#they love the suite when it rains bc all of the windows are open air and let it the cool air

[impossible-rat-babies]

obssessed with the suite eyrie has in radz-at/han that I’m building in my mind

[icarryitin]

Cross the Line

spencer reid/gn afab!reader

reader is still more or less a blank slate but i wrote this w my fellow thick girlies in mind, love you🧡 have fun defiling a sofa you whores🫡

(this is NOT a part of Can You…? but there is a new part coming next week so !!!)

masterlist

word count: 4.3k // warnings: 18+ pls this is straight up porn, afab reader bc work with what you’ve got, unprotected PIV and all the trimmings including fingering and a sneaky blowjob, too many feelings for something i meant to just be sexy

summary: Your friendship with Spencer reaches breaking point, and there’s no going back after this.

“This is a really bad idea.”

Oh, don’t you know it. But Spencer isn’t pulling back from you – still very much in your space for a man claiming that he shouldn’t be there in the first place.

Although he’s not touching you, not yet, the tension in the room is stretched so thin that you’re worried it’ll snap. There’s no going back after that. It’s all so fragile, this delicate thing between you, and you’re afraid that one wrong move will shatter it all beyond repair. The heavy rain of the summer thunderstorm pounding against your living room window does nothing to relieve the stifling pressure in the room. You want to tell him that you agree, it’s a very bad idea. You want to tell him goodnight, you’ll see him on Monday, you want to wave him towards the stairs of your apartment building and shut the door on him. Except no sound comes out when you open your mouth. Because you’re wound so tight, only by his proximity, by the warmth that leeches over you from having him so fucking close.

You close your mouth again, clear your throat, and frown at the tiniest twitch of his lips. Smug bastard isn’t a side of him you see often. It suits him, annoyingly.

It takes a gargantuan effort to peel your gaze from his mouth, to lock your eyes on his with an intensity he doesn’t expect. To his credit, he doesn’t falter all that noticeably, the catch of his breath only detectable by the barest shudder of his shoulders – but it’s nice to know you hold the same level of power over him as he does you. Maybe not nice, maybe a little bit dangerous, maybe a little bit like standing too close to the edge of a cliff. Adrenaline thundering through your veins, nerve endings on fire, daring one of you to take the leap. Spencer caves first, the slightest skim of his fingers against yours, and it’s game over.

You have no choice but to kiss that stupid little smile right off his face.

He’s taken by surprise when you surge forward to close the gap between your faces, stumbling a little with the force of it, but he catches you. Of course he does, just like always. This moment has been months in the making – eleven months, nine days, and six hours to be exact. Which he always is. From the second you waltzed into the bullpen with your smile and your eyes and your shiny new badge, and him? He has three PHDs to his name, thinking about a fourth, and yet even just the smell of your laundry detergent can render his mind completely blank of anything but you. He should hate it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes forward, pressing his lips to yours with fervour. All he can wonder is why it’s taken so long.

Kissing Spencer Reid is everything. You could do it forever. You probably won’t be that lucky, but you would if he let you. And, while his aversion to touch has never really seemed to apply to you, it’s as though he’s abandoned it completely – the thing about kissing Spencer Reid, you find, is that he’s all hands.

On your cheeks, your jaw, the back of your neck. Sliding down to grip at your upper arms, your elbows. He tugs you in even closer by them until there’s not a breath of air between your bodies. Until he can wind his arms around you completely. Your hands have trailed up to rest on his chest, fairly content to bask in the heat of him and the stuttering of his heartbeat under your fingertips. But it’s like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you. Just that he wants to leave no stone unturned, meticulously cataloguing every inch of your body by touch alone. He probably is, knowing him, committing you to memory. The thought makes you burn, as he grasps at your waist like his life depends on it. He’s not close enough – will never be close enough, you think. His lips part for a moment, just to catch his breath before he dives back in, and you seize the opportunity to lick along the reddened line of them. No, you can’t climb into his body and live there, but sticking your tongue in his mouth is a close second. You’ll just have to live with that.

Spencer’s gasp in response to the intrusion almost makes you draw back, almost. But you can’t go anywhere because he’s on you again, more enthusiastic than he ever was before, backing you up into your apartment. One hand abandons its post on your hip to turn the lock and slide the security chain into place on the front door – safety first, the action is hotter than you’d like to admit – and then it’s back with a vengeance until you’re sure he’s leaving bruises. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Feet shuffle, hands fumble, you almost take the both of you down when the floorboards are interrupted by the lip of the living room rug. But the stumble isn’t worth pulling your face off of Spencer’s, not even for a second. Not until you have to manoeuvre around the coffee table to find the couch anyway.

You mumble a quiet ouch against his lips when the wooden corner of it digs into the back of your knee, and the chuckle you get in response makes your heart grow so big you’re worried it’ll burst your ribcage at the seams. Noses knocking into one another, you turn your face to scowl at the offending item of furniture, but a gentle touch to your jaw coaxes your eyes back to his. And you get it.

This is what everyone means when they say that he looks at you.

Spencer’s eyes are a shade darker in the low light, focused solely on your face. Your lips, your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, he’s studying you like there’s nothing else in the world worth looking at so closely. As if he doesn’t spend most of his working day looking at your face. As if it’s not enough. Even if you weren’t a profiler, the reverence he seems to regard you in would give him away. It’s not the heady pressure of the rolling thunder that’s making you sweat - it’s that look. Because it’s the one you get all the time, reserved just for you. Okay, maybe you had noticed, but you’ve always put it down to wishful thinking. Always had an excuse. It feels more intimate than sticking your tongue in his mouth, looking at him like this. So open, so vulnerable.

He lets you back him up, this time, taking the careful step or two backwards without breaking the eye contact until he can feel the fabric of your couch against his legs. Soft, even through the fabric of his trousers. Spencer expects you’ll feel much the same. There’s no struggle for the upper hand in the quiet of the room. Just the two of you, tentatively taking a step out into the unknown side by side. He lowers himself to sit, couch cushions giving way to his body exactly as softly as he expected, lacing his fingers through yours to take you with him. He doesn’t pull, but you follow him all the same. You let him guide you, settling a thigh either side of his own, balanced carefully on his lap. He won’t let you fall.

“Hi.” His throat is dry - his voice lower, more gravelly than he’s expecting, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to catch his eyebrows before they can jerk up in surprise.

Your laugh is mesmerising, music to his ears. It washes over him as you raise your hands to cup his cheeks, smoothing his eyebrows with your thumbs.

“Hi,” Your own shaky tone betrays you, just a little, “You okay?”

He’s nodding even as he leans in to kiss you, to inhale you, to drown in you again.

Long fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and the shuddering groan that escapes your lips is absolutely involuntary, but Spencer swallows it without a second thought. Your hands are tight in his hair as his grip wanders to your hips and squeezes – you can’t help but grind down into his lap, feel the hardness of him beneath you. And suddenly, making out like horny teenagers isn’t enough. You have to pull back, however reluctantly, though you don’t stray far.

“Spencer,” You’re breathless, eyes still closed, lips still brushing his with every syllable, “I need you.”

The streetlight shining through the raindrops on the window casts a glow behind your head, Spencer’s heavy lidded eyes fanning it out like a lens flare in a film – like a halo. He’s always thought you had one.

“You have me, you’ve always had me. Are you sure?” He wants to cringe at the question, sure that it’ll send you flying out of his lap, but he has to be certain. He has to know that this isn’t stress relief after the case, that it’s not because he’s right in front of you, that your insides churn every time you look at him the way his tie themselves into knots over you. Your responding smile is fond, one hand sliding down from his hair to swipe your index finger down the length of his nose and he can’t help the upturn of his own lips. In spite of it all, his anxiety dissolves completely, withering and dying under your sincere gaze.

“I’m sure.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

The absence of his hold on you is startling, goosebumps raising on your hips the moment his warm hands move to the buttons of your shirt. To be fair, you’re not much better yourself, already tugging at the knot of his tie until you can slip it over his head. Somewhere in the midst of scrambling fingers and wriggling stiff fabric out of waistbands, you end up buttoning your shirt to his, getting tangled in the both of them when you start wrestling the thing off of his shoulders.

It breaks the tension in the room; the stakes don’t seem quite as high when you’re both wrapped up in your shirts, giggling. Spencer’s dexterous fingers find the culprit, one of your buttons caught in the fastening of one of his, and release it. White and burgundy cotton falling away to reveal you to each other. Dishevelled, grinning, absolutely at ease with one another’s closeness. He looks like he wants to say something else but, whatever it is, he holds it back. You don’t know if things will go beyond tonight, but it’d be worth the mountain of HR paperwork to see him this free even just once more. With anyone else, you might be embarrassed - but this is Spencer.

Spencer, who knows you.

Spencer, who has seen you laugh and cry and scream. You’ve celebrated together, fretted together, grieved together. He’s seen you on your absolute best days, your absolute worst. There’s nothing you’d want to hide from him, so you don’t shy away when he leans forward to latch his lips onto your neck. When he skims his fingers across the skin of your collarbone and leaves a trail of heat and goosebumps behind all at the same time. In much the same way that he preens at your touch, he seems to lean into your hands as you swipe them along his shoulders and down the planes of his chest. Something both known and unknown slots into place. You know what it is, you’re fairly confident he knows what it is, but neither of you will voice it. You don’t think it needs to be. You both know, and that’s enough for now.

At least you don’t get tangled up in anything else, although your jeans fight to the last as they get tugged over your bent knees. You haven’t got the patience to shimmy your underwear off, mostly because he’s already got his hands on you, fingers trailing between your skin and the elastic at your hips. So he’s a tease, now that makes sense.

Lightning fractures the night outside of your darkened window at the same moment Spencer slips his hand down below the elastic of your underwear. His fingers are cold against you, squashed between your weight and his lap, but he manages to swipe them through your folds decisively enough for you to shudder. You’ve already soaked through the cotton, the anticipation had begun the moment he offered to walk you home with that look. Every step since then has only added to your arousal, and it takes no effort at all for him to begin circling your clit with his fingertip. Delicate, deliberate. He’s making you squirm on purpose, wallowing in every whine that escapes your lips and every one you hold back. Your forehead drops to his shoulder as he presses a little more firmly, beginning to alternate between slow circles and dipping his fingers down to tease at your entrance.

You’re so turned on, you think you might die. Genuinely. You’re half convinced that you’re winding closer and closer to a heart attack with every swipe of the good doctor’s fingers against you, that you’ll seize up and go into cardiac arrest at any moment. You need him to do something. You’re teetering on the brink of no return, you need him to push you.

“Spencer.” You breathe as he finally, finally, slides his fingers home inside of you. His thumb takes its place over your clit, digits working gently but relentlessly in tandem with one another.

“I know,” He replies softly, “Just let me make you feel good, okay?”

You can only push your face into his neck, whining in harmony with another crash of thunder from the heavens - you know how they feel. Only your crescendo is still being held at arm's length by the man underneath you. It’s rude, actually. Or hot, knowing he’s so focused on you and your pleasure that everything else has stopped existing to him. You’re not sure which option you’d lean towards. Tears start to sting at your lash line, of frustration, of overstimulation, of pleasure. You’re not sure. At least he notices when one solitary drop escapes to slide over his sternum, trailing down his naked chest. And then he doubles down, you’re not ready for it.

He plays you like a violin until you’re writhing, squirming, panting, until you can’t keep still for even a second. Just to show you that he could have done, this whole time. There’s no warning, no siren, no flashing lights or emergency broadcast - you’re cresting the wave before you even really know what’s happening. Nails digging into his shoulders, hips grinding down of their own accord, beads of sweat breaking out in your hairline. It’s downright cruel that it’s taken so long for you to gather the courage for making a move. Distantly, somewhere in your hazy mind, you hope you haven’t hurt him. At least you had the presence of mind to clamp your mouth shut rather than sinking your teeth into his neck. Another time, maybe.

Your faculties come back to you, slowly but surely, although you don’t find yourself any less insatiable than you were before your jeans found a home on the floor. Spencer catches your lips in a gentle kiss, all too innocent considering he’s pulling a very wet hand out of your underwear at the same time. You can’t pull your eyes away when he pulls back to hold it between your faces, just to watch the glisten of them in the dull light, and runs his tongue up the length of his middle finger. It’s hypnotising. You chase him, knocking his hand out of the way to pull his face to yours again. There’s no air between you, skin on skin, as you kiss him for all he’s worth in the darkness of your living room. The taste of you lingers in his mouth, you don’t mind it. Not if it means you can inhale his every breath. And then, there’s the other thing. It won’t be ignored any further, although you’re sure Spencer would be more than happy to forego his own pleasure, if the blissed out look in his eye is anything to go by.

Still, selfishly, you want to see.

One careful press of your hips into his has his eyes rolling back, head following to rest on the back of the couch. You don’t have the time to mourn his lips against yours, next mission already on track as you let your fingers wander beneath the elastic of his own under. He inhales sharply at the touch, head shooting back up, and locks eyes with you. There’s a challenge in there, somewhere under the apprehension of your next move. You pull your fingers away from him, elastic snapping against his hips, and rake his hair back from his face. Your relationship with Spencer has long since evolved past the need for words, so he knows what you mean when you look at him so carefully - it’s his choice. Another beat, another breath, and he smiles. He nods softly. His face scrunches when you lean forward to press a light kiss on the tip of his nose. It’s all far too innocent considering your hands are skimming back down to breach the band of his underwear, sliding underneath just enough to pull him out and - oh.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were into me.” The joke escapes you before you have a chance to stop it. He’s so hard it must be painful. The tip is flushed pink, giving way to smooth skin and ridged veins - you want him in your mouth. But there’s a nagging throb between your legs, less a want and more a need.

“I’d like to be.”

Your bark of laughter lights up the whole room, the city, the world. Maybe it’s a bit soon, but he wants to hear you laugh like that every day for the rest of his life. He wants to be the reason for it. God, he loves you. That’s what it is, ultimately. He wonders if you can see it in his face, the way he’s watching you, as your laughter dies but your easy smile remains. He isn’t nervous anymore. He doesn’t know why he ever was in the first place, he wants this - wants you, desperately. The decision is made when he grips at your hips again, pulling you up ever so gently onto your knees to hover above him. You pull the crotch of your underwear to the side, the chilled air that hits your slick makes you shudder involuntarily, as your other hand grips him gently to guide him. Spencer lowers you onto him slowly, eyes steady on your face.

It’s moments like this that he’s grateful for the willpower he’s cultivated over the years - because, the moment his cock hits your heat? When the head of him slips into you, when you hold yourself there for a moment, and when you steadily start to work yourself up and down? He’s done for, absolutely gone, already teetering on the edge of oblivion. You take a little more of him every time you sink down again, breathing quickening, until you can seat yourself flush in his lap. A sharp gasp escapes you, punching out of your lungs at the intrusion and he seizes the opportunity to surge forward. He kisses you deeply, a newfound fire burning in the pit of his stomach, and his grip on you turns bruising when you return the passion. Slowly, deeply, he starts to grind you down onto him, swallowing every moan and groan and whimper you let slip.

Though your movements stay steady, he’s hurtling towards his end far sooner than he wants to. Your fingers tangle in his hair, lips on his - not kissing anymore, just panting into each other’s mouths. A sheen of sweat is starting to develop along both of your bodies. Slick skin sliding together, and it feels so good. You feel so good. Hot and wet and tight around him, your scent in his nose, it’s all so overstimulating and nowhere near enough all at the same time. And he starts mumbling it all, tongue loosened by the pleasure, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Soft praises, whines, utter gibberish about how good you feel. He can’t stop, even when you giggle and press butterfly kisses to the words as they leave his lips. He wants to help you let go again, he wants to feel you squeeze around his cock the same way you did around his fingers, but he hasn’t got the presence of mind to do it. Not while he’s hanging over the edge the way he is.

A much more rational part of his mind, somewhere in the back, reminds him that he’s forgone the one cardinal rule of high school sex ed classes. In the spontaneous haste of it all, neither of you thought about a condom. He’s clean, obviously. He trusts you to be clean, obviously. But there’s still the question of where. Because he’s dangerously close and there’s going to come a point where it’s too late to ask. He doesn’t even realise he’s asked the question, in the middle of his mumbled monologue, until you’re answering him with your own question.

“Can I choose?” You interrupt his rambling with a wicked glint in your eye. In all honesty, you’re sure you could ask him anything in this moment, and his answer would be yes. Though, it turns out he’s only got the capacity to nod an affirmative.

“Oh my God…”

That’s all you get when you pull off of him suddenly, sinking to your knees on the carpet in front of him. Whatever it was that might have followed is cut off abruptly by your tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

He’s right on the edge, that much is obvious, it won’t take much - and there’s nothing more you want right now than to thoroughly unravel this man. Usually so put together, buttoned up, absolutely falling to pieces under your touch. While he’s a comfortable thickness, you’re not up to trying to swallow the length of him. Frankly, neither of you have the patience to torture him with the preparation it would take, not today at least. So you settle for wrapping your lips around the head, eyes locked on his furrowed brow as he watches you, and suck. Every swipe of your tongue over him drags another groan, gasp, whine of your name. It’s dangerous information, knowing how he sounds when he’s like this. You’re not sure you’ll be able to think of anything else for the rest of your life. Looking him in the eye over the next round table is going to be interesting, to say the least. It only takes one more swirl of your tongue over him to open the floodgates.

You swallow down every last drop he gives you, warm and tangy but not unpleasant, as his spine curves towards you. Another breathless chuckle, and he strokes a finger down the side of your face when you pull off of him with a satisfying pop. Your tongue pokes out automatically, just to prove to him that you did in fact take the lot - just to watch his eyes roll back in his head again.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Spencer’s talking to himself more than he is you, as he hauls you back up and into his lap. Dick softening slowly between you, he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you again, to swipe his tongue through the remnants of himself on your lips.

“I’ve been around a while, thanks for noticing.” You’re joking, nipping at his jaw, shifting as the sticky mess between your legs begs you for a quick shower before bed. The amusement on your tongue dies when you open your eyes, to see him watching you again.

“Trust me,” He’s looking at you so earnestly, you’re worried you might cry, “I noticed you a long time ago.”

It’s early when you wake - when the world is bathed in that shade of blue that only seems to exist just before the sun rises. You’re warm. Tethered to the earth by the set of arms wrapped snugly around your middle, by the steady heartbeat beneath the chest where you rest your head. Spencer isn’t awake, not really, not yet. But he shifts as you snuffle in closer under the duvet and tighten your grip in the old Academy t-shirt he’d swiped from your closet. A soft press of lips against your forehead and you sigh contentedly, more than happy to let the morning waste away. Everything else can wait.

Or at least, you want to let it wait - the blaring ringtone of your work phone in the living room puts a relative damper on that particular plan.

“Let it ring.” Comes a tired voice from somewhere above your head. Craning your neck, you spot him blinking and bleary eyed in the morning light, and take a moment to savour it. Him. He turns his gaze to you, tired as it is, and smiles softer than you’ve ever seen. It’s unspoken, a silent agreement made just before sunrise in your bed. Whatever this is, you’re in it together. So you tug the neckline of the t-shirt down, just far enough to plant a kiss in the hollow of his throat before dragging yourself from his warmth to hunt down your screeching phone.

You’re twisting your key in the front door when he plucks up the courage to ask the looming question.

“Are we telling them, or not yet?” Watching fingers tighten around the strap of his messenger bag has your mind hurtling back to the night before, and exactly what those fingers were doing. You shrug, reaching over to untangle his anxious grip and loop his hands through yours. A smile, bright as the rising sun, breaks out on Spencer’s face. You can’t help but mirror it when you answer him.

“That depends on who you want to win the betting pool.”

“There’s a pool?”

fun fact the inspiration for this was i wanted to sit in spencer reid’s lap so now we all get to sit in spencer reid’s lap you’re welcome🧡

[peakgenko]

Songs the Haikyuu boys would slow dance with you to...

CW; suggestive sexual themes

N/A, my heart nutted while writing this tbh

not proofread!!

© All content belongs to damnihateithere.

Kei Tsukishima

Dream A Little Dream of Me- The Mamas & The Papas

I don’t even know how i made this connection but i feel like tsukishima hums a lot of old songs and so this would be one of them

Or slow dancing in the dark by joji. it’s his favourite song. because of you.

Yuu Nishinoya

So Good At Being in Trouble- Unknown Mortal Orchestra

You’d rock back and fourth with him slowly while his lips press against the back of your hand— his eyes staring intently while he hums the lyrics

Shoyo Hinata

I’m Yours- Jason Mraz

So it’s not really something you can slow dance to but this is definitely his song for you. He sings this to you in the showers, during pillow talk, or drum the rhythm with his fingers against a Tupperware when he’s cooking something for you.

He’ll pull you in by the waist and nuzzle his head up against your back with a grin.

At this point it’s his favourite song because it always gets him in the mood. But that’s only because he thinks of you when he hums it.

Rintarō Suna

Versace On The Floor- Bruno Mars

OMG

okay so I imagine the two of you on some dance floor. Like at a club. I head canon that he’s good at dancing. Effortlessly too.

The music stops and and they choose a slow song to end the evening

You’re wearing a dress that cuts off mid thigh. And he’s in a little suit. His blazers loose and his collared shirt is buttoned down since it got a little heated in the midst of sweaty bodies practically grinding up against eachother

Underneath the red and purple spotlights, specks of iridescent lights from the disco ball hanging from the ceiling arrange themselves on your faces.

He’s singing the lyrics wholeheartedly with a fox like grin while his hands roam down to your ass. Although it’s intent was far from sexual.

Atsumu Miya

Corduroy Dreams- Rex Orange County

LOVE LOVES WHISTLING IT TO YOU

Definitely does kiss you in the shower for a couple hours.

He’s fresh out of the shower and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Drops of water race down to his feet as they roll down his bare chest. You have your towel wrapped around your chest

One hand laced with his, he leads you in a slowing pace around the room with a chirpy smile.

Osamu Miya

Blessed- Daniel Caeser

i’m not sure how i made this conclusion but i’m gonna go with it

He has the prettiest voice when he sings along.

It’s not really dancing though. He has your back facing his chest while his arms enveloped on top of your collar bones and shoulders. He’s pecking gentle kisses against your cheek while rocking back and fourth to the song while you two prepare breakfast.

Keishin Ukai

Fly Love- Jamie Foxx

I imagine you two on some sort of resort of beach. You two are soaked of water but this song just happens to pop up so you stand there in his arms while he teasingly blows a cloud of smoke into your face.

Keiji Akaashi

HENTAI BY CIGARETTES AFTER SEX!!!!

okay for those of you who don’t know that song i know by the title of the song it looks sus and trust me he was definitely skeptic of it as well but give it a listen because now you’re all he ever thinks about when he hears this song.

he swears he’ll dance to this with you in his arms on your wedding day.

if you’re feeling angsty, he’d definitely hold you close and dance with you to the swan by camille saint-saëns

Wakatoshi Ushijima

I Hear A Symphony- Cody Fry

He loves how classy it sounds and it perfectly describes how he feels about you. hell it may even be his favourite song.

He felt like volleyball was his only purpose and for a while he was more than okay with that. until he met you and now he strives for more in life. Hence the whole “I used to hear a simple song” verse. loves putting emphasis in his tone when singing “perfection is so quick to bore...you are my beautiful by far” (only to himself of course) homeboy gets a little embarrassed when it comes to singing.

Daichi Sawamura

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby- Cigarettes After Sex

I don’t even need to have a scenario for this like he just radiates this energy:((

Like imagine his cheek pressed against yours while his hand weaves through your hair

Tadashi Yamaguchi

You say I’m in love- Banes World!!!!!!!!

Head empty just you and yams dancing to this song underneath LEDs and a ceiling projector

you’re all he thinks about when he sings this song

and bubblegum by clairo- he’d tell you not to focus on the lyrics but instead the instrumental portion. he says the comforting mellow beat reminds him of you.

Kenma Kozume

Nothing- Bruno Major.

Sings the lyrics to you

You’d think he’d be too shy and youre right but it’s because he does it subconsciously.

BRO THIS WOULD LITERALLY BE HIS SONG IN A RELATIONSHIP

Aran Ojiro

Ugotme- Omar Apollo

Such a good singer as well

When the two of you dance, you two dance.

His ability to dance is almost mesmerizing along with his singing.

Sings while covering your neck and collarbones with kisses

Satori Tendou

How Deep Is Your Love- Bee Gees

Also dramatically lip syncs the lyrics to you

Lifts you up into the air and into his arm almost five times mid dance.

He’ll shake his head with his lips pressed up against your neck while his hands trail upwards and toy with the hem of your shirt, his hands hungry with anticipation to just rip it off.

and you scold him when you feel his lips contort into a devilish grin.

Kotaro Bokuto

Hopelessly Devoted To You- Olivia Newton John

hear me out. He only knows this song because akaashi made him watch grease bc he says bokuto should be exposed to the “classics” and since watching it at age 12 with akaashi and bo’s two sisters, he’s prayed that one day he’d meet someone that’d make him feel the way that song did.

He does now and everytime that songs on he’s practically carrying you in his arms.

Tobio Kageyama

Love Me Please- OCTAVIO

this is the only song he knows with the exception of old kanye west because he considers his music grind music but you definitely put him on this song.

He’s literally a psychopath who doesn’t listen to anything EXCEPT like popular rap songs from 2017-2018. And even then he’ll only tolerate it when he needs to work out.

And then he meets you. Now he listens to music in a different aspect.

He knows he’s not the most romantic guy out there but he’s trying his best and you tell him that’s more than enough. He loves you so much.

Koushi Sugawara

This Side of Paradise- Coyote Theory

he’s dragging you out of the house to dance with you to this song. bonus points if it’s raining

he’s also the type to scream-sing to love songs.

There aren’t any cars in the vicinity due to the pouring rain so the two of you make your way to the road.

Your hand in his, he twirls you underneath the storm and into his arms.

Toru Oikawa

Pretty Boy- The Neighborhood

He’ll put so much emphasis in his tone on the “Even if the earth starts shaking, you’re the only thing worth taking- with me. Even if the sky’s on fire, got you here it’s alright.” verse

You’re literally everything to him

he won’t let you go even for a second until this song is finished even then he’ll have trouble parting.

Hajime Iwaizumi

Baby I’m Yours- Arctic Monkeys cover

It’s not even dancing at this point, it’s just you two cuddling and him pretending like he hates it even though he’s the one who refuses to let go of you.

Ryonusuke Tanaka

Knockin’ Da Boots- H-town

if he’s not dancing to this with you in his arms he’s definitely ironically grinding on the floor to this with a fuck boy face.

Hitoka Yachi

two queens in a king sized bed- girl in red

I just imagine the most “call me by your name” scenery type shit.

Or maybe like a field of flowers? You just have her in your arms on some sort of picnic date she planned for the two of you

Semi Eita-

I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

your arms wrap around his neck and his lips press onto yours while the two of you sway back and fourth underneath red led lights.

don’t be surprised if things get sexual.

Tetsuro Kuroo

Careless Whisper- George Michael

okay first he played this song when you were over once and he had it on so that he could initiate a little make out sess with you but when you could tell how nervous he was on making a move on you you told him that there was no pressure on anything and he sort of just danced with you instead. he ended up unironically really liking this song because of that.

(bonus: if it’s fanon kuroo he likes to dance to sway by Michael Bublé with you and the whole time he’s just eyeing you down with a sly grin)

Kiyoomi Sakusa

Beach Baby- Bon Iver

Space Song- Beach House

I imagine it’s raining horribly outside to the point where the thunder outside is retro boomin

but the windows are open because both you and Sakusa love the sound of rain pouring

he has this song playing from his record player while he hums against your neck.

[jean-kayak]

Shot Down

Summary: You finally got what you wanted, at least you thought you did

Pairing: Iwazumi Hajime x black!fem!reader

Warnings: unrequited love, angst at the end, smut; fingering (f.receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 1,079

A/N: I was struggling to come up with a title for this, and then I thought about the song Shot Down by Khalid, and now we have this lmao

All characters are 18+!!

You don't know how you got here, you don't really remember, but when you feel Iwazumi planting soft, wet kisses on your neck, you could care less about how you got here.

"Come on, Y/N, I think you should just tell him how you feel. I mean what's the worst that could happen?"

You scoff. "Oh, I don't know, maybe that the guy that I've had feelings for for a long time, rejects me?" you try, and you see her roll her eyes.

"You never know unless you try."

You weren't really sure if you could call this trying. It could be the fact that the both of you are a little bit on the intoxicated side, the party your friend's hosting downstairs muffled by the four walls your in with the guy you've been dreaming about.

His lips lock onto yours as you fall down on the bed, Iwazumi following suit, the heat of his body surrounding the front of you in warmth. Your arms wrap around his neck as his hands trail under your shirt, the feathery touch of his fingertips making goosebumps rise across your skin.

Without breaking away, he shoves your dress below your tits, his mouth attacking them eagerly. Your hands fly to his hair as his other hand makes its way to the hem of your dress.

He keeps his mouth on your breasts, his other hand joining in as well to bunch up your dress at your waist, you lifting your hips up to help him. He makes quick work of removing your underwear, throwing it off to the side somewhere before throwing his shirt off as well.

You moan softly when his fingers brush along your folds, and you hear him chuckle darkly against your neck. "You're soaking, aren't you?" And you don't get to respond as he shoves two fingers in you, your hands moving down to claw at his shoulders.

You cry into his neck as he curls his fingers inside of you, stretching you out before adding in another finger, hitting the spongy spot inside of you. "Please, Hajime, I need you," you whine out, your toes curling as you feel that knot inside of you starting to snap.

"I know, I know," he says before slipping his fingers out of you and unbuckling his jeans, getting both them and his boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. He uses your slick to coat himself before lining himself up with your entrance.

He drives inside of you, making you scream loudly in surprise. He buries his face in your neck as he pulls his hips back before thrusting inside of you with force. As your arms and legs wrap around him, his forearms hold himself up beside your head to anchor his brutal pace.

Your nails start to claw at his back, the knot in your stomach so close to coming undone. "Hajime, fuck, I'm close," you warn, and he shifts his hips, nailing your g-spot, and he only continues to hit it when you clamp around him.

"Me too, shit," he swears, and with his pace relentless against that spot inside of you, the coil snaps instantly, and you cry out his name as you cum. He shudders violently as he freezes before you feel his seed shooting into you, painting your walls white.

He pulls out of you before flipping over onto his back, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. You want to say something that you've been dying to tell him, but fatigue hits you both like a brick, and you blame it mostly on the alcohol, and you fall asleep before you can even get a word out.

^^^

When you wake up, the space next to you is cold. You open your eyes slightly, squinting as the sunlight comes through the window, a headache in the back of your head a signal of a hangover coming in.

You look to your left to see Iwazumi frozen at the door. You sit up suddenly, noticing that you're still exposed. You pull your dress up over your chest and pull your comforter over your lap. "Leaving so soon?" you joke, but his reaction sucks the humor out of your words and releases thick tension in the air.

"Listen, Y/N," he starts, still facing the door, and you feel your heart drop. "Last night was..." he trails off like he doesn't want to call it what he wants to call it.

"A mistake?" you finish, hiding further under your comforter, the embarrassment, and humiliation starting to eat at you.

"No, no, it wasn't--"

"Then why won't you look at me, Iwazumi?" The question seems to make him realize his position, but he can't bring himself to look at you.

As tears start to form in your eyes, you realize the lack of intimacy between the two of you last night. He never called your name, he never even looked at you. You both still had your clothes on. You don't know if it's a good thing that you didn't confess last night or not.

"Y/N, please, just listen--"

"Listen to what? You reject me? Why did you do it? I'm nothing but a simple fuck to you," you spit, holding back the tears in your eyes as hard as you can.

"No, it's not like that." He actually turns to look at you.

"Then what's it like, Hajime?!" Your lips start quivering on their own, and you look down.

"Y/N--"

"Get out, Hajime." There's no room in your voice for argument. You've given up. The man you've loved for so long sees you as nothing but a hit it and quit it. Another name on his list of girls he's slept with. You mean nothing to him.

He doesn't move, hesitating in his place. "Out." You're more firm this time, your voice echoing in the room, but can't even begin to cut between the tautness in the air.

His hand lands on the door handle, and you don't look at him. You feel his eyes boring holes into your head, but you don't lookup. You sit there, looking at your hands until you hear him leave.

When the door shuts, the waterworks start. Tears rain down your face, making a puddle on your comforter. "Fuck," you curse softly, but so full of bitterness.

Your best dream turned into your worst nightmare within a matter of twenty-four hours.

A/N: Aye yo, this is my first time writing angst lmao bc i usually don’t like to write angst, butttt, i may or may not do a part 2 lol

[shorties-unite]

I Might Even be a Rockstar (HannahMontana!AU)

Part 1/?

Summary: Roman is a normal boy with a very normal life who also happens to be a teen pop sensation. Virgil is a normal boy who also happens to have a debilitating crush on a teen pop sensation. Stuff happens I guess 

“THANK YOU GUYS FOR COMING, YA’LL HAVE BEEN A GREAT AUDIENCE. GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY!!” Princey gave an enthusiastic wave as the pyrotechnics let off there final sparks and confetti erupted from the cannons. Red and gold flecks of glitter raining down into the front section of the screaming crowd. He placed the microphone back in it’s place on the diamontie studded mic stand, before turning and exhaling. He loved this post show high. As he wondered his back to his dressing room he always felt lighter than air and his mind prickled comfortably with static. Someone from the crew handed him a towel and He smiled gratefully and tapped the sweat from his brow as he opened the door to his dressing room, promptly being engulfed into a hug. “You were amazing out there Ro!!” He relaxed after a moment into their arms and laughed softly. “Thanks Patton, that’s really sweet but these contacts are stinging my eyes so can you please let go?”. Patton laughed. “Fair enough,” he replied, as he moved away, allowing Roman to reach the makeup table on the other side of the dressing room, digging though the box of makeup and accessories searching for his contact case. Once found, he opened the container, and placed it on the table, already digging one of the nuisance lenses out of his eye. He glanced up into the mirror surrounded by flashbulbs. The reflection staring back at him had straight, fire engine red hair, perfectly styled into a quiff that took a lung damaging amount of hairspray to maintain. Gold glitter surrounded his eyes in a why which seemed haphazard but was in fact a very particular and intricate type of simple-yet-extravagant glam. Behind the glitter peered two eyes, one a piercing shade or emerald green and one muddy brown. Inconspicuous, boring, basic. Nothing special in the slightest. Swiftly, he removed the second contact, sweeping up their container and placing it neatly back inside the makeup case, which Patton had begun to carefully pack away, handing Roman a pair of oversized, red embezzled sunglasses from the depths of the case, which he promptly slipped over his face as someone knocked at the door. “Come in!” he called, trying to muster up as much pep as he could when in all honesty his eyes were burning, his head was itchy and he may as well have been asleep on his feet. Adieu, post stage high! Until next time. “It’s just us darlin, great show tonight,” came the reply as the door was pushed open to reveal a man with long red hair and a thick moustache along with another, younger man who would look strikingly similar to Princey himself, had most of his face not been obscured from view by tinted sunglasses and a large cap with the words SECURITY printed in bold lettering across the from. “You about ready to go?”. Princey nodded and crossed the room to meet them, adjusting the lopsided cyan wig on Patton’s head on the way. “We’re ready, let’s get this magic trick over with,”. 

*Oooooh yeahhh* 

Logan LaMottie let out a frustrated sigh, pointed glare focused directly on his best friend. “Virgil, we have school tomorrow morning and the chances of you seeing him, is completely infinitesimal, much less anything actually of interest”. Virgil rolled his eyes, but didn’t quite manage to wipe the small smile or the slight flush off of his face. “Are you still mad about that Lo?” he responded with a mischievous smirk, earning another sound of annoyance from his companion. He peaked at his reflection in the surface of the chrome pole that segregated the crowd away from the scarlet carpet leading to the black limousine with windows so tinted it seemed almost impossible that even the driver would be able to see through them. “Look,” Logan began again, shuffling closer to his friend in an effort to stop the girl next to him from standing on his foot. “Crowds aren’t my scene, and the really aren’t yours either, can we just go? You can just look up photos of him on the ride home or stare at your bedroom wall for a couple hours or something. You already know what he looks like after all”. Virgil turned to look at him for the first time since they’d arrived outside the stadium, literally hours ago. There was something in his eyes that Logan couldn’t quite place. He raised a hand, combing it through his hair before sighing for what must have been a record breaking third time in 45 seconds. This time in defeat. “Fine,” he replied. They could stay for his best friend to fulfil his dream of catching a glimpse of this Princey that he was oh so obsessed with. In the grand scheme of things, Virgil wasn’t one to ask much of him, so he supposed he could give a little just this once. Even if the level of infatuation his friend felt for the superstar was borderline nonsensical. Suddenly the crowd surged forward and the sound around them increased tenfold. Logan, unprepared for this sudden change in his environment was almost engulfed by the crowd, only saved by his friend sheer determination, grabbing his hand and barging anyone who dared to interfere with their prime position. Virgil could only see the very top of the blood red styled hair over someone else head, but as he moved along the carpet with his entourage following en suit Virgil swore he could drop dead right then and there. Princey smiled a wide, perfectly straight, perfectly white grin as he waved to the crowd, blowing kisses every so often. He now wore a red leather jacket over the silver glittery undershirt he had worn on stage, both tailored perfectly to fit his broad shoulders and slim waist. His white jeans were slightly scuffed at the ankles and knees, torn along the front in just the right places, making the olive skin peaking through appear even more tanned. Large sunglasses obscured most of his face but that didn’t matter to Virgil. He didn’t need to see those piercing green eyes to know that it was him. Right in front of him, if only for a moment. It was him. And the look on his face was something else. It was him, and he was so happy to be there. In a place with so many people he had reached and helped and who loved him for it. And though he knew the thought was ridiculous, that he was just another head in the crowd, Princey was so happy to be there with him, too. Logan found himself staring too, although his expression was drastically different than Virgil’s. Virgil’s face contained the kind of euphoria the he seldom let himself feel, much less express. The kind that would allow him to come out the other side of any awful experience still as peppy as Patton Truscott midway though a halftime show. Logan on the other hand, was completely lost in thought. Part of him was amazed that they had managed to pull it of. Part of him wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Now that he was here it was obvious. The Remus and Roman Stewart did make a habit of acting rather stragely. Micellaneous doctor and dentist appointments pulled one or both of the twins out of class far too often for it to fit to any kind of regular health schedule. Their facial structure resembled Princey's to a tee, excluding his hair and eye colour which could easily be manipulated. For christ sake his first song to take off last Summer was literally called BEST OF BOTH WORLDS LOGAN HOW DAFT COULD YOU HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN. As the star and his posse reached the limousine, Logan snuck a look at his starstruck best friend, then back at the limo as another familiar face with less familiar electric blue hair stepped into the car behind the quote unquote “Rockstar”. “Okay they’re in the car, they’re leaving, time for us to go too.” Logan pulled Virgil by the wrist slightly, almost surprise when his friend followed willingly. He was quiet as they walked back to where Logan had parked, and most of the drive to drop him back home, unable to come up with much more than a couple of breathy half-words as Logan pulled off of the highway and into Virgil’s neighbourhood. He didn’t mind. This certainly was an interesting development, which he hypothesised would more than likely lead to equally interesting results. But first, an adequate circadian rhythm needed to be maintained, and further investigation was required. 

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A/N: SO hey void here’s the first part of the thing I was talking about a while ago bc I felt like it was too good for ya’ll not to see and also I’m scared it’ll get lost in my unfinished writing tag forever. Don’t expect a part two until at least the end of next week cause homegirl has hella exams, anyway, onto the story and special thanks to the people that helped me figure out a direction for this story in the first place. (@frikijedai @datfearlessfangirl ya’ll are real one’s, sorry I couldn’t make them both miley lmao)

Tags: @nadja-chamack16 

[tracybirds]

*grins* @gumnut-logic another one for your “to read” pile. Thanks for being so welcoming to all us newbies in the fandom and glad we can babble about the ecosystems and whales and writing and goodness knows what else together :D I don’t even hold your Aussie heritage against you (true historic international relations are happening here)

Of course it’s featuring Virgil :D Have a wonderfully Nutty Day !

Warning for non explicit nudity bc well that’s what happens when you take a shower *whistles innocently*

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The sound of streaming water and snatches of off-key singing that floated out from the hangar bathroom told Virgil that Gordon had once again raced through his post-mission checks in order to snag the best shower on Tracy Island. There were eight showers scattered around the sprawling villa, all fitted with temperature controls and pressure jets that could wash away sweat and blood and private tears after a hard rescue. But all the brothers were in agreement, the shower in the hangar was the best, if only for the virtue of being no more than fifty metres from any of their birds and removing the requirement of climbing stairs before stripping away the muck that clung to them. The ritual of jostling each other for first shower and talking in low voices, sprawled across ancient couches while they waited their turns, provided them with a necessary boundary between rescue and rest that none of them were willing to sacrifice lightly.

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care today. His head was pounding slightly as his body protested at the thought of more exertion and he held the railing tightly as he climbed the stairs to the main section of their home.

He wasn’t sure what he had been planning as he swayed slightly in the lounge room. All he really wanted was a sandwich and to not need to talk to anyone for a couple of hours. He collapsed on the nearest couch, groaning at the way his sash dug into him as he piled his weight on top of the utilities that adorned it. Wriggling slightly, he pulled it off and discarded it on the floor beside him. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a second, he thought to himself.

---

Somebody’s finger was jabbing into his side, pulling Virgil up from the depths of slumber.

He assessed the annoyance as he groaned at its intrusion.

“Virgil,” called a voice from above him.

“Ngh,” he grunted, and turned away, burrowing his face into the back of the couch.

“Grandma is gonna kill you if you don’t get up,” insisted the voice. “Come on, you need a shower, you stink and you’re gonna get mud everywhere.”

Virgil knew all this. He wanted the voice to go away and stop badgering him with information that he was already perfectly aware of.

He considered for a moment that perhaps there was some sort of dissonance between his actions and his awareness of the fury that would rain down from above if his Grandma discovered him lying there, mud-soaked, grass-stained, and covered in unidentifiable substances that he didn’t want to dwell on.

“On your own head, Virg,” chirped the voice and suddenly all was silent again.

---

It was mid afternoon by the time Scott crashed into the lounge room, loud and cheerful as he chatted on the comm to Kayo.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Virgil, still snoring on the couch. His eyebrows raised as he took in the semi discarded uniform, the muddy footprints that showed how Virgil had crashed without a second voice.

“What is it, Scott?” asked Kayo.

“It’s Virgil,” he replied, holding out his wrist to allow the comm to transmit a rudimentary holoscan of the room.

“Yeesh, is he okay?” she asked. “Looks like whatever happened this morning hit him hard.”

“He should be, Gordon would have mentioned otherwise. Or at least hidden it better.”

“Should we start heading back?”

“Nah,” said Scott, moving gingerly through the room to avoid spreading more mud around. “I’ll start clean-up here and check on him myself. I’ll let you know if I need back up.”

“F.A.B., Scott,” she said and signed off.

Scott sighed as he looked around him and grabbed the mop. He could worry about the couch – and his brother – after the most immediate mess was dealt with and food was procured. He thought back over the report Gordon had made only a few hours prior, his face freshly scrubbed and skin still pink from the heat of the shower water. There had been nothing to indicate injury, just a comment about both of them being famished and Gordon looking forward to making a meal without Grandma hovering over his shoulder ‘helping’.

Virgil snuffled in his sleep and Scott looked down at him with a fond smile. He was too young to remember life before his brother was born, the two of them partners for as long as he could remember. They’d shared a room, shared toys and computer games and sports equipment and even their classroom teacher when they’d been put in a split year class. They’d always shared their responsibilities as big brothers too. But Scott was still Virgil’s big brother, and the only one he had, so it was with a gentle touch that Scott woke him.

He grinned at the sight of Virgil frowning against the light, blinking owlishly as he readjusted to consciousness.

“Hey Virg.”

“Morning?” his brother asked in confusion.

“Nah, just a nap.”

“Oh,” said Virgil, stretching out the crick in his neck. “Wow, what happened?”

Scott frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember climbing up the stairs,” said Virgil, looking carefully around him. “God, I was exhausted.”

He scratched at his chin and sniffed sharply.

“Am I still in uniform?”

“Yup,” said Scott. He held out a sandwich and grinned when Virgil promptly inhaled it.

The brother sat in silence, eating their way through a plateful of ham sandwiches. Food didn’t need to be fancy when you’d burned through every energy resource you had not four hours ago.

Finally, Virgil sighed and leaned back. He pushed the plate away as he bent down to remove his boots and tear the socks from his feet.

“Eurgh,” said Scott, shoving him away. Virgil threw the socks half-heartedly at the laundry chute, shrugging indifferently when they fell short.

“You’re getting those,” said Scott firmly. “I’m not touching them, that crosses a line.”

Virgil groaned and held out an arm.

“Come on, help me up then.”

Scott hauled his brother to his feet, waiting patiently as Virgil stooped down to collect his things.

“Shower, then bed,” he said firmly, as though it were the first night he’d been trusted with babysitting his brothers all over again.

Unlike then, Virgil didn’t fight him, instead leaning sleepily against his should and allowing Scott to drag him up the stairs to his bedroom.

Scott gently kicked the door open and walked into Virgil’s sunlit room. Wide windows opened onto magnificent views of the surrounding landscape, the blue ocean and lush greens of the forest that had established itself on the rocky island hundreds of years before them. He could feel Virgil sagging in relief beside him and swung into their shared en suite bathroom.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, rummaging through his brother’s drawers.

Virgil didn’t reply, only giving him a thumbs up when Scott looked up to scowl at him.

“Well, yell if you need me,” said Scott, throwing a pair of sweatpants at him. “I’m gonna go clean the couch before Kayo comes back with Grandma.”

Virgil blinked as Scott hurried from the room. He was feeling a lot more human now, the food and nap having done him a world of good, but he was now very aware of the grimy feeling that coated his skin and stuck in his hair. He peeled off his uniform, bundling it into the basket that sat in the corner and turned the tap on. While he waited for the boiler to heat the water and fill the bathroom with a steam that would clear the fog in his mind, he padded back into his room, fumbling with the sound system for a moment until the calm sounds of his favourite sonatas filled the air.

His stomach and soul fed, Virgil jumped into the shower, murmuring happily at the stream that massaged his muscles and joints and pulled the sweat and mud from his skin.

He took his time, savouring the moment and washing away the heartache of the day. Mudslides were fast and vicious, burying homes and suffocating the living without discrimination. Even though the rescue that he and Gordon had been assigned had been successful, he knew that he was saving people who had lost more that he would ever know. The emotional toll of the day had worn him down and it was only now, as the burden lifted, that he could recognise how it had weighed on him.

There was a knock on the door.

“You good, Virg?” called Scott.

“Yeah,” he called back, his voice rough against his throat.

He turned the shower off, the strains of music still floating in air joined by the slow dripping of water.

Virgil felt more refreshed than he had done in days, perhaps even weeks, but as he pulled on the soft sweatpants, the events of the day came crashing back down upon him.

He barely greeted Scott when he left the bathroom, making a beeline for his bed and flopping down on it face first, not even bothering to close the blinds in his room.

“Uh, Virg?”

Virgil didn’t respond as he sunk into the mattress, wet hair squashed down as he burrowed deeper into the pillows. A soft snore snuck out and Scott chuckled.

“Sleep well then,” he said and walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Love you little brother,” he whispered.

[serenlyss]

Concordat

Rating: G Relationships: ritsu&reigen, ritsu&shigeo Summary: He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid. “Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?" (When Reigen Arataka, PI, decided to pursue a career as a detective, he'd never expected to take on a missing persons case. Then again, he hadn't expected to receive said case from a literal child, either, and yet, here he is.) Crossposted to AO3: Concordat

Concordat - An agreement or treaty relating to matters of mutual interest.

This is a gift for my dear friends @winsstar-writes and @pigpantpoop on tumblr for their Detective AU, which I've just fallen in love with so fast hahaha. So here's more Ritsu and Reigen content bc I love their dynamic So Much. I hope you two like it, ily <3

---

Reigen sinks into his office chair, letting his whole body slouch with a long sigh. Business is slow at the agency today, and he’s bored out of his mind waiting for someone to show up and give him something to do. Outside his window, he can hear rain hitting the sill, a gentle summer storm outside chasing the pedestrians indoors. He has no clients scheduled for the rest of the day, and it’s only just past lunch, which means he’s going to spend the rest of the work day sitting around, doing nothing.

He rummages around in his suit pocket for a cigarette and lighter, leaning over his desk. He holds the cigarette between his lips and lights it up, uncaring of the cloud of smoke that leaves his lips and hangs around him. Briefly, he thinks that he must stink of it, and that it won’t make a very good impression if a client walks in on him smoking in his own office, but he can’t bring himself to care, today. He leans back in the chair again, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Maybe I should just pack it up, move on to something else, he laments with a frown. He’d left a comfortable office job for this, but, well, he’d always been a bit of a drifter. Perhaps the detective life just isn’t what he’s cut out for, after all.

The chime of a bell reaches his ear as the front door to his office is opened, and he hastily moves to put out his cigarette, pressing it down into the ashtray at the corner of his desk. “Come in,” he calls, voice cracking slightly as he attempts to put on his cheerful customer service voice, and pushes himself up from his chair to greet his guest.

He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid.

“Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?” asks the literal child who’s come to greet him. He can’t be older than ten, considering the primary school uniform he wears, and he looks up at Reigen from beneath a furrowed brow, dark gray eyes scrutinizing him carefully. His black hair sticks up in all directions, like he’d just rolled out of bed before coming here. Reigen is deeply unimpressed, but, well, it can’t hurt to humor a child for a little while.

“Yeah, this is the place. What can I do for you?” Reigen asks, opting for a plastic smile as he beckons the boy inside.

The boy shuffles a bit on his feet, looking around the office with undeniable skepticism written all over his face, and then reluctantly takes a step inside. The door falls quietly shut behind him, and he hovers in the entryway. His gaze is more deliberate and calculating than most adult clients Reigen’s had. “You’re the detective?” he clarifies, flashing Reigen that uncertain look again.

Reigen resists the urge to sigh. What was with this kid? “Reigen Arataka, PI, at your service! I must say, I don’t get a lot of kids coming here, though. What’s the matter, you lose something?” He can’t fathom why an elementary school student would come to him for answers, of all people, or what a kid would find so important that he’d need the help of a detective to find. It must be some kind of prank.

The kid shakes his head, clinging to the straps of his backpack as though he can’t figure out what else to do with his hands. “No--I mean, yes, but not like what you’re--I’m looking for my brother!” he stammers, fumbling over his words nervously. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed, his face flushed pink. “Nobody else I talked to would take me seriously… the police keep saying they’re going to find him, but they won’t even listen to me when I tell them--” Suddenly, the kid freezes, cutting himself off abruptly.

The mention of a missing brother makes Reigen pause in his tracks, halfway to his desk where he usually sits and consults with clients. He’s an only child himself, but the thought of losing a sibling… He shakes his head, turning to face the boy and raising a brow at him. “Tell them what?” he prompts, though he honestly isn’t really sure he wants to know.

The kid looks up at him with uncertainty, eyes filled with distrust, then glances away again. “My brother… he was kidnapped because he’s an esper,” he mumbles, and quickly adds, “I know it sounds stupid and crazy, but it’s true! I’ve tried to tell the police, but they don’t listen to me! Your sign said you specialize in psychic cases, right?”

Reigen freezes. He’d known at the time that adding that caveat was a stupid idea, but he hadn’t expected anyone to come to him about a missing esper. He’d only done it to attract the easily-manipulated types, the older folks who believe in spirits and the gullible people who think throwing around a little table salt is enough to exorcise them, but this is in a league of its own. “Esper?” he echoes, feeling the dread inside of him multiply.

“Yeah, that’s what I said!” The boy says, impatient. “Everyone keeps telling me to give it more time, but it’s been months now. I can’t give up on finding him!” He fixes Reigen with what is potentially the most determined expression the man has ever seen on such a young child, hands balled into tight fists that quiver with barely-contained emotion. “So? You can do it, right?”

For a few long moments, Reigen can do nothing but stare, and then he clenches his teeth, glaring. “Is this some kind of joke?” he blurts, annoyed. “It’s not funny, kid, so just give it up already.” The words come out a bit harsher than he intends them to be, a hint of spite behind them, but he can’t find it in himself to be remorseful.

He expects the kid to give up then, to either admit to his prank or burst into tears or do some other kid thing, but instead he gets angry. “I’m not lying!” he snaps, stomping a foot on the floor in his outburst. “Two months ago, my older brother disappeared while he was walking home from school. I wasn’t there ‘cause I was in the hospital, but I know he wouldn’t have just wandered off! Someone took him, and I need to find him!” He’s rambling, the words tumbling from his mouth without much forethought, and Reigen can practically feel his desperation in the air. He continues, “I-I can’t just leave things the way they were, I can’t. I have to find him, I’m going to find him. I have to be someone for him, be there for him! If I don’t try, then what kind of lousy brother am I?”

The kid sniffles and reaches up to his eyes, just inches in front of Reigen, and it’s only then that Reigen realizes that the child has begun to cry, big crocodile tears that leave his eyes red and puffy and his nose a little wet. He can feel his brain short-circuiting at the sight of the crying boy; he has very little experience with kids, and would never, in a thousand years, consider himself the kind of person a child goes to for help or comfort. And yet here one is, crying in the middle of his office and all but begging for his help. He takes a breath, steadying his racing thoughts. I’ve never attempted a missing person case before, he thinks to himself, but something keeps him from outright refusing. Ask me to find a cat, sure, but a whole-ass person? I’m not equipped for this… Then again, had he ever really been equipped for a job? He’d always prided himself on being flexible with the kinds of jobs he would take--’flexible’ is a lot nicer of a word than ‘unqualified’--and, well, crying children have a certain persuasion of their own about them.

He isn’t sure what possesses him to do it, but he reaches up and pulls the tan hat from his head, pressing it against the boy’s mop of dark hair with a gentle puff. “Alright, enough of the tears. It’s not exactly my line of work, but what the hell--heck, what the heck?” He corrects himself with a cringe of embarrassment, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind all that much as he peeks out from beneath the brim of Reigen’s too-large hat in bewilderment. “Why don’t we start with a name, huh? Since you barged in here and demanded I help you out.”

The boy blinks, and a little light returns to his dark gaze. “Oh, my brother’s name is Shigeo,” he says, a little breathless, like he’s still processing the fact that he’s finally receiving the help he’s been searching for.

“Well, I was talking about your name, but that’s important, too,” Reigen corrects, flashing the boy an amused smile.

The boy flinches, and immediately the bewilderment is gone, replaced by a childish little pout that’s probably meant to be angry but comes across more endearing instead. Endearing… god, what is wrong with me today? Reigen berates himself. He’s in way over his head. “Kageyama Ritsu,” the boy replies stiffly, clearly embarrassed and attempting to hide it behind a stubborn frown.

Reigen moves over to his desk and flips his pad open to a new page, retrieving a pen and starting to jot down the two names. There will be lots of details to gather, still, but for now he’ll stick to the basics. Once he’s written down the two names and started to organize his messy thoughts, he gestures Ritsu over to sit in the chair across from him. He sets his pen down and clasps his hands in front of him on the desk, putting on his business face. “Alright, then, Ritsu, let’s talk.”

[unholyhelbig]

omg haha that was completely my fault for not being specific! especially bc i like the other fic too! if you're considering writing a pt 2 to the one where hope is a surfer you definitely should bc that's my fav ❤️

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts! | Read Part One Here

[a/n: Thank you so much for the love! As always, writing smut is not my strong suit, so go easy on me!]

Title: Braving the Storm [P2] 

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/ Hope Mikaelson 

The warm summer wind curled around Hope Mikaelson’s legs, the thick scent of the sea pulled at every inch of her as she walked along the mostly vacant beachfront. The sky was cloudless and large water-washed rocks sat littered with seaweed drawn in from the storm. She reveled in the silence.

Her board had been broken and her keys were somewhere in the sand. Despite the warnings and her pounding headache, she took to searching the stretch of land helplessly. Palm leaves and different patio furniture that hadn’t been bolted down lay crumpled and broken. She had left Lizzie at the store, had flushed, and walked out because she couldn’t even justify what had happened.

Concussion or not, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t one to have a quick fuck in a stock room an play it off like it was nothing. She liked to have a connection, or at least a decent meal with a woman first. Hell- even a last name would settle the odd feeling in her stomach. But no, it wasn’t her.

She frowned and kicked weakly at a pile of sand that could have been a magnificent castle with a trapped princess and a valiant prince who would have been a woman all along; because only someone with the female sense could rescue a girl from a tower that large. Finding her keys was a long shot.

Hope had fastened a pair of fake lifeguard pants around her waist- the word was misprinted and the color was an abrasive shade of red. She flexed her toes in the wet sand and breathed in the overwhelming scent of rain and her own sweat, shockingly glad that Lizzie had forced her to down that much water. It eased the nausea in her stomach.

The world felt like it was on its edge; everyone still huddled in their homes either too drunk to see the light of day or too concerned with the power lines and rising water to venture past thresholds. She stared at the waves like so could see the clear line where it cut off, watched as rolling darkness hurried away.

“You’re following me now?” Hope didn’t tear her eyes away from the ocean.

“I figured if you dropped out of nowhere, you’d want someone around.” Lizzie grimaced before taking a breath “I don’t know how concussions work.”

Hope chuckled and glanced over; Lizzie looked effortlessly captivating in the sunlight. Her hair caught every turn of the wind and her eyes were bluer than the very waves they stared at. Her nose was red and raw and her expression was tired but content. It matched how Hope felt.

“It’s just a little headache, I’ve had a few.”

Lizzie lifted a perfect brow as if prompting her to continue, to fill the unwavering silence of their Eden.

“Before I started surfing, I skated. God, my mom was furious with the choice but knew there was no talking me out of something I was determined to do. She took me to a skate park and without any training, or practice, I took to it. I fell within seconds and she had to take me to urgent care for some stitches. I had a concussion then, too.”

“You sound like you’re stubborn.”

“The best people are.”

Lizzie smiled, and Hope couldn’t tell if it was more to her, or to the world.  Either way, she could feel her palms sweat and her throat tingle. There was an odd pull to Lizzie, one that made her feel like it would be okay to straddle in her a back stock room filled with cheesy t-shirts and multicolored rocks that they bought in bulk.

“I’m not like that,” Hope finally stumbled out.

“Stubborn?”

“No, I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit. I meant… I’m not someone who plays into that whole surfer stereotype. I don’t just fuck random people because they saved my life, or whatever.” Hope’s cheeks felt hot and she averted her gaze.

Lizzie took a deep breath and turned until she could face Hope entirely, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re thinking too much. You’re not the only one who got something out of that, you know? Don’t run yourself ragged over something silly.”

“Like morals?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but yes.”

Hope shoved her hands into the pockets of the cheap sweatpants and sighed “it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that I wouldn’t have given you a second glance if it weren’t for this hurricane and a rainbow umbrella?”

“Oh, should it? People don’t tend to notice a girl behind a counter when all they sell is novelty items. Why would someone who lives here have any reason to buy another shirt with the state they live in, embroidered on the breast?”

Hope weighed her options and her outlying guilt. Lizzie had a point- when she first moved here she was captivated by the glass-plated buildings and what they had to offer; the towels that were screen printed with images of sunsets, the key chains flashing with the most common names, and whatever neon toy was on the market.

“So, just sex?” She sounded out.

“Just sex, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the waves, watching as they pulled a generous amount back out to sea. Hope had never had an offer like this laid out on the table, not so bluntly, anyway. There had been hookups and long term relationships. But never something just focused on the end goal of pleasure.

“Okay,” her voice was slight “Yeah, we can do that.”

Lizzie nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before turning and walking back towards the boardwalk. Hope hated the fact that she watched the entire way, and felt an odd type of ache in the bit of her stomach. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t find her keys.

It took two weeks for their small town to feel normal again. The stores had pried wet wood from windows and piled sandbags in sheds instead of at the edges of doors. Hope had been careful and calculated when it came to every visit to the beach after that.

She couldn’t deny the pull it had on her. She had gotten a new board and fished deep in her junk drawer until she found the spare key to the jeep. The beaches were full again and the waves towered enough to get some good days in- and still, Hope couldn’t bring herself to step foot through the doors of the small novelty shop.

She struggled to peel the wet suit from her skin, releasing the top zipper as her bare feet burned against the asphalt. She ignored the wandering stares around her, and the cooks behind the nearest restaurant as they puffed in smoke before slowly letting it fill the air.

Hope moved the rest of the wetsuit down and threw it in her trunk, feeling the stifling summer air against her mostly bare skin. She started to dig helplessly through her backseat in search of a large t-shirt or even a pair of pants.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying the view.”

She straightened out, a flash of anger moving through her. Hope dug her nails into her palm and turned to face the culprit “Would you still enjoy the view if I- oh,”

Lizzie had a smug smile on her face, and Hope cursed herself for feeling that familiar rush of heat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re not rethinking our deal, are you?”

“No, of course not, I’ve just been a little tied up is all.” Hope spoke too fast for her own good and Lizzie was quick to take notice, but nice enough not to say anything in the first place. She knew her cheeks were a soft pink but chalked it up to the sun that beat against them.

The blonde leaned forward, she smelled like sunscreen “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Hope lifted an eyebrow cautiously “Oh, um, I mean- it still kind of hurts. Maybe you could get a better look at it… in my car.”

Lizzie schooled her stance and her smile twinkled as if she was just given an invitation for a massive masquerade ball complete with freshly clipped roses and fancy platters of food. Not the backseat of a used Jeep that had a healthy coating of sand on the floor.

Hope opened the door further, like a real gentleman and watched carefully as Lizzie climbed in before doing the same herself. And she hadn’t really thought this all the way through- because the riskiest place she had ever had sex was a few weeks back in the middle of a category five.

Now they were in the back corner of a parking lot that was surrounded by a weather-washed fence and the backs of a few shops. She suddenly felt like she was exposing more than Lizzie was- still in her work uniform of jean shorts and a t-shirt while Hope sported a black bikini, showing the full expanse of her stomach, arms, and legs. Lizzie traced every inch while Hope leaned forward and locked the doors.

“Your car is nice,” Lizzie managed

“It’s a piece of junk, but thank you for trying.”

“Come here.”

Hope allowed herself to be guided to Lizzie’s side of the car by the top strap of her suit. It hadn’t been hard enough to unloop it, but she was effectively in Lizzie’s lap, a tongue running over the roof of her mouth in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t sure which one of them moaned first, but it lit a fire deep that ran deep against her skin as Lizzie’s hands wandered.

Hope bit down softly on Lizzie’s lower lip before running her tongue over it and moving her touch to Lizzie’s jaw. “I’m in charge this time,” She spoke in a low snarl.

“And what makes you figure that?”

She moved to Lizzie’s pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lips “My shitty car, my rules.”

Hope didn’t’ hear a further objection, just a small whimper of pleasure as she looped her fingers around the bottom of Lizzie’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Hope hadn’t been one to take control before- the nerves of starting a relationship, or lack thereof, like this was teeming at the back of her mind. But not when Lizzie was under her like this. Exposed.

She unhooked the latch of her bra, throwing the flimsy fabric into the backseat with her wetsuit. Hope could feel her own heart rate rise as she got a good look at Lizzie; the way her skin seemed soft, breasts flawless in the early evening lights. She knew in that moment that she wanted to watch Lizzie unravel completely. She wanted to be the cause of it.

Hope kissed softly down Lizzie’s chest, nipping tenderly, her stomach heaving up and down with hot breath. “Stop teasing.” She hummed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the leather seats.

The button to Lizzie’s pants were easily undone, and she eagerly lifted from the seat long enough for Hope to slide the shorts down to her ankles before they were discarded entirely among the sandy floors. Hope lowered herself, even more, running her nails against Lizzie’s sides.

“You know,” She spoke against Lizzie’s thigh, biting down soft enough to elicit a moan of pleasure, “I thought this idea of yours was pretty crazy.”

“Uh huh,”

Lizzie wasn’t listening, and Hope knew that. She was trying to scoot down the seat to bring Hope’s mouth closer. But the shorter girl had a good hold on each of her legs, moving just a bit closer to her sex.

“It’s starting to grow on me a little bit.” Hope ran her tongue over the little bite mark she had left on the inside of Lizzie’s thigh “Unless my priorities are all out of wack.”

“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way.” Lizzie moved her hand from the seat to the girl's chin, pulling her gaze up until blue met a deeper hue of cobalt. “I don’t care about your priorities unless one of them is screaming at you to get on with it, and fuck me.”

She blew out a puff of air and smiled “Message received.”

Hope returned back to her task, pushing Lizzie’s legs further apart before shifting the strip of wet fabric to the side. She breathed in the scent of lavender before running her tongue over Lizzie’s slit, just barely tasting her. The girl writhed beneath her and let out a shuddered breath at the quick contact.

She had reveled in the fact that Lizzie hated to be teased, ghosting her lips over her clit, hot and heavy. Hope knew what she was doing, knew how to trace little patterns, and suck with just the right amount of pressure until Lizzie shook under her touch. She dug her hand into Auburn locks.

“Keep going,” Lizzie husked, clenching her eyes shut to avoid staring at the fuzzy gray ceiling.

Hope followed the command, changing her pace as she ran her tongue over the small bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm until she felt Lizzie’s body fall rigid. Her own hair being pulled as Lizzie bit down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, to keep from screaming loud enough to catch the attention of anyone who happened to be in the parking lot.

Her chest heaved, her mouth dry as Hope pulled away and moved her thumb against the corner of her lip, a satisfied grin on her face.  Lizzie was coated in an even sheen of sweat, her fingers grasping at her t-shirt. She pulled it over her head, finally catching her bearings.

“I might like you better when you’re not talking.” She sniffed, sitting up as she reached for her shorts.

“Thank you, I think?” Hope pushed herself onto the back seat, moving her hands against her knees to brush off the rest of the sand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But maybe next time, can we do this somewhere that isn’t your car?” Lizzie moved an old energy drink can from where her back had been resting. “Not that this isn’t great, or anything.”

Hope scoffed and pulled that random shirt that she finally found over her head. Her skin was hot and the sand was scratching close to her skin. But it was better than the sudden blush that bloomed against her skin.

She smiled. “Message received.”

[having-a-freddie-time]

Home At Last (pt 1)

hiii i decided that i would write a dad!brian fic bc i actually LIVE for that. this might flop but oh well. enjoy!

Warning: fluff ovbi

word count: 1.4k

A/N; please feel free to message me with tips and advice! i would love to continue writing!! thanks a ton!! <33

Rain trickles down the window, each droplet racing down. It had been pouring for what seems like forever. You always despised rain, it made your hair feel weird and made you feel sticky. You especially hated rain now that Brian was off on a tour with Queen. He’d usually hold you as you both slept during the storm. He would whisper sweet comments in your ear, rub little figures on your arm and most importantly, made you feel safe. Since he’s been gone, all it ever does in London is rain. Now that you’re going into the final stages of your third trimester, things have been extremely hard without Brian with you. He hasn’t seen your swollen, pregnant belly in what feels like forever, but it only has been three months. You take a deep breath and recall to when you first told Brian you were pregnant.

You hugged the toilet seat as you puked for the fifth day in a row this week. At first you thought you had food poisoning because Brian was sick for two days but now you’re getting suspicious. A couple weeks ago, you and Brian had celebrated your three year anniversary, and boy did y’all celebrate. Every chance you had, you celebrated.

You were sick and tired of always sprinting to the bathroom and spilling your guts. While Brian was gone at the studio with the other boys, you had a planned a doctor’s appointment without his knowledge.

The appointment resulted you in getting a blood test which showed you the reason why you had been so sick, tired and moody. You looked at the sonogram, tears filling your eyes and a smile spreading across your lips. You were currently four weeks pregnant at the time you had found out.

When you got home, you did some lengthy research on Pintrest to find out cute ways to announce that you and Brian were expecting. You had called Bri, asking him to invite the boys over for dinner. He agreed and you started cooking chicken parm which was Bri and the boy’s favorite meal you cooked. 

You heard a raggedy old van start pulling up so you quickly placed a single roll on a tray in the oven and quickly ran to the couch. You pretended to read a magazine that had a pregnant mother on the cover, which contained ‘Advice for first time moms’ on the title.

The boys piled in  laughing and joking with one another. They shrugged off their coats and wiggled out of their shoes before plopping on the couch next to you. “How are you Y/N?” John asked softly, with a sweet smile present on his lips. You and John had been fairly close to one another considering you were close in age. “I’m doing fantastic, John.” You tried to hide your toothy grin by biting the inside of your lip.

“Love, is dinner ready?” Brian asked as he walked in from the bathroom, a small smile creeping. All the boys looked at you, their eyes begging for you to say yes. You nodded and waved them on to get their plates. 

As soon as they sat down, you smiled from behind to magazine, making sure the cover was in sight. “Hey Bri, I’ve got a bun in the oven.” You nonchalantly said making direct eye contact with him. He furrowed his brows and slowly walked towards the oven. He opened the oven and pursed his lips in confusion. “Hon why is there only one bun in the oven?” He asked while examining the singular bun. 

You bit your lips to keep in a huge smile and took a quiet deep breath. You got up from the couch, the magazine in hand. You held the sonogram in between random pages and set the magazine down in Brian’s sight, the sonogram facing up. “Hmm, guess we only have one bun in the oven.” You say casually as you take the pan out, setting it on the counter. Brian shrugged and started walking back towards the table before catching a glimpse of the magazine. 

At first he looked away and continued walking until he stopped in his tracks, going back to the magazine. His eyes went so wide you thought they were going to pop out of his head. He snatched the picture, reading it over and over. “Y/N IS THIS YOURS?” He asked while frantically looking from you and the sonogram. 

You couldn’t help but to crack a toothy smile. You nodded your head like a bobble head, tears forming in your eyes. He ran over to you, picking you up ever so gently and squeezing you. “We have a bun in the oven!” You excitedly exclaimed, cupping Brian’s face with your hands, giggling and smiling like an idiot. 

The boys looked up, their faces shocked and excited. Everyone began cheering and hugging you and Bri. The boys jumped all over Brian, clapping him on the back, expressing their pride in him. Soon they turned to you, squeezing you and kissing your cheek or forehead.

“I will say now, I will the baby’s favorite uncle!” Freddie exclaimed while hugging you and making dead eye contact with Roger and John. Soon an argument broke out on who would be the best uncle and who was going to teach the baby what. 

In the roar of excitement, Brian had pulled you away into the living room. He sat down on the couch, you following in suit. He had tears in his eyes and a huge grin across his face. “I can’t believe this, Y/N.” He said softly, grabbing your hands to hold them. 

Tears flooded down your face as you watched his actions. He gently lifted your shirt up, revealing your belly. He brought his down to belly level, holding your hips gently. “Hey little one, I can’t wait to meet you and kiss your beautiful face and spoil you oh and I can’t wait to hold your little body.” He kissed your belly softly, tracing little shapes on your abdomen. ”Your mommy and I love you very much, bug.” He whispered softly.

Suddenly you were interrupted by your phone ringing, a picture of you and Brian acting goofy popped up indicating it was him. You wipe your tears and answered the phone, a smile appearing on your lips.

“Hello my dear.” Brian said softly on the other side of the phone, knowing it was probably early morning at home. “Hello Bri.” You said quietly, you could practically see Brian smiling at hearing your voice.

“How is our little bug doing?” He asked sweetly. He always asked about the baby each time he called. ‘Bug’ was a nickname he called the baby even though you’ve already decided on a name. “She’s doing fine, kicking up a storm as always.” You said with a smile as you rubbed your swollen belly.

“Could you do me a favor, hon?’ Brian asked, chewing on his fingernail, a habit he developed while being away from you and the baby. You sighed quietly and got up from your seat near the window. “I’ve sent you so my baby bump pictures, love. It hasn’t grown since last night.” You giggled softly as you looked in the mirror. Ever since Brian left for tour, he had begged you to send baby bump pictures so he could boast about you on social media. Half of his feed was your pictures and photos of sonograms you had sent.

“No love, I believe you. I want you to open the front door.” He said quietly, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. “Did you or the boys send me something?” You asked while you walked towards the door, unlocking it and balancing the phone on your shoulder.

You opened the door slowly, being greeted by the cold air and moisture. You sighed and looked around, about the close the door. “Nothing’s here-“ You were interrupted by a mop of brunette curls approaching you, a huge smile across it’s handsome face. You dropped your phone and wobbled towards him. Brian quickly ran towards you, breaking the distance between the both of you with a needy hug. You held each other, swaying from side to side as you tightened your grip on him. 

“Hello, my dear. Been a while hasn’t it?” He asked as he pulled away to look at your glowing face. His eyes lit up with excitement and absolute love. “My goodness, you have pregnancy glow!” He exclaimed, while cupping your face and kissing you all over.

You hooked your arms around his neck, squinting your eyes as Brian planted kisses all over your face.

“Oh how I’ve missed you and bug.”

[pleasespellchimerical]

the opening of that Good Omens/Evangelion crossover that I’ll never finish

Sometimes it’s a relief to admit I’ll never finish a fic and that’s ok

anyway, things that will never be:

Angels! Demons! the end of the world!

Heaven is responsible for this mess. Hell can’t figure it out, so all the demons get sent to infiltrate Nerv

Ryoji Kaji is a low level demon who hero-worships Crowley (and also falls in love with a human. Demons can, in fact, love)

Crowley and Katsuragi are besties. He hangs out at her apartment a lot, and they drink absurd amounts of booze together

Crowley feels really horrible for these kids, so he does his utmost to protect them from the psychological consequences of this war. His efforts are not enough, but they do make things a little better than canon NGE

Crowley steals an Eva

Everyone’s out of town to deal with the crisis with Sandalphon, Crowley’s alone at HQ, and oh shit another angel

So he up and steals one of the production units

Guess who this angel is! (no angels have been seen on Earth since the Second Impact. Until now)

Crowley doesn’t want to fight his old friend, but Aziraphale isn’t acting like himself

When defeated, Aziraphale’s soul jumps into the Eva and he possesses the unit. Humans can no longer pilot it, and Crowley’s in deep shit for stealing it in the first place, so Crowley is forced to pilot it as punishment (it’s not a punishment bc he’s got his old friend back)

Crowley and Kaworu are old frenemies. Crowley’s jealous of the whole “free-will” thing

The ending is very different, but humanity and love wins. Humanity and love always win <3

The piece of fic itself is under the cut. Enjoy!

London, AD 2000, September

It was raining that night.

In a worn-down bookshop in the Soho neighborhood of London, an angel and a demon had holed up with several glasses of wine while the rain poured down.

Until there was a knock on the bookshop door.

They both started, and glanced at each other.

The angel got up to answer the door. "We're closed—" he started, but stopped when the girl huddling under an umbrella held out a book to him.

He took it gingerly, as though expecting it to explode, and whitened when he saw the worn cover.

"What—?" was all he could muster.

The girl looked at him like he was holding her first-born child. "She said to. I don't know who you are or why this is so important, but Agnes said that you need to have it."

The angel took a small breath.

The girl hesitated. "It's a family heirloom, all right? I'm her last descendant. So please—" her voice cracked. "Take care of it."

"I—yes, of course." The angel cradled the book to his chest. "Do you want to come in? Out of the rain? I can get you a cuppa—"

She shook her head. "I need to go. And—" one last plaintive look. "—be careful."

And the girl vanished into the rainy night.

The angel slowly shut the door and made his way to the back room, where he'd left the demon and the bottle of wine.

"Wozzat?" said the demon as he sat back down.

The angel held the book out in front of him reverentially, fingers gently stroking the cover. He carefully opened to a random page, observing the centuries of notes scribbled in the margins.

"There's something sticking out," the demon pointed out helpfully.

The angel paged to where the bookmark was. One section of the text was circled in pencil.

He read it.

And then he read it again.

And stood up.  "I think we need to call it a night."

The demon shrugged. "Sure. I take it this is one of your special books?"

"I've been coveting a copy for centuries…" the angel murmured. "And a girl just appears in the rain and hands one over. Here, take a look." The demon stood and peered over his shoulder at the circled section.

A pause. "Well," the demon said, "That can't be good."

Another pause. "I," the angel said, "need to do some research."

"Right, right. I'll leave you to it then." The demon shuddered, shaking the alcohol out of his system. "See you tomorrow? Don't lose yourself in this book completely."

"Of course." The angel waved a hand, pulling out some scrap paper and pens.

"Right. Night then."

"Good night." The angel was already distracted. The demon mentally shrugged, and headed out into the darkness and the rain.

Several hours later found the demon sprawled out on his couch with a half empty bottle of gin while the telly played late-night reruns. He was dozing, not really paying attention, while the light flickered in front of his face.

There was a click, and the power cut out.

The demon started, surprised by the absence of light and sound. He set the bottle down on a table, stood up, wandered over to the window, looked out.

Whatever had happened, all of London was affected. There was no light as far as the eye could see.

He played with the blinds for a moment, wondering. Thinking back to the bit in the book earlier that night…

And the world exploded.

That's what it felt like, anyway. More specifically, the floor heaved, the demon fell, there was a massive roaring sound, car alarms blared in the streets, and there was screaming.

When the shaking stopped, he got up and pulled open the blinds completely.

A few emergency lights had clicked on in windows and in the street. Where the water was rising.

His eyes widened.

He scrambled for an end table, where he kept an emergency radio. Had done, ever since the Blitz. He cranked the handle until static erupted from the speakers, then twiddled the dial, listening for something, anything…

CROWLEY.

"Fuck! What? I mean, what, my lord?"

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

Yeah, no shit, the demon thought to himself, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

THIS HAS HEAVEN'S STENCH ALL OVER IT. BUT THIS IS NOT THE PROPHESIED END TIMES. THEY HAVE ACTED WITHOUT OUR KNOWLEDGE.

"Wait," the demon croaked, "you mean to say that Upstairs did this?"

THAT IS PRECISELY WHAT WE MEAN. WE NEED INFORMATION, CROWLEY. WE NEED YOU TO INVESTIGATE.

"What do you need from me?" the demon asked, mentally wincing. His plans, all his plants—he'd lived in a state of not-being-disturbed-by-work for a few years now, and had started to get rather comfy with the whole thing.

Complacent, more like.

WE NEED YOU IN JAPAN, CROWLEY. THERE ARE HUMANS INVOLVED. WE NEED YOU TO INFILTRATE THEIR ORGANIZATION, DISCOVER WHAT THEY KNOW.

"はい," the demon said.

A pause. WHAT?

"It's Japanese," the demon muttered, then shook himself. "Right. Of course. I just need to check one thing, then I'll be off."

WE'LL BE IN TOUCH.

And the radio clicked off.

The demon stared at it for another second, then sighed and tucked it into his pocket.

A few minutes later, he was wading through knee-deep water, the stench from the Thames hanging in the air. Some poor fools had tried to start their cars, which promptly sputtered out.

He hadn't even bothered with his car. Mourning its loss, he soldiered through the flood.

Back to Soho.

The rain hadn't stopped. His hair plastered itself to his face. He'd pulled off his sunglasses (omnipresent, even at night) and stashed them in a pocket as well, not being able to see through the water that beaded up on the lenses.

He finally stood in front of the store, mentally bracing himself for an angel very upset about the water damage.

But as he opened the door, the water swirling, all he could feel was a cold emptiness from inside.

"Angel?" he called.

No answer. He pushed further into the shop.

A few loose pages were floating in the water. He winced. Centuries of books the angel had accumulated, his precious treasures, now waterlogged, no doubt the ink running. "Aziraphale?" he called again.

No answer.

The demon started to panic then, looking around frantically, his dilated pupils having no trouble with the thick darkness inside the shop. No angel.

Not even a hint of him, no angel-y sense of old books and fresh ink and light.

The bookshop was cold, dark, and empty.

"AZIRAPHALE!"

Silence.

The angel was gone.

Like he'd never been.

Like the two hadn't spent hours in there, bickering and drinking and being friends—

The demon looked around one last time, and his eyes lit upon a book.

A worn-out old book, sitting on a table next to some notes and a lamp.

The book that the girl had brought, just hours (was it only hours?) ago.

The demon hesitated, then picked it up.

The gold-embossed title leapt out at him. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

And the words he'd read earlier echoed in his mind.

Heart sinking, he opened his suit jacket and slid the book into an inside pocket.

And then, not looking back, he strode back out to the street. Shook out his wings, and took off into the dark and rainy night.

He had a long journey ahead of him.

 Tokyo-3, AD 2015, March

"Honey, I'm home!" Crowley yelled, shutting the door behind him and bending over to take off his shoes.

"And what sort of time do you call this?" a woman answered.

"There was a long line at the store!" Crowley grabbed his bag and sauntered into the kitchen, plopping it down on the table. "I wasn't gonna come over without your shitty beer now, was I?"

The woman poked her head out from a bedroom, and her face lit up. "You brought me beer? Everything's forgiven." She skipped over to him and stretched up to kiss his nose, then turned her attention to unpacking the bag.

"The things I do to enable your bad habits," he grumbled, secretly not minding.

They plopped down at the table together. Captain Misato Katsurgi passed over a more expensive bottle of wine to him, slid over a corkscrew, then popped the tab open on a shitty can of beer and proceeded to drink almost the entire thing.

Crowley watched in amusement, the corkscrew forgotten for the moment, then shook his head and stabbed the pointy end into the cork.

Although their tastes in alcohol were very different, Crowley and Misato had quickly become friends. He'd been cooling his heels in Japan for almost fifteen years now, grappling with the formality of the culture and the lack of good food available after the Second Impact. She was a breath of fresh air—extremely casual, quick to tease, and subsisting almost entirely off of cheap instant meals. They had a routine now. Whoever got off their shift first would pick up wine and beer, plus a few cartons for dinner, and they'd crash at her apartment. Either on the balcony or in the kitchen, depending on the weather. And they'd eat their cheap food, get extremely drunk, and blather on like schoolgirls.

It was a sort of friendship that the demon had very much missed.

Then at midnight, he'd say his goodnights, head back to his apartment, and crash until sunrise.

And then report to work, and repeat the whole thing again.

They never talked about anything personal. Neither of them ever asked or volunteered. Much to Crowley's disappointment, their discussions never got metaphysical either. He'd tried once, tried to emulate a million conversations he'd had a lifetime ago, but Misato had no patience for anything that she couldn't confirm with her own two eyes.

Tonight, they lounged out on the balcony, listening to the cicadas scream, and talked about the future.

When he'd first come to Japan, the cicadas had scared him almost to death. You never heard them in London. Dr Akagi had laughed herself almost senseless when he'd asked why the trees were screaming, and proceeded to tell him about the very large bug that would emerge from the earth after years of dormancy, climb a tree, and tell the world that it wanted a shag.

Crowley thought that it might be very nice to do a similar thing himself: climb a tree, and scream to the world what he was thinking. After that discussion, he'd become very fond of the buzzing that pervaded the listless summer days.

"It took ages to track him down," Misato said, dangling her arm over the balcony rail, catching the currents of wind with her hand.

"Where was he?" Cowley asked.

"Living out in rural Yamagata with his uncle. Took even more ages before his uncle would even let us speak to him. But we finally did, and he agreed. He'll be here in three days, so get ready for some excitement."

Crowley groaned. "I don't want any more excitement."

Misato shrugged. "Me neither. But we gotta do what we gotta do, I guess. It's 2015. The angels won't wait for us."

"Yeah, and that's the other thing," Crowley said. "How the fuck is the Committee so sure that fifteen years is the magic number? How do they know all this shit? They just give us cryptic deadlines and vague warnings, and we're expected to jump when they say so."

Misato's eyes grew hard. "I trust them."

Crowley's mind flickered back to the book sitting on his kitchen counter. The only obvious answer in his mind was that someone at the top of Nerv had a copy as well.

An idea that made him twitchy.

Aloud, he said, "All right," and raised his hands in mock surrender. And then to deflect: "I'm curious what this kid'll be like. Hope he fell far from the tree where his father is concerned."

Misato grinned. "I don't think you have to worry. He sounds like the complete opposite of Gendo."

"Good." Crowley did not like Gendo Ikari. As far as he was concerned, Hell had a lock on that particular soul.

Still it was one thing to look forward to in this hellhole. Which seemed kind of mild epithet. In Hell, at least you knew who you could trust, which was to say, nobody. In Nerv—well, fifteen years and Crowley still felt like he was swimming in a hole of scorpions, only he wasn't sure which were deadly and which weren't.

When midnight rolled around, they said their goodbyes, and Crowley sobered up and headed down to the streets, pausing to pat Misato's sports car on the way and spend a moment mourning for his Bentley.

Which was much easier than mourning the other things he'd lost fifteen years ago.

[fatbottombucky]

Well, It’s All An Adventure *Peter Parker x Reader*

Requested: since requests are open: could you possibly do a spider-man x male! reader that includes the spider-man kiss? (also I greatly appreciate the fact you write for male readers bc there’s so few out there and my gay ass heart is in love with peter parker 💖💖💖)

Pairing: Peter Parker x (M) Reader

Warnings: so much fluff

Word Count: 1676

A/N: I had so much writing this- mostly because I listened to the greatest showman soundtrack- this heavily inspired by Tightrope from that album because it gives me so many feels!!!  

I kinda want to do a small series based upon every song from The Greatest Showman soundtrack, let me know if that’s something I should consider. It’ll be Peter Parker x Gender neutral reader but, I don’t know, I think it could be really cool to do a series where each part is based on a song from the soundtrack; just an idea! - Rosalie

Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Trying to find that pivotal moment that changed your whole life, your whole existence, your whole being but you couldn’t place it so simply. Maybe it was because it wasn’t one moment, it was a million different ones that led you here. It’s exciting and different, yet terrifying and stupid at the same time.

You had allowed someone to walk in your life and show you a world so amazing, so enticing and different, so new and wonderful. It’s intoxicating how life can be when viewed so differently. How someone can make every normal day feel like an adventure, even if it’s just staying at home.

You guessed this is what it feels like to love someone.

He had shown you wonderful things, beautiful things. How he sees the world and people, he really opened your eyes and mind. The uncertainty stuck with you though, the never sure if he’ll catch you if you should fall- not physically because he could, it’s his job to save and his speciality is catching people with his webs.

Peter Parker was an enigma to you, emotion wise. He showed you breathtaking views, he helplessly stuttered around you, and shyly smile and blush around you. He just never acted on his emotions around you, it was cute at first but now you want Peter Parker to have Spider-Man’s confidence. You had seen him be so effortlessly confident as his alter-ego, but Peter was so cripplingly shy and you loved, plus hated it about him.

You were walking a tightrope with him, high in the sky. Sure he was holding your hand but there was a nagging, the slight slip that you could fall and he wouldn’t hold on, he’d let you go and it was terrifying.

All thoughts were ceased when a loud clap of thunder startled you, you looked up in time to see dark clouds had rolled over and the beginning of a thunderstorm was happening. Droplets of rain started to drip down, a few landing in your hair. You had forgotten a jacket too, you sighed as you slung your backpack over your back and began to walk faster.

The rain poured down, soaking through your white tee and jeans, your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shoes were getting ruined due to the number of puddles you stepped in, doing the only rational thing you stalked down an alleyway- a shortcut to your house. It didn’t really shield you from the rain but it would get you home quicker, and that was a good thing.

“You shouldn’t have forgotten a jacket,” a voice calls and you frown, turning to look over your shoulder but seeing an empty alley, a small tap on your shoulder made you turn back and jump in fright at the masked face in front of you.

“Fuckin’ hell!” You yell you could tell that Peter was grinning, he always had a smug grin whenever he manages to scare you. “Yeah, well, shut up!” You sighed, turning your head to the right because he was upside down and using a single web strand to hang down in front of you. “Aren’t you meant to be saving people?” You sighed slightly.

He shrugs to the best of his capabilities being upside down, “You look like you could use a little saving, to be honest.”

“I don’t think you can save me from my mind,” you say before you can think, you sighed because you can already tell he’s frowning. “It’s raining, I just want to go home.” You mutter and go to walk around but he lifts a hand, pressing it against your chest and stopping you, you don’t bother protesting because Peter wouldn’t allow you to walk off anyway. He’s silent, his small way of telling you to explain.

The rain picks up, ultimately soaking you both more and you push the hair off of your forehead, shivering at the coldness of the rain. “I like someone, a guy, and I know for a fact he likes me because he refuses to let me go home even though it’s raining,” that receives a small chuckle from him, “But I don’t want to fully fall without actually knowing if he’ll be there to catch me, it’s all an adventure till it goes wrong.” You shrugged slightly, looking away.

You listen to the rain hit the alleyway floor, creating pools of puddles and splashing against the walls. The rain hit the trash cans creating a loud, vibrating sound through the alley; despite the loudness, it was calming and the cold rain helped calm your heated skin.

Something wet grabs a hold of your wrist, you glance to see one of Peter’s gloved hands is pulling you slightly closer to him and you step silently. Your feet now standing in a puddle, you don’t care as you frown at the closeness between you and masked Peter who is still, somehow, hanging upside down.

“I don’t want to pressure him either,” you mutter, a faint whisper into the rainy air, “don’t want him to think he has to declare his undying love for me or whatever, just want to know we’re on the same page.”

He still doesn’t say anything as he drops your wrist, using the same hand that once held yours and using it to lift the mask from around his chin and to his nose. You frown for a moment, watching as he doesn’t pull the mask fully off. Before you can speak again he tugs you closer, holding the back of your neck and connecting your lips to his.

You’re shocked for a second, not thinking for a moment that this would happen. Your eyes close instinctively, smiling despite how weird of a first kiss this seems to be. Him upside down, wet hand holding the back of your neck, your own cupping his cheeks. It’s mostly your upper lip trapped between his, yet it’s perpetual bliss. Even as the rain pours over the two of you, you forget about how cold you feel and instead sink into the feeling of Peter’s lips, finally, against your own.

You hear a faint beeping from his suit, a beep that you know all too well. You can feel that Peter is trying to ignore it, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as possible, even if you are drenched from the rain but that doesn’t seem to bother him either as he continues to kiss you in it. You try to pull away, he only pulls you back in for more causing you to chuckle.

“Go!” You mutter against his mouth, he pulls away enough for you to lift the mask back up and cover his mouth, stopping him from getting carried away again. “Go, so I can finally go home.” He chuckles, nodding once and swinging himself up and away from you.

You shake your head and continue your way home in an almost dream-like state, before you know it you’re back home and rushing upstairs to find some dry clothing. Pulling on a jumper and joggers, picking up the heavy, wet clothing and placing them in the dryer. It’s only when you hear the dryer rattling that the events settle in.

Peter Parker had just kissed you, in the rain, dressed as Spider-Man and upside down. You let out a light chuckle at that, grabbing a towel and drying your now messy hair with it, sighing contently at your house now warming you up but the bubbling warmth of Peter’s kiss had helped with that too. You fall back on your bed, letting the towel lay messily on your floor as you stare at the ceiling.

You end up falling asleep, only awakening when you hear your window being opened and closed- rather loudly. You turn your head to see Peter, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, he gives a look around your darkroom before seeing you laying on your stomach looking at him with raised eyebrows. He looks exceptionally cute with his little, shy smile and hands in the hoodie pocket.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he whispers and holds his phone to your face, the blinding light has you squinting.

“I’m asleep,” you mutter, “I mean, I fell asleep!”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I can see that now.” He nudges you, you roll over to the other side of the twin bed that’s pressed up against a wall but you dragged the pillow with you. “Hey, that’s meant to be my pillow!” he whines.

“Do you live in this bed?” You asked raising an eyebrow, hugging that pillow and resting your head on the other pillow with a grin.

He pouts and shakes his head, “No but my boyfriend does!” He says smoothly causing you to choke on the air you breathed and cough loudly, rather attractively too.

You regain your breathing, smacking him lightly as he laughs. His head thumping down on the mattress, dramatically turning to face you and using his hands as a makeshift pillow.

“I have something to tell you,” you mumble seriously, “I kissed another guy.” He frowns, a look of utter betrayal shoots across his face. “Yeah, this weirdo Spider-Man like, totally, stopped me in an alley and wouldn’t let me leave till I kissed him. It was raining, so I had to do it!” Relief crosses his face now, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “You should beat him up.”

“Well, I have something to tell you I am Spider-Man,” he says dramatically and you gasp loudly, sitting up and smacking the pillow on his face, very hard. “Ow!”

He removes the pillow as you fake anger, “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!” He laughs causing you to chuckle.

Laying back down beside him as he places the pillow behind his head, you hesitantly rest your head on his chest; despite being in this exact position thousands of times before, this time feels different, maybe it’s because he called you his boyfriend a moment ago but it feels safer somehow. You both lay in silence, you listening to his heartbeat and Peter playing with your hair.

You hear the rain had started again, pattering against your window and you smile slightly to yourself.

A small part of you wished Peter could mind read, your mind repeating the words ‘i love you’ over and over with every tap of rain against the window.

(I don’t know why I ended it the way I did, it’s kinda a rambled mess at the end. I hope people like this, I tried really hard to make it cute and fluffy, I haven’t done a request in a while /: - Rosalie)

[ffxvhoe]

omg requests are open again??? i'm so happy 🙌🏼 could i possibly request a little something for aranea and/or cindy and their s/o? maybe something fluffy like morning cuddles or date night or something more spicy like making out or a morning after scenario 👀 lmao i am gd w whatever honestly bc my poor bi heart is just..... so thirsty for content for these ladies..... 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 thank you!!!! have a great day 💙

combining with: [clenches fist] there needs to be more cindy x readers… where are the lady lovers in the writing community, my lesbian heart is in need. so might i request some cindy x fem reader with cuddles and soft kisses? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ 

I come bearing sapphic gifts

The room was dark save for the few candles that burned away on the nightstand.  The window in the room was open, the warm night air causing the curtain to billow like something out of a movie.  The wind carried with it the smell of cooling sand, wildflowers, and the coming of rain. The atmosphere of the room alone was enough to lull you into the land between the waking and dreaming.

But then of course there was the hand on your bare back, drawing gentle patterns with its calloused fingertips.  You pulled your gaze from the open window – the starry skies beckoning you to come join them and fly away to a land where anything was possible – to look at the woman beside you.  Her hair was sleep mussed, sticking out at odd ends in the most endearing way.  Her brilliant blue eyes  dusted with sleep as she stared off into the distance, thinking, losing herself to the inner workings of her mind.  After all, the night was the perfect time to let your mind wander to every corner it could.

Your own hand was settled on Cindy’s stomach, just as unmoving as the world seemed to be this late at night.  Your legs were tangled with Cindy’s under the mess of sheets that adorned the bed and your lower bodies.  You could feel each curve of her leg, the muscles there not quite as prominent as the ones that lined her arms and back.  There was naught up a whisper of space between your entwined bodies.

Your eyes stayed glued to Cindy’s profile, unabashed, as she turned her head to look down at you. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“You,” was your reply. You would have said more but the look on your face spoke every unspoken syllable.  You’re the most exquisite person that I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.  If home were a person, you would be mine.  I don’t deserve to have you, but damn am I thankful to every Astral in existence that I get to call you mine and be called yours in return.  

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, lips coming down to press gently to the top of your head.  

“I always knew you only liked me for my looks,” you said, tone playful as you scrunched your nose.

“Didn’t I tell ya I was the most shallow gal in Hammerhead?” Cindy’s following laugh was like bottled sunlight, spreading warmth in its wake.  It was easy to join in with her simple joy, your own laughter coming to join with hers in a melody of true happiness.  “I mean it though,” Cindy continued once the laughter in the room had died down back to a comfortable quiet.  “You’re more beautiful than any rose or new car, and lucky for me that beauty ain’t only skin deep.”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at her words.  Accepting compliments had never been one of your strong suits, yet Cindy always had an arsenal full of words to build you up no matter the situation.  You turned your head to hide your face in the crook of her arm, reappearing once you had calmed your racing heart.  No matter how long it had been, no matter how use to her you had thought you’d become, she always managed to make you feel like a school girl with a crush again.  “I love you,” you whispered, a dopey smile still gently gracing your features.

“Really?” She asked, feigning surprise.  “Well I’ll be, I never woulda guessed.”

You couldn’t contain the small snort you let out at her theatrics.  “Are you planning to go into acting?”

“Depends, do ya think I’d be any good?”

“Oh most definitely,” you replied, nodding your head with conviction.

“Well I guess I oughta tell Paw-Paw I’m movin’ t’ the big city to chase my new dream.” As you listened to her speak you smiled to yourself.  Her southern accent always became that little bit more pronounced when she was tired.  It was beyond endearing and you could easily listen to her talk for the next age.

“You won’t forget about lil’ ol’ me will you?” You asked, eyes wide with mock worry.

“Of course not,” Cindy replied.  “How could I ever forget the face of the gal that’s won my heart?”  She moved out of your arms to come hover over you just the slightest bit, her chest coming to line up almost perfectly with yours.  She ghosted her lips over your own, and you rolled your eyes when you felt her smile mischievously, teasing you with her almost-kisses.  Bringing your hands up, you cupped her cheeks and brought your in for a true kiss.

Kissing Cindy was always a strange mixture of new yet familiar.  The way her lips moved against yours was familiar, but the tone of the kiss was always new.  This time the kiss was painted with lazy admiration, her lips moving languidly against yours.  Her breath still held the fading mint of her toothpaste.  You could smell the shampoo she used as the ends of her hair tickled your forehead.  This kiss was late night drives and easy conversation.  This kiss was two people finding a home in each other and accepting everything within.

Cindy finally pulled away, chest heaving slightly as she gazed down at you, nothing but awe sparking those crystalline eyes.  “Now that’ll never get old,” she said softly.  Pressing her lips to yours once more, this kiss a whisper of what the previous one had been, she whispered, “I love you, darlin’.  So much.”