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a-simple-gaywitch · 1 year

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Amidst the Chaos

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and (Y/N) didn't get along, and it annoyed the whole BAU. But when a traumatized (Y/N) shows up at Spencer's apartment late one night, their whole relationship shifts

Warnings: PTSD, trauma, references to torture, other canon-typical topics

Word Count: 3827

Author’s Note: not necessarily my best fic, but i’ve been working on it for over a year so... here it is

Orpheus - Sara Bareilles

AO3 Link

“Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. Though I know it's blinding, there's a way out.” ~ Sara Bareilles, Orpheus

“Guys, I want you to meet our newest team member,” Hotch said to the BAU as they settled around the table. “This is Agent (Y/N) (L/N).”

You gave a shy wave to the group in front of you, but your smile was bright enough to light up the entire room. “Hi.”

“She’s coming to us from Organized Crime. I trust that you’ll all welcome her to the team.”

“Honestly, I’m just happy to be given a chance to work with all of you. It’s been my dream to work at the BAU for years.”

“We’ll have time to get to know Agent (L/N) better on the plane. But for now, we have a case,” Hotch said. “JJ?”

“So,” Derek said, taking a seat next to you on the jet. “What was Organized Crime like?”

“Honestly? Boring as all hell. It was mostly stopping money laundering and drug cartels,” you said. “Not as glamorous as Goodfellas makes it seem. Besides, the BAU was always my end goal anyway.”

He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I get that. We’re glad to have you on our team. ” The conversation between you and Morgan flowed easily and before you knew it, you had become like brother and sister. The rest of the team grew to love you too. Well, most of the team.

Spencer seemed icy and cold toward you, and no one could offer a valid explanation. By all accounts, you should have gotten along. You loved Halloween just as much as Spencer did and you always had at least 3 books on your person at a time. You had a borderline unhealthy addiction to caffeine and sugar and spent more time in the office than your apartment. But for some reason, you and Spencer just seemed to constantly be at each other’s throats.

In your defense, Reid had started it.

For whatever reason, Reid disliked you right out the gate. He tried to be civil toward you, but something about you just bothered him.

He originally just tried to avoid you when he could, but with the nature of the team’s dynamic, that didn’t work out well.

Spencer found himself doing small, petty things to annoy you, like putting your favorite mug on the top shelf where you couldn’t reach it or borrowing your pens and “forgetting” to return them. Something about seeing you mildly inconvenienced and annoyed as opposed to your normally happy and bubbly self made him feel better. He knew it was fucked up of him.

Eventually, the animosity became mutual. You and Spencer were rarely paired together on cases because Hotch couldn’t stand the constant arguing between the two of you. Mostly, Hotch tended to pair you with Derek who you began to see as a brother.

Spencer would never admit it, but seeing you and Derek be as close as you were stirred some kind of jealousy in him. He figured it was just because he had been friends with Morgan first, that was all.

Local cases were always extra stressful on the team. Something about unsubs being so close to home made the cases more personal. As such, tensions were running high and no one had slept in over 24 hours as the team worked to nail down a profile.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered as you looked over the crime scene photos. “The crime profiles as disorganized but the victimology and timeline profile him as organized.”

“How you doing there, Pretty Girl?” Morgan asked, setting down a carrier of coffee cups.

You sighed and picked up the cup with your name scrawled on it. “There’s discrepancies in our preliminary profile and I can’t…”

“Did you try comparing notes with Reid?”

“Derek, I love you, but are you insane?”

“I’m serious, (Y/N).”

“So am I. Any time I try to have any kind of civilized conversation with that man he turns it into an argument.”

Thankfully, Hotch came into the room at that point, stopping the conversation. “We have two potential leads. Morgan, you’re going with Blake to the first address. (L/N), you and Reid are going to the second.” Hotch tossed you both keys for SUVs. “Reid and Blake have the files. They’ll fill you in on the drive.”

“Yes, sir.” You grabbed your coffee from the table, along with Reid’s, and headed out to the car. When you got to the parking lot, Reid was already leaning against the car, flipping through a file folder. “Reid. Here.”

As you handed him the coffee, he said, “What, was everyone else busy?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just following Hotch’s orders.” You unlocked the car and climbed in. “Where are we going?”

“21 Rock Creek Road, Somerset. We’re interviewing Linda Walsh, the neighbor of our first victim, Savanna Curtis.”

“Great. Can you type it into the GPS?”

“Why? I can just give you the directions.”

“Because the GPS is more accurate.”

“(L/N), I have an eidetic memor-”

“Eidetic memory, I know. But you’re telling me your memory can predict traffic patterns? I don’t think so. Just use the damn GPS.”

“Fine.” Spencer typed the address in, muttering under his breath.

“Thank you. What information do we have on Walsh?”

“72 years old, she was reportedly in the house when Curtis was attacked and taken to the secondary location. Hotch wants us to interview her and see if she noticed anything that might help us with the profile.”

Soon enough, the two of you pulled up to the witness’s house. Before even getting out of the car, you felt like something was wrong.

”Wait, Reid.” You grabbed his arm as he reached for the door handle. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the windows. All of them are dark. Not even a television glow. Something’s off.”

“I hate to say it, but you’re right.”

You hopped out of the car and pulled your gun from your side, following Reid up the path to the house. He knocked on the front door.

“I don’t hear anything from inside.” He knocked again. “Go around the back, see if you can get in that way.”

You nodded and walked around the house. You could hear Reid continuing to knock as you went around. As you rounded the corner, a sharp pain entered your shoulder. You yelled and turned around, but not before a blunt object hit you in the temple and your vision faded.

Spencer was panicking. You were missing, and it was his fault. He was pacing in the front yard of Walsh’s home while the team and the local authorities worked to catch up.

“Reid, what happened?” Hotch asked. “We need everything.”

Spencer relayed every detail from the moment the two of you pulled up to the house, still pacing. “I shouldn’t have told her to go off on her own, it’s my fault-”

“Kid, breathe,” Morgan told him. “You didn’t know this would happen. What’s important now is finding her and bringing her home safe.”

The team did a thorough inspection on Mrs. Walsh’s home and learned a good deal. Mrs. Walsh wasn’t home, as was reported. However, her son, Devin, was clearly staying with her. It didn’t take the team long to figure out he was the unsub.

When you awoke, you were in a secondary location. Your head was throbbing behind your eyes and your shoulder was in agony. Your arms were tied behind your back, but that was the only restraint to your mobility. You looked around, trying to figure out where you were. It was a large, open space, you guessed a warehouse, probably abandoned. It was dark, except for the glow of the streetlights outside and an industrial lamp in the center of the room. You didn’t have much time to assess your surroundings, though, because Walsh was waiting for you to wake up.

You knew the facts of the case. You saw the photos. He kept the women for 24 hours, torturing them until their bodies were barely recognizable. Then, he’d kill and dump them.

But you also knew your team. They were relentless. And they would save you.

“We’ve seen what he does to his victims. We’re in a race against the clock here,” Morgan argued with Hotch.

“But we still have to keep our heads and follow the law. If we don’t get a warrant, any evidence we do find goes right out the window.”

“Guys, Garcia found something,” JJ said. She put her phone on speaker. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

“So, Walsh’s dear old dad was the owner of a warehouse in the 80s. The warehouse is still in his name but has since been abandoned. And before you even ask, yes, I sent you the address.”

The SUVs pulled up to the warehouse and the team jumped out. The plan was to enter the building slow and quiet, but that changed when they heard you scream, followed by a gunshot. Then, everything went silent. Completely silent.

Everyone rushed into the building. The team was terrified of what they were about to find. What they saw, no one could have expected.

You were lying unconscious on the floor, in a pool of blood. Also on the floor, with a bullet hole through his forehead, was Devin Walsh. Standing with a gun in her hands was 72 year old Linda Walsh, tears running down her face.

“I had to,” she said, looking at Hotch. “He was gonna kill her.”

“We need a medic!”

The team was sitting around your hospital bed. The doctor had said you probably wouldn’t wake up for a while, but they were determined to have someone there with you when you did.

“We should take shifts,” JJ suggested. “That way there’s always someone here and the rest of us can get some rest, too.”

“That’s a good idea. Dave and I can take the first shift,” Hotch said. “We’ll do four-hour rotations in pairs.”

They talked through who would pair up and take what rotations before Rossi shooed the rest of the team out.

Eventually, Reid and Morgan were on their “shift.” Morgan glanced over at Reid, who was staring at the same page of a book.

“You ever gonna flip that page?”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?”

“Kid, you heard the doctor. She will.”

“But what if she doesn’t? It would be my fault. I’m the one who made her go off by herself. We were supposed to be a team and I couldn’t see past-” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Morgan put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, Reid. I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want one?”

“Sure.” After Morgan left, Spencer looked at you and sighed. Your body was wrapped in casts and bandages. “Hey, (L/N),” he said, reaching out and resting his hand on top of yours.

One thing you didn’t expect about being in a medically induced coma was to still hear everything going on around you. You could hear the doctors and nurses moving about your room. You could hear your teammates. You heard Hotch and Rossi talking about the paperwork they’d have to file on the case because an agent had been seriously injured. You heard the music Penelope insisted on playing, and you heard Spencer.

“Hey, (L/N),” you heard him say. “I don’t know if you can hear me but,” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. Not just for this. I mean, obviously for this. I never should have split us up, I never should have sent you around the back of the house, I never should have-” he stopped himself. You could hear the tightness in his voice. Was he crying? No, Reid wouldn’t be crying over you. Would he? But he continued. “I was awful to you. I mean, I was an asshole,” he said with a dry laugh. “There’s no other word for it. I was an asshole to you and there was no excuse. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I-”

“One cup of sugar with a splash of coffee,” Derek said, coming back into the room.

“Thanks.” Reid took the cup in both his hands, grateful for a distraction from his guilt.

“Any change?”

He shook his head. “None.”

Derek sighed. “You know, part of me was really hoping she’d wake up in the five minutes I was gone.” He gripped your hand that wasn’t casted up. “We miss you, Pretty Girl.”

Your coma lasted for about 3 weeks. The doctors kept you in the hospital for observation for another full week before finally letting you go home.

During your recovery, your apartment was practically a revolving door. Just about the entire team came by to check on you and keep you company, with the exception of Spencer. You couldn’t say you were too surprised. However, something about it upset you. Hell, even Hotch and Rossi took the time to stop by and check on you.

Derek and Penelope were probably your most frequent visitors. You were honestly grateful for their visits, and for the help it brought. With your injuries, simple day-to-day tasks were more difficult for you, and Penelope and Derek were more than happy to help you out. Derek took your grocery list and all your other errands while Penelope helped around your apartment. You were even more grateful when they forced you to attend a dinner party at Rossi’s. Penelope was at your apartment, helping you pick out a dress for the event.

“I don’t know, Pen.”

“(Y/N), I’m telling you, purple is your color.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want my dress to match my bruises.”

Penelope just rolled her eyes and tossed the dress on your bed. “Do you really think I’d pick out a dress that didn’t make you look good? Let’s go, you haven’t had a proper shower in a week.”

Penelope helped you get ready for the dinner party before getting ready herself. She helped adjust the strap of your brace when your doorbell buzzed.

“That’ll be Derek,” you said. Penelope answered the door to Derek standing outside, leaning against your doorframe.

“Well, look at these pretty ladies. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I need to get out of this house,” you said. “I haven’t seen anything but these walls in weeks.”

When you pulled into Rossi’s driveway, you were more than excited to see the team. The team, in turn, was excited to see you. You were smiling and laughing, more and more of your normal self.

When Spencer saw you walk through Rossi’s front door on your crutches, a lump formed in his throat. Ever since seeing you in the hospital, he’d been wracked with guilt. It was the main reason why he hadn’t visited you like everyone else. He tried to avoid you the whole night. Thankfully, you were so happy to be with the others that you didn’t seem to notice. But Blake did.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” she asked Spencer, handing him a drink.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re avoiding everyone tonight. Why?” When Spencer stayed silent, Blake followed his line of sight. He was watching you talking with JJ. “Ah. Why don’t you go talk to her?”

“I can’t, Alex. Believe me, I’ve tried. For months. Any time I try and have just a normal goddamn conversation with her, what comes out is sarcastic and cruel. I-I don’t know why it happens.” He ran his hands over his face and groaned.

“You’re in love with her.” Blake wasn’t saying it as a question. Seeing the panic in his eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, it’ll stay with me.”

The heavy sheets of rain outside pounded against the apartment windows. It was the kind of cold rain that seeped into your bones, despite a warm home. It was late, but Spencer was still awake, reading. He couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t unusual for him. He heard a knock on his door. Spencer set his book down on his coffee table before walking to his door. He glanced out the peephole and took a step back in shock. Spencer opened the door to see you standing there, soaked and visibly shivering, in only your pajamas. Your eyes were bloodshot and you were sniffling.

“(L/N)? What are you-”

“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want me here and I don’t even know how I ended up here, I just started walking and-”

“Wait, wait, you walked here? In the torrential downpour?” When you nodded, Spencer opened his door wider. “Here, come in. You must be freezing. What happened?”

You stepped through his door and began to ramble, “I don’t know. I woke up from a nightmare and I knew I-I couldn’t stay in my apartment alone so I just started walking and somehow I ended up here and I’m sorry.” Your teeth were chattering as you continued to shiver.

Spencer grabbed a blanket off the back of his couch and draped it around you. “No, no, it’s, um-” Spencer cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve found that sometimes just saying it out loud helps.”

Once you nodded, Spencer held his hand out and led you over to his couch. You were silent for a few moments, staring out the window at the rain streaming down.

“I was back… there,” you said when you finally started talking. “In the dark. I-I couldn’t see anything but I knew he was there. Then I felt his hands on my throat and-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. Your whole body was shivering, but Spencer didn’t think it was from the cold anymore.

Spencer moved to put his arm around you but stopped, dropping his arm back to his side. “I know how you feel,” he said. “After Hankle, I couldn’t handle looking at the crime scene photos because I knew what the victims were thinking right… you know… right before.”

“Do they ever stop? The nightmares?”

“I don’t know. Mine haven’t.” When he saw the defeat on your face, he added, “But it does get easier.”

You nodded, still staring out at the pouring rain. You cleared your throat. “Well, uh, I’ll, um, I’ll call a taxi and get out of your hair.”

“You don’t- uh, you can stay, um, if-if you want,” Spencer said.

“Reid, I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be!” Spencer assured you. “I could use the company, actually. I’ve been trying to find someone to watch Stardust with me. Penelope says I need to watch more pop culture and I know you’re a fan of Neil Gaiman.” He gave you a soft smile. “Please, (Y/N), stay. I promise, you’re not imposing.”

When he saw your face crack into a small smile, he felt a swarm of butterflies rise in his stomach. “Okay,” you said.

About halfway through the movie, Spencer felt you slump against his shoulder. Before he knew it, you were fast asleep. He was frozen there, not wanting to disturb you. He knew how rough the past few months had been, and it was obvious to everyone you weren’t sleeping. Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was more, but Spencer felt like it was now his responsibility to take care of you, if you would let him.

The whole team noticed the shift between you and Reid. Where you would previously stay as far from each other as possible, you were now actively seeking each other out. You chose to sit next to each other in the briefing room and on the jet, something you had never done before. On the trips back from cases, you would rest your head on Reid’s shoulder and sleep while he read a book. But, no one said anything about any of it. No one wanted to burst whatever weird bubble was surrounding the BAU team.

That was, until Blake, Derek, and JJ spotted you knocking on Spencer’s motel door one night during a case. The two were sitting up in the lounge going over the case files yet again when they spotted you, in your pajamas, sneaking out of your own room.

After watching you slip into Spencer’s room, JJ said, “You don’t think they’re…”

“Reid and (L/N)? No, there’s no way. They can’t stand each other.”

“Well, they do say there’s a thin line between love and hate,” Alex noted, turning the page in her book.

“I don’t know about you two, but I need to know what’s going on,” Derek said, getting up from the couch.

“I’m coming with you!”

“Guys, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alex warned. “Just talk to them about it in the morning.”

“Do you know something, Alex?” JJ asked.

“Even if I did know something, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you.”

The next morning, you felt eyes on you as you drank your coffee. You looked up from the case file to see Derek staring at you.

“What?”

“Were you going to tell me about you and Reid or…”

“What are you talking about? Me and Reid?”

“(Y/N), come on. You two are practically attached at the hip when just two weeks ago you couldn’t fucking stand each other.”

You shrugged. “We worked out our differences, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Alright, what about you sneaking off to his room last night?”

Your face paled. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Care to explain then?”

You sighed, looking around to make sure it was just you and Morgan. “You know I haven’t been sleeping since, well, everything.” Derek nodded. “Well, a few nights ago I ended up at Reid’s apartment in a panic. It was pouring out so he let me just stay and I slept better than I had in years. And, you know, he’s not too bad to hang out with either,” your face flushed with your last statement.

“You’re not too bad to hang out with either.”

You jumped, turning around to see Spencer in the doorway with cups of (good) coffee in his arms.

“Spencer, when did-”

He handed you a frappuccino. “Just now. I take it you weren’t as sneaky as you thought?”

“Shut up,” you whined, nudging him with your arm as you stuck a straw in your drink. Spencer just laughed and took a seat next to you.

“So, you’re just, like, friends now?”

You and Spencer looked at each other, seemingly having a conversation without speaking.

“I mean, I’d say we’re a bit more than just friends,” you admitted, smiling at Spencer. He kissed the top of your head.

“Damn, I owe JJ 10 bucks,” Derek muttered before saying, “But seriously, I’m happy for you two. It’s about time you realized you were perfect for each other.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #em's fics

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dancingtotuyo · 7 days

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drabble. what's that i see?

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: a unexpected discovery brings Joel acceptance.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, grief, acceptance, fluff?

Notes: no beta, we die like Gabe, Chris, and Paul.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 865

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The sun still sits below the horizon when a hand roams over your middle and the scruff of Joel’s beard scratches your neck. You don’t bother opening your eyes, a half-assed whine leaving your lips. He chuckles softly. “Just obeyin the rules, Sweetheart. About to head out.” He kisses your cheek.

You crane your head back, eyes opening to small slits. He smiles at you. “Be safe,” you barely manage to say.

Joel nods, minty breath hitting your lips as he kisses you. It’s soft and gentle. It feels like a lazy morning spent in bed, meant to lull you back asleep. “Always.” He kisses your head. “See you at dinner.”

He stops in the doorway, looking back at your sleeping form. You're seven months along now, well rounded in your middle. Your ankles and fingers are swollen. He’s noticed the slight waddle develop in your gait as well. It all makes him smile.

You’ve been taking things one day at a time, but neither have you made any preparations for when the baby gets here. No crib. No clothes. No discussions of a name. You still need time, even though the window rapidly is closing.

Joel thinks about it silently sometimes, especially when he can feel them moving about, the small grunts that leave you when you get a fist to the bladder or a foot in your lungs. What will the baby look like? Will they have your eyes? His smile? Will it be a boy or a girl?

You’re unconscious before the bedroom door clicks behind him.

Patrol has picked this neighborhood over a hundred times in the last decade, but Joel and Tommy still stop. They still rummage through a couple houses. As time goes on, people have had to get more creative. Things that once seemed useless have renewed purpose.

Joel hasn’t been in this house before. It’s a single story. Three bedrooms by his calculation. He rummages through linen closets and dresser drawers while Tommy goes through the kitchen. He finds a couple towels. They have a few holes, presumably from moths, but they can be cut down for rags. He finds a couple bars of soap still in boxes shoved to the back of one.

The last door is stuck. He puts his shoulder into it twice before it gives way. His breath catches the moment he takes in the space. Dust floats around, flickering in the sunlight from the intact window. A crib sits in the corner, covered in dust. The sheets are faded with tiny pink flowers and the walls painted in pastel pink.

He takes in a deep breath, blinking back tears. It’s eerily similar to the pink he’d painted Sarah’s walls right after her birth. He’d painted it over with purple a few years later once she expressed her preference. It brings forward a whole slew of emotions that he hadn’t realized were bubbling under the surface.

What if you were carrying a girl? Would it feel like he was replacing her? Rationally, he knew that wasn’t the case. Ellie had carved her own spot in his heart. So had Carter. Would this be different? Would biology make a difference?

Joel clears his throat, pushing away the moisture from his eyes. It’s extra dusty in here, he reasons.

There’s no closet in the room. He opens up the dresser. Once again, Joel freezes. Light muslin swaddles miraculously untouched by time. One has little yellow flowers against white, and the other has bouquets of pink flowers that match the sheets. They each have a solid color pair to match. He picks them up, expecting them to disintegrate in his hands, but they don’t. They only release little puffs of dust into the air as he shakes them out.

The last one catches his eye, purple butterflies. Tears gather in his eyes again. There’s a tugging in his heart. Joel has never thought much about what comes after this life even before the outbreak when there was time to do so. So much of his life has been spent focusing on survival. Wherever Sarah might be, he knows she led him here. He turns around half expecting to see her smiling at him from the corner.

It’s empty, but he still imagines her there. There’s no doubt in his mind you’re carrying his daughter. It’s a surety in his brain, and for the first time, he’s okay with the idea of a girl. Hell, it might be the first time that he’s truly at peace with this pregnancy. She won’t be a replacement or a placeholder for Sarah, but the little sister she spent years begging for. His heart will grow, create a new space just as it did for Ellie and Carter. He knows that because he can feel her telling him that.

Joel nods to the empty corner clearing his throat. He wipes the moisture from his eyes, shoving the swaddles into his backpack. The drawer of clothes isn't as preserved but he manages to find a few options untouched by two decades of moths and other insects.

He carefully tucks the items into his pack. He’ll give them to you when you’re ready.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #tlou #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #em's fics #pedrostories #pedro stories #ppcu fanfiction

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nowimyurdaisy · 2 years

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Backseat Rider

pairings: jeremiah fisher x reader, jeremiah fisher x belly conklin

warnings: sad, angst,

summary: based on Sara Kays' amazing song Backseat Rider

a/n: first jeremiah fisher fic, this might be terrible i have no idea. Luv you all!! also go listen to sara kays!!

MASTERLIST

part 1 part 2

You lived down the block

We met for the first time at the bus stop

We sat side by side

Third seat from the back, we talked the whole ride

You met a few summers back, at the bus stop. The two of you became best friends with a snap of his fingers. His family loved you!

Six years later you bought your first car

And you told me to wait outside

Then you pulled up and somebody else

Was sitting in the passenger's side

And then you met the Conklins, Belly was your age, you two actually clicked. You couldn’t wait to go driving, you couldn’t wait to “sail” down the beachfront in his red jeep. But when that red jeep, the one that you 2 had talked about getting together, pulled up to your driveway. You smiled and waved, and then your smile dropped a little when you saw her in the passenger side. “Hey y/n/n '' Jere said as you got in the car.

“Hi Jere,” you smiled softly.

Then Belly turned up the radio and started chatting with Jeremiah, even though you were best friends, no one paid attention to you. You rested your chin on your arm and started staring off into space.

So I sat in the backseat, it didn't bother me

But after five weeks of sitting in silence behind her

While you talked of movies I've never seen

I realized that's how we used to be

But now my best friend is the driver

And I'm the backseat rider

The first few weeks were fine, you were okay with some peace and quiet. It was hard though when you were so in love with him. You loved him, but after 5 weeks of watching Belly and Jere gush over each other, you could tell he loved Belly. And it hurts.

Maybe it's my fault

Spent summer break away and forgot to call

Or maybe you forgot

Around this time last summer, we sat in the parking lot

I guess when you spend a summer away, away from your 2 best friends, they grow closer and you weren't able to stop it. Cause there has always been a spark between belly conklin and the fisher boy, you just didn't realize it was your fisher boy, your best friend. And now you're just the third real. Just the backseat rider.

And you told me when you got your first car

That you and I would go for a drive

But now we're here and somebody else

Is sitting in the passenger's side

[flashback]

"Y/n! Y/n!" jere called out.

"What?"you asked in an exasperated sigh.

"I'll teach you how to drive one day,'' he promised.

You smiled, and responded in a playful tone, "if you insist, kind sir," you thought about what it would be like one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, as the two of you drove around the town.

"Whacha smiling about babe?" Jeremiah asked, not knowing how a single word babe could affect you so much.

"Nothing," you shook your head laughing to yourself. You smiled at each other. "Eyes on the road Jere!"

[end of flashback]

So I sat in the backseat, it didn't bother me

But after five weeks of sittin' in silence behind her

While you talked of movies I've never seen

I realized that's how we used to be

But now my best friend is the driver

And I'm the backseat rider

For five weeks straight you felt ignored, for five weeks straight you were the third wheel. For five weeks straight you repeatedly let your heart get broken. Every morning, when they showed up, it was "Hey y/n, how'd you sleep" and "sorry we ate all the muffins" frowning, and "morning sunshine, where can we drop you off?".

You just missed the last summer you were here, watching movies in bed with belly, late night swims with jeremiah & conrad, beach days with jere bear(the nickname you teased him about constantly). *sigh* The days when the four of you didn't give a care in the world.

I gave you back the clothes that you used to borrow

You dropped me off at home, said you'll see me tomorrow

You felt it best for yourself to pull away from him, slowly, but surely. You inhaled the smell of his cologne on the shirt he left at your house some time ago, then folded it in a box, then you grabbed a necklace that belly let you borrow for a party nest in the box, then his sunglasses from the last beach day, and finally finished packing up the small(ish) box & marked it "Jeremiah's & Belly's Things"

And I sit in the backseat, it didn't bother me

But after five weeks of sitting in silence behind her

While you talked of movies I've never seen

I realized that's how we used to be

But now my best friend is the driver

And I'm the backseat rider

You watched him pull up to your driveway, belly laughing in the passenger seat, your seat, and the smile on his face grew, love filling his eyes. Head popping up when he saw you walk out the door, "hey you decided to join us this time!" he smiled cheerfully.

"How are you feeling girl?" Belly asked concerningly; fine fine yes you told them you weren't feeling well last time, but that isnt a complete lie…right? You were tired of fighting for a lost cause.

I gave you back the clothes that you used to borrow

You dropped me off at home, said you'll see me tomorrow

Next you saw them, you gave him the box. Placed it into his hands, his smile replaced by a look of concern on his face. "What's in the box y/n/n?" Jere chuckled nervously.

"Goodbye Jere" you said solemnly ,and walked away. You left a not in the box explaining everything. You didn't plan on coming back to Cousins next summer with your family, at least not around them.

Jeremiah stared at you as you walked away confused & sad.

-✧⬝✧⬝✧⬝✧⬝✧-

taglist + moots: @bigassnocash @http-ily @http.ilysm

#Spotify #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin x jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher x you #jeremiah fisher x y/n #belly x jeremiah #em's fics #fanfiction

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drowninginthoughts27 · 5 months

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Sunday Monday Tuesday Snippet

Ty @spacexcowgirl for tagging me <3

It’s no wonder Sirius left this family for another.

He tried to do the same when met with the welcoming arms of the Potter family. Only Regulus wasn’t so luck as to cut all remaining ties. Instead proving to himself and everyone around him that he couldn’t commit to something or someone long enough for it to truly matter. As a result, winding himself up exactly where he started.

No pressure tags to @regscupid @messymoony and anyone else who wants to do it :)

#fic: the things we never said #sorry if you've already been tagged #I'm a bit late to this lol #em's fics #marauders #jegulus #james x regulus

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thevillagegay · 1 year

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Not My Wanda

crossposted to ao3

My brain has rotted to the point where I can actually write, so perish and enjoy:)

Peggy had gone through so, so much.

Being a woman in WW2. Being in the military. Being given the super soldier serum and being deemed a failure. Being stuck in the tesseract for 70 years. Yet among all of these hardships, there were small gems.

Like Wanda. Her wife.

They had been married for 9 years. Wanda had gone through IVF to give birth to their boys. Their beautiful, beautiful boys. And now her wife was trying to kill her.

Correction, not her wife. A variant of Wanda from another universe, one with no Peggy, a dead Vision(who in this universe was her friend), and boys that never really existed outside of her destroyed pocket of reality.

Not her wife. A dream-walking and troubled woman with the same name and looks. The Scarlet Witch.

But oh how she acted just like her. The way she tilted her head in challenge before she made Black Bolts mouth disappear and tore apart Reed. Utterly horrifying, and yet scarily familiar.

So it was all the more painful when she knew she would have to fight her wife, with no way other than Xavier to get the Witch out of her head. She could imagine her Wanda protesting violently at her body being used to kill the very people she had been to dinner with not two weeks before. The same people who had helped her through everything, being murdered by her own hands while she was powerless to stop it. This feeling only grew as Monica was thrown into the wall opposite her statue.

Reed had told her not to interact with her first, as this Wanda hadn’t had her. But now there was no choice other than death.

“Wanda, listen to me darling. I need you to stop. If you want the boys, just listen to me!” Peggy cried out desperately as her wife, no, the Scarlet Witch turned towards her. She held her shield to her side, showing she wasn’t a threat unless she needed to be, clutching the leather straps all the more tight as she pleaded with her eyes.

“Darling? I must really mean something to you on this earth. Tell me, before I get the child, what are you to this Wanda?” The imposter knew already that they meant something to each other, she had seen the desperation in her eyes whenever she had dropped into the room.

“Your wife. Mum to our boys. Please, please just stop. You don’t want this.” Peggy said, her voice cracking intermittently, tears threatening to fall.

“Oh, you know exactly what I want. You should, you have it.” Wanda, the Witch, replied darkly, her tone dropping like the temperature in the room. All this woman wanted was her children, and she was willing to kill and take away from another version of herself to get.

“Please. What would the boys think? You know they would never look at you the same because of this. You just murdered the same men who took them to the movies yesterday on a play date with their best friends. You slammed their Auntie into a stone wall. You plan to take them away from their mom and kill their mummy. They won’t ever look at you lovingly, they will only see a monster.” Peggy finally let the tears fall as she whispered the last few words. She could see the way her opponent's hands faltered in her attempt to try and think of a way to defeat her.

Hearing this had made the Witch stop in her tracks. She hadn’t thought of that before. She should have chosen a universe where they were still babies. Where she wouldn’t have to deal with their other families. One where she wouldn’t have to kill the woman she married in another universe. Despite this, she knew she wouldn’t get another chance to get her boys with Strange no doubt going to find a way to escape the Illuminati’s cells.

“I will deal with it. And you really think I can’t kill you, when I blew a hole through the head of the man I loved, and it meant nothing .”

Peggy knew how she had to kill Vision in her universe. How it had been reversed by Thanos to retrieve the mind stone embedded in his head before she had been snapped. She had no idea how it would have affected her Wanda, but she was sure that was what caused the existence of her pocket reality in that universe. How she had gotten her boys was through grief, and that was how she was going to find them again.

#em's fics #the brainrot took over #and the gay but thats unimportant #ambiguous ending #more coming soon?#maybe?#rarepair #it was gonna be longer but the writing wouldnt write anymore #MoM #multiverse of madness #doctor strange and the multiverse of madness #wanda maximoff #peggy carter

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chimaerakitten · 1 year

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One under-appreciated breed of fic writer are the ones who hyperfocus on logistics to the exclusion of all canon shortcuts, and thus usually strike upon an awesome way to flesh out the worldbuilding or characters.

Like, I’m not necessarily talking realism here since often it’s still pretty far from realistic, but more like, “someone has to be running spies in this fantasy kingdom, and we’ve seen the whole royal court, so which background character is it? How does that change these three major interactions?” Or “real life historical nobility did in fact have some things to do that were like jobs, how does this human disaster cope with running an estate?” Or “there’s no reason for a sci-fi robot detective to know how to whitewater kayak, where’d she learn?” Or “if this guy is serving the emperor directly he has to be way high up in the space empire servant hierarchy, why is he doing this menial task for someone else? What’s his motive? Does he perhaps have the secret space telepathy?”

Anyway I’m always DELIGHTED to find a fic or writer who asks these questions because the fics themselves are universally bangers.

#fic writing #the kitten rambles #fanfiction #idk I just love em #if you have any favorites in this genre send ‘em my way

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quicksilversg1rl · 3 months

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HE’S INNOCENT YOUR HONOUR ྀིྀི

#slipping back into my rafe cameron phase oh em gee #i truly believe i could fix him #he just needs love #MY LOVE #rafe cameron ᰔ #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine

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turtleinsoup · 10 days

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I love em too much T^T

The Rise Twins! Inspired by @remedyturtles' "stare directly at the sun" on ao3

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sluttywoozi · 4 months

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Like A Melody | ljh x f!reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~3.9k | Pairing: ljh x f!reader | genre: smut

Jihoon has fucked you in his studio before, but never like this.

Warnings: dom!jihoon, studio sex, biting, hair pulling, grinding, cumming in pants, multiple orgasms, oral f. rec., fingering, recorded sex (just voices), male masturbation, praise kink, piv sex, creampie

Reader Notes: chubby, has breasts and a vagina, subby

Jihoon needs to take a break.

He desperately needs to take a break, and he knows this, so why can’t he do it?

He’s been working on music for hours; his fingers are starting to cramp from plucking guitar strings and pressing down piano keys, his throat is sore from trying lyric after lyric, and his hair is a mess from his fingers running through it every other minute. His eyes are exhausted, the blue light lenses in his glasses only doing so much. Even his back hurts, which rarely happens now that he lifts so heavy.

But he just can’t make himself quit, which is why he breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the knock. It’s soft, just like you, and he calls out a quiet, “Come in,” feeling the smile stretch his lips as soon as your sweet face peeks through the slowly opening door.

“Are you busy?” You ask apprehensively, your eyes darting between his face and his computer.

He can’t take a break for himself but he can for you, so he says, “Not at all, baby,” and pulls his glasses off, minimizing his music production software. Pushing away from his desk, he turns his chair to face you and holds his hand out, waiting for you to come closer and take it. He just holds your hand for a minute, staring up at you with tired eyes and letting them blink closed when you lean down and press your lips to his.

Kissing you is as easy as loving you. It’s one of the few times in his life where he can shut his brain off and just feel, because every movement comes naturally to him. Dancing and singing do too, of course, but he has to count beats and remember words and keep every next move in mind.

With you, Jihoon can just do what feels right. Like taking hold of your knee with his free hand and pulling until you give in and straddle him in his chair. He loves how plush and perfect you feel against him, all of his sharp edges rounded out by your curves, and he loves even more having your weight on him.

He can take it, he can take you, and he likes to remind you at every opportunity.

Sliding lower in the chair, he pulls your hips into his to let you feel his hardening dick, his hand flexing in yours when you grind down. He can feel how hot you are through your little pajama shorts, and if he knows you at all, you’re wet already. He works his fingers free of yours to slide them between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties to the side so he can feel you through his thin athletic pants.

Your arousal soaks the fabric as soon as he thrusts up into you, making him let out a small laugh against your lips. You pout in response and mutter, “Shut up,” still working your hips against his.

“Didn’t say anything, baby,” he teases, smirking up at you and squeezing your lush hips with both hands. You sink yours into his hair and pull, and suddenly, nothing is funny. His hips buck against yours as his cock twitches, precum leaking from the head adding to the wet patch on his lap.

Your hips roll into his and he starts to throb, his dick pulsing in time with his heart. He can’t let you keep going or you’ll make him cum in his pants, or maybe… he could?

Should he?

It makes you feel good to make him feel good, and you always have a little pep in your step after he lets you make him cum first. He’s also desperate to get his mouth on you, and you’ll be more inclined to let him take care of you if he’s already taken care of.

With his mind made up, he pulls you down onto his cock and grinds into you, exhaling a moan against your mouth when you tug on his hair again. You love it this length, you’ve told him, and he’s going to keep it like this for as long as he possibly can. Partially for you, mostly because he fucking adores having you brush it and play with it and braid it.

He gets to be so close to you, and your fingers in his hair feel heavenly, even (especially) when you get a little rough.

His scalp stings with the next pull and it sends a shiver down his spine, ending in a sharp buck of his hips. He stretches his thumbs out to pull your pussy apart so he can grind into your clit, hoping to take you over the edge with him.

He’s getting close already, and you’re so wet, he can feel every inch of your cunt like there’s nothing separating him from you. Soon enough, there will be nothing, and he’ll be able to lick and suck and kiss you as much as he wants.

You bite his lip and drag your nails over his scalp, and that’s it for him.

His brain goes offline and his hips stutter against yours, a low groan leaving his open mouth as his dick twitches and jerks, streaks of cum splattering the inside of his pants. Your hips don’t stop moving until he stops them himself, his harsh grip dimpling your flesh.

“Fuck,” Jihoon sighs, blinking his eyes open to find you beaming at him.

He can only smile wryly at you in response, shaking his head and letting go of your hips to grab you by the waist.

“Up you go,” he pushes, hefting you up to sit on his keyboard, discordant notes filling the studio until he leans forward and presses mute.

“Are you su-”

“I’ve literally dreamed about this,” he tells you, for the first time.

“You have?” You almost sound like you don’t believe him, and Jihoon simply can’t have that.

“Yes. I’ve dreamed about spreading you out on my desk just like this,” he shoulders his way between your legs. “And kissing up these thighs,” he presses his mouth to your soft skin, digging his teeth in only once, though he wants to leave you covered in bite marks.

“And feeling them squeeze my head when I finally get you on my tongue,” he leans in and licks from your cunt to your clit, fighting a smile when your thighs snap closed just like he knew they would.

He wants to talk to you more but he can’t pull himself away from your pussy, can’t make his mouth form words when he’s so busy using it on you. And honestly, his priority is keeping it on you, for as long as he possibly can.

Between work and sleep, he doesn’t get to taste you nearly as often as he wants to, and now that he actually is between work and sleep, he plans on making the most of it. By shoving his tongue inside you over and over, by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking until you cry, by groaning and humming into you both so you can feel the vibrations and to voice his obsession with your pussy.

And Jihoon is obsessed with your pussy, make no mistake. If he didn’t love his job so much, he’d quit and spend all his time worshiping you, taking care of you, loving you. He honestly thinks he’d make a killer house husband, and someday, when he retires, he plans on becoming one.

He can imagine it now, cleaning and working out and sleeping until you come home, then feeding you and fucking you till the sun sets, reading to you and massaging away any soreness before wrapping you up in his arms and falling to sleep together. He can still make music while you’re gone, but he won’t be jetting off or practicing for hours on end anymore.

He’s not ready for that now, but for a distant dream, it’s pretty enticing.

Even more enticing is the paradise between your thighs; the taste of you, the scent of you, the feel of you clouding his mind. He can barely breathe but that doesn’t matter, not when you’re moving with his tongue like this, grinding your hips onto his face as he sucks and sucks and sucks at your swollen little clit.

He wishes he could record the sounds coming out of your mouth, wishes he could play them back to you, watch you squirm and feel you flush at the sheer debauchery of them. It occurs to him that he could, but he’d have to pull away from you enough to ask and he’s unable to do so at the moment.

You’re just too hot and wet and perfect for him to stop for even a second, so he’ll save that idea for another time and focus on making you cum for him now. He can tell you’re getting close, by the way your thighs shudder against his ears, by the keen you let out when he sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks, by the hand you sink into his hair to hold him to you, as if he’d ever want to leave.

All it takes is a groan and a shake of his head and you’re cumming, your arousal leaking all over his chin and dripping down his throat to soak into the neckline of his t-shirt. He’ll take it off as soon as he gains the will to detach himself from you.

It doesn’t come to him until his eyes travel up your body and catch on the way your tits heave in your sleep tank. He wants to see them, feel them, taste them, bury his face in them.

Finally, he stands and rips off his shirt, leaning over you and waiting for you to raise your arms before tugging your top off and throwing it to the side. He takes a second to appreciate your bare breasts, the shape and weight of them intoxicating, and then shoves his face between them, licking over to one nipple and opening his mouth around it with a groan.

He fucking loves your tits, and he shows you just how much with his lips and his teeth and his tongue, one thigh between yours to hold them open for his searching fingers. They find your clit with practiced ease and start to rub staccato circles, chasing you when your hips buck in sensitivity.

He covers your other breast with his free hand, squeezing and brushing his thumb over your pebbled nipple as he sucks at its twin. You must have already showered, your skin tasting like your honey and cocoa butter lotion, and he can’t get enough, his head filling with clouds and images of you dripping wet and running your hands all over your body.

He’s gotten you messy again, but he’s sure you knew what you were doing when you knocked on his studio door. This is almost always how you end up when you come to check on him, his hunger for you insatiable, incurable.

How could he ever get enough of you when you’re this luscious, this sweet, this perfect? His mouth strays from your breast to your stomach, his lips tracing your rolls and stretch marks and cute little belly button before he sinks back down into his chair. He pushes your legs apart with a firm hand and replaces his fingers with his tongue, gliding it over you and sliding his fingers down to your entrance.

He fills you with them slowly even as your cunt flutters and squeezes, wanting them deeper already. He’ll give you what you want, he always does, but first he’ll tease you a little bit. Not to be mean, or to punish you for something, but because he fucking loves to hear you beg.

It always takes you a little push to lose your shyness, to find your voice, and this time, his push comes in the form of three fingers stretching your entrance open, sinking in only to the first knuckle. Your hips roll into his hand and his free one flies up to hold them still, his arm banding over your lap to hold you down so he can fill you at his pace.

He goes much slower than he knows you would prefer, and he presses his smile into your clit when you finally break down.

“Jihoon, please, I’ve been so good for you,” you whine, and he feels the heat spread from head to toe as he realizes it’s one of those nights. The kind where you need him to take control, to be rough with you, to reward you when you’ve earned it.

And you have earned it, so he lets his fingers fill you, pushing them in all the way and murmuring into your clit, “You have been good, baby. I’ll give you what you need, promise.”

You just whimper, your head tilting back on your neck when he scissors his fingers apart and your walls clinging to them as he pulls them out to the tip. “Eyes on me, baby.”

He waits for you to return your gaze to his before pushing his fingers back inside of you and beginning to fuck you with them, his lips pursing around your clit and sucking with every thrust. Your pussy is so fucking hot and wet around his fingers, it makes him moan into you, just the thought of feeling you wrapped around his cock enough to reawaken it.

It twitches in his damp boxers when a curl of his fingers beckons forth a rush of wetness and a sharp keen, one that echoes in his mind like a looped track.

“Baby, can I record you?”

He asks before he can stop himself, but now that it’s out in the air, he won’t take it back. He rests his cheek against your thigh as he waits, his heart pounding and his dick throbbing.

“Um, sure?” You don’t sound certain, and Jihoon doesn’t want you to regret anything. He can always delete them, but he doesn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.

“You don’t have to say yes, Y/n. I just think it would be… really fucking hot. Having your voice on file, being able to listen to you whenever I want, using your sounds in songs that will never be heard by anyone but us.”

You squirm under his forearm and clench around his fingers, and he believes you when you say, “Do it, Jihoon. Record me.”

His lips stretch in a broad, genuine smile and he reaches for the computer mouse, opening his recording software and clicking the red button.

He watches little waves form on the baseline, curls his fingers, grinds them into the rough patch inside of you, and arches an eyebrow. You gasp weakly, seemingly shy now that your noises are being picked up by something other than his ears.

Jihoon can be patient though, knows that soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about it.

You’re still being good, holding eye contact and keeping your thighs spread for him, so he rewards you with his mouth around your clit, a heavy suck startling a moan from your parted lips. He fights a smile, his lips pursing and pulling at the swollen bundle of nerves, and starts to hum, knowing you love the vibrations.

He can’t see the software from here but the wave must spike because you let out a sharp cry, your nails scratching at the edge of his desk until he takes your hands and puts them on his head. Your fingers delve into his hair and you pull his face into your pussy, and he knows he’s got you.

He didn’t really consider the mic picking up his own noises but he’s sure it is, his grunts and groans audible even with your thighs pressed to his ears. He can’t stop though, can’t hold them in when you taste so fucking good, when your cunt is searing hot and soaking wet under his mouth, when your nails are scratching at his scalp and sending zaps of electricity down his spine.

They all end in his cock, and he feels it jerk against the waistband of his boxers. He’s tired of them, removes his arm from your hips to shove them and his pants down, groaning loudly when his cock pops out into the open air. It’s sticky with cum and hard enough to hurt, and he can’t resist taking hold of it with his free hand, squeezing hard at the base to ease some of the ache.

His fingers thrust into you as he strokes his dick, the slick sounds loud in his studio, and you crane your neck, your eyes searching until they find his hand at work.

“Fuck, Jihoon, I want you inside of me,” you whine breathlessly, trying to pull him off your cunt by the hair. That just makes him moan into you, makes his cock jump in his grasp, makes him fuck his fingers into you harder.

“Cum for me first,” he demands, determined to get at least two orgasms on this file for mixing purposes. It seems he’s still a producer even when he’s trying to just be a boyfriend.

You pout but listen well, your cries reaching a fever pitch as your pussy flutters around his fingers, arousal spilling out of you and dripping between the keys of his keyboard. He may have to buy a new one, but that’s a problem for future Jihoon, and a problem he would be lucky to have.

“Perfect, baby, that was perfect,” he murmurs in a low tone, wanting your voice to be the focal point.

“Will you fuck me now?” You pant, reaching down to smooth your fingers over the head of his cock, making him shiver and swallow a groan.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll fuck you now,” he whispers, standing from the chair and pulling away from you to tug you off his desk. Your knees shake when you get your feet under you and he smirks, cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your lips before taking you by the hips and turning you around.

He squeezes your shoulder and starts pushing you down, letting you bend over the rest of the way by yourself. You fold your arms under your head, resting your cheek on them so you can watch as he guides his dick to your cunt and sinks inside.

You’re stretched out enough to take him easily, your walls forming to his cock and gripping it tightly. You’re such a perfect fucking fit for him, it’s like you were made for one another, like your bodies were designed to match. It blows his mind every single time he has the privilege of being inside of you.

He’s reluctant to leave you and you’re reluctant to let him, but pulling out means he can thrust back in. He keeps one hand on your shoulder and drops the other to your hip, clutching at it like a lifeline as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

His hips smack into your plush ass rhythmically, the sound causing sharp spikes on the waveform graph and acting as the perfect percussion to the moans and whimpers escaping you. The mic is right by your mouth and he knows they’re being picked up beautifully, butterflies gathering in his stomach just at the thought of getting to hear them through his headphones.

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, angling his hips up to hit your g-spot and smirking when you yelp at the sensation. Your back arches, your stomach pressing into his keyboard and your hips pressing into his, and he just holds you tighter, fucks into you harder.

Your pussy undulates around him as his hand slides from your shoulder to join the other at your hip, both of them gripping your ass and spreading you apart so he can watch his cock enter you again and again. It’s a sight he’ll never get tired of, a feeling he’ll never get used to, a gift he’ll never truly deserve.

It’s what will send him over the edge, just as long as he makes you fall first. He already came before you once and he doesn’t plan on doing so again for a long time, but he needs to get you there soon or he won’t have a choice.

One of his hands slips around your waist to dive between your legs, his fingers finding your sensitive clit and starting to strum it as he fills you over and over. You whimper and tremble against him, your cunt fluttering wildly around his aching cock and your hand flying down to grasp his wrist like you think he’ll pull away.

He doesn’t intend to, honestly wouldn’t mind being attached to you like this for the rest of his life, knows already that he wants to spend it with you.

His fingers get rougher on your clit and his hips move on autopilot as his brain empties, his balls aching to do the same. “Please cum, fuck. Baby, please fucking cum.”

Jihoon should have known he’d be the one begging you at the end of the night.

Thankfully, you like to indulge him, your pussy locking him in place as you cum with a loud cry, followed by gasping sobs of his name when he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s right there, he’s right fucking-

“Jihoon, cum inside me. Fill me up, I want it,” you whimper, pressing your ass into his hips and squeezing your inner muscles around his throbbing cock, and that’s the end for him.

He drops down to cover your body with his as he breaks apart, his own moans and whimpers registering on the graph alongside yours and his cum flooding into you in pulses. His hand leaves your clit so he can wrap his arm around your waist in a hug, his cheek pressed to your back and his other hand finding yours.

He tangles your fingers together and rises up, pulling you with him and sitting heavily in his chair. He’s still hard enough his cock doesn’t slip out, and he leans you to the side so he can cup your cheek and turn your face into his, pressing his lips to yours in an openmouthed kiss.

“Love you, baby,” he whispers into your mouth, waiting for you to say it back before kissing his way to your neck and biting down gently, just enough to leave an indent of his teeth behind.

“Will you come to bed with me?” You whisper in a small voice, and he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply and responding, “Of course, baby.”

He reaches a hand out and stops the recording, saving the file to his private hard drive, ideas filling his head already. They can wait until the morning though, you asked him to go to bed with you and go to bed he will.

Jihoon thinks this might be the most productive break he’s ever had.

AN: this one's for all the jihoon stans who have been thirsting with me lately 💖

My Masterlist

My Chubby!Reader Masterlist

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ajuunisu · 3 months

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Save a horse, ride a cowboy 🐎

Had to show the eye on the left side yall

#one piece #acesan #portgas d ace #vinsmoke sanji #this ship funny asf and im livin for it like crack #i stay up readin fics abt em frfrong #mami soy tu vaquero #dime vaquero mami #kikyamballs

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emahriel · 1 year

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thank you for coming to my ted talk

#em: edit #anyway all ive been doing is reading fics with him #someone end me #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil: infinite darkness #re2 remake #re4 remake

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a-simple-gaywitch · 8 months

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Weather the Storms

Wylan van Eck x Jesper Fahey

Summary: my take on the van Eck reveal with Show!Wesper

Word Count: 2104

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, mention of Jan van Eck's shitty parenting

“Do you think I'd give up?

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darlin', I'd scare so easily?” - Francesca, Hozier

“Are there any questions?” Kaz turned towards the three Crows sitting behind him.

Nina raised her hand and said, “Yeah, I’ve got one. Who’s the job for?”

“The Merchant Council. Specifically Jan Van Eck.”

“The Merchant Council?” Jesper scoffed. “They’re not gonna pay up.”

“They will,” Kaz stated. “Because we have insurance.”

“Insurance?” Nina asked.

Kaz turned his gaze on Wylan. “Jan Van Eck’s son. Everyone, Wylan Van Eck.”

Wylan felt the world crash around him. He knew people were talking, but it all sounded like they were underwater. Wylan had known, of course, that Kaz had known who he was. Who his father was. But he had assured Wylan he wouldn’t tell anyone his secret. Amidst the panic unfurling in Wylan’s chest, there was burning anger. His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as he leveled his gaze at Kaz.

“Fuck you,” he hissed out before jumping up from his stool, knocking it down in the process. He knew Nina and Jesper were watching him, but he didn’t care. He needed to get away from the suddenly too stuffy bar. He pushed through the door connecting the club to the Slat and rushed up the stairs to the room he now shared with Jesper.

Wylan slammed the door behind him and began pacing, muttering to himself. But he wasn’t alone for long.

Jesper’s head was swirling with emotions: shock, betrayal, anger. Anger towards Kaz, anger towards Wylan. How could they keep this from him? After Wylan’s abrupt departure, Jesper followed after him, not hearing anything Kaz was saying to him.

He pushed open the door to the shared room and found Wylan pacing.

“Wylan.”

He spun around. “Jes-”

“You lied to me.”

Wylan looked shocked. Jesper scoffed internally. Why should he look so upset when he’s the one who lied?

“I never lied to you,” Wylan said, taking a step closer to Jesper.

“Oh, no? Because from where I stand, this feels like a pretty big fucking lie! What, did you not trust me?”

“No, Jesper, you know I trust you-” Suddenly they were both yelling.

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to, I just-” He cut himself off, his eyes becoming glassy.

“When, Wylan? When were you going to tell me? When were you going to tell me that your father is one of the richest Merchers in Ketterdam?” When Wylan didn’t answer, Jesper scoffed and shook his head. “What are you even doing in the Barrel? Why would you choose to be here when you could go back to a big mansion on Gildenstraat?”

Wylan’s posture straightened and he took a deep breath. Definitely a Merch, Jesper thought bitterly.

“You don’t know what it was like in that house, Jesper. No one chooses life in the Barrel.” And with that, Wylan walked out of the room, slamming the still-open door behind him. The door slammed so hard the oil lamp on the bedside table rattled dangerously.

Jesper huffed and flopped down on the bed.

Jesper was languishing in his room, twirling his revolvers around. He was still angry- no scratch that, he was still furious, at Wylan for keeping such a big secret. He was also mad at Kaz for not telling him earlier. But he was thinking. It just didn’t make sense. Why would Wylan be in the Barrel if his father was one of the most influential men on the Council?

Ketterdam’s never really felt like home to me.

What was Wylan’s childhood like? Was it really so bad he felt unloved? He thought about the look in Wylan’s eyes when Jesper found out he couldn’t read, the fear that radiated off of him. He thought about Wylan’s tendency to flinch at loud, sudden movements, like the yelling common around the Barrel or the thump of Kaz hitting his cane against a table. He thought about how Wylan panicked any time his neck was touched.

He was missing something. Something huge.

Jesper was also starting to get worried. Night was falling and Wylan still had not returned to their room. Jesper may be angry, but he still cared about the younger man. What if he went back to his father’s house? What if he got jumped in the street? What if another gang attacked him? What if-

“Jesper.”

He jolted at the sound, but relaxed when he saw who had called his name. “Inej!” She was standing by his window, leaning against the sill. Jesper took three big strides across the room and wrapped her in a hug. “When did you get in?”

“This morning,” she replied. “Kaz had me running errands all day. Otherwise I would have dropped by sooner.”

Jesper’s hands fell back to his sides. “I’m assuming he caught you up on this new job?”

“He did.” She took a seat on the bed. “I know you’re angry, but you have to talk to him.”

“Who, Kaz?” Inej shot him a look. Jesper sighed and sunk onto the bed next to her. “You knew? Stupid question, of course you knew.”

Inej glanced to the side before saying, “Kaz had me tail him for a while, when he first surfaced in the Barrel. He couldn’t figure out what he was doing working in the tannery. So he sent me looking for information at the Van Eck estate.”

“What did you find?”

She sighed. “Not much. Van Eck pays his employees too well to get information out of them. All they would tell me was that the boy was attending music school in Belendt.”

“But- He’s not?”

“And that’s why I turned to the rumor mill. The only one that seemed to stick was that he had run off with one of his tutors.” She saw the hurt behind Jesper’s eyes. “But I wouldn’t put any kruge on that. Go talk to him. Ask him.”

Jesper scoffed. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Inej took one of Jesper’s hands in her own. “Jes, I see how much you care for each other. How much you love each other. Don’t let him slip away because of a fight. Life brings us many storms. Love is what gets us through them.”

Jesper practically flung himself down the stairs of the Slat, the need to talk to his boyfriend practically burning him from the inside out.

“He’s not here.”

Jesper spun around to see Kaz leaning on his cane by the bar. “But you know where he is?”

Kaz was silent for a minute before sighing. “Look, Jes. I hadn’t predicted that you and Wylan would grow as close as you have. And I assumed he had already told you.”

Jesper knew that was as close to an apology as he would get from Kaz. “Where is he?”

“The workshop.” As Jesper wrenched open the door, Kaz called, “Oh, and Jesper? Don’t fuck it up.”

A small smile crossed Jesper’s face. He may not say it in as many words, but Kaz cares about his Crows.

When Jesper reached the workshop, he started pounding on the door, panting. “Wylan! Wylan, it’s me! Please open the door!”

Jesper heard the locks being undone, but was not greeted with the face of his boyfriend. Instead, he was met with an angry-looking Nina Zenik.

“Nina? What are you doing here? Where’s Wylan?”

Nina crossed her arms over her chest. “Kaz sent me to check on him after he ran out of the Slat. His little heart was going so fast I thought he would go into cardiac arrest. When I finally caught up to him, he told me that the two of you got into a fight. And you know what the first thing he said to me was? He apologized. He apologized for who his father is, something he can’t control any more than you or I,” she jabbed at Jesper’s chest, “can control being born Grisha.” Nina sighed and took a step back. “I don’t know what his childhood was like, but Wylan’s been abused. Profoundly abused.”

Jesper looked down at his feet, his face flushing with shame. “I, um, I came to apologize.”

Nina opened the door a bit more and stepped to the side. “Well, he’s asleep now. I had to calm him with how much stress and anxiety he had.” As Jesper walked down the stairs of the lab, Nina said, “Oh, and Jesper? You break his heart or hurt him again in any way, I will make you piss your pants in front of the entire club. Understood?” After Jesper nodded, Nina walked out of the workshop, slamming the door behind her.

Jesper walked over to the shitty little mattress in the corner of the room where Wylan was laying. He sat on the edge of the makeshift bed, brushing his hair away from his eyes. Even in his Grisha-induced sleep, there was a divot of worry between his brows. Jesper reached out and smoothed over the worry-line.

Wylan started to stir. He rubbed at his eyes. “Jesper?”

“Hey, Novice,” Jesper said, smiling at his boyfriend. He grazed Wylan’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“What-what are you doing here?” Wylan asked, sitting up. “I thought you were angry.”

Jesper took a deep breath. “I was, at first. But it wasn’t so much you I was mad at, more the situation,” he admitted. At Wylan’s confused expression, he continued, “For as long as I can remember, people have been keeping things from me. Kaz especially. I’m always the last to know about plans, about jobs, about secrets. And you know how I tend to act on impulse.”

Wylan looked down at where Jesper had taken his hand and linked their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey.” Jesper tilted Wylan’s head up so he could look in his eyes. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re right, no one chooses life in the Barrel. I should have heard you out. I should have listened.”

Wylan took a shuddering breath. “Wylan van Eck is dead. He died in the harbor three years ago, and was reborn as Wylan Hendricks.”

“What? Wylan, what are you talking about?”

Wylan looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. He exhaled shakily before saying, “He told me he was sending me to a music school in Belendt. He sent me with two of his staff. Once we were on the boat and far enough out into the harbor, they tried to kill me. The only thing I could do was jump off the boat and swim.” Wylan shivered and squeezed Jesper’s hand, and Jesper wrapped his free arm around his shoulders. “The water was so cold. I thought I would drown out there. But I made it to shore. I survived. My father tried to have me killed, and I survived.” he let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“I’m sorry, Wy,” Jesper said, rubbing his shoulder. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared,” he admitted. “I was scared you’d see me as some dumb Mercher’s kid in way over their head. I was scared you’d leave me.” Wylan started picking at a hangnail as the air between them grew static.

Jesper swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Wylan-”

“I-I’m not trying to guilt you into staying, if you want me to move out, I will. I’ll start packing my stuff-”

“Whoa, whoa, Wylan! Who said anything about leaving or moving out?”

Wylan looked up at Jesper, his eyes misty. “You don’t want me to move out?”

“No,” said Jesper, cupping Wylan’s face in his hands. “I want you to stay. I want you to come back home. You mean the world to me, Wy. No little argument is going to stop me from loving you.”

“You love me?” he whispered, almost as if he was afraid it wouldn’t be true if he said it too loud.

Jesper smiled. “Yeah, Wylan, I love you.” Saying it out loud was probably the easiest, most thrilling thing Jesper’s ever done. More than rolling the dice, more than pulling the trigger. And seeing Wylan’s face light up in a smile made it all worth it.

“I love you too, Jes.”

Jesper kissed Wylan’s forehead, gripping both of his hands. “Can we agree, no more secrets between each other?”

“Yeah. No more secrets.”

Jesper laughed, giving Wylan’s lips a quick peck. “Let’s get back to the Slat before Nina makes Kaz send a search team, yeah?”

#jesper x wylan #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #jesper fahey #wesper #my fics #em's fics #my writing #oneshot #wesper fluff

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