe these people. You stole food from them. You tried to attack them- twice. And that all happened before they even brought you to the ship. They had no reason to do anything that could be considered kind or generous for you, and all the reason to harm or even kill you.

By the time you came to, several things struck you all at once. The most obvious being that you weren’t on the island anymore. You had woken up in an unfamiliar place. All of the walls and the floor were made of wood like your treehouse, but it distinctly was not your treehouse. Other differences trickled in as your senses returned.

The hardest thing to miss was how much your nose hurt. You had become accustomed to the constant ache ever since you broke it all those years ago, but now it once again felt the way it did the day you broke it. Though you could suddenly breathe through your nose with ease rather than having to rely on getting air through your mouth.

Along with that, you found that your hair was gone. Not completely, but it was now extremely short, feeling almost prickly to the touch. Then there was the smell. You smelled weird. While you couldn’t really describe what you smelled like before this, the new, more unnatural scent was impossible to ignore. It was beyond you what could have happened to you in your sleep, much less why.

Eventually, you would get answers, but they didn’t make sense to you.

Your nose hurt because Marco rebroke it to “make it better”. It was fine as it was in your humble opinion. Not perfect by any means, but you were managing it, so you found his efforts extremely unnecessary. Your hair was gone because it was matted together and apparently unsalvageable. This one bothered you less since your scalp didn’t hurt anymore and you no longer had to worry about clumps of hair obscuring your vision. The weird smell coming from you was something called “soap”. You didn’t know what exactly it was or what it was supposed to do beyond make you smell weird, but it was forced upon you every time they made you take a bath regardless.

What you still didn’t understand about all of this was the why. What did they have to gain from doing all of this? They were wasting resources and energy on you for nothing. It’s not like you were helping them just by being there. All that your presence on the ship amounted to was that there was now someone scuttling around the crawlspaces and swiping food from the kitchen. You had all the benefits of a large rat.

Yet they persisted. They kept you fed and clothed, and some of them were even trying to teach you things. Thatch had an ongoing effort to try and teach you how to prepare and cook food. A foolish idea, truly. You just ate whatever he handed to you. Sometimes, if you were particularly full, you would go along with it, but you weren’t any good at it if Thatch’s constant corrections were anything to go off of. Why did it matter if your hands were washed or if you dropped something on the floor? It was unclear.

Then there was Marco and his battle against your illiteracy. This was by far the most frustrating aspect of being trapped on the ship. Reading and writing won’t help you survive. It won’t fill your stomach or kill threats. It all felt pointless and needlessly difficult. There were too many things to remember, and the effort to commit all of it to memory just didn’t seem worth it to you. Especially not when it meant that you had to spend time around Marco the nose-breaker. 

Up to this point, they have kept you trapped on the ship. The reasons varied depending on who you asked. Marco said that it was because they wanted you to be in better health before setting foot on new lands. Thatch’s claim was that they didn’t want to overwhelm you after having spent your life on an unpopulated island. Ace was the only one that you felt was being honest. He laughed and ruffled your hair when you asked, then told you point blank that they all knew you would make a break for it the second you thought you could.

It was your belief that you were damned to be stuck on this ship until the day you died or could pull off an escape, but that all changed today. The Moby Dick had docked at an island to restock the ship’s food supply, and you were going along to help.

This felt like a trick. Possibly a test. Everyone had gone through great lengths to keep you on the ship every other time it had docked, usually by tossing you at Whitebeard and having him hold you until they set sail again. The one time that they didn’t, you did exactly what Ace thought you would and tried to run only for his overgrown cat to stop you. It was nothing short of humiliating to be dragged across the deck by a cat by the straps of your overalls.

But as you stared at the bustling crowd in front of you, you were able to rule out it being a lie. Sure enough, you were off the ship. It’s not like this was your first time seeing a populated island. Whitebeard’s absurd height allowed you to easily spy on the towns they docked at while he held onto you. But now you were in the thick of it, and that was an entirely different experience.

The unending chatter of the people felt like it was assaulting you from all angles, the cobblestones beneath your feet were unnatural, and you couldn’t see a single tree. As much as you were loath to admit it, Thatch had been right. You were overwhelmed.

A hand came down on your head gently, making you tense and look up at the offender. Thatch was crouched down, attempting to be closer to your height, yet still dwarfing you. He regards you with a warm smile, “You feeling okay, kid? If this is too much for you, we can go back to the ship at any time.”

You bristled at the contact, quickly stepping forward and shaking your head to dislodge his hand. Who knows when or if they’ll let you off the ship again, you don’t want to squander this. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Thatch sag from your actions, then push himself up to his full height with a sigh that was utterly dramatic.

For whatever reason, Thatch seemed oddly focused on gaining your approval. Granted, everyone on the crew made attempts to get close to you, but he was particularly dedicated to the cause. If he wasn’t giving you food or trying to show you how to do something in the kitchen, he would do other strange things like checking on you throughout the day and bringing you back random gifts whenever he left. The purpose behind any of these actions was a mystery to you.

As much as you want to boldly march forward and capitalize on this opportunity to its fullest, your feet feel heavy. All that you want to do is find a quiet, compact place to crawl into and hide in to escape this onslaught of noise and people. 

But… if you never get used to this, you'll never be able to escape. Enduring this seems to be a necessary evil.

Wanting to keep yourself from being ushered back to your prison, you begin marching forward. You had no idea where the market was, but that was neither here nor there. If you didn't show some semblance of bravery towards this new setting, you're sure they'll cut this excursion short. 

Everyone falls into step all around you, obscuring your vision of the surrounding area; though you could still hear the crowds loud and clear. 

Marco's hand settles onto your shoulder, much to your dismay. You scowl at him and try to shimmy away, but he easily holds you in place.  

“Do you remember what I told you? About how you can't just take things here? You need to wait for us to pay for the food before you eat it, okay?”

“I remember… not stupid.” You finally manage to break his hold and quickly relocate yourself to be on the other side of Thatch to maintain some distance. 

Ace chuckled and lightly shoved your shoulder, an action that he claimed to be “playful”, whatever that means. 

“Oh, come on! Don't be like that. Marco is just looking out for you so you don't get in trouble. Besides, you have earned a reputation for having sticky fingers, you know?”

The odd statement immediately prompts you to look down at your hands and rub them together. You then look back up at Ace with scrunched brows, “Not sticky.”

This makes him, as well as a few of the other people in your entourage laugh. Izou speaks up after the laughter dies down to clarify, “He didn't mean it literally. It's a figure of speech. It just means that you have a tendency to take things that aren't yours.”

“Do not,” you grumble quietly, more to yourself than anyone else while stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Just pick things up.”

“Just because someone isn't actively using something doesn't mean it isn't still their's. You've become a real menace to all of the smokers on board, what with your fascination towards lighters.” Marco hums in thought, then tacks on, “Though I suppose all of them smoking less isn't the worst thing that could happen to them.”

Ace groans in annoyance, dropping his head back, “They aren’t smoking less, they’re just harassing me instead. Now I've got half the crew pestering me for a light every minute of the day.” He shoots an accusatory glare your way, “I bet you have some on you right now, don't you?”

Your hands reflexively tighten around the lighters in your pockets, “... No.” Lighters were by far the best thing you've discovered since your abduction. Gone were the days of beating rocks together to make a spark and hoping that it took. Now all you needed was a quick flick of your thumb, and you had a perfect flame. Collecting such a precious tool was important. So what if some other people claimed they “needed” it? They weren't even starting fires. They only ever used them on those smelly sticks whose scent makes your eyes and nose sting. These lighters were obviously put to better use in your care.

“Yeah, right.” Ace drops his scowl and grins again. “I can't stay mad, I guess. I was stealing way more stuff than you when I was your age. I think you and me would've made great friends.”

“Doubt it…”

Ace brings a hand to his chest in mock despair, “So cold! You really are just like me when I was a kid. I bet Luffy would love you.”

Immediately, he started prattling on and on about that brother of his. A common occurrence that you have long since learned to tune out. 

What you decided to focus on instead was how the crowd was getting denser and more loud. Everyone was talking, some even shouting, as the masses all swarmed around one area. What hell is this?

“Damn. Of course we got here when the place is packed.” Thatch surveyed the commotion with a weary look on his face, not appearing to like this anymore than you did. 

Ace, completely unphased, continues walking, “Don't worry, I'm sure at least half of the people will clear out when they see a bunch of pirates walking around. Then we'll have the market all to ourselves.”

This is the market? The place you're supposed to get food from? How awful. How is anyone supposed to get anything when there are so many people here? Everything will be taken in seconds, and all of the noise means that there won't be any animals nearby to hunt. 

Once again, you feel that uncomfortable ache in your gut, accompanied by sweaty palms. You've never seen so many people at once before. Groups were a bad thing at the best of times, but this unending crowd was more than you knew how to handle. It was more than you ever thought was possible. 

Someone touches you again, on the shoulder. Your body goes rigid and you snap your head around to look at the offending hand sharply. It was Thatch. Of course it was him. It usually was.

“We can go back to the ship any time you want. I don't want you to take on more than you can handle.” He smiles, eyes shining with hope, “You can even hold my hand if you need to.”

“No.”

Thatch sulks again. He's good at that. 

As your group enters the market, you're all forced to walk very close together to the point of bumping into each other. You almost grab onto Thatch’s coat to lessen the odds of becoming lost in this crowd, but you refrain. He would absolutely be weird about it. All of them would be. 

To keep yourself from being overwhelmed by all of the people, you focus your attention on scouting for food in hopes that there might still be some left. 

You can't believe what you see. Piles and piles of food are everywhere. Everyone is taking, yet there is such a surplus that there is more than enough to go around for everyone here. How… How is this possible? You never thought so much food could exist at once, and definitely not all in one place!

In your state of shock, you hadn't even realized that you'd stopped walking. Not until someone bumps into you from behind. You stumble forward, but are steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You stiffly look back at who's touching you and see that it's Marco. Your lip curls in disgust, and you're quick to pull away and catch up with everyone else; all while pointedly ignoring him questioning if you were feeling okay. 

“(Y/N)! Why don't you come and pick out something to celebrate your first time off the ship?” 

Thatch is standing by a table among the mountains of food and gesturing you over excitedly. You cautiously approach him while eyeing the wide array of fruit spread out on the table, some that you recognized, some that you don’t. Your eyes settle on a pink fruit that has green leaves coming off of it like spikes.

It was very odd looking. You look up at Thatch while pointing at it, “Devil fruit?”

The plump, middle aged man with graying hair sat at the table laughed loudly and slapped his knee, “A devil fruit? I wouldn’t be working as a fruit peddler if I had that many devil fruits lying around!” 

Thatch also laughs, though not quite as hard. He ruffles your hair, as he so often does, “That’s a dragon fruit. Do you want to try it?”

You’re about to nod, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye. Large red, seed-covered berries that you had recently gotten to try. You ate them by the fistful, loving the sweet and tangy taste they had. Eagerly, you point at them, “Want those.”

The fruit peddler grins, “Your kid’s got a good eye for quality! Between you and me, I’ve got the best ones here! Though I might be a little biased.” He chuckles and stands up, picking up a basket while asking Thatch how many he wants.

Excitement buzzes through you at the prospect of getting to have your newest favorite treat. But unfortunately, your joy was not to last. Marco crouches down next to you, and taps the sign in front of the berries, “Do you remember what these are called?”

“Berries.”

Marco shook his head, “But what kind? Can you try sounding out the word?”

Just like that, your good mood shrivels up and dies. Why must Marco insist on ruining everything? You stare hard at the squiggles on the sign, none of them making sense to you. Of course you couldn’t read this. He knew that you couldn’t. You know that you’ve been told what these berries are called, but you can’t remember it right now.

He doesn’t drop it when you remain silent. He points at the squiggle on the far left side, “Come on, I know you can do it. What sound does this letter make?”

While all of the letters were just shapes to you, this one was the squiggliest of them all, completely lacking in any straight lines. It somewhat resembled a snake to you. Your eyes widen slightly as something clicks in your brain and you recall one of your lessons with Marco.

Marco holds up a card with two shapes on it in front of you. They’re identical, but one is significantly smaller than the other, “And this one is an “S”. It makes a ‘sss’ sound like a snake. Now say it back.”

“Ssss…” You quietly mimic the sound from your memory, making Marco smile.

“Yes, that’s right!” His finger moves to the right, “Now what about this one?”

Your victory was short lived. You stared hard at the second letter, but nothing came to mind. There was nothing about the two straight lines crossed over one another, the horizontal one being shorter than the vertical one, that made you think of a connection to its sound. You were completely and utterly stumped, and you doubted that Marco would let it go.

Movement behind Marco catches your eye, and you see Thatch standing there and… moving his lips but not making any noise? Was he being weird again? Probably. But he was being awfully persistent. He was staring into your eyes while making the same mouth movements over and over again, and you felt compelled to try and understand it.

S… St… Str… Wait-

“Strawberry!” The answer comes out much louder than you had intended, but you couldn’t help it.

Thatch claps excitedly, “There we go, I knew you had it in you!” He closes and reopens one of his eyes quickly, an action you recall being referred to as “winking”. The basket of strawberries is then deposited into your open arms.

“Paid?”

“Yes, they’re all yours, kid.” Thatch watched as you immediately grabbed two and stuffed them into your mouth. His eyes widened and his smile partially drooped, “Hey, wait! You aren’t supposed to eat the stems!”

His reaction makes you pause your chewing. “Poisonous?”

Thatch sighs and his shoulders slump as he scratches the back of his head, “No, they aren’t poisonous, but most people don’t eat that part of it.”

You swallow your mouthful, then grab another berry, “Tastes fine.” With that said, you pop another whole strawberry into your mouth.

He sighs and shakes his head, while muttering something under his breath about “picking his battles”. You two aren’t fighting. Not right now, at least. Perhaps later.

The rest of the food procurement passes by rather uneventfully. Marco mercifully stopped quizzing you after the strawberries, and you were admittedly more focussed on eating than examining your surroundings. By the time you had finished your snack, everyone had finished shopping. 

It was while you were absent-mindedly swinging the empty basket in your hand that your eyes had finally started to wander again. The docks were packed with ships, mainly civilian, but you could see a few pirate flags billowing in the wind. As much as you hated to see them, you couldn’t help but examine each one.

Of course, there was Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger. Though it was still quite far away, the sheer height of the mast made it stand out among the rest. Your eyes flitted from one flag to another, taking them all in in an almost bored daze-

Everything stops.

The world around you falls silent and ceases to exist as you spot a Jolly Roger with a knife stabbed into the top of the skull and poking out one of the eye sockets. 

“Are you sure about this? They’re pirates, we have no idea how they’ll respond. It would be one thing if this was a marine ship, but pirates are too risky!” Mom’s words came out in a rushed hiss.

Dad’s gruff exterior doesn’t waver in the slightest. “Do you think I don’t know that? I don’t like this either, but what else are we supposed to do? We can’t survive here much longer, and there is no telling how long it’ll be before another ship stops here. Or how long it’ll take for that ship to be a “safe” one. I’m going to go speak with them whether you like it or not.”

Mom inhales sharply and drops her head down as her fingers drum on her gaunt waist. She exhales softly, “I know we can’t afford to wait… but there is a lot worse they could do beyond telling us no.”

Dad’s expression finally softened. “I’m aware… I promise that I’m not trying to be thoughtless about this, but we need to act now. There isn’t enough food on this island to feed even one person properly, much less all of us. Our child deserves to have a better life than this.”

“Fine… but I’m coming with you. They might be more sympathetic if we tell them that we have a family at home that is looking for us.”

The wicker basket falls to the ground and rolls away, not that you pay much mind to it as you take off in a sprint. Distantly, you register your name being called out, but you can’t focus on that now as you dart through the once intimidating crowd with one goal in mind.

Mom crouches down and gently cups your face as she speaks in that comforting, soft way she always does with you, “We’re going to be right back, but you need to stay right here until we come back for you, okay?”

Your lips purse, and you anxiously dig your heels into the dirt, “Why are you guys going if it’s so dangerous?”

“Sometimes you need to take risks in life, even when it feels scary.” Dad hazards a glance your way while loading his gun. You aren’t sure why he’s doing that when he isn’t planning on going hunting.

“Can I come? I want to take a risk, too.”

“No.”

Both mom and dad speak at the same time in an equally harsh tone, one exclusively saved for when you do something that could have hurt you or them. You shrink back and frown.

“We’ll be back before you know it, just stay in the treehouse. Please.” Mom kisses your forehead and stands up. “I love you. We’ll be back. I promise.”

A sharp turn nearly makes you fall on your face, but you catch yourself on your hands and push yourself back up. You run as fast as your legs will carry you as you close the distance between you and the ship.

It comes into view, and you spot several people walking off of it. You know them. You can never forget them. Especially not the one with a ratty black mane of hair on his head and face. An eyepatch covers his left eye now, but it isn’t enough to fool you. 

As you quietly creep through the brush, you hear a commotion on the beach. You rush forward until you can see the shoreline. Mom and dad are there, backing away slowly as a large group encroaches on them.

“You want me to give you lot a ride? Does this look like a cruise ship to you? Do you have any idea who I am?” The man with dark hair stalks towards them, looking amused, but also another thing that you couldn’t place. His eyes made you feel nervous despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at you.

“We won’t be freeloaders! We’ll work for our passage! Please, sir, we’re desperate! We have a family at home, please let us get back home to them!” Mom was clutching dad’s arm. Her head swiveled as she saw all of the pirates surrounding them.

The man let out a bark of laughter, “From the looks of you two, they probably already think you’re dead. But, since I’m so nice, I can tell them as much if you tell me where they are. After we’re done here with you two, of course.”

Mom and dad’s faces go pale. “Run!” Dad pushes mom away just as a pirate lunges at them. Dad punches him, then another as mom sprints away.

The knife strapped to your side is ripped free from its confines. You’ll have to thank Ace later for sharpening it for you. Your feet pound against the wood of the docks as you gain on your target. You raise the dagger and get ready to leap at him.

Just as you do, he turns and sees you, and then arms lock around you from behind, yanking you up and back.

Several men rush past dad, chasing mom. One of them, the one that had been speaking, grabs her by her hair, and throws her to the ground. She screams and fights to get her hair free, “Please don’t do this! Please! We’ll leave!”

“Get away from her!” Dad’s voice came out in an enraged bellow. He knocks down the last pirate he was fighting and rips the rifle from his back. He aims it at the pirate attacking mom, and then there’s a loud BANG.

But not from his gun. All you can do is stare powerlessly in horror. Where his head once was is nothing but a bloodied stump. His body sways, then crashes to the ground.

(Y/N), stop! What has gotten into you?!” Thatch’s voice is right behind you as he struggles to keep his hold on you. You thrash wildly as a series of raw screams tear out of your throat. Ace is holding onto your dominant hand and trying to pry the dagger out of it to no avail.

“What’s with that damned brat of yours?” The dark haired man stepped closer, looking almost bored. “They just tried to kill me. I’ve ended lives over far less.”

“C-Captain! Those are Whitebeard’s pirates. Just let it go.” A smaller man puts himself between you and the captain.

“I know who they are, but I think that I deserve an apology at the very least.”

“Capt-” The man is harshly shoved aside by the captain who is now even closer, only adding to your rage.

“You killed them! They just wanted help, and you killed them!” The accusation shreds your throat as you scream it. All of the hands touching you go stiff at your voice.

Mom shrieks dad’s name and begins to sob and fight harder. The man lifts her off the ground by her hair and throws her away. As she’s laying on her back and struggling to breathe, her terrified eyes meet yours.

“Killed who? You’re going to have to be way more specific, kid.”

Just as quickly as mom sees you, she looks away. She frantically looks around as she pushes herself back, then looks up and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Get away!”

“That isn’t going to happen, sweetheart. We aren’t going anywhere until we’re done.”

“I saw it!” You don’t answer his question. You can’t.

Mom takes him off guard when she abruptly lunges at him. She unsheathes her hunting knife and swings it at his face. He stumbles and falls, and she goes down with him and keeps stabbing, all while screaming “get away” over and over again.

“I saw it!”

The other pirates throw mom off of him, descending on her like a pack of wild animals.

“I saw it!”

A club slams into the side of mom’s face, sending out a spray of blood and teeth.

“I saw it!”

A foot rams into mom’s stomach, forcing more blood out of her mouth.

“I saw it!”

A sword is stabbed into mom’s leg, keeping her in place. 

“I saw it!”

The dark haired man finally gets to his feet and marches over to mom’s battered, bleeding body and draws his gun. You can’t take it anymore. You turn and run. You run as fast and hard as you can as mom’s screams come to an abrupt end following a gunshot.

“I- I- I-” All words and thoughts fail you. Your body goes limp as loud, painful sobs tear out of you. Your dagger- mom’s dagger- falls and embeds itself into the wood of the dock.

What was wrong with you? He was right there. He was right in front of you, but you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t will your body to do anything but cry. The wet heat of your tears feels completely alien to you. You haven’t cried since that day. You forgot what it was like. 

“Hold on,” the captain stares hard at the dagger, “I know that knife! That belonged to the bitch that took my eye!” He laughs, and it makes you feel just as sick as it did the last time you heard it, “I should have known their story was a load of shit! Of course that family they were crying about was actually on the island. I wish I would have put that together before, because then I could have-”

In an instant, you see Izou standing next to the captain. A single flintlock pistol is raised, pointing right at the captain’s head. You see his finger tightening around the trigger, then everything goes black as a hand clamps over your eyes.

A deafening gunshot rings out, enforcing a hush over the crowd. After a beat of silence, a shaky voice calls out, “Captain! You! You’re going to-” Another gunshot. Panic breaks out on the docks, you can hear people running and screaming. You don’t react to any of it, you just hang limply in the air. Your tears have run dry. Now you’re just numb.

“Thatch… take them back to the Moby Dick. We can handle this.” Marco is speaking in a tone barely above a whisper. 

You can hear Thatch start to argue, but then he stops with a sigh, “Yeah, you’re right.”

As he begins to walk away, he shifts your limp body in his arms until you’re facing him. Your face is pressed firmly into his shoulder, still preventing you from being able to see any of what was happening around you. Both of your hands grasp his coat tightly.

Time passes elusively. The amount of time it took for you to get to the ship felt unclear. It could have been minutes or hours. You have no idea. Much louder, heavier footsteps snap you out of your trance, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to turn to look.

“What’s going on?” Ah. It’s Whitebeard. Makes sense, you suppose. 

It takes Thatch a moment to find the right words. “We… found out why the kid hates pirates so much.”

“I see. Do you want me to take (Y/N) back onto the ship for you?” The question makes you tense and clutch Thatch’s clothing even tighter. You don’t know why. You can’t understand anything right now. 

“No… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I should stay with them.” Thatch matches your strength with ease as he all but cradles you.

Whitebeard hums quietly, “Good. You’re doing the right thing.” A loud explosion echoes from a ways away, making you flinch. “I better go check on them. Make sure Ace doesn’t burn down the whole dock.”

Everything after this is a blur. Things are happening around you, and all you can do is go with the motion. What you do know is that you’re in the kitchen with Thatch, and that the contents of the warm mug in your hands is milk with honey. A favorite of yours. You’re pressed against Thatch’s legs as you sip at it.

Generally, you sit with the rocks that once marked your parents graves when you feel upset. Both had been brought onto the ship when you were taken from the island, something that you were begrudgingly grateful for. Yet here you are, choosing to stay with Thatch rather than going to them.

You loved mom and dad. They sacrificed everything for you. Clothes, water, food, their time and energy. Eventually their lives. 

But those rocks weren’t your parents. They couldn’t hug you. They couldn’t kiss your head and tell you that everything would be alright. 

They couldn’t make you milk with honey just the way you like it.

But Thatch could. He could do all of that and more. As if knowing that you were thinking of him, Thatch took a brief break from preparing food to gently pat your head, an action that you had found annoying up until this very moment. How strange. You don’t get it.

The door to the kitchen opens, and Ace walks in. Usually he enters rooms loudly and without a care in the world, but there’s an undeniable caution to his actions. He smiles warmly as he slowly approaches you.

“Hey. You feeling better now?”

You just stare at him blankly.

“Yeah. Figured as much.” Ace gets closer and pulls some rag out of his bag. “We got those pirates taken care of for you. You don’t ever have to worry about them again. There’s just one thing left to get rid of.”

Ace unfurls the rag, revealing it to actually be the flag from the pirate ship. He holds it out to you with one hand, then snaps the fingers of his other hand, creating a small flame. “Do you want to do the honors?”

It takes your foggy mind a moment to figure out what he means, but when it does catch up, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Shifting the mug to one hand, you dig out a lighter from one of your pockets, flick it on, then hold it out to the flag.

You watch it burn to ash, leaving no trace of its history in its wake.

Tag list (first time doing one, sorry to anyone I missed): @epochal-oracle @one-piecelover @mo-on-lotus @dreamland08 @nightreverie @ashortdork @lordchippie @lucyrose9820 @daniissocool5 @star666fox @ladydoe8

[satellite-evans]

I'll give you the world

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: choosing a present is hard for someone who has already everything in the world.

Word count: 2.2k+

Warnings: fluff, doubt, making out

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Dating Lando was still something you were getting used to. It wasn’t about the fame, the racing, or the cameras—it was about him. The way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly, lost in thought. The way his laugh bubbled up uncontrollably when he found something truly funny, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The way he always pulled you closer, fingers tightening around your wrist, whenever he thought you were about to leave, as if to silently say, stay just a little longer.

It was in the quiet moments that you loved him most. The sleepy murmurs in the morning before either of you were fully awake. The way he’d unconsciously reach for you in his sleep, tugging you closer as if you were his anchor. The way he always made sure to send a quick text me when you’re home after a night out, even if he was halfway across the world.

But when his birthday approached, you found yourself at a loss.

What do you buy someone who already has everything?

You ran through the usual ideas: car accessories, watches, sneakers. But nothing felt right. Either it was too extravagant or too impersonal, and the pressure to make it meaningful had you second-guessing everything. He wasn’t the kind of person who cared about material things—sure, he had the best of the best, but the things he truly cherished were the little things, the moments, the memories.

"What do I even do?" you groaned to your best friend over the phone, flopping onto your bed in frustration. "He can buy whatever he wants. How am I supposed to surprise him?"

Your friend hummed in thought. "Maybe think of it differently. What’s something he wouldn’t buy for himself? Something sentimental?"

That question lingered in your mind long after the call ended.

You thought about Lando—not the racing driver, but the man behind the fame. The one who fell asleep halfway through movies, only to deny it with a sleepy grin when you called him out. The one who made the worst dad jokes just to see you roll your eyes, only to laugh harder when you fought back a smile. The one who still had a tattered old karting helmet on display in his gaming room, not because it was valuable, but because it was his first. Because it meant something.

And then, finally, an idea struck.

On the night of his birthday, you stood outside his place, a carefully wrapped box in one hand and a homemade cake in the other, nerves twisting in your stomach like tangled ribbons. The cool night air nipped at your skin, but it wasn’t the cold that had your heart racing—it was the anticipation, the wondering if this little surprise would be enough. The gift wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it was thoughtful, personal. At least, that was the hope.

Before you could let doubt creep in, the door swung open, revealing Lando, his signature grin lighting up the dimly lit doorway. His curls were still slightly damp from a shower, a cozy hoodie hanging loosely over his frame. He looked like he’d been waiting all night just for you.

“There you are,” he said, voice warm and easy, like he hadn’t just made your heart lurch in your chest. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug, the kind that made the rest of the world blur into the background. His arms were strong around you, his chin resting briefly against your temple before he pressed a quick, affectionate kiss there. The scent of fresh laundry and that familiar cologne he always wore wrapped around you, comforting in a way that made your nerves settle—just a little.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, running his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up. “Come in, love, before you turn into an icicle.”

Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in warmth, the contrast making you realize just how cold you’d been. The air smelled sweet—vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of chocolate. It wasn’t overwhelming, just subtle enough to feel like home.

Your gaze flickered to the counter, where you set the cake down carefully. The sugary aroma mingled with the quiet stillness of the space, and that’s when it hit you—there was no loud music, no crowded room filled with friends or flashing cameras. Just him. Just you.

You raised an eyebrow, turning to him with an amused smirk. “Lando Norris, the biggest party animal ever, and you didn’t want a massive party? I don’t believe it.”

Lando chuckled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Didn’t feel like it this year,” he admitted with a little shrug. His voice softened as he added, “Just wanted you.”

Your stomach did a ridiculous little flip at that, warmth blooming across your chest. He said it so easily, so matter-of-factly, like there had never been another option. Like he couldn’t imagine spending the night with anyone else.

Trying to shake off the way your heart was stuttering, you quickly gestured toward the cake. “Well, you’re still getting cake,” you announced, pulling the box open. “And I’m singing to you whether you like it or not.”

Lando groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please, no.”

“Too late,” you said with a wicked grin, striking an exaggerated pose before lighting the candles. Taking in a deep breath, you launched into the most dramatic, horrifically off-key rendition of Happy Birthday that had ever been performed.

“Happy biiirthdaay to youuu, happy biiirthdaay to youuu,” you dragged out the notes, watching as Lando pressed his lips together, trying—and failing—not to laugh. By the time you reached the grand finale, he had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Happy birthday, dear Lan-dooo, happy birthday to you!”

Lando clapped slowly, his eyes bright with amusement. “That was painful.”

“Excuse you,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “That was a performance, thank you very much. A labor of love.”

“A labor of something, that’s for sure,” he teased, dodging the half-hearted swat you sent his way.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a knife and carefully cut two generous slices, handing one to him before picking up your own fork. “Whatever. The cake will make up for it.”

Lando took a bite, eyes widening slightly before he let out a satisfied hum. “Okay, fine,” he admitted, mouth half-full. “Maybe you are forgiven.”

“Damn right, I am.”

"You never told me you could bake." Lando said, whilst he was still eagerly eating his birthday cake.

You shrugged, feeling oddly pleased. "I don’t do it often. But special occasions call for special effort."

He grinned, reaching over to swipe a bit of frosting onto his finger before tapping it against the tip of your nose. "Well, consider me impressed."

The two of you lingered at the counter, taking your time with the cake, stealing bites from each other’s plates in between soft laughter. It became a game—Lando would pretend to be too distracted to notice you sneaking a bite of his, only to turn at the last second and catch you in the act. The mock scandal in his expression, the dramatic gasp, the way he’d immediately retaliate by swiping frosting from your plate—it all had you grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered after you successfully managed to get a forkful of his cake for the third time. “This is my birthday, and you’re the one getting extra cake?”

You licked a bit of frosting off your thumb, feigning innocence. “I can’t help it. Yours just tastes better.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at you, clearly unconvinced, before dipping his finger into a dollop of frosting and swiping it across the tip of your nose.

You gasped, mouth dropping open. “Lando!”

“Oops,” he said, entirely unapologetic, leaning back against the counter with a shit-eating grin. “Bit of an accident, that.”

“An accident?” You scoffed, wiping at your nose, but before you could retaliate, he ducked away with a laugh, already bracing for your revenge.

The playful moment settled into something softer, quieter, as the two of you finished off the last bites, licking stray bits of frosting off your fingers.

And then, finally, it was time for the present.

You wiped your hands on a napkin, nerves creeping back in as you reached into your bag. The laughter faded into something more expectant, your heart thudding a little too fast as you pulled out the carefully wrapped box. You hesitated for just a second, your fingers tightening around it, before pushing it toward him across the counter.

Lando’s brows lifted, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. That look—the one that always made your stomach flip. “You’re nervous.”

“A little,” you admitted, twisting your fingers in your lap. “Just open it.”

To your relief, he didn’t tease you further. Instead, he gave you one last amused glance before turning his attention to the box, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper. His movements were unhurried, precise—the way he always was with things that mattered. The sound of the crinkling paper filled the quiet space, stretching the moment, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

And then, finally, he lifted the lid.

For a second, he didn’t move. His blue eyes locked onto the object inside, his expression flickering through a range of emotions—curiosity, intrigue, and then, something that looked almost like wonder.

A levitating globe.

The sleek black stand seemed to disappear beneath it, letting the illuminated sphere hover weightlessly in midair. The dim glow from the continents reflected in his wide eyes as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above its surface before finally brushing against it.

“It’s just…” He trailed off, watching as the globe spun effortlessly beneath his touch. A soft, breathless laugh escaped him. “How is this even—? It’s floating.”

Your own nervous laugh bubbled up. “I figured… what do you get the guy who already has everything? You give him the world.” You paused, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Well, a tiny floating version of it.”

Lando’s head snapped up, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you. His lips parted slightly, like he had something to say but wasn’t sure how to say it.

And then, the biggest smile broke across his face—one of those wide, dimpled grins that made your heart stumble over itself.

“You’re unbelievable.” His voice was softer now, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You tilted your head, feigning nonchalance. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

His fingers spun the globe one last time before reaching for your hand, his grip warm and firm. “A very, very good thing.”

Your stomach flipped at the softness in his voice, at the way he was looking at you like you had somehow just handed him something priceless.

“You really like it?” you asked, still a little uncertain.

Lando glanced back at the globe, watching the continents blur together, before shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t wrap his head around it. “I don’t just like it.” His gaze flicked back to you, full of something deep and unreadable. “This is one of the coolest things anyone’s ever given me. Seriously.”

The relief that washed over you was instant, but before you could say anything—before you could even process how happy he looked—he was already closing the distance between you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that started soft, slow, but quickly deepened. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head just the way he liked, while the other slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He was warm—so warm—and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he kissed you with quiet urgency.

His lips tasted like frosting and something undeniably him, and you sighed against his mouth, your fingers gripping onto his sweater for support.

Lando made a sound in response, low and satisfied, his grip tightening as he angled the kiss deeper. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles against your hip, and heat coiled low in your stomach, a shiver running down your spine.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath was warm against your lips. His voice was rougher, lower when he murmured, “Best birthday ever.”

You let out a small, breathless laugh, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater. “You sure it’s not just because of the kiss?”

His grin was slow, utterly shameless. “That definitely helped.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully, but before you could pull away, he caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm.

His thumb brushed across your knuckles before he tugged you closer again, this time pressing a lingering, unhurried kiss to your lips—slower, softer, like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, he did.

Because right now, in this quiet little moment, there was nothing else. No distractions, no pressure, no expectations. Just the two of you.

And all those nerves, all the overthinking, melted away.

Because maybe Lando didn’t actually need the world.

Maybe, he just needed you.

[steddie-as-they-come]

"Mom," Steve whispered in the inky blackness of his parents' room. "Mom, there's something under my bed."

Patricia Harrington turned over. "Steven, go back to sleep," she murmured.

"I can't." Steve said. "There's a monster."

"No such thing." his mom said, angrier, more awake. "Go to bed now, and if I catch you out of bed again you can forget going to Tommy's this weekend."

Steve nodded and padded back down the hall, pausing at his door then taking a running jump into bed.

The room was silent.

"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."

A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.

A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"

"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."

Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.

The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.

Steve screamed.

"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.

The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.

Then the monster began to shrink.

It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."

Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.

"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."

"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."

Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"

Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."

"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."

Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."

"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"

Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"

Eddie shook it. "Deal."

-

Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"

The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"

"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.

"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.

The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."

Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"

Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."

"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.

"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.

The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"

"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"

"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."

The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

edit: i did not expect this response to the short little thing that took me 30 mins max at 2am!! i’m planning on rewriting it and turning it into a full length fic, so i’ll come back and edit this with the link!

edit #2: if there’s anything you guys want to see in the full length version of this please let me know!! i’m trying my best to make it a slowburn which is horrid for my adhd so let me know if there’s anything you want!!

[nadvs]

please can we have sleeping with the enemy reader taking care of rafe with his hangover (from your last blurb) 😚😚

aaaa yes omg the fluff! (and the everyone but them can see it trope!) (and the overdue confession!) 🙂‍↕️

based on this fic, continutation of this blurb

rafe can’t even open his eyes yet. he feels like he’s an inch away from death.

about a month ago, he moved out of his dorm and into a house with a group of his teammates. it was a nightmare securing a lease on a house because of the reputation athletes have left on the landlords off campus.

but because rafe was the one who worked so hard on getting the house, and because he’s the team captain, he got the biggest and best room, ensuite attached.

it’s in the top floor. it’s quiet. it gets the best ac. but no amount of ac can make the sickening heat of the hangover he has this morning any better.

he finally opens his eyes. she’s not beside him. if he remembers correctly, he asked her to sleep over last night. and… goddamn it, he called her his girlfriend.

there’s a good chance he scared her away. they’re best friends who hook up sometimes. that’s it. no matter how much his teammates - at least the ones who have the balls to - fuck with him about it.

a few nights ago, a girl struck up conversation with rafe at a party and one of his buddies told her not to bother because ‘he’s basically married’ and the crazy thing is, he let her believe it. he hasn’t hooked up with another girl in ages. he hasn’t wanted to.

it got to him. maybe that’s why he slipped up last night, calling her his girlfriend. if he remembers right, it’s like they agreed to being something more in a roundabout, drunken way. or maybe she was just humoring him and is planning to let him down easy when they’re both sober.

she’s in the kitchen, wearing one of rafe’s shirts, cutting up what little fruit the guys have lying around. the blender was a bitch to clean, tacked with residual protein powder.

she’s awake before everyone, making rafe a smoothie to help cure his hangover. this is 100% girlfriend behavior. she’s doing the absolute most. she knows that.

she tells herself it’s because they’re best friends. she’d do the same for any other friend. but doing it for rafe feels so much more gratifying than if she did it for anyone else.

as she drops banana slices into the blender, she thinks about the regret that washed over rafe’s face last night.

she wonders why he so obviously wished he hadn’t called her his girlfriend. was it because he accidentally exposed what he really thinks of her? or because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea?

she blends the smoothie, cleans up and pads upstairs to rafe’s bedroom. when she opens the door, he’s sprawled out on his bed, down to his boxers, the duvet half-covering his body.

she’s seen him naked so many times before. but this weirdly feels like it’s the most intimate they’ve ever been.

“did you take my clothes off last night?” rafe grumbles, staring up at the ceiling.

“somehow,” she answers. “i fell on my ass trying to pull your jeans off.”

“oh, yeah,” he laughs. he heard her fall to the floor in the dark. it was hilarious. but then he clutches his head. even laughing hurts. “fuck.”

“imagine how bad you’d feel if i didn’t force water on you last night. you’re welcome, by the way,” she says.

she places the glass on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed, glad she only had a couple of drinks last night.

“i made you a smoothie. you need to replenish.”

his tired blue eyes finally land on her. he takes her in, the way her brows are knitted in concern, the way she looks in his shirt.

“and your blender was disgusting,” she adds. “it’s pretty sad that a whole group of grown men don’t know how to properly wash dishes. it took me forever to clean it.”

“you’re talking too much,” he rasps, massaging his temple with his thumb.

normally, she’d tease him back. she knows he’s joking. but the joke doesn’t land. she looks away.

in the sober brightness of the morning, she realizes she feels stupid. they agreed they were just friends, but she’s playing house and acting like a girlfriend to someone who either doesn’t want her like that, or does and won’t admit to it when he’s not drunk.

she doesn’t mind taking care of him. but she’s catching feelings. how can she be friends with someone when every second that passes that they’re not more than that feels like a little dose of rejection?

they’ve always been direct with each other. at some point, that stopped. at least on her side.

“i’m fucking with you,” rafe clarifies. “thank you.”

she scoffs. he hardly ever has manners. she must really look mad.

“sure,” she says. she leans forward, picking up and handing him the smoothie, knowing he’s too tired to get it himself. “do you remember what you said last night?”

rafe’s eyes dart away. he rakes back his tousled hair, sitting up slowly to hold the smoothie. tortuously slow, he takes a sip, making her wait for his answer.

“what’d i say?” he mumbles.

she tilts her head, her lips in a firm line. he said he wouldn’t be embarrassed the next day. he’s acting like he is now, though. or maybe he really doesn’t remember.

she suddenly feels bad for pushing this heavy of a conversation on him when he’s clearly exhausted and feeling so terrible.

“we’ll talk about it later,” she says. it gives rafe a wave of anxiety. maybe she’s planning to let him down gently. to tell him they can’t be more than friends. “hydrate, got it?”

she stands, pulling his shirt off over her head.

“where are you going?” he asks, watching her bend over to pick up last night’s clothes.

“home,” she says. “text me if you wanna hang out later when you feel human again.”

she leaves. he lets her.

he’s in a funk the rest of the morning. he eventually finds the strength to take a shower. he eats his first meal at three p.m.

when he sees the blender on the drying rack in the kitchen, his chest tightens. this isn’t normal. he shouldn’t miss someone he saw just this morning. but he does.

and whatever happened last night is hanging over him. if he knows her, he knows it’s bothering her, too.

he texts her: feeling human again. u busy?

she replies: i’m free and starving.

he smirks at his phone. pick you up in 30

when she sinks into the passenger seat of his suv, she’s uneasy. jittery. as if this is a first date. but when she takes in how tense he looks, she pushes all her feelings away.

“what’s wrong?” she asks. “you good?”

“i’m… this feels weird,” he admits. she stills. so it’s not just her who senses it.

“weird how?”

“what do you wanna eat?” he asks. “where am i going?”

“you’re staying here until you tell me what’s up.”

rafe chews on his lip. he turns his key, shutting the car off, parked in front of her dorm building. he knows there’s no point in arguing with her. she can be stubborn.

“weird how?” she repeats.

“like… i’m nervous or something.”

rafe has known for a while now that he’s someone else around her. or maybe he’s actually himself, and she’s the only person who coaxes it out of him.

“nervous?” she echoes. rafe is only ever nervous before an important game, and even then, he’s more hyped up to win than anything.

he can’t take it anymore. he’d rather rip off the bandaid.

“be straight with me,” he says. “what’d i say that you wanted to talk about?”

she can’t recall the last time she felt so shy around him, if ever.

“do you remember calling me your girlfriend?” she says.

he shuffles in his seat, expelling a heavy breath.

“if i fucked things up, just say it,” he rasps.

“so, you remember?”

“yeah.”

“do you remember how you said you wouldn’t be embarrassed for saying it?”

“yeah,” he mutters sharply. “can you get to the point?”

“can you not be a dick right now?” she says.

he sighs. can’t she tell he’s anxious?

“are you?” she says. “embarrassed, i mean?”

“no,” rafe begins. “i’m annoyed that i said it. it made things awkward.”

“it did,” she agrees.

“okay,” he huffs. “so what now?”

she clasps her hands together in her lap, looking out at the side mirror. she could just say they can forget about it. grab takeout. go back to normal. but going back to normal kind of feels impossible.

“my friends always tell me we act like a couple,” she finally says. “this morning, i was washing your dishes and organizing your fridge and i thought, they’re right. this is the kind of stuff a girl in a relationship does. but then i was like, no it’s not like that. we’re just best friends. but then last night... you said you’d be a good boyfriend.”

“mhm,” he says, bracing for the rejection. the let’s just be friends. or worse, the things are too weird now and we should probably stop hanging out.

she swallows hard.

“i wanted to know if… did something change? were you just drunk or do you actually want to…” she trails off.

for once, it feels odd saying her thoughts out loud to him. because he was always as adamant about not wanting commitment as she was. things have gotten so messy all because he blurted something out last night.

rafe stares at her profile as she looks out the window. she’d fiddling impatiently, like she was the night they first talked at the bar months ago, waiting for someone to take her drink order.

“the guys mess with me about it, too,” he tells her. “they say we act like we’re married or some shit.”

she quirks her eyebrows. they basically do. they see each other almost every day. they bicker. they’re constantly subconsciously touching, whether it’s through joined hands or bumped knees. they have too many inside jokes. they take care of each other. she reminds him of things he can’t afford to forget, like appointments or exams. he makes sure she eats and he pays for everything they do together.

“i don’t look at other girls,” he confesses. “and i know you get hit on when you go out, but it never goes anywhere. i… okay, yeah, fine, something did change at some point. i don’t know when.”

for the first time since she got in the car, she cracks a smile. they’re best friends who are ridiculously attracted to each other and joined at the hip. if that’s not a relationship, what is?

“are we already kind of dating?” she says, finally meeting his eyes.

rafe breathes a chuckle, the heaviness in his chest lifting all at once.

everything was always so easy with her. he assumed it’s because they had no expectations between them. but that wasn’t it. in reality, they had been quietly meeting each other’s expectations without having to try.

“yeah. we are,” he says.

her eyelids flutter as she looks down, gazing at his hand splayed over the dark denim on his thigh. her stomach is numb. her mind is buzzing.

“how’d you get so lucky?” she teases.

rafe doesn’t even have it in him to joke back. he needs to touch her. he leans forward, cradling her jaw, capturing her lips in his.

they’ve kissed a thousand times before. but never like this. this is a kiss that says there’s an understanding that she’s his and he’s hers. and maybe it took them a while to realize that, but now that they’re here, they’re not going back.

(continuation)

[starjaeyun]

hopeless romantic — park sunghoon

warning/s : fem! idol! reader x idol! sunghoon. hmm mild profanity. use of y/n. that’s probably it, lmk if i missed somethingg :D

“man..” jungwon and sunoo immediately made eye contact, and both turned to riki who was already grabbing his headphones.

sunghoon sighed, “i miss my girl”

jungwon and sunoo only rolled their eyes while riki was already peacefully listening to music, lost in his own little world in the corner of the room, away from sunghoon. while they can stand sunghoon’s corniness and dad jokes, his constant longing for this ‘girlfriend’ of his was something they’re yet to get used to, especially when they have no idea who the girl is.

sunghoon plops himself, face first, on the nearest bed, shoes still on, his black sling bag still hung around his body and a rather..girly? shoulder bag having fell from his shoulders now dangling from the part of his arm that was hanging from the edge of the bed. jungwon and sunoo looks at each other again, surely, their gym rat of a roommate did not go to the gym carrying a pink, miu miu mini bag that could barely fit one face towel.

a look of horror immediately struck jungwon at the thought of multiple dating ‘scandal’ photos and articles of park sunghoon parading around seoul hand-in-hand with a girl and a pink, miu miu bag on his shoulders.

not that he wasn’t happy for him, oh, no, he was beyond the moon happy for his hopeless romantic hyung but couldn’t he be more discreet?

“hyung..” was jungwon’s careful approach. sunoo was still trying to process what on earth he is seeing at the moment and riki was still lost in his daydreams.

“yes, i may or may not have fucked up”

jungwon plops himself, face first as well, beside sunoo, on the bed where they gossiped about every weird or funny encounter they had with staffs or other artists prior to sunghoon’s arrival.

“wait, won, get up! riki! do something?!”

riki takes his headphones off and turns to see what was going on and to his surprise, the last working braincell in among the four of them have given up.

“okay..uh? should i get jake-hyung?”

“get all of them?!”

“right” riki walks out the room, leaving a half calm and half panicking sunoo behind to deal with their given up braincell and hopeless romantic.

just a few seconds later, riki comes back with the three hyungs behind him, with jake, who was in the middle, peeking from riki’s shoulder and the other two towering behind him.

“okay what— why are you panicking? i— ? why is jungwon sleeping like that? and??? why the fuck does sunghoon have a miu miu bag?” jay was the first one to speak up, finding that the current state of his co-members were messier than the dorm all 7 of them shared.

“to clarify, I AM NOT SLEEPING”

“the bag…” sunghoon’s voice came out muffled but they could still understand him, “is y/n’s”

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“WHAT?!”

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