#flip x you

[kiss-inthekitchen]

no vacancy | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings for him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips.“It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.” ��

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

#so they have flip phones but i didnt want to write everything in shorthand so theyre just really fast at it. go with it #spencer texts with perfect grammar bc of course he does #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #my fics

[ruubesz-draws]

... Gigan Rex and Megalon kinda did deserve it...

Minus one won't hesitate

MEGALONHOWTFDOIDRAWYOU Stupid bug and his lack of references...

#godzilla #godzilla minus one #godzilla x kong: the new empire #godzilla vs megalon #godzilla vs gigan #gigan rex #megalon #haha #they dead #i mean ngl i wanna ride a bike with them too... #and then ride a tricycle with minus 1 at the last minute #so i can live #who cares abt them #hahhakjsfksdrhkjkdla #also yes megalon is flipping him off but... he don't have fingers so we'll never know #MAGLON WHY ARE YOU SO HARD TO DRAW #REFERENCE WAS NOT ENOUGH!!! #AAAAHHHHHHHHHH #do not repost #my art

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao) #but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

[roosterr]

by your hand | 01

kyle garrick x gn!reader x john soap mactavish

wc: 3.4k summary: johnny leaves you alone again, and kyle is more than happy to fill the space he left behind. warnings: unrequited love (for now), love triangle -> poly pipeline, lots pining longing and desiring, gaz is kind of a nervous wreck, a tiny bit of angst, tasteful clichés, everybody is down bad

so,,, i'm starting another series. don't look at me. based on a request i got forever ago and this idea <3

will you let me know if john is coming home tonight? 21:04

the text from you sits open on kyle's phone, the only light illuminating his face in his otherwise dark living room. a deep sigh escapes him as he drags a hand down his face, a fruitless attempt to rid himself of the sinking feeling weighing down on him.

johnny's not coming home, kyle knows he’s not, and if you’re texting him then deep down, you must know that too. he’s meeting up with the same hookup from last week, some guy he met at the pub that kyle knows nothing about because he’d hung up the phone before soap could get too into his usual bragging; and though he hadn’t listened to the details, a twisting ache lingered in his chest for the rest of the day after that.

didn't he tell you? he's staying with another friend tonight 21:07

oh okay 21:11

your curt response sends another pang of guilt through him. how soap could be so blind – as well as just plain stupid – he had no idea, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take advantage of this opportunity.

his fingers hover above the keyboard, twitching over the letters as he tries to come up with something to say. he could do what he always does, tell you 'of course' and 'don't worry'; or, he could actually do something. he could give in to his selfish desires for once and allow himself to have you, if only for the evening.

and, really, it's been months of this; all the lingering stares he sends your way, touches that last just long enough to still give him plausible deniability – and when you text him like this, the going back and forth over whether it was the right time to make a move, but every time he he finds some bullshit excuse not to.

tonight is different though. he's been patient, and he's not sure he can stop himself from giving in this time.

the decision was made before he even finished the thought. he types out the message and deletes it five times before he decides to just bite the bullet and send it.

maybe i could come round and keep you company? i'll stop by tescos and grab popcorn and we could watch a film? just the two of us? 21:22

the minutes between him sending the text and you reading it are borderline painful. he doesn’t know how you’re going to respond, and that was utterly maddening. maybe he crossed a line, or maybe he'd come on too strong and you could tell how pathetically into you he was–

the buzz of your response cuts his overthinking short. he unlocks his phone with lightning speed the same moment the notification comes through.

that would be nice thanks kyle :) 21:24

his heart stutters in his chest, and an excited grin lifts the corners of his lips. he reads the message a few more times, just to make sure he didn't dream it up, but it doesn't change between blinks. a light feeling replaces the guilt from earlier.

you said yes. you’re going to watch a movie with him, in your flat, just the two of you. with a slightly embarrassing fist pump, he thanks the stars for aligning to make this happen and rushes to the front door. he grabs his jacket and pulls his shoes on in record time, and he's just about to slip his phone into his pocket next to his keys, but it buzzes again before he can.

get sweet and salty pls xxxxx 21:25

a fond chuckle passes his lips at that, the feeling in his heart only getting warmer as he locks the door behind him and makes a beeline for his car.

on it boss 21:25

less than fifteen minutes later kyle is standing outside your building, plastic bag in one hand and the other pressing the buzzer for your flat. he absently wonders what soap would think if he knew about this, if he’d object or if he’d even care in the first place, but once again his worries are interrupted by the click of the front door unlocking.

the easy, if slightly more toned down, smile from earlier is back on kyle’s face as he takes the stairs two at a time – the lift would’ve been too slow, he reasons, and he wants to make the most of every second he has with you.

his footsteps echo through the hall as he finally approaches your flat, his grip on the bag tightening and his heart rate picking up the closer he gets. he’s a moment away from knocking, fist poised above the door, when it swings open to reveal you with a similarly excited grin on your face.

kyle eyes gravitate to yours, lifting the hand holding the bag and somewhat awkwardly leaning the one still hovering on the doorframe. "package secured, boss."

his words get a soft chuckle from you, as you step to the side and gestures for him to come in.

"good work, sarge," you tease, shutting the door behind him and taking the bag from his hand as you make your way to the kitchen, "you can pick what we watch, i can't make a decision like that!"

"roger that," his smile is evident in his voice when he calls after you, "but you're not allowed to complain about my choice!"

"better not pick something shit, then!"

kyle watches you go while he undoes his laces, and takes the opportunity to admire the way you look in your pyjamas. it was just a big jumper and some comfy trousers, nothing special, but a burning heat still rises to the tips of his ears all the same.

this is what soap had to come home to every night? and he still chose not to?

he shakes his head to rid himself of the thought and hangs his jacket on the empty hook by the door, beside yours. tonight, you were his, and he was determined to push all thoughts about his idiot best friend out of your mind.

the movie he'd picked is already waiting for you when you shuffle into the living room, the bowl of popcorn in your hands as you flop down onto the sofa beside him.

"hot fuzz?" you ask, placing the bowl in the space between you and popping a few pieces into your mouth.

"yeah, you seen it?" he presses play on the remote, and you shake your head with a curious smile on your face. he grabs a few pieces of popcorn himself, and tilts his head to give you an eager grin. "oh, it's brilliant, love, one of my all time favourites."

you hum thoughtfully, and with your eyes locked onto the screen, kyle takes the opportunity to lay his arm across the back of the sofa, just behind your shoulders. his heart hammers against his sternum, and he subconsciously holds his breath when you settle further into the sofa, closing the distance between you ever so slightly.

"well, you've set my expectations very high, kyle." you shoot him a playful look that he readily mirrors, before focusing your gaze back on the movie. he breathes a quiet sigh of relief that you didn't comment on his manoeuvre, the nervous tension melting from his muscles.

it's hard not to be comfortable around you. even when you're just sitting in each other's presence, it comes so naturally, like it's by design. despite the movie being one of his favourites, he can't help the way his gaze drifts to your profile.

do you see this as a date? because kyle definitely does. or, he wants to, but does it really count if it's just him that thinks that way? was he reading too far into this?

lost in his anxieties, he doesn't realise that when he reaches to grab some popcorn that you do the same, and the sparks that fly up his arm from where your fingers brush startle him back down to earth. he braves a look at you, a bashful smile finding its way onto his face as he meets your eyes.

"you were right," you murmur, and dart your eyes back to the screen in an almost nervous way, "this is really good."

a satisfied feeling blooms in his chest knowing that you liked his choice. "it's part of a trilogy, y'know. we'll have to watch the other two at some point."

there's a pause then, where you get a contemplative look on your face, and kyle holds his breath waiting for your response.

"maybe not tonight," your gaze falls to your lap, and he's afraid for a moment that he'd overstepped before you continue, "but i'd like that."

he smiles at you again, giving your leg a small nudge with his own. "next time soap is out pub crawling, then, yeah?"

your expression twitches downwards, darkening for a split second that he just about catches, before you put on an obviously forced smile. "yeah, sounds good."

fuck.

why did he say that? soap is the last person you want to be thinking about, and the last person he wanted to bring up tonight, so why on earth did he say that?

the silence that follows is negatively charged. your eyes are locked onto the tv screen, but there's a distracted look in them now.

kyle clears his throat, trying to swallow down the hot embarrassment rising to his face, "sorry. shouldn't've brought him up, should i?"

you seem to flinch at his words, your head snapping to fix him with an incredulous look as you stumble over your words. "why– what? why? he does live here."

"i know you like him." kyle frowns when you click your tongue, continuing with a more serious tone than he's had all night, "and i know you know where he is."

you open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. guilt claws at the inside of his ribcage watching you swallow hard, blinking away the despair in your eyes as you face the tv again.

"i don't like him." you mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest and pointedly ignoring kyle’s eyes on you.

he wants to say something, to make this better somehow, but the damage has already been done. god, why did he even start this in the first place? everything was going so well before he said anything, so why did he have to spoil it? 

your brows pull tighter and tighter the longer with every second that goes without a response from him, until you eventually get tired of the concerned look he's giving you and snap. "i don't, kyle! and why should i care what he does with his free time? he's his own man!"

there's a waiver to your voice that only adds to the heaviness building in the pit of his stomach. he shifts his arm from where it rests on the back of the sofa to curl around your shoulders. the movie is still playing in the background, but neither of you are paying attention to it anymore.

"i'm not judging you. we both know how much of a dickhead he is." kyle murmurs, a soft attempt to comfort you while he gently tugs you closer to his side.

you turn your head towards him again, a drained look in your eyes. they glisten with steadily building tears, and kyle's heart breaks at the sight.

"but he's not, not to you or your friends, it's just me that he's– he's like this, i…" your words get stuck in your throat as the first few tears spill past your eyelashes. "...why did it have to be him? i don't–"

"hey, hey," he coos, moving the bowl of popcorn to the coffee table so he can pull you fully into his embrace, "take a deep breath for me, alright?"

you bury your face into his chest, but he still hears the way your breath hitches, and feels the subtle trembling of your shoulders. he draws soothing shapes over your shirt, and he knows that now is the most inappropriate time to be thinking this, but when his fingers brush the skin of your upper arm, the sparks from the contact are impossible to ignore.

the minutes that pass by listening to your muffled sniffling could've been hours and kyle wouldn't have known the difference. he wishes more than anything that he could take your pain away, but the most he can do is be your listening ear and your shoulder to cry on.

eventually you do lift your head from his chest, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks and facing the tv to avoid his eyes. "i'm sorry, i don't know why i'm– i ruined tonight–"

"no you didn't, i'm the one who upset you," kyle murmurs, still with his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close to him. he tilts his head to catch your reddened gaze in the dim light from the tv screen, watching you slowly nod in response.

"god, fucking hell…" you mutter, leaning forward with your elbows n your knees, dropping your face to rest in your palms. his frown deepens as you slowly release a deep breath, the anxiety from earlier returning to worry him that he'd crossed a line.

"if you need some space, i can go?" kyle removes his hand from where it rests on your back, suddenly hyper aware of how close the two of you had just been – and the hot feeling of his blood as it races through his veins. "if… if you want, yeah?"

"no, no. i– don't go." you stutter, lifting your head just enough to give him a weak glance from the corner of your eye.

"alright," he murmurs, feeling a sense of relief that you didn't outright tell him to piss off, "i'm here."

he moves his arm to rest on the back of the sofa again, an open invite that he's desperately hoping you'll take.

for the second time tonight, the stars align perfectly in his favour, and you lean back to fit seamlessly to his side, your head resting on his bicep. he has to force himself to relax, and consciously remember to breathe.

he would've been satisfied with just that, your proximity to him more than he could've hoped for, but then you whisper something that threatens to stop his heart completely.

"...why couldn't it've been you?"

what?

…what?

did he hear you right? you want it to be him? it could've just been a throwaway comment, but kyle’s never felt such a light feeling in his chest, his head spinning like he might wake up from this dream at any second.

but it's not a dream, because when you stiffen in his hold, he feels the way your muscles pull taught, and he feels your lungs expand with the sharp intake of breath as he says his next words, barely more than a whisper.

"...it can be."

time seems to freeze as you both process what he means. his stare doesn't falter on your profile, watching every minute expression and waiting with bated breath for a response. moments go by with nothing but the white noise of the tv in the background, illuminating the room in multicoloured flashes that highlight the wide-eyed expression you wear.

"what?" you mumble, slowly turning you heard as your eyes give in to the pull of his, meeting kyle’s equally astonished gaze as the air between you turns thick.

he swallows hard, resisting the nervous urge to look away. "it can be me, if that's what you want."

you stare at each other, a good kind of tension sparking in the distance that still separates you.

"kyle, i… i can't do that to you." you murmur, your brows tilting in a display of the turmoil just under the surface. "you deserve more than that…"

you blink and turn your gaze down to the buttons on his shirt. he still stares at you. he takes your hand with his free one, dragging his thumb tenderly over your knuckles. you look back to him, uncertainty swimming in your eyes.

"i– i don't care," the blood rushes in his ears, anticipation and disbelief lighting his nerves on fire as he stares intently into your eyes, not even daring to blink, "i've always wanted you."

"kyle…" you whisper, quiet and unsure, but you don't pull away.

he's toeing the line, he knows, but you're not rejecting him. there's something in him that just can't ignore the fact that he's making a move on his best friend's flatmate, especially when he knows you like soap – but there's a bigger part of him that doesn't care, that just wants you in any way he can have you.

he lets go of your hand to cradle your face, moulding his hand to the shape of where your jaw meets your neck, and edges his face closer to yours.

"tell me you don't want this," kyle murmurs, watching your lashes brush your cheeks as you let your eyes flutter closed, "tell me to stop, and i will."

he waits, his breathing shallow, for you to say something. he almost wants you to stop him, if only so he doesn't get a chance to fuck this up – but you don't.

you lean further into him, placing your own hand over top of his, and respond in a breathy sigh that he just about hears, "...don't hurt me."

and without a second of hesitation, kyle whispers in reply, "wouldn't dream of it."

he only just gets the words out before you're gently slotting your lips against his. there's a split second of shock where all kyle can do is reel from your touch, but he quickly shakes it off and reciprocates with a shaky sigh against your mouth. he uses the hand on your face to draw you even closer, moving to hold the back of your head while his other arm winds around your waist. 

everything except you is completely forgotten – the drag of your finger as they find his neck, the soft noises you let out under his ministrations, and the dizzying, borderline addictive feeling of your body against his.

he can't help the groan that escapes him when your nails meet his scalp, the blunt scratch only adding to the list of sensations that he'll be thinking about long into the night.

there's a twinge of disappointment within him when you eventually pull away, both of you breathing heavily and holding each other as close as you can. kyle watches your eyes flutter open again, looking deep into his with a hazy, unfocused look to them.

an easy smile pulls at his lips, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek where his hand still rests. you let your own hand fall to his chest, a tiny smile of your own finding its way onto your face.

"we can take it slow, yeah?" kyle murmurs, searching your eyes for any hint of uncertainty that could be hiding there.

"yeah." your voice is airy, still somewhat out of breath as you rest your forehead against his. "you're too good to me kyle."

kyle huffs a quiet chuckle at that, leaning back just enough to be able to see you properly. "'course i'm not, you've just never been treated right."

he feels the heat that rises to your face, and sees your smile grow before you tuck your head just under his collar, turning your attention back to the movie while he chuckles at your reaction.

for the rest of the night, it feels like he's on cloud nine. even as the movie ends and you agree to call it a night, the only thing on his mind is when he can see you again.

"next week," you promise, "we can watch the next one."

he's never wanted the days between today and next friday to pass him by so badly.

when he stands in your doorway and gives you one last peck on the cheek, the smile you give him makes his head and heart feel unbelievably light. even as he's leaving, sending a longing glance back down the hall just before the doors of the lift close, that giddy feeling doesn't leave him.

soap doesn't deserve you, he never did, and kyle would help you finally see that.

#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #gaz x reader x soap #soap x reader x gaz #141 x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #mw3 x reader #poly 141 x reader #roosterr writes #flipped a coin between posting this and killing myself and it was heads so here you go /j

[plorpl]

Where’s that text post that’s like “Wilson is kind, gentle death and House is rough, painful life” because first of all, GO OFF; second of all, I have more to add:

House is justice; Wilson is clemency.

House is harsh truth; Wilson is comforting lies.

House is abrasive idealism; Wilson is resigned realism.

House is spiky vulnerability; Wilson is velvet guardedness.

House is constructive cruelty; Wilson is destructive kindness.

House is focused passion; Wilson is diffuse romance.

House is a gleeful perpetrator; Wilson is a willing victim.

House is self-sabotage; Wilson is self-sacrifice.

#and that's not to say they are opposites #they are two sides of the same coin #and they often flip these roles #but only for each other #these kind of make it seem like i hate wilson but let me assure you i love him #perhaps too much #hilson #house #house md #house x wilson #hate crimes md

[kichiyosh1]

━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟScaramouche asks you out to prom but all hell broke loose

pairings!: scaramouche x reader ft! anemo boys

bonus!: ya'll get a visual (edited by yours truly) of how he asked you out

He had it all planned out. He'd practiced asking you out the moment it was announced there was gonna be a prom, he prepared in advance what he would wear, he practiced all necessary dance steps, he got his hair trimmed and tidied. He envisioned it was going to be perfect

but alas, they just had to insist on helping.

.

What awaited you at your doorstep was quite the surprise, two of them to be exact. One, THE scaramouche was at your doorstep with a bocay of flowers in hand, and second, was his whole group of friends behind him holding what appeared to be— signs?

it was a disaster

it was venti's idea that they'd do the cliche "will-you-go-to-prom-with-me" sign

and of course, HE was the first one that made a mistake, instead of the signs saying 'will you go to prom with me' it instead spelt ' you will go to prom with me'

"So is this meant to be an invitation or a demand?" you giggled, you were only teasing, but scara's face paled.

utterly unbelievable!

and awkwardly enough you had to crane your head a bit to the side in order to read it in full sentence because xiao was too embarrassed to be seen in such a ridiculous situation

"Xiao! I did not agree to this just to have you hiding in the bushes!", "but it's so embarrassing, and lame"

Back to venti

aether was frantically trying to swap places with him to correct their positions but venti was so light on his feet that he tripped and fell

"Venti, the signs are all wrong! what are you doing?!" aether shook him back and forth, but then he noticed how dazed venti looked and how he reeked of alcohol upon closer inspection. "when did you have time to get a drink?! and now of all times too! whatever, just swap signs with me instead!"

So the summary of how it all went down: venti drunk on the floor, aether still trying to get him up, kazuha trying to pull xiao out of the bushes, and heizou giving scaramouche a big thumbs up while shouting "you're doing great!"

He still couldn't believe you actually went to prom with him after all that chaos

"ehe, I told you it would all work out in the end~"

"I'm gonna shove that 'ehe' right up your—"

#help i didn't mean for venti to be flipped but it worked out for his character in the end #I might write a proper prom fic when i'm feeling up for it #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer #kabukimono x reader #kabukimono #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

[stararch4ngelqueen]

cute bath with jason, candles and bubbles and light music playing and he’s sitting behind you and giving you kisses as you just talk about eachothers days

—

Time Written - 10:50 p.m

—

“I saw somewhere that they sell these trays that hang on the tub, like hooking on the edges. You can use it to read your book inside. With a glass of wine or tea, or scotch too.”

Rough fingers along your back rolled any remaining knots in your muscles, calloused hands gently stroking along the junction of our shoulder and neck.

“Scotch?” Jason huffs in amusement. “C’mon, y’know I’m not a scotch guy.”

“Whiskey, bourbon. Whatever,” you giggle, leaning your head forward as you swipe along any stray wet hair, only to feel his fingers completely halt.

“You forgot my tastes??” Jason expressed with complete shock at this horrifying discovery. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

Any further giggling was unavoidable as you see his face; twisted into mock pain, his lips formed into a tragic quiver as he gives his version of puppy dog eyes.

“An’ here I was, so very very proud of myself to drive all across town to that lush store you like so much, All for the bath salts!” Vocally expressing his pain, he clutched his chest in one hand, dramatically swooping his damp curls back to dress his palm over his forehead.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“And they weren’t even on sale!” Jason continues on, leaning his head back further with feigned agony. “I spent good money on my woman, an’ she forgets that I’m a bourbon man!”

“Jason stop it!” You turn yourself just a little more, both hands coming out of the milky waters to settle along his upper arms.

“I got you that bottle of Four Roses earlier, I know what my man loves.”

Jason smirks whilst withdrawing his hands from their prior positions. He can’t help but laugh a little himself, lowering one of his hands under water to rest along your hip.

“What I love is that pretty look on your face, Doll.” He pinches your chin with feather-like softness before kissing you.

Coming home to this everyday; you, was a gift.

Getting to spend every minute in your intoxicating presence. What drug or alcohol could be possibly infect himself with when his brain provided such ecstasy with one look at you?

The lights were dimmed, the water still clung to its toasty warmth. The milky waters seeping with sweet soap, pearlescent powders, crushed oats and herbal oils.

An exquisite tastes of both lavender and honey soothing elegance, bodies dripping in glittering gold.

In some cases, you didn’t wanna do anything sexual when Jason came home. This bath, for example, both of you were naked yes, but it was possible to not think such thoughts in a precarious state.

Your one and only was home safe and sound, You loved nothing more.

Jason was more than okay with that.

If you weren’t up to it, neither was he. Vice versa.

A perfect, consensual balance.

This was much better than a book, even better than a drink. The sleep he always got after these baths were heavenly, nearly slumbering like a baby each time.

“After the day I’ve had, I prefer this right here instead of a drink.” Jason re-swipes his soaking wet hair back along his head, growing slightly irritated from his dipping curls dripping onto his face.

“What a way with words, handsome.” You smile as you turn your body slightly, letting your upper half settle more comfortably against his. His hand settles along your back, running soothing circles against your glistening skin.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“If I did buy you that bath tray, would this mean you’d read to me in here?”

“Probably,” he replies, pondering over which book exactly. Also if he believes he could be comfortable enough with literature in the tub.

“Might as well do some skincare too,” you ponder over the idea, to Jason’s confusion.

“Like, some eye masks or something. Make it a spa day.”

Jason remained… intrigued, adamant. Only eye masks he’s seen you use were those glittery jelly ones you put under your eyes. He’s tried them once, per your request. They weren’t bad, but he didn’t understand the uses to this day.

“You’re just giving Dick more things to talk about.” Jason chuckles, his eyes closing as your hand readjusts his sopping wet, snowy curl out of his face.

“As if he needs to know what we do. This is our time, remember?”

“Mhm.” He leans close, pressing a kiss along your cheek before leaning just a little lower, leaving a softer peck underneath your ear.

“Our time.” He murmurs, feeling your head lean against his touches.

“The day I can dress you in a bright pink robe—“

“Babe no.” Oh boy. “C’mon—“

“-With feather lining and fuzzy slippers. You’d look adorable!” Your purposefully cheery accent had him groaning your name in false irritancy against your neck, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no deal you can make with me for that to happen, Princess.”

“I can be very persuasive, Mister Todd,” your tone drops from its cheerful tease into a more slow, much familiar tune he was well accustomed to.

His chest rumbles with amusement, teal eyes narrowing with interest in your statement. You’re really eager for him to do such? Now you piqued his interest.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty girl.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #my heart did flips #I liked this too much it’s too cute

[shandy-and-champagne]

I know what you are, Michael...

if this doesn’t happen i will be suing for damages x

Cleaner version without quotes:

#byler #mike wheeler i know what you are #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #byler fanart #mike x will #stranger things season five #st5 hc #stranger things fanart #this took me flipping ages

[adventuresingingerland]

You know Lucius would pull this kind of stunt, and honestly? Good for him!

#sometimes you just gotta makes some soft and cheesy art and there ain't nothing wrong with that #deleted scene from the show I am sure of it #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fanart #our flag means death fanart #fanart #lucius spriggs #ofmd lucius #black pete #ofmd black pete #black pete x lucius #also am I weeping a little because I put pete's rope on the wrong side? #perhaps #this is why we don't flip canvases kids #jk

[addicted-to-morally-grey-men]

Random thought,

Since mc turned in to a sheep (seriously a sheep?) When mc entered the devildom...

Does that mean that If the brothers or the dateables (except Sol ofc) were to enter the human realm they'd also turned into an animal? Maybe a dog? Cat? Or a flipping goat? (Yeah a goat... Mc is sheep, they should be random too)

#it's 3 in the flipping morning bruh #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me lucifer #obey me luke #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #satan #drabble #random thoughts

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

DP x DC prompt #5:

(Let’s completely skip over the fact that I never did #2, hm?)

After seeing a post somewhere about Jazz as Constantine’s daughter, becoming a Warlock, I had ideas:

Court Warlock Jazz

Kind of like a Court Mage, one that handles all things Magic and mystical where as everyone else has the mundane, but Jazz would be delegated to the background instead of the backup.

Jazz, with her focus in psychology and caring nature, much prefers not to be fighting anyways.

Nevertheless, thanks to her progenitor thinking his firstborn makes for wonderful currency when trading with the forces of hell, she has become a brilliant spellcaster with a particular focus in warding off those with evil intentions.

With the High King of the Infinite Realms as her Contracted Patron, Jazz might be safe from being traded off as currency by her progenitor, but part of her new duties as "Court Warlock" include being the delegation between Justice League/Dark and the Infinite Court.

Including the latest drama about some artifact belonging to the Heir of Constantine's bloodline stirring up some trouble in the Living Realm....

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #jazz fenton #john constantine #did you know that constantine comes from a long line of warlocks? #the more you know about the sad trenchcoat man I guess #The wiki keeps flipping between calling him sorcerer and warlock #but he feels more like a warlock to me #I could be completely wrong #I probably am

[2smolbeans]

hear me out: mc that is terminally ill but hasnt told anyone, and at one point they just start coughing blood and laughing when the brothers try to help them because they finally feel like they have control instead of the brothers (like replaced au one or just in general with the brothers being to obsessive)

Oh no..In that type of situation, Mc should pray that the brothers never find out about that terminal illness. They also better pray that if they die from that illness that they're going straight to heaven, otherwise that's just a life sentence with the brothers!

I mean, you don't think the evil ancients that were created ever since the creation of mankind don't know a thing about manipulating life itself? I mean, if Lucifer ever so wanted, he could take a living being and separate it from itself - skin from bone- atom by atom. He's done it before, multiple times.

I mean, haven't you heard of realilty flipping demons..? And the seven deadly sins are much higher than those demons, so imagine the possibilities..The only reason why they haven't completely broken your soul and rebuilt it by their will is because..Well, where's the fun in that? They love you for who you are!

So if Mc had a terminal illness, you better pray that it kills them fast or that the brothers don't notice. But I mean, with the pact marks littered all over your body, I think they already knew. At this point their just waiting for you to say something! (The only person who's suffering is yourself..So instead of throwing up and coughing blood, why don't you just ask them to fix it..?) Because at any time they think you're just at the grasp of death - your potential freedom - they could always just snag you back to life and into their arms. I mean, the absolute horror on your face from just tasting death to being brought back to life would be adorable!

Ahh.. Now thinking about it..Isn't it hopeless either way?

#I mean come on...Haven't you seen Bill Cipher? #Or hell even Blackhat just flipping people inside out?? #lololol #thanks for the ask!! #again if anyone has any thoughts or questions about the yan obey me replaced au- feel free! I love answering them! #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #yandere headcanons #yandere obey me belphegor #yandere obey me au #yandere obey me replaced au #obey me replaced mc #dark obey me #dark obey me au #obey me replaced au #obey me replaced mc au #yandere obey me x mc #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me headcanons #yandere obey me #obey me yandere #yandere mammon #yandere leviathan #yandere lucifer x reader #yandere obey me satan #yandere obey me x you #yandere obey me leviathan #yandere obey me levi

[jorrated]

idk why sonic fans care so much about canon timelines. classic sonic is past sonic or an alternate version sonic? who gives a shit sonic canon is the definition of fuck it we ball have fun with your blue rat

#they just did shit during the classic era #and then tried a couple of soft reboots here and there with adventure + 06 #you really think half of this stuff makes sense as a linear story? #even with multiple timelines its like??? adventure very much acknowledges CD and 3&K by the characters interactions #so like? classic sonic happens to have the exact past classic experiences as modern sonic #hes just not the classic version of THIS particular modern sonic???? #this shit makes no sense TT0TT #good luck to the people trying to unify canon #im like 99% sure its near impossible to do it without sprinkling soft retcons here and there #given they've flip flopped on the past X alternate universe classic sonic debacle #i just think 'canon' as a concept can be a little restrictive and the writters should get a little wild wiith it #'it doesnt make sense' well im here to have fun not to be matpat

[4izawas]

Could write a aizawa fic with a hybrid!reader? Like the shounya fics you wrote? I love those ones!

𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐓)𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋! | 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮-𝐧𝐲𝐚.

𝐂𝐖 ‼️ | hybrids, hybrid au, no quirks, catgirl reader, fem reader, shou-nya uno reverse ( ur the kitty now besties ! ), misunderstandings, aizawa is a big dumb dumb n didn’t research *all* cat hybrid behaviors so u get a lil pissy ngl, night shift security guard aizawa, rut cycles/in heat, creampies, biting, breeding kink, daddy & master kinks, use of ‘kitty’ as a pet name.

“This’ll be your room,” Shouta grunts, opening the door to the guest bedroom in his apartment. “Used to be the guest, but you’re here to stay, so it’s all yours now. Decorate it however, I don’t really care.”

You blink owlishly into the dark room he’s offered you. It isn’t bad or small, it’s rather nice actually, but you were confused. Turning to look up at him, your bottom lip trembles a little as you ask, “B-But — I just got here, what did I do?”

“Huh?!” The noise he makes is filled with blatant confusion, but you don’t even register it as you clutch at your tail, upset. 

“What did I do wrong?” You ask again, eyes starting to water a little, and your new master starts looking a little uncomfortable; he never knew what to do when people cried. 

“Nothing!” he exclaims, starting to panic just a little. Why were you having such a visceral reaction to getting your own room?!

“Then why am I being punished?” you whine, eyes shimmering with tears, and he shakes his head and hands placatingly. 

“What?! You aren’t!” 

“But I’m — I’m supposed to s-sleep with you!” You hiccup, and Shouta can honestly say he doesn't know what to do. You’ve been in his apartment for less than half an hour and he’s already made you cry. How the fuck was he supposed to know hybrids slept with their owners? He’d never owned one before! Besides, aren't cats supposed to want their own space? That was the entire reason he allowed Hizashi and Nemuri to talk him into adopting a cat hybrid, eventually choosing a catgirl over a catboy after Nemuri showed him a picture of you cuddling your tail while sleeping that the hybrid shelter you’d come from had posted. 

“It’s not a punishment,” he says patiently, “I just want you to be able to have your own space.”

“But I won’t take up much room, I promise,” you say quietly, refusing to look at him. “I can be good — you won’t even know I’m there.”

Shouta sighs, then shakes his head. “No, you need your own room. I don’t want to share mine with you.” He knows he’s said the wrong thing when he sees your body stiffen, your fur puff up, and your ears flick back to pin themselves against your head, but what was wrong about it he doesn’t know. He reaches out a hand slowly, but you dodge it with an angry-sounding inhuman noise, and it startles him. 

“If you didn’t want me, why adopt me?” you ask coldly, shocking him, before stalking into your room and locking the door behind you. For the rest of the night until time for his patrol hits he tries to coax you out, but you refuse dinner and snacks and cuddles ( all the things that Nemuri and Hizashi had said could tempt you out when he’d texted them in a panic ), holing yourself up in your room and sticking it out until he’s forced to leave for his security job from midnight to five. When he gets back he finds an empty tin of cat hybrid-specific food in the trash, one of the dozen and a half tins that the shelter had sent him home with that he’d turned up his nose at and promptly decided to feed you real food instead of, alongside a freshly washed bowl and spoon drying on the counter rack. The plate he’d made for you is untouched on the counter, and likewise with the bag of cookies he’d tried to get you to come out with, and he groans. 

If it wasn’t obvious you were pissed with him before, it definitely was now. 

“C’mon, please come out,” Shouta groans a week later. Seven days have passed, and he’s not even caught a glimpse of you since that first day, and he’s starting to worry. He knows you’re still in there, he’s heard you moving stuff around, and he knows you come out every now and then to snatch stuff because so many blankets are missing that it isn’t even funny anymore, but he doesn’t know what to do. Obviously he isn’t going to force his way inside your room, considering that would defeat the entire purpose of giving you your own space, but the nerves were starting to get to him. 

Honestly he might have sent an SOS to Nemuri had he not come home from his night shift later that night and found you lounging on the couch in front of the TV while some random true crime show played, your tail flicking back and forth idly as the narrator recounts a particularly grisly murder case. 

It’s a welcome surprise, seeing you out of your room, and he’s relieved — then startled when he goes to gently scratch one of your ears and you hiss at him, climbing onto the back of the far end of the couch and draping yourself there while giving him a warning look. He just blinks, shocked, before dropping the hand he’d still had raised, and retreats to the kitchen for a late snack. While he’s there he shoots off a text in the group chat telling Hizashi and Nemuri that you came out as well as what had happened, and when Nemuri jokes that you must really not like him now he groans quietly, because wasn’t she right? 

The next few days are the same, with him coming home to you lazing around the house and acting growly whenever he gets too close or brushes against you by accident. You’re at least eating more, though, considering he comes home nightly to find the meals he’s made you gone entirely without even leftovers remaining. Maybe a different man would be angry, but Shouta was just happy you were eating what he was making and that everything was falling into a lax routine that he could understand; like he’d thought before, cat hybrids weren’t unlike cats, so of course you’d get pissy now and then — it’s how cats are. 

And then he comes home, and you aren’t somewhere in the living room. His heart plummets as he worries that he’s somehow managed to fuck up again, but then a pained-sounding yowl reaches his ears and he rushes to your room in a panic. He’d not locked the door that night, overtired from a rough night’s sleep ( or lack thereof, really ) and if someone had broken in due to his stupidity and was hurting you —!

Throwing your door open with a call of your name on the tip of his tongue, he’s greeted by the sight of your slick, swollen pussy pointing directly at the door as you arch your back while on all fours and reach a hand under and between your legs to finger yourself, distressed mewls falling from your lips as they do nothing to satisfy you, and suddenly everything clicks into place for Shouta. You were in heat — meaning the week before you were in preheat, and therefore excessively hormonal. It would only be expected for your patience to fluctuate like the temperature just between summer and autumn.  

Stupid, stupid! He thinks, moving to back out of your room, but it’s too late since you’ve caught sight of him. A demanding screech falls from your mouth and he freezes, locking eyes with you as you pant open-mouthed before you whine, “M-Master, help me~!”

Unwittingly he feels his cock twitch in his uniform pants and his mouth fills with saliva. He can’t smell what could only be a desperately cloying heat scent to catboys, but the sight of his new ‘pet’ shaking her pussy at him was enough to spur him into stalking into the room carefully, slowly but surely peeling off his security uniform and freeing his more than half-hard cock from his underwear. He never tears his eyes from where you sway your ass back and forth on the bed in front of him, whining and calling for Master all the while. 

“‘M so hot, Master, please make it go away!” you moan while looking back at him over your shoulder with tear-filled eyes. Your watery gaze is what really gets him even closer, and when he places his hands on your bare hips he can feel how hot to the touch your skin is; it’s almost alarming, but you’re distracting him by rubbing your bare cunt against his crotch. “Wan’ it in me — fill me up, Master, I’ve been a good girl!”

“Have you?” he growls, gripping you by the hips tightly and yanking you back at the same time he rolls his hips into you, grinding your burning hot pussy against his cock and drawing a lewd meow from your lips. “Been bitchy all week, growling and hissing and swiping at me…”

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” you whine, sniffling. “Please fuck me, Master!” 

Shouta fists his hand around the base of your tail and tugs you up by it, pulling a yowl from you, while taking his cock by the base with his other hand and proceeding to rub it against your sopping wet cunt. His sensitive tip skips across your wanting entrance and rolls across your swollen clit, and he continues rutting his hips against you this way so he can coat his cock with a good amount of your slick before stuffing you full — but you’re impatient, and you want him now. 

“In me!” you demand, hiccuping out a tiny growl between your moaned sobs. “Put it in me!”

His hand, wet with your slick, darts forward at lighting speed and grips you by the chin in a borderline bruising grip as he turns you to face him. “You’ll get what I’ll give you when I give it to you,” he snarls, and a new gush of wetness coats his cock at his tone. 

“You’re s-so mean!” you wail, then shriek as his hand comes down across your bare ass in a brutal spank that leaves it stinging. 

“Don’t be a bad girl, kitty,” he croons mockingly, pressing a kiss to your jaw, and you tremble; the scratch of the stubble on his face got you even wetter. “You want Daddy to fuck you, don’t you?”

You just whimper and mewl, arching your back in what you hope is an obvious invitation, and thankfully Shouta can read desperate whores better than freshly adopted hybrids, because he knows that’s his cue to press inside, which he does. You let out a sharp, drawn out cry as he fills you up all at once, and he lets out a deep groan as your almost unbearably burning hot cunt wraps around him perfectly; he can hardly keep himself from starting to fuck you right away, but he manages to hold off until you start begging for him to move, which only takes a couple seconds. 

“M-Move, move-! Please!” you wail, pushing back against him to bury his cock as deep inside as it would go. “Fuck me!” Shouta doesn’t have to be told twice and immediately sets a brutal, unforgiving pace, his heavy balls slapping against you wetly with each rough thrust. His grip is bruising, and heavy moans escape through his gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunts, releasing one of your hips to press it flat against the wall, stabilizing himself as practically tears you apart. 

“O-Oh! Oh, fuck — f-fuck, Daddy, you’re mixing up my i-insides!” you wail, claws digging into the bedding as you cry out for him. Mid-thrust his hand slips and his entire front plasters itself to your back, the arm that had slipped curling beneath your neck while the other wraps around your middle and he fucks into you like a man possessed. His moans and growls at your ear make your body tingle pleasantly  from your fingers to your toes, and you tremble beneath him as you begin to cry from the stimulation. 

“That’s a good kitty,” Shouta groans as you scratch at the bed in front of you, “Yeah, cry for Daddy—!”

“D-Daddy!” you hiccup through a wail, tears rolling down your cheeks as what of your tail that wasn’t pinned between your bodies lashes back and forth violently. “Bite, bite, bite!” you beg, tilting your head to the side to bare where the soft column of your throat met with your collarbone and shoulder; your jaw presses against his thick bicep, and other than his hands on your body and his cock in your cunt that’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Bite!” 

He doesn’t argue, biting down as he fucks into you and earning himself a high-pitched scream from you that he knows the neighbors heard; all he can do is mentally cross his fingers that they realize the context without being expressly told because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to pull out of your oerfect fucking cunt just to answer a noise complaint notice. 

“P-Please, Daddy!” you gasp, drool rolling down your chin. “Please, cum in me! Breed me! Fill me up, claim me on the inside too!”

Shouta lets out a shaky moan around his mouthful of your collarbone. God, you’re filthy. 

It doesn’t take much more time before you’re yowling again, and he isn’t sure why until he feels your cunt rhythmically spasming around his aching cock. His eyes roll back a little at the feeling, which is all it takes for him to start cumming with you. You can feel a pleasant warmth that you know is him start to fill your lower belly, and you let out another cry as you arch your back more as far as it’ll go while he keeps fucking you through both of your orgasms, all former coherency leaving you both as gibberish moans flm from your lips. It’s only once he stops cummung that he begins to ease to a stop before finally pulling out and rolling over to lay on his back, breathing hard. You immediately begin pressing the cum that was dripping from your cunt back inside, repeating the action a handful of times before licking your fingers clean and kissing him. 

The two of you kiss for a bit before you pull away to lay down for a second to rest between the heat waves, and during this rest he finally speaks again. “How long do — how long do your heats usually last, kitty?” Shouta asks through deep breaths, his heart pounding. You purr and curl up close to him, tail curling back and forth. 

“‘Least a week more,” you answer honestly, and he groans as one of your hands reaches down and starts stroking his cock back to full hardness.  “So hurry up ‘nd fuck me again, Daddy — I can’t cum without you being mean to me.”

#shou_nya.♡ #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x you #aizawa shouta x you #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #mha x reader #mha x you #quick disclaimer but this is prob the only time i’ll do a lil flippy flip on the shou-nya universe since it’s *catzawa* not cat reader #but hey i had fun so dhcbrhc hgf

[strangunddurm]

Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Summary: Flip Zimmerman was a man that liked to eat his cake and have it, too.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving). 

A/N: It's been ages since I wrote something so I'm so proud of myself for finally finishing something.

It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning.

It was also common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.

She threw her head back, laughing like nobody was watching, but, of course, you were. Your eyes were always lingering on his figure, just as his were yours. He watched you as he traced the lace of her panties, as he dipped them under the fabric; he watched you as he guided her lips to his; he watched you as he shattered your heart, always knowing that the comfort of your arms would always be there to sooth him in the end.

You often found yourself wondering: why? Why weren’t you enough for him at this point? Flip had this ability where he could string you along enough so that you, yourself, would feel guilty thinking of another man. Your possible unwillingness weren’t the reason for Flip’s hesitancy to commit, it was his. The unwilling fool in love with the same person he had always loved. Or perhaps you were the fool? Two fools in love that could never let the other one go.

Your friends often wondered why you subjected yourself to the torture of witnessing his lips upon another’s. You didn’t know how to explain to them that you only existed because of him. However demeaning and desperate it sounded, it was true. Whilst others existed for bettering the world or something other, you were made just to be his.

You thought for a while that you could live without him. That you could break free from his hold and flee from the place where everything reminded you of him but it was impossible. It didn’t make sense, how a man could possess you so entirely with just a whisper of attention. You thought it to be your own fault; a bleeding consequence of hope that wrecked your heart beyond anyone else’s repair. All you could do was wait for him. For you would forever be missing him otherwise, regretting not taking the possibility of even the tiniest something.

So, you found yourself there, putting on a front of indifference as you tried not to watch every stupid move Flip made in the arms of another. She was smug. It was so obvious from the way her eyes would flicker over to you every now and then as his lips caressed her shoulder or her neck.

She knew of Flip’s fondness for you, having seen the way he had given you a sliver of attention by the bar, letting his hand ghost over your hip before she had successfully lured him away from you and into her arms.

You were zoned out, barely hearing your friends’ voices as you stared hard at them. Your lip was near bloody from your nervous chewing as you, almost ritualistically, dragged your teeth over it again and again.

“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” The words were spoken in your ear, your best friends arm coming to wrap around you, pulling you into her embrace.

“I…” She didn’t allow you to continue on the miserable spiel that she had heard so many times before.

“I don’t want to hear it. Not again. You need to realise that you’re worth more than whatever the hell this whole thing is,” She pleaded, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You have to stop doing this to yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you sounded so fragile at that moment. Your voice wavered at the end, fading out as everything you felt became almost too much.

“Yes, you can. You just need to realise that you don’t owe him anything. Sitting here completely miserable isn’t going to make him change or do anything different.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been here with you! Every night we go out to have fun, he comes along and ruins it.”

“No, he doesn’t.” You turned to look at her as you forced the words out harshly. But the look in her eyes made the feigned anger falter.

“I love you. You deserve more. Try to enjoy your life before you realise it’s too late,” She said, squeezing your shoulder.

Did you really deserve more? You had been caught up in the web of Flip for so long that you truly did believe that staying completely devoted to him was the only way forward. You knew he would eventually tire and stop indulging himself in others. It was an unconventional relationship, unfavourable to you in every sense.

But who was to say that you weren’t allowed to enjoy others? Just the way he were? An innocent tryst with another that would scratch that itch not even your fingers could ease late at night.

You let your eyes trail over the inhabitants of the local watering hole. There were the usuals there, sitting at the bar, nursing their beers. A group of frat boys were in the corner, cheering over shots. It wasn’t until a pair of dark brown eyes met your own that your interested was piqued.

You probably wouldn’t have dared made a move if he hadn’t come sauntering over. He didn’t walk like Flip. Flip’s walk was self-assured, dominating in a subtle way. This guy walked in a cocky way, shoulders swaying with every step as he though himself holier than thou. It was off-putting, but you thought you owed it to yourself to at least try.

“Saw you watching me over there.” His attempt at flirting was just as cocky as his walk.

“Oh, hahah..” Your laugh was awkward as you fumble for a reply. “Do you come here often?”

“First time actually, I’m here visiting my brother.” He motioned toward some guy in the back that you couldn’t see.

“That’s nice,” You said awkwardly.

He introduced himself as he took perch on the barstool next to you, shaking your hand weakly.

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” He asked, motioning for the bartender to refill both of your glasses at the same time.

“Ehm… Come here, I guess.” You waved your hand in the air, uncommittedly. Anxiety was flooding your nerves, practically inhibiting your ability to speak. You let your eyes trail over the room again quickly. Flip was still hands-deep in that woman’s skirt, your friends had slipped off somewhere else, getting lost in others.

The man, Chris, held a one-sided conversation without seeming to notice your less than keen interest. The thought of letting go and trying to flirt with somebody else was always easier in theory rather than practice.

It wasn’t his fault, if you were somebody else you might’ve enjoyed it. But all you could think about was the way his eyes were too dark, his hair too light, and his voice to high to remind you of Flip.

“Listen,” He placed his hand on your thigh. High up, bold, wanting. “I really like you, what do you say about getting out of here?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before a chest pressed against your back.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

You felt faint hearing Flip’s voice rumble through his chest as he pulled himself closer to you. His hand wrapped around Chris’s wrist, forcing it away from your leg.

“Hey, man, we were having a conversation here.” Chris was foolish. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t from here, after all. He didn’t know the perfectly concealed rage that could simmer under Flip’s skin when he felt like he was being disrespected.

“I’m going to offer you a piece of advice.”

“Flip, don’t-” Interjecting was pointless. Flip did whatever Flip wanted.

“You should take your drink, go back to whatever lowly corner you came from, and stay there. Get it through your thick skull that you’re not wanted here.” Flip roughly pushed the glas of beer Chris had been nursing on the bar, it’s content sloshing over the sides as it almost toppled over.

The silence that followed hung in the air, permeating it, polluting it. It didn’t take long for Chris to visibly crumble under Flip’s stare but it was almost as if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He didn’t want to give in to the menacing man that had appeared out of nowhere. Reasonable, perhaps, but entirely futile. Flip would always get what he wanted in the end, no matter what.

Chris left without a word, sparing you a pitiful glance before he was gone and all that was Flip took over your senses as he rounded you, coming to a stop so you were chest to chest.

You refused to look at him, staring straight ahead, focusing on the way his chest would calmly breath in and out as he waited.

“Look at me,” His voice was low, steady. You wanted to, of course, but you were stubborn. Just when you were putting yourself first, there he was again. A forever keg in your wheels, keeping you in the same place.

His fingers were soft against your chin as he urged it upwards, making you look at him.

He was smiling. Not a full on grin, but that sweet, cheeky little smile that held so much mirth that you wanted to hit him. It’s like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for you to act out and finally do something for yourself.

“Wipe that smile of your face,” you hissed out. “What could you possible have to smile about?”

“You.”

“Oh, yeah, because it is so funny ruining my fucking life.”

“Ruining it?”

“Yeah, ruining it.”

“You should’ve just said something if you felt that way.” You almost laughed at that. It wasn’t like you hadn’t said something. It felt like all you did was talk, and all he did was not care.

“Cut me a fucking break, Flip. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’ve been doing to me. This- this game you’ve been playing, toying with my heart. One minute it feels like you might actually want me but then the next you go and fucksomebody else and I’m just suppose to pretend that it’s all fine?”

“It’s not?” He said, playfully.

“Fuck you.”

“Stop swearing, and keep your voice down.”

“What? So that your whore won’t hear us?”

“She means nothing,” He said

“So why do you keep doing this? Why keep stringing me along?” You were defeated. Your relationship with Flip was strange. Peculiar. Unexplainable in certain aspects as you yourself did not entirely know exactly what you two were.

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes as all the hurt you had felt over the past however-long caught up to you. He was looking down at you, as if in wonder. Was it possible that Flip Zimmerman was naive to the way he had treated you? To the way he had made you suffer? Had you been imagining it all in your head?

He didn’t look sorry, he didn’t sound sorry, but when the apology tumbled out of his mouth, you accepted it. Perhaps it was you who were naive but you wanted a moment of happiness with him. Even if it was a moment entirely clouded by delusion.

You nodded your head, a small movement of acceptance that made Flip light up.

Flip would always shine brighter than any star you had ever seen. He took your breath away and filled you with a rush of serotonin every time you gazed into his eyes for even a brief second. His eyes were like molten gold, blinding you as they tinkled. Devotion to him and only him was inevitable.

“Will you come home with me?” The answer was obvious. The question had been what you had waited for. Taking his hand and slipping out through the door before any of your friends still caught in reason could stop you.

His hand dipped between your legs, fingers mapping out a path to your most sacred place the second he pushed you through the door of his home.

"Look at you, already so wet for me." Flip chuckled darkly. He knew you couldn't resist him. Your need for him was as deep as his need was for you.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. His tongue caressed yours as teeth clashed.

His fingers toyed with your panties, teasing you. He knew how desperate you were for anything he would give you.

He took his time, teasing your more and more before he finally was gracious enough to slide a finger inside of you. Just a single finger to test you. You walls clamped down around him tightly, gripping him, coaxing him to give you more. He pumped it in and out of you slowly, so slowly that you thought you might lose your mind if he didn't give you something more, and you voiced so much.

"Please, Flip." What you needed was clear. But that didn’t mean Flip would be so easy to give in.

"You’ll get more, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.” He said sweetly before withdrawing from you completely.

"Flip-"

"You're so impatient." He chided you, tutting teasingly with a lazy smile on his lips. “Go to the bedroom.” He commanded whilst motioning his head in its direction. You were quick to obey, of course, feet moving swiftly as you stumbled your way on shaky legs through the halls and onto his bed.

You flipped onto it in excitement, eager for his touch once again.

“Is this what you wanted? To be one of my whores?” He asked as he undressed slowly, unbuttoning his flannel and letting his jeans fall to the floor before he took a stand by the foot of the bed. He trailed his hands up your legs equally as slow before grabbing a hold of your panties and pulling them off you. You couldn’t get any words out to respond, whining with need.

The evidence of your excitement was clear to him, almost dripping and shining in the low light. A sane man wouldn’t be able to hold back having a women presented so willingly to him with her legs spread wide and skirt bunched up around her hip, chest heaving with excitement. And of course, Flip was a sane man, in some sense at least, for he was quick to crawl in between your legs and mouth attached to your clit.

Digging his fingers into your thighs, he hauled one of them onto his shoulder and connected his mouth to your sweet cunt.

The sounds of your breathless moans were intoxicating as he suckled your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the stiff nubb.

Your knees fought against his shoulders as your hand came to cover your mouth, willing any sounds to stay inside of you as you bit down softly as you were overwhelmed by the pleasure rushing through you.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart.” Flip praised in a panted breath before diving back in.

You fought to keep your eyes open as your hips moved up and down in a desperate attempt to grind your aching clit against his mouth and nose in search for that perfect sensation that would drive you over the edge.

Your hand slid into Flip’s hair, gliding through it before grasping a firm hold of it as a wave after wave of moans finally made their way out of you.

Flip had already made you come once when he slid his fingers into you, continuing his ministrations on your clit with his mouth. His movement were much rougher than what they had been before, thrusting them into you expertely, hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over again.

Your back arched into the air and mouth fell open at the overstimulation. It was exquisite.

“Oh, oh, Flip. I’m gonna cum.” You whined desperately. “Oh, God.”

You clung to his arm in an attempt to hold on to any sort of sanity but it was all for nought. Your legs spasmed as you came with a cry.

Flip tried to hold you down as he never let up despite your half hearted please, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit again and again and again. He worked you through your orgasm, never relenting as your silent whimpers spured him on. You had such a tight hold on his hair that it made him groan, sending a wave of vibrations through you that caused you to gasp. He only stopped once your whimpers had grown in volume to a steady whine of pleas.

“You’re such a good girl.” Flip praised as he came up, hovering over you. “You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Yes! Please, Flip.”

He tugged at his hard and weeping cock a few times as he admired you. You were breath taking like this, legs parted, eyes hazy from your orgasm, cunt dripping, ready for him.

"You’re gonna look so gorgeous, covered with my cum." Flip's voice was husky as he leaned down and pulled you closer to him by your face before planting a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips as he came to rest between your hips, a single arm keeping him up.

He dragged his thick and cum weeping cock through your folds a few times, thoroughly coating it in your slickness. The anticipation was killing you. His fingers and tongue weren't enough, you wanted more, needed it.

You grabbed a hold of his shoulders, pulling him closer even to you in desperation.

"Please, Flip." You whispered, ready for him.

The sigh the both of you let out when he finally slipped all the way into your cunt was one of relief. You had missed this, had missed him.

Flip didn't give you time to adjust to him before he started pounding into you at a pace that was brutal in nature, just the way he knew you liked it.

“You’re such a dirty fucking whore.” He spat at you and you clenched around him in response. "Look at you, so desperate for my dick you could almost cry." Being his whore and whatever he wanted was everything you had ever wanted since the moment you had laid eyes on him.

He was so deep inside of you that you barely knew what to do with yourself. Flip's loud groans were bouncing around the walls of his room, blended in with your own gasps from every thrust into you.

Your walls were clenched so tightly around him, drawing him deeper and deeper inside.

"Fuck" You groaned. "Feels so- fucking good." You shakily breath out.

"This is what you wanted right? My cock so deep within you you’ll feel me for days" He cooed, slowing down just slightly, but each thrust was still as sharp, still as precise, and hard, and calculated.

A wailing yes! left your lips. You were sure you would be able to feel Flip's hands on your hips as you would nurse your hangover tomorrow, and most likely the day after that as well. You would feel him in every step you took. Forever.

"Harder." You pleaded.

He pulled out so just his tip was left in you, waiting there for just a second before slamming back into you again, buried to the hilt. The groan Flip let out sent tingles down your spine and caused you to clench even tighter around him, triggering another moan from him.

"I love it when you do that." He praised, followed by another rut into you.

He continued pumping into yours sweet cunt, drawing moans from you that were filthy. The sound of skin slapping and noises of pleasure mixed together as they bounced on the walls and around the room.

His thrusts had picked up in pace one again, ruthless and reckless as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You were trembling against him, breath hitching, getting caught in your chest as you almost forgot how to breathe. You could feel your release mounting quickly once again, shockwaves gripping your body and rolling through you with every buck into you.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come,"

"No, you're not." Flip withdrew from you completely, flipping down on the bed beside you. You were drunk on the feeling of him, needy and desperate, ready to take everything he would give to you.

His legs were spread, cock standing on full attention, bobbing against his stomach, it's tip coloured an angry red, ready to be inside of you again.

"Come on then." He pulled you out of the short-lived trance you had been in over the sight of him. You though again of how there was something so ethereal about him, something other than just his looks, something that would always draw you back in and keep you on his hook.

You were quick in your movements, throwing a leg around his hips and hoisting yourself upright, causing him to chuckle over your desperation.

"Eager, are we?" He welcomed you with open arms, hands coming up to rest on your hips once again, as he gazed up at you with a smile on his face.

He helped you pull your wrinkled dress over your head, placing open mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach. His lips attached themselves to your perked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a pop.

"You're so fucking gorgeous." He sounded as if he was in awe simply over the sight of you.

You sank down swiftly, engulfing him with your tight walls, stopping only when you were at the base, stuffed full of him.

"Oh, fuck, Flip!" The change in angle had you convinced that he was deeper in you than ever before, the tip of him nestling against your cervix.

"You feel so good like this." Flip moaned. He tapped two fingers against the side of your thigh, signalling you to move and you were more than happy to oblige. Your feet were securely rooted on the floor and you placed your hands on the walls to give yourself the leverage and support you needed to begin riding him.

He let you control every movement; let you set the pace as you slid up and down on his throbbing cock. Flip's hands were exploring every inch of you that they could reach, massaging your breasts, caressing your thighs, sliding across your back, and then, finally, they found their way to the apex of your thighs and started firmly circling your clit.

Flip let out a loud grunt every time you slammed yourself down onto him. It was a sound you wanted to hear every day, every waking moment and in every vivid dream.

The steady pace that you had managed to keep was slowly becoming nothing as you felt yourself loosing control over your limbs the closer you climbed to that high you were chasing. The muscles in your stomach were tightening rapidly over the coiling tension and your walls gripped him even tighter.

"Say my name."

"What?" You weren't lucid enough to possibly begin to understand what he meant at that moment.

"Say. My. Name." He repeated, making sure to punctuate every single word with a small thrust upward to meet you as you came down on him.

His name spilled out of your mouth just a few seconds later in the form of a moan.

"Who’s making you feel this good?" You weren't as quick to heed his words this time, the building pressure between your legs taking up all of your attention.

His hands were back on your hips, forcing you up, slipping out of you, and then guiding you dominantly into the position he wanted with your face pressed into the sheets and your ass high up in the ar. He was swift to enter you again, you had barely even had time to complain over the loss of him before he was drilling into you.

"Flip!" You shouted his name as you finally came, tumbling over the edge as stars were painted behind your eyelids. Your legs were shaking, spasming, through the waves, words of gibberish leaving your mouth as he made you babble like a brook. He hadn't even faltered in his movements, continuing to pump into you as he chased his own climax. He was panting loudly in between groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other.

"Who owns this pussy?"

"You." Another sharp thrust into you.

"Who owns this pussy?"

"You, Flip. Oh, god, you, Flip!" Small droplets of tears were leaking from the corner of your eyes as Flip was steadily driving you to cum again as he fucked into you.

You hadn't felt this way before, you didn't even know you could feel this way; the overwhelming stimulation that was rushing through your blood, lighting your nerves on fire, making you want to stay right here, right now, forever.

"That's fucking right." Flip came with a deep jerk into you, pulling out to come all over your back before entering you again to give you a few last thrilling pumps.

You laid there on his bed in a heap, totally out of it as he calmly came to rest beside you. He coaxed you onto your back so that he could plant a sweet kiss on your lips. Uttering words that made your erratic heart pump even faster.

“All mine.”

Thank you for reading! Please check out my Masterlist if you want to read more.

Tags in reblog.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman smut #adam driver smut #adam driver x reader #adam driver fanfic #flip zimmerman x reader #adcu fanfiction #adam driver character #adcu

[caslutz]

Roy: I don't always understand Jamie’s texts. He says they're still waiting on the pitch and it's "allz good", allz with a Z.

Roy: Then a box with a question mark. Another box with a question mark. Another box with a question mark. Another box with a question mark. Another box with a question mark. And yet another box with a question mark. Then a box with a question mark. What does that mean?

Keeley: It means you don't have emojiis on your phone

#roy is an old man confirmed #i genuinely belive he has a flip phone from like 90s #and even then he doesn’t know how to use it #jamie is a hard core emoji user though #sometimes his texts are just emojis and no words at all #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #roy x jamie #roy kent x jamie tartt #royjamie #royjamiekeeley #if you pefer #ted lasso #incorrect quotes #ted lasso incorrect quotes #source: brooklyn nine nine