#okay that's a lot more than three but I want to be able to remind myself so hey. also here's one more:

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Spencer Reid x Read fic. Reid and Reader are friends, like best friends. Reader is always offering Reid donuts and listening to his fun facts and info dumps. It's one of those, they both like each other, but also are convinced the other doesn't like them.

Spencer is taking care of a slightly drunk reader whose grandmother called and asked why they're not engaged when they're younger sibling is married and expecting a child. At some point Spencer makes his ever classic comment about how it's safer to kiss and drunk reader, before being able to think, kisses Spencer. I hope that made sense.

OOPS I DID EXACTLY THAT

Safer to Kiss (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 2899

Warnings: Mentions of food, drinking alcohol, mild cursing, outdated expectations of women, and lots of pining

A/N: Hi I wrote this in 2 hours and was extremely entertained, please enjoy and if you send me a fic request I'll probably do it bc this is my hyperfixation hobby right now and very much keeping the demons at bay xD @bxm-1012 thank you for dropping by my inbox! I am VERY tempted to make a part 2 of this, I hope you enjoy! c:

-----

The whole expiration date thing that women faced was, in your humble opinion, complete and utter bullshit. Here you were, slowly approaching thirty (definitely still told people you were twenty-five, when, in fact, you were actually twenty-eight), and the biological clock was ticking. No, you didn’t want kids. Not right now, anyway. Not when you were only two years into your career as a profiler for the FBI’s prestigious Behavioral Analysis Unit. Not when you still had tons of things to check off your bucket list - go to Europe, visit an independent bookstore in every state, pilot a helicopter. 

And you didn’t buy into that whole ‘once a woman hits thirty, her stock plummets’ crap. Not usually, anyway. 

But Nan’s phone calls always left you questioning your existence. 

Back home in Ohio, your little sister, Kendra, had just announced her pregnancy. Three years younger than you (ironically, the age you told everyone you were), and married to a power plant manager, Kendra was living the dream of a woman from the 1950s. You tried your best not to look down on it, to wish for more for her - but Kendra was happy. She’d always wanted to be a mother, and you couldn’t imagine anyone better suited for the role. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be a wife and a mother, to devoting one’s life to it. You reminded yourself of that every time you spoke to Kendra. You especially reminded yourself of it every time you spoke to Nan. 

That sympathetic tone your grandmother used when she said, “Oh, Button, you’ll find someone eventually, and you’ll be just as happy as Kenny” was like nails on a chalkboard. You resisted the urge to gag into your speakerphone and simultaneously rip your grandmother a new one. You wanted so badly to explain to her that you were perfectly fulfilled with your life. 

You helped lock up bad guys on a weekly basis, you wanted to remind Nan. Your brain was one of few that had been chosen for a task force that caught criminals based on their behavior. It was amazing, working for the BAU, bouncing ideas off of your colleagues, finding a family within this small group of people that spent more than forty hours a week together. 

Nan didn’t see it that way. She wanted you to be just like Kendra. She wanted you to have that white picket fence in the suburbs, with a broad-shouldered husband and two little tykes running at your feet. Domestic bliss just wasn’t in the cards for you, you’d decided. And that was okay.

You were still reeling from your conversation with Nan the night before when you walked in to work on Monday morning. It was Derek who caught the raging RBF first. “Woah, pretty girl. Pump. Your. Brakes.” He said, halting you just as you entered the BAU’s bullpen, holding a hand up to stop you. 

“Good morning to you, too, Derek,” You flashed him a phony grin, and he rolled his eyes. 

“And you’re grumpy this morning… why, exactly?” Derek asked, turning to walk beside you, essentially escorting you to your desk. 

“Because I’m allowed to be?” You proffered, shrugging your shoulders, not really wanting to talk about it with him. You loved Derek - hell, you loved all your coworkers - but he was not the person you wanted to go to with these thoughts. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone about it, actually. You just wanted to ride the cranky train until it came to a complete stop. 

Emily was returning from the kitchenette with a fresh mug of coffee and decided that the conversation concerned her as well. “What’s going on?” she asked. 

“Y/L/N’s wearing her cranky pants this morning,” Derek filled her in. 

“Oh, those so don’t match your blouse, Y/N,” Emily teased, winking at you with a smirk before looking at Derek. “Cut her some slack. No one likes Mondays.” Derek held up his palms defensively. “Alright, alright. Forgive me for being a concerned citizen.” 

“It’s appreciated,” You told Derek genuinely before setting your bag down at your desk. “But unnecessary.” 

It wasn’t until later in the morning, around ten, that anyone bothered you about your obvious bad mood again. This time it was Spencer, the one person you couldn’t possibly be annoyed with. He rolled on his desk chair around the partition that separated your workspaces, holding his hand out expectantly, like he usually did this time of day. 

Without speaking, you opened the bottom drawer of your desk and pulled out the white bag of mini powdered donuts that you always kept in stock. They were your guilty pleasure snack, and one of the first things you and Spencer bonded over when you started at the BAU two years ago. That, and the fact that you were the closest agents in age, was how you got along so well so quickly. Over several cases, varying in degrees of intensity, you and Spencer became really great friends. Best friends, actually. 

There wasn’t anyone else in your life that you trusted more than Spencer Reid. 

You opened the bag of powdered donuts and shook one haphazardly into Spencer’s palm, then grabbed one for yourself. Silently, you cheers-ed your donuts together, and ate them simultaneously, making weird-but-comfortable eye contact as you did. 

“Derek says you’re in a bad mood today,” Spencer pointed out with a teasing smirk on his face. A smirk, and white sugar blanketing his upper lip.

“Derek’s full of shit,” you grinned after swallowing your snack, the smile on your face totally facetious. “I’m extremely happy.” 

“I can tell,” Spencer snickered as you set the powdered donuts back in your snack drawer, closing it with a clank. You watched as he brought both of his legs up into his desk chair, crossing them like a kindergartner. 

The action made your stomach flutter. You’d felt strongly about Spencer for a really long time, probably a year and half, if you had to try and pinpoint it. But there was no use in going down that road with him. For one thing, he was your best friend, and you didn’t want to risk flushing the best relationship in your life down the toilet. For another thing, you knew it was one hundred percent impossible that he could feel the same way. 

“What’d you do this weekend?” Spencer asked, and you could tell by the question that he was trying to discover the source of your poor attitude. 

“Stayed home, caught up on chores,” You said, crossing your knees and leaning back in your seat, your expression telling him that you knew exactly what he was doing. As much fun as playing mind games with Spencer was, you decided to throw him a bone. “Spoke to my grandmother on the phone last night.” 

Spencer nodded understandingly. “Say no more,” he said with a chuckle. “She gave you the whole ‘when are you going to get married’ spiel again?” 

You nodded. “Unfortunately. I usually don’t let it bother me, but for some reason it’s just, like, lurking in the back of my mind today.” You shrugged your shoulders and exhaled through your nose. “What about you?” You asked. 

“What about me?” Spencer arched a brow, and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

“What’d you do this weekend?” 

“Oh,” Spencer began, pursing his lips for a moment, like he was hesitant to tell you. “I actually went on a date.” 

Your stomach flipped. “Oh yeah?” You choked out, forcing a smile. “Who with?” 

“That girl, Lisa, from the coffee shop, the one you told me wouldn’t stop ‘ogling my boy band hair’,” Spencer held up air quotes when he repeated your words from memory.

You recalled the cute barista from the coffee shop just down the highway from Quantico, a popular morning stop for agents on their way to work. You tried to stop the jealousy from turning your blood into fire. “How was it?” You asked, trying to resist the urge to sit on the edge of your seat, trying not to hang on his every word. 

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. “It was okay. She was very nice, but there just wasn’t…” he trailed off, gesticulating as the words failed to come to that supercomputer brain of his. 

“It was like a donut without powdered sugar on it?” You suggested with a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed, nodding, meeting your eyes and smiling, mildly amused. “Exactly.” 

Spencer went back to his desk a few minutes later, and the rest of the day went on. It was quiet, especially for a day at the BAU. There were, weirdly enough, no open cases right now, so you spent the day catching up on paperwork, which there was always plenty of. 

You caught the elevator about ten minutes after five with Spencer in tow, and you held the door open for him. It was just the two of you as you made the descent from the sixth floor, and Spencer leaned against the back wall. “Plans tonight?” He asked. 

“Not really, no,” You said, shaking your head. “Why, you want to do something?” You asked. 

Spencer nodded. “There’s this landscape and nature photography exhibit at one of the galleries downtown,” he said. “Might be fun. There’s this artist, Milton Harvell, who takes photos of renowned locations around the world but zooms in on an obscure detail and gives the framed photograph to the person who correctly guesses the location.” 

You smiled slowly at that. You loved it when Spencer went off on one of his tangents. You found it completely adorable. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” Spencer went on, an amused tone lining his voice, making it sound lighter. “Kind of like a Where’s Waldo, but in reverse. There was this one photograph he took of the Louvre in Paris, but he zoomed in really tightly on a young boy enjoying an ice cream cone. He even went so far as to edit the photograph to make it look like it was a different time of day. The four thousand and eighth person to view the photograph was the person who guessed the correct location.” Spencer’s head bobbed and he was smiling like an idiot. 

God, you were down bad. 

“Was the four thousand and eighth person… you?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him scrupulously and allowing a teasing grin to cross your face. 

“The photo’s hanging in my living room,” he confirmed. 

You laughed softly. “Will there be alcohol at this function?” You asked him, and he nodded. 

That was all you needed to hear. 

— — —

You and Spencer went straight to the art gallery from work, sharing a cab rather than bothering with your cars. You immediately bought a glass of red wine, and began to follow him around the gallery. You weren’t an art aficionado, not by any means, but you enjoyed looking at beautiful things, and you especially enjoyed spending time with Spencer that wasn’t hunched over a dead body or trying to map out a killer’s comfort zone. It was a rare occurrence, so you tried to soak it all up as much as possible. 

Plus, your Nan’s words were still lingering in the back of your head. It’ll happen for you someday, Button. Men just don’t find you strong, career types attractive. Maybe you should soften up your look a little. 

You downed your first glass of wine within ten minutes, and caught one of the catering staff passing out champagne almost instantaneously after. The champagne fizzled down your throat as you strolled with Spencer through the art gallery, listening intently as he went on about each piece, rattling off whatever contextual knowledge he had. But you were a little bit biased; you could listen to him list different types of soil and find it interesting. 

After the glass of champagne came another glass of champagne, and by the time you made it to the main exhibit Spencer wanted to see, your cheeks were flushed. It wasn’t that you couldn’t hold your alcohol; rather, it just made you a little bit silly. Your inhibitions were lowered, just like it would affect anyone. But with your arm looped through Spencer’s and your Nan’s nagging message still in the back of your mind, you were perhaps a little more loose than usual. 

As Spencer examined the exhibit, you tapped your foot, unable to keep still, and scanned the open space. Your eyes landed on another patron of the gallery, a conventionally handsome man about your age, and you found yourself unlooping your arm from Spencer’s, subconsciously not wanting to appear taken. 

“Are you gonna go talk to that guy?” Spencer asked, and you snapped your eyes back to his. “Because you can, if you want to. Don’t let me stop you.” 

It was almost like he was daring you to. Spencer’s jaw seemed tense as you examined his expression, the way his gorgeous brown eyes darted from the man and back to you. “You don’t mind?” You asked, arching a brow, almost like a challenge.

Spencer shook his head, his lips pursed. “Not at all. I’ll wait here for you?” 

You nodded, and turned towards the man. There wasn’t any harm in getting a guy’s number, right? Your feelings for Spencer were a lost cause, anyway. Plus, as Nan liked to point out, you weren’t getting any younger. 

The man’s eyes locked on yours and he seemed to understand that you were about to speak with him. He met you halfway, and you shook his hand. “Malcolm Greene,” he introduced himself, and you spouted off your own name in return. “You’re not here with that guy?” He asked, jerking his chin over to Spencer. Your eyes followed Malcolm’s, and you saw Spencer with his body turned towards the photography exhibit, but his head turned to the side, as if he were keeping an eye on you with his peripheral vision. 

“Yeah, I am,” you said, and Malcolm’s head inclined to the side. “I am. I’m here with that guy,” you panicked, suddenly realizing in that moment that you weren’t interested in speaking with Malcolm. No, you had absolutely no interest in spending your time with any other man but Spencer Reid. “I just, uh…” Your cheeks flushed, and you stifled an awkward laugh, anxiously trying to come up with some excuse. “I came over here to tell you that your shoe was united.” 

Your eyes followed Malcolm’s down to his shoes, which were loafers. Laceless loafers. Malcolm’s mouth opened as if to point this out to you, but you managed to stammer words out first. “Ok, well, have a great night, goodbye!” You turned on your heel and marched back over to Spencer, your cheeks red as you reached out for his arm. 

Spencer furrowed his brows down at you as your arm gripped his. “I need another glass of wine,” you confessed. 

Twenty minutes later, after two more glasses of wine and a very watchful eye out for Malcolm, you and Spencer left the art gallery. You were awfully giggly on the cab ride back to your place, cracking puns and humming along to the radio intermittently. Spencer seemed to be amused, but more so concerned with getting you home in one piece. 

As he walked you up the stairs to the door of your apartment building, he was teasing you about your conversation with Malcolm, which you still hadn’t told him completely about. “I still can’t believe you didn’t get his number. You were talking with him for exactly two minutes and twelve seconds. What, in that short of an amount of time, could have turned you off to him so quickly?” He pondered aloud, a playfully mocking tone lining his voice. 

“Listen, I shook his hand! I had my fun!” You exclaimed, bursting into laughter as you leaned against the handrail of the stairs that led up to the door. “Good, clean fun!” 

“You know, the number of pathogens that are passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss someone,” Spencer rattled off, and your eyes snapped to meet his. 

You don’t know what took you over. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way the street lamps reflected in the irises of his eyes, or how you stood just a few inches away from him. Maybe it was his stupid tweed blazer, how he looked like a tenured art history professor despite barely being thirty years old. Maybe it was the way he smelled like pine and printer ink, a combination you wouldn’t have ever thought was attractive. 

But when Spencer said that, you stood up on your toes and kissed him. It was slow and innocent at first, until it passed the border into lingering, and Spencer’s hands found your hips, pulling your body closer to his. There was a cool night breeze that filtered through the space between your bodies, and by the time you pulled your lips away from Spencer’s, and slowly opened your eyes, you were completely red in the face and breathless. 

No, that certainly wasn’t the safest choice you could have made.

——

read part 2 here

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!baureader

[xlatiwritesx]

Serious, serious | CL16

A/N: an F1 imagine 🏎️ !!! Yes, yes, I’m into F1 finally, so I of course had to write something and who else would it be than THE Charles Leclerc. Ngl, this isn’t my best work but I just had to get this idea out of my system 😵‍💫. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

Words: 1.6K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after your first serious scare being an F1 girlfriend, you’re rewarded with a new found emotion.

…

Time is a funny thing. Humorous, at times. It goes fast or slow as it pleases. Chooses its pace to get on your weakest nerve.

For instance, the past three months flew by. Meeting him, texting for the first time, your first date, your first kiss, attending his first race, getting to know his friends.

It felt as fast as blinking an eye. Or as fast as you were falling for him.

"A Ferrari car is off the track!" The commentator's voice boomed through the TV speakers. You jumped to your feet from the leather couch you were sat on.

"Oh no" the commentator said soon after. Soon after Charles' car crashed into the concrete wall alongside the track.

Your heart fell, your breath quickening at a dangerous rate. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of what Charles always said to you.

"Crashes happen. All the time. These cars, though, they're meant to protect us. So, crashes aren’t as dangerous as they seem in F1"

"He's okay" you whispered to yourself. However, when you opened your eyes, everyone's face didn't confirm that, though.

"Right?" You asked, looking around the Ferrari unit. Everyone was frozen, eyes glued on the screen that showed smoke coming out of the crashed Ferrari car.

Charles' car.

Your legs moved before you even decided. You ran so fast. Faster than any car still racing out there even though the world seemed to crumble and break into pieces.

You gasped for air, the wind making it colder than usual. You reached a half empty Ferrari station. All those screens deserted. You barely held yourself up. You wondered how bad was it that half the team had to go to the scene.

"Crashes are normal in Formula One. Almost inevitable"

Not when it's the guy that you were realizing meant much more to you than you thought. The thought terrified you. So much terrified you all of a sudden.

"How do I get there?" You didn't realize how panicked you were until you heard yourself speak. The man stared at you in confusion.

"How do I get to the crash?" You urged. You couldn't believe you were saying that.

"Ma'am, you can't just go-“

"No, no! I have to!" You could feel your eyes well with tears.

"It's Charles Leclerc! Hurry!" A group of paramedics ran to their veichle. You ran after them.

"Ma'am this is not allowed-"

"Please!" You begged them.

"I'm sorry, this is for authorized-"

"Y/n!" You turned around, desperate to believe what you were hearing.

"Carlos! Carlos, please tell me he's okay" you ran to the only person that you felt would care enough to tend to your worries.

"They're taking him to the hospital" he sighed, bowing his head, his fingertips barely holding his helmet.

"W-why?" You stuttered. He finally looked at you.

"Let's just go"

You silently followed Carlos to his car after he quickly changed out of his suit. The drive to the hospital drove you insane. So many questions. Wondering about so much, too much at once.

As soon as Carlos parked outside the emergencies, you ran out of the car and through the glass doors, not caring about all the chaos going just outside of them.

"How serious is it?!"

"Do you think Leclerc will be able to go back to racing?!"

"Will he be there for the next race?!"

It was a lot. Too much, even. You wanted to scream them away. Tell them that this wasn't the time to ask all those questions with bright cameras and microphones everywhere. To respect the other patients' and their families' privacy. But you care more about Charles right now. So you kept running until your hands hit the edge of the counter.

"Charles Leclerc just came in" you breathed. The nurse widened her eyes at your state and just pointed to where he was.

You got to his bed in no time, him just lying there, unconscious. You immediately held his hand and the waterworks began. Carlos walked into the curtain closed space and stood in front of the bed, leaning on the edge.

"Hey" he called so quietly. You just kept crying.

"I don't recommend dating a Formula One driver if you'll cry this hard every time he crashes" he said casually. You stopped sobbing and looked up and to your left. You glared. Carlos shrugged.

"Just saying" he said, looking away.

"Carlos!" You whined. He looked at you, but you just went back to looking at Charles.

You noticed some bruises already forming on his hands. You held it tighter. You felt like time was not moving. It just dragged on and on. Carlos stood there. You sat there. Charles laid there. Just like that. For eternity.

"You didn't eat anything. What do you want?" Carlos' voice reminded you of his existence. You slowly turned to look at him, your tears barely dried on your face.

"How can you be so…chill?" You asked. Not in annoyance. Just out of pure curiosity. Carlos frowned at you for a second, before breaking into a fit of laughter. You stared at him blankly, your hand still holding Charles' tightly.

"I'm telling you! This sport is not for the faint of heart!" He waved a warning finger at you and you frowned at him. This time in annoyance.

"We just" he sighed when he stopped laughing, only a smile left behind from it.

"We get used to this. To seeing it. To being victims of it" he said ever so casually that it terrified you. It was terrifying the things passion makes a person do. How far people would go for what they love.

"I'm getting food and you will eat it. Charles would kill me if he woke up to a starving you while I was just hanging here. Deal?" He raised a brow at you. You hesitated, but Carlos kept his gaze. You finally nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a bit" he said before leaving. You watched him go and something warm filled you. Gratitude.

You were grateful for him staying with you. With Charles. Not all drivers care enough to do that, unfortunately. You didn't notice the smile on your face until a few minutes later. When Charles spoke.

"What's so funny?" He mumbled. Your eyes shot to his and you stood up in an instant.

"Charles?!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes for the millionth time today. He just blinked, wincing.

“Who won the race?” He asked, still trying to find his voice.

"Oh my god" you covered your face, walking away from his bed in disbelief.

“Seriously?!” You spun around, crying. You wanted to fight even harder when a smile slowly took form on his tired face.

“Charles do you know how terrified I was?! And all you’re worried about is who won that race?!” You kept scolding. He placed one arm behind his head, still watching you in amusement. You breathed heavily, not bothering to wipe your tears as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You watched him laying there, smiling with his arm under his head, giving him better view of your tear-stained face.

“You know what?” He spoke. You had to walk a step closer so you could hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to know who won the race. I want to know how on earth did I get this lucky” he started.

“Yeah! I’m so glad it just cane down to some bruises. And, and, you’re awake, and you’re talking, and you seem okay!” You rambled, now sitting by his side on the edge of the bed. He chuckled softly at you missing what he meant, raising a hand to wipe your tears, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Right when I realized what was happening, there was one thought that kept echoing in my mind” he whispered, suddenly all serious. Your heartbeat quickened, not enjoying the memory of watching him crash and not knowing what he was feeling or if he was going to be okay.

“I just kept thinking ‘fuck. I didn’t get to tell her I love her’” he confessed. You raised your brows slightly, surprised at the sudden confession. You’ve been together for three months now and neither of you had said it, yet.

But there it was. And it felt like the world that crumbled after the race was patched and stitched back to perfect, pristine condition.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. Charles smiled as well, his heart monitor exposing how important this moment was to him.

You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck carefully, holding him tightly to make up for all the fear of losing him. For all the fear of him not feeling the same way.

“I love you, too, Charles” you whispered.

You held each other for as long as it took for your flushed cheeks and racing hearts to quiet down, giving your new found feelings some sense of privacy.

Once you pulled away, your faces met, less than an inch apart. Charles leaned in. You were grateful there was no heart monitor on you, or that would’ve been the end.

“So, I didn’t know which is your favorite, so I got all flavors-“

Carlos’ voice sent you flying to your feet. Charles sat where he was and pierced his lips shut, staring at nothing in particular.

Carlos’ eyes danced between the two of you and he broke into a grin when he realized.

“I think it finally happened?” Carlos asked, hinting at what you both just confessed to one another. You glanced at Charles just to catch him glancing at you. He cleared his throat and you held back a smile.

“So now it’s serious, serious?” Carlos asked excitedly.

“Serious, serious” you both answered.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc ferrari #formula racing #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

[megthemewlingquim]

love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. “Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader smut #daredevil #netflix daredevil #husband! matt murdock #wife!reader #smut #daredevil smut

[should-be-sleeping]

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

#choose kindness #existing helps #if we exist together #life #read more

[manicpixiefelix]

he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) // epilogue

{ head, heart, hand. masterpost }

Summary: Oliver is haunted by what he's done to get his happy ending in Felix's arms. His guilt is only made worse when he meets the first member of your family to actually remind him of you. Unfortunately, he does not find it to get better from there.

{ context; please read he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) first }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD IN THIS ONE, but you do get to haunt the narrative. congratulations?

Warnings: discussions of death/overdose, lots of guilt, manipulative oliver, felix being upset, vaguely unhealthy oliver/felix, lotsa angst, oliver quick reckoning with the sunk-cost fallacy.

A/N: 6828 words. first, i don't usually do part 2s when i say something is a oneshot, so this is a rare occurrence. secondly im sorry this is almost 7k there's something wrong with my brain i think. thirdly bro, bro, listen to me; ANGST. HURT NO COMFORT. HURT NO COMFORT. it's soft in the middle THE SOFTNESS IS A LIE. ITS GONNA HURT ALL THE WAY DOWN (apart from nana i love her nd i hope you will too)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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One hour and fifty three minutes.

Rounded up, because all things considered, he should round it up, that's two hours.

Two hours. Like the blink of an eye in the scope of a whole life. But a very long time when you sit and count it out.

One hundred and twenty minutes. Seven thousand, two hundred seconds. He's always counting two hours, seeing exactly how long it feels like, how he can fill that amount of time. Seconds pass like a steady heartbeat.

He can do a lot in two hours.

Oliver tries to occupy himself nowadays more than ever, and really tries not to be alone, but it's hard. Farleigh left for Oxford. Venetia, before she decided to backpack across Europe and find herself, wouldn't let anyone touch her anymore.

Oliver doesn't like leaving Felix alone, but sometimes he has to be. You're laying cold in a family crypt somewhere next to a grandfather you never knew, and while Elspeth and Sir James don't comment on it, they both scowled when your parents sprung the announcement on everyone at the funeral.

Felix spends a lot of time alone at the edge of the maze. He's making a fairy garden where you had waited. Sometimes he'll drive into town without telling anyone, and come back with quaint, second-hand miniatures to add. It's beautiful, shining with greens and golds when the setting sun hits it just right.

So Oliver finds time to occupy himself, when he's alone and all he can think about is you sitting by the maze. You laying by the maze. You alive when he'd run from the maze. And the two hours that followed.

Sometimes he leans out of his window and shouts to the gardeners so far away they look like ants; even at this distance, his voice carries, and he sees them turn, search for him, ask if he's okay. He is, and he apologises, and he think about how far his voice carries.

On occasion, out of the blue, he'll lift Felix up when he hugs him, able to get his feet off the ground as Felix wriggles and clutches him out of surprise. Of course Felix lifts him with ease in return, spins him around, but that's not the point. Oliver is stronger than he looks; he wonders if he could lift you, could carry you far, if he could have dragged you if it had come to it.

Some nights he wakes up in a fright, your rapid heart rate beneath his fingers and he swears he could hear you whispering for help amid your shallow breathing. Please. Pleading. Begging. You were alive when he'd left you. He presses two finger to Felix's pulse point beside him, and tries to calm his breathing, to focus on Felix's slow, steady heartbeat.

And some days he sneaks into the computer room and curses how long webpages take to load when he looks up statistics on overdoses. Symptoms. Niche forums where he can learn what it felt like from survivors. People luckier than you. Their words, their stories, the recollections of those horrifying sensations stick with him, even as he diligently erases any trace of his browsing history.

And he thinks about how fucking long two hours is.

"Nan's coming over later," Felix tells Oliver idly one Sunday afternoon, "we're having tea of you'd like to join us." They're laying out in the grass, Oliver in the grass finding shapes in the clouds, Felix on his side, chewing on the stick of a lollypop he'd finished an hour ago and gently tracing abstract patterns on Oliver's chest.

"I thought you said your granny haunted Saltburn," when Oliver looks at Felix, he still can't help the way his heartrate picks up. Felix Catton touching him in the most gentle, caring way; he'd never stop feeling lucky for getting here, and never forget what he did to earn it.

Felix's gaze moves with his fingertips, up Oliver's warm, bare chest, twisting two fingers in the delicate chain around his throat. He looks pensive; but shakes his head after a beat.

"Different nan," he says distractedly, plastic straw trapped between his teeth. He tugs the chain experimentally, like he's forgotten it's attached to Oliver at all. He's in his head again; Felix is always in his head nowadays, but there's still often echoes of who he was, echoes of what Oliver has fallen for in the first place.

And he's finding himself falling more and more for this version of Felix too. So he tell himself that it was all worth it.

"Love," all these pet names - Love, Darling, Sweetheart - because if he slips up, tries to call him Fi, Oliver knows he'll only get ice in return, "is everything okay?" Oliver carefully reaches up to cover Felix's large, warm hand by his throat with his own. Felix meets his gaze, and gives a faint smile, an attempt to reassure him when he says he's fine. It doesn't work, but Oliver lets it go, and lets Felix tug him in by his chain for a kiss.

"Tea sounds lovely," Oliver murmurs against his lips.

There's something about this visit has Felix alive and buzzing the he way he hasn't in a very long time. Still he's quiet, but his eyes are bright as he follows behind the staff members setting up tea and biscuits in the garden. He goes through all the DVDs the family has and picks out a stack he thinks would be suitable, making sure they're all perfectly stacked by the DVD player. Oliver floats along behind him, and simply allows himself to admire Felix's energy.

Still, Felix finally takes a moment to breathe right as it becomes noon, and decides to have a bath to freshen up before his guest's arrival; two hours before she'd be here, Felix reminds him.

Two hours.

Oliver feels drawn to his own room. He doesn't allow himself to be alone in Saltburn often anymore, doesn't like the thoughts that crop up when he does. Perhaps it's a kind of punishment, a painful reminder, penance for what he's done.

There's a scrap of paper that he keeps tucked in a book in his nightstand, his own handwriting stuffed amongst a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories, words he'd clung to and scribbled out the minute he'd gotten the chance so he'd never forget them exactly.

From the coroner's report, according to Duncan and Sir James. Time of Death; around 2am. Cause; narcotics overdose, and there were signs of alcohol poisoning.

On the back, he'd written '12:07'.

"Mum and dad both say it was a tragic accident," Felix's voice in the dead of night, the night they'd gotten the full report, riddled with guilt and unspilled tears, betrays his disbelief regarding the sentiment. Felix doesn't talk about how his last words to you were shouted with anger. Felix doesn't talk about how your last words to him were a desperate plea for him through tears. Felix doesn't think that it was an accident; only Oliver knows that he's almost right, just not in the way he thinks. Or dreads. But he has to bite his tongue on the truth, and let the man he loves live with this unjust guilt.

The water starts loudly draining for the tub, and Oliver isn't sure how long he's been sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut, but he scrambles to stuff the page back into the book, and toss it back into it's drawer. He can smile again, and admire whatever outfit Felix chooses for the rest of the day, and pretend like he doesn't feel your rapid heartbeat or hear your shallow breathing every time he touches that paper, like he had the night he left you.

With the hour drawing ever closer to two, Felix keeps checking his watch. The minute he deems it to be time, he gives up all pretence of small talk - which had been another thing severely lacking as of late - and snatches Oliver's hand, pulling him through the house. They even outstripped Duncan and the footmen by the door when there comes a firm knock. Its the only time Oliver has ever seen any of the Cattons open the doors for themselves.

And it's not Felix's grandmother.

"Hi, nan," Felix sounds so genuinely happy as he hugs the older woman at the door with a warm smile and your eyes.

Oliver feels like he's frozen, like he's seeing a ghost. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Duncan actually standing aside, giving Felix and your grandmother a quietly fond smile.

"I swear you get taller every time I see you, oh, my lovely boy," she says with a warm laugh that sounds so damn familiar, "or maybe I've been shrinking, you get to my age and people tend to do that," and Felix laughs, actually fucking laughs. Oliver realises it's been a long time since he'd heard Felix give a proper laugh like that. As the hug ends, Felix let's her tuck her arm in his as she continues, "just you wait, one day you'll only be six-foot tall." Another laugh, and Oliver can see how genuine and broad he's smiling, how his eyes shine when their gazes meet. She's surprisingly sprightly for her age, it seems. Oliver recognises your grandmother from your funeral, but hadn't made the connection at the time, so he's surprised when Felix goes to introduce him and her eyes sparkle with recognised.

"Nan, I don't know if you've been properly introduced, but this is -"

"Your Darling, Oliver," and it's said with such warmth; her hug feels almost like home, "you strange, little thing," she laughs, "it's called a hug; are you not a hugger? I should have asked," but she doesn't apologise, nor does she let go for a few more beats. Oliver gives into this moment, closes his eyes tightly and hugs her back.

"Our Darling Oliver," Felix echoes with such admiration, and when Oliver opens his eyes, it's the first time since you'd passed where his gaze has held only the love and pride Oliver had been craving since he'd first laid eyes on him.

Once Nana - she'd insisted Oliver call her that too - lets him go, she tucks her arm in his, and is waving Felix over to her other side, briskly asking where tea was to be held. Duncan leads the way and she fawns over him too, apparently downright overflowing with love for Saltburn and everyone and everything in it. She talks more than she doesn't, but considering who Oliver is and who Felix has become, that suits them both just fine.

It's been too long since they've had tea together, she insists, and doesn't talk about why exactly that would be. She doesn't bring you up, not while you were all making your way through the house, but once she's settled outside, she takes a moment. The way she looks at Oliver in this moment makes him queasy; the smile, that look in her eyes, the way her gaze takes all of him in. A woman, whose time is so precious to her, taking her time to make him feel seen. Felix is quiet, intrigued by the exchange.

Your phantom heart beats beneath Oliver's fingertips.

"You're Y/N's grandma," Oliver says quietly, breaking the tension. Present tense still, they all play pretend. She smiles, and finally leans back. The moment is broken; Felix pours them each a cup of tea. Nana takes a jammy dodger and looks over the gardens with a smile.

"Of course, dear," she says sincerely, taking a bite of the biscuit, but being so eager to talk that she spoke through half a mouthful, "and when they were thirteen they told me I was Felix's grandmother too, because they'd overheard Felix's mum talking about how she hoped they'd get married some day." Felix snorted a laugh at that, turning pink around the ears as he prepared everyone's tea, as if on autopilot.

"Does that -" Oliver begins awkwardly, but he tries to smile, "do you think in time, they would have ask the same of you about me?"

"Considering how they spoke about you," there's a twinkle in your Nan's eyes as she turns back to him, smile knowing, "there's absolutely no doubt in my mind, my dear." All you had ever done was love him; love him and stand in the way of the love he desperately craved.

Oliver watches his tea for a long while, spinning the ornate cup on its matching saucer, while your Nana almost immediately picked hers up and took a tentative sip. Watching out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver notes the way her face goes on a journey of emotions, from pleased, to confused, to a sudden realisation as she looks to her cup.

"I should have asked you how you liked your tea," Felix realises too late, apology in his voice as Nana puts her cup down with a forlorn, yet fond look.

"No, darling, it's nice to know you know how my grandchild liked their tea," and she holds her cup delicately, looking into it's warm, brown depths, "just the same as I always made it for both of us when they were much, much younger."

"I am so sorry to ask," Oliver hears himself blurt out, unable to help himself, "but how does all this love just skip a generation?" It comes out far worse than he intends it to; he means to ask how someone so loving as you come from parents so uncaring, yet how did either of those parents turn out the way they did when the woman in front of him was clearly bursting with just as much love as you had been. Thankfully, instead of being offended, your grandmother laughs.

"My daughter is a wonderful, intelligent, compassionate, impressive woman," she begins, but sighs with unmistakable disappointment, "but my late husband was never capable of even trying to be a father over pursuing his own interests, and it's one of the few traits she actually inherited from him," she shook her head, "and she went on to fall in love with a man who loved her but suffered from that exact same defect," after a beat, she looked up with a warm, reassuring smile, "it's why I love Y/N so fiercely, and so hard," her grin turns soft and adoring, looking between the two boys before her, "the only way my daughter has ever disappointed me is as a mother, but I will never be disappointed in Y/N as my grandchild."

Oliver knows there's tears in his eyes, and Felix has ducked his head. Immediately Nan begins apologising, realising she'd set both of them off. Despite this, Oliver tries to wave her away, insisting it's fine, before he asks about her; he's heard bits and pieces he thinks, but Y/N had always been so cagey about their family. Honestly he's surprised that your grandmother knows so much about him when he feels like he's barely heard about her.

Despite turning out to be an incredibly decorated artist, with paintings selling for more than Oliver's pretty sure his own family's house is worth, your Nana is quick to downplay her own successes, simply insisting that it took decades of hard work. Again, he sees you in her eyes.

"We've got a few up around the house," Felix adds, "most of them actually from before we even met Y/N," and your Nana gives him a shove, as if flustered and embarrassed by the idea. But Felix is beaming, happy to be showing off her accomplishments, just as he always took joy in celebrating you; "there's one in your room."

"What?" Oliver asked, and your grandmother also seemed surprised, though touched by the thought.

"It used to be their room, actually, but Ollie moved in there, so Y/N was staying with me," he explains a little awkwardly, wanting to skim around as many implications as he could. Thankfully she doesn't comment. All she asks is which one. Felix and Oliver both think about the room; Felix about the few pieces of art on the walls, Oliver about your time of death in the drawer. You were alive when he left you -

"That one of the stars, and that person smoking; I think you actually gave it to them as a gift," he frowns for a beat, "for when they turned seventeen, I think?"

Oh, Oliver knows that one. It's enchanting, blues so deep, so rich it's like you could swim in them, stars that seemed to actually glow on the canvas, and the hazy, dark outline of the window in the foreground, and part of a figure against the windowsill, lit cigarette the lone spot of fire, of red or orange, that makes everything else warmer for it.

"That one really surprised me actually," Nana admits, giving Felix a shrew smile, though he only seems confused, "did they ever tell you anything about it?"

"Said you painted it for them; pretty sure I remember them crying about it," he says fondly, reminiscing, "one of the best gifts they ever got, I'm not lying, they say it every year. It's beautiful." Then, as if recalling what she'd actually said, he looks at her curiously, "surprised you?"

Her smile widened into something both knowing, and endeared.

"I asked them to send me a photo, a postcard, their very best drawing, anything, as long as it was their favourite place in the world - do you really not recognise it?" The tea and biscuits are gone by now, the tea portion of their afternoon is coming to a close. Felix shook his head, almost looking like a lost child, as if he was aware there was something he was supposed to be understanding but couldn't quite get it, "Felix, my dear boy, they sent me a photo of you; that's their dorm room window from boarding school."

Felix looks winded, and a bit like he's about to cry.

"Oh you two were impossibly sweet," she reaches over and holds his hand tightly, looking over to Oliver earnestly, "you take care of this dear boy and his heart, you hear me?"

"Yes," Oliver all but trips over his words to agree, "of course, nan." And she gives him a pleased grin.

They move indoors after this, Felix quiet but lending his arm to Nana, which she takes, while she explained that usually you and Felix would visit a few times a year when they were on break, but she thought it would be best to come to Saltburn this time, given the circumstances.

"You should come see the place when you get the chance," she insisted, patting Oliver's hand.

"It's mostly where Y/N was raised before they ended up staying at Saltburn," Felix supplied with a grin, piquing Oliver interest.

"Y/N's childhood home? Oh I have to see that," he grins, and your grandmother grins brightly for a long moment.

"I'm sure Y/N would love that, they can give you the grand tour -" but her face falters, falls, as if she'd just remembered. Sombre silence, the spell is broken. "I'd love to have you around, dear," she corrects, much softer this time.

Felix lets her pick a movie, while Oliver settles himself awkwardly on the sofa. He wants to reach out to Felix, to touch his cheek, feel his boyish smile and know that it's real. But Felix isn't really even looking at him. There's something childlike about his enthusiasm here, about how he sits on his knees on the floor, watching with rapt attention as your grandmother pores over them. He practically glows as she praises his choices. When she picks one, she hands it over and he scrambles on all fours across the short floor space to the DVD player, fumbling with the case like he can't put it in fast enough. There's a softness in your grandmother's eyes as she watches the boy who has seemingly forgotten the man he is; when she looks at Oliver, its like he sees her asking how easy is he to adore, what a beautiful young man.

"You don't mind watching a movie do you, Oliver, dear?" She asks, though it's clearly an afterthought. He's already shaking his head, assuring her it's fine. Felix is already scrambling back, remote in hand. Oliver tries to make space for him on the sofa between himself and your Nana, but he seems content to sit on the floor in front of her, leaning back against the sofa with her knees gently pressed against either of his shoulders. Handing her the remote, Felix twists to give Oliver an expectant smile.

"Come here, mate," he insists, patting his lap, his legs kicked out in front of him. At Oliver's obvious confusion, Felix blinks for a few moments. It's like he's waking from a dream. His face falls, he goes to apologise, strained smile on his face, "sorry, I know that's weird, you don't have to -"

Slowly, Oliver moves from the sofa, sitting beside Felix on the floor. Your grandmother's knee is pressed gently to his back, but he's not quite sure if he's capable of relaxing enough in this moment to mind. She's playing with Felix's hair, having already started the movie.

"This is what you and Y/N would do," Oliver said softly, and rested his head on Felix's shoulder. Felix takes his hand, and laces their fingers together.

"Do you like it when people play with your hair, Oliver?" Your grandmother asks idly.

"Um, sometimes," he answers, still feeling rather awkward. He hears her chuckle warmly.

"It's okay if you don't want me to; Felix likes it so much he lets me braid it when it's long like this."

"Oh, I know Felix loves it," Oliver hears himself agree, "if he were a cat he'd be the kind to purr any time someone scratched between his little cat ears." And while both he and your grandmother share a fond laugh, he can hear Felix's smile in his words. He gives Oliver's hand a squeeze.

"I can't even argue; I wish I could purr right now."

Oliver wants to bottle this moment forever, keep it locked tight in his chest.

But the movie is a long one. One hour and fifty six minutes. Two hours rounded up. A whole two hours. Enough time to fall asleep with his head in Felix's lap the way they both said you used to. He wakes with your heartbeat in his ears, rapid, alive, left for dead.

"You okay buddy?" Felix looks at him with genuine love and concern; it's been such a long time since he'd seen that look, even with everything that had been happening, "I'm here, you're okay," he assured. Over by the television, putting the remote back, your grandmother glances over at the interaction with a warmth that makes Oliver feel queasy in this moment.

And he'll look up from the book, from his notes from the coroner's report crammed in, obscuring the end of one story while The Tell-Tale Heart begins on the other. Felix will be getting ready for bed in the other room, but he won't sleep there. He can't sleep there. Can't sleep in that bed without you, can't move the costumes from that night that hang side by side as a reminder of the hole you'd left behind in his life. Oliver will read approximately two am in his own messy handwriting, and look at the digital clock on his bedside that had read 12:07 when he'd crashed into his room and locked the door and sunk down against it. The numbers had been shining red in the darkness. On the wall behind, that starry night sky and the hint of Felix and his cigarette; a home you'll never return to hung up in the home you'll never truly leave.

He put enough coke in that bottle to kill a fucking lion. He'd given you the bottle. He'd told you he loved you. He'd left you like that.

He knew you were dying.

He'd left you alive.

Two hours.

The book snaps shut. In the silence he thinks he hears your breathing. Please, Ollie, help. Paranoia is a cruel thing, he has to tell himself; paranoia and guilt.

"Can I ask you something?" Felix joins him just as he's putting the book back in it's drawer. Oliver, heart beat racing - never as fast as the memory of yours, oh now it's all he can think about again - nods quickly. Felix sits on the end of the bed, clearly preoccupied, fussing with the buttons of his pyjama shirt. The days are getting cooler now; Oliver misses his bare skin against his, but he still feels too precarious to make such an observation.

"It's about Y/N," Felix swallows, can't meet his eyes, "about that night." Oliver feels his mouth go dry; the worst fucking night of his life. The night he doesn't know if he'll ever figure out if he regrets all he'd done.

He nods again.

"Were you the last person they spoke to?" It's like Felix is forcing himself to not shy away from this moment, giving Oliver the attention he thinks he deserves for such an important question. Then, after swallowing hard, he can't help but drop his gaze, "why," he can barely get it out, there's already a lump in his throat, "didn't they come into the maze too?" Oliver can't even give him that.

You'd been such a mess on your way to the maze, even with Oliver supporting you. Crying, furious, apologetic; you were everything at once. Even when you couldn't bring yourself to go in, everything about you had been sliding from one emotion to the next. But then it had stopped.

"I can wait for Fi here." It's the most sure that he'd seen you all night. It's when he knew. It had to be you, even if he loved you too. He'd never forget how clear your smile was, how sincere you'd urged him into the maze to follow the tail of what he thought was right. The sight of you, waiting, obedient and loyal for your master to return; "I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

Oliver knew before he'd even entered the maze that Felix's return to you would be too late.

In the present, Felix waits too, diligent, expectant. Oliver thinks about lying. Oliver thinks about how the truth will break his heart. Oliver thinks about how close Felix will hold him in his guilt riddled grief.

"I don't think they wanted to interrupt -" Oliver tries to start, but Felix immediately swears, hangs his head.

"Can't fucking believe I did that," he spits, "I was angry, and off my fucking face, sure, but that was fucking low, even for me," he admitted, pitching himself back on the bed, whole face scrunched up with guilt, barking out an upset fuck far louder than the others, prompting to Oliver to tentatively ask what he means. Felix took a moment, as if forcing himself to calm down, before he admits, voice low like he was sharing a secret, "I never even took Eddie into the maze," he sighed. After a beat, he conceded, "no, okay I did, but we didn't do anything - we made out a bit, but -"

"You didn't fuck you ex-boyfriend in the maze," Oliver connected the dots quickly, "but you did fuck your best friend's ex-not-girlfriend who you kind of stole from them, out of spite after kicking them out of your the bed you've been sharing all Summer?"

"Fucking hell, Ollie!" Felix sounds especially wounded when he lays it all out like that.

"Sorry," immediately, Oliver apologises, knot in his stomach when he hears Felix's pained tone. He wonders if this was what it was like for you all through the night of his birthday. Fuck, he can't think about that.

"No, but you're right," Felix admits, eyes finally opening, looking all hurt and vulnerable. Oliver lays himself down next to Felix, going the other way, both of them looking up at the ceiling. Oliver's hands rest on his chest, trying again, softer this time.

"So was a special place to them?" He gets no response other than a guilty nose from Felix, "you think that's why they wanted to wait by the entrance?"

"They wanted to wait for me," Felix says weakly, clearly in his head about that night once more, "didn't want to interrupt even as I was fucking defiling our-" but he catches himself turning bitter again, mouth snapping closed, "after everything I said that night," he mumbles, "fucking hell," he chokes out. The pain in his voice is audible. This is the sweet spot, Oliver thinks.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver whispers amid Felix's faint sobs.

"What?"

"You asked me what their last words were," Oliver told him as softly as he could manage; Felix sits up, eyes wide, distraught, so full of guilt and love and - "only thing they were properly coherent about; waiting for you," Oliver props himself up, reaches out to wipe a tear from Felix's cheek.

"You're not- Ollie, please tell me you're not kidding," Felix practically begs.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver reiterates, making sure to meet Felix's gaze as he holds his face, "'s the last thing they said- they said; I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

God he can see it in Felix's eyes; it's like the man's entire world crashes down around him. But he clings just as Oliver had hoped he would. As Felix holds him tightly, Oliver can't look at the glaring, red numbers of the clock on his bedside, the constant reminder of the two hours where he could have done something. Two hours and those wouldn't have been your last words.

He looks at the painting. At the stars. At Felix and his cigarette and your idea of what home looks like. The stars look just like they did that night. Just as bright. Oliver closes his eyes. Guilt twists people into shapes they don't often recognise; Oliver just holds Felix, hopes they twist into something together.

Except Oliver's guilt isn't the kind that twists, it's the kind that bites. It's like moths, eating him from the inside out. The guilt leaves him with jagged edges and thoughts he'd rather not be having; there are shades of Felix Catton that he loves, but shame and revulsion bites just behind the guilt as the months pass and he realises more and more this is not what he wanted. This is not the Felix he wanted.

Felix is like an echo, like the sun without it's warmth; he can look just the same, smile, talk, charm just the same if it was required of him, but there was something clearly missing from every interaction. Guests to Saltburn would pull his parents aside and ask if everything was alright. He is, but he is not the same as he once was.

Every day Oliver looks in the mirror and sees something grotesque behind his eyes that no-one else seems to notice. Felix Catton was meant to be the prize, the one who tossed aside everything but the best, the one who made the world fight for his attention, and feel heartbroken when he merely looked the other way. After all this, Felix Catton was not someone Oliver expected to be bored by.

Oliver Quick had lied for, lied to, betrayed the trust of, worked to gain the trust back of, loved, made fall in love with him, and literally murdered the love of his life who he also loved and was themselves also in love with Oliver while still considering Felix the love of their life, just to get a chance to spend his life by Felix fucking Catton's side. He wasn't allowed to not want this.

Felix smiles at him, says he loves him, fucks him, but it's not the dream Oliver once had. Something is always missing. No. Oliver deliberately took that thing away. But he can never admit that, nor can he ever regret that; too far gone. Oliver doesn't want to talk about the past, Felix can't being himself to talk about the future. Trapped together in the present, living lives that no longer feel like enough. Their routine becomes suffocating. Even Venetia, the few times she's stopped back at Saltburn, can barely manage a disdainful look, as if merely inconvenienced by Oliver's presence.

The growing apathy of the estate and it's occupants is exhausting. The cost of this lifestyle has long since surpassed it's value. He's even bored of being haunted. Two hours feels like fucking nothing when the days drag on the way they have been. Behind his eyelids he doesn't see you begging for help, you hiss for him to run, to get out.

He should have listened.

"Ollie, can I show you something I found?" Felix sounds bright today, and though Oliver wants to roll his eyes at the idea of anything in this house being new or novel enough to show off, he smiles back instead.

"'course Felix, what is it?"

Except Felix isn't smiling at him. Felix is looking far more serious and determined, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Oliver immediately frowns.

"Have you been hiding something from me, Ollie?" It's a trap; a forced confession. Oliver shakes his head, plays dumb. Felix takes a deep breath, the kind that shifts his whole body, his expression remaining firm, "before I show you this thing, I want you to be honest with me; you promised you wouldn't lie to me anymore, you remember?" Oliver tries to lighten the mood, leaning against the window with a warm smile.

"Of course, my lovely Felix, no more lying," he assures, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the way Felix remains quiet.

"What's seven-past-twelve mean?" Felix is watching him closely; too closely. Scrutinising his every move. It's like Oliver's been doused in ice water, even his tongue frozen in his mouth, "and what's it got to do with what happened on the night of your birthday?"

Felix doesn't even look at the night table as he opens it; his gaze is solely on Oliver. It's clear he'd done this before, pulling out the book, flicking through it's pages, and pulling the delicate, incriminating piece of paper out from where it had been safe for so many months.

"Felix, I-"

"What does twelve-oh-seven mean?"

Oliver is the deer again, trapped in Felix's accusatory gaze. For just a moment, Felix's voice drops, pleading with him for some other explanation, that Oliver wasn't somehow caught up in what happened, more closely, more malevolently than he'd ever said -

"Tell me," there's tears in his eyes, the furious kind, the ones where he's desperate to love and hope against all odds, "Oliver," he pleads through gritted teeth, "tell me you didn't know."

"Know what?" Oliver's voice is a hoarse whisper; he knows he is caught, all he has left now is borrowed time and a desperately silver tongue he doesn't know if he can rely on anymore. But Oliver's tragically weak denial is enough for Felix to all but jump to the right conclusion.

In a rush, Felix has Oliver by the collar of his shirt, pressed to the window -

"You knew they were dying and you fucking left them there."

This is the tipping point, the end of whatever good this had been. Felix could hurt him, Felix had hurt countless people on your behalf, he'd seen it himself. But Felix had always been the bleeding heart; you were the one who had to be kept on a leash. Felix could hurt him, could probably maim him for what Oliver was about to say, but he never shared your stomach for true Machiavellianism.

"Of course I knew," Oliver managed coldly, despite Felix attempting to crush all the air from him, "the amount of coke I gave them in that champagne could have killed a rhino-" it needed to be unforgiveable, the confession, so Felix would let him leave, would never want to see him again. He hadn't expected the force of Felix's rage to have the glass behind him give out.

Oliver falls from the second story window into the hedge garden below. Felix's shouting is tearing through the whole house it seemed, making his way downstairs, while Oliver tries to regain his breath and figure out if anything's broken. He's pretty sure it's not, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt as Felix drags him by his feet from the hedges, demanding at the top of his lungs that Oliver get the fuck out of Saltburn.

Every single person who'd been in the house comes outside to view the commotion, to see Oliver struggling to his feet, to get away from Oliver. Elspeth looks helplessly between the two boys, wondering what happened -

"Tell her what you did," Felix demanded, once more getting into Oliver's space, jabbing at his chest, "tell her what the fuck you just told me -" and Oliver's strength isn't insignificant, but Felix is in a fury, flooded with rage and adrenaline, and he grabs the back of Oliver's shirt like he's scuffing a cat, shoving him towards his mother like an offering. Oliver struggles because he feels like he has to, feels wild, feels feral, but it's the most of anything he's gotten from Felix in so long. His mouth stays shut, won't give him the satisfaction of a confession.

"He killed them," Felix doesn't even let Oliver have his power play before he grows bored. He shoves Oliver just a little, grip unyielding despite Oliver's best efforts, like he means nothing to him. Elspeth and Sir James are confused, looking between them both, but Felix isn't done with stringing Oliver up for all of Saltburn to see, "Y/N; he intentionally dosed their drink and left them to die outside the maze."

The Catton parents immediately look crestfallen; it's the first time in months Oliver's felt genuine guilt again. Oliver stops fighting. Felix lets him go. Elspeth asks him if this is true; that heartbroken hope is going to make him sick.

"Just send me away already," he drops his head.

"Oliver," Elspeth's voice is firmer this time; when he looks up, she's stepping towards him, tears in her eyes despite how hard she's clearly trying to hold herself together, "is Felix telling the truth?" Is this it? Is this the final gate to his freedom from Saltburn.

"Yes."

Elspeth slaps him so hard her ring draws blood. Oliver hadn't thought that was even possible, but his head is ringing from the collision.

"Get. Out." She hisses with absolute malice as he's hunched over, clutching his face. Felix is by his mother's side in a heartbeat, arm around her, looking at Oliver with contempt. Behind them, Sir James is ordering Duncan and the other staff members to get Oliver off of the property as quickly as possible, but the look in Elspeth's eyes is burning, "this is my family, you monster."

At first, it almost feels worth it to leave Saltburn. To leave the Cattons and their bullshit and their games behind. He thinks he knows them well enough to trust that they don't want the kind of scandal a murder on their hands would be, and for the most part, he's right.

It's not the Cattons who haunt him after Saltburn, though they may be pulling the strings. It's you. It's you sitting on Felix's bed in his dorm room reading every single detail of Michael Gavey's file with threats on your tongue. It's the casual way you talked about being able to access his academic files to change his grades if he wanted. It's you, tipsy at Saltburn, admitting that you got Eddie transferred without his consent to a university on the other side of the country after he cheated on Felix with Venetia.

There's no place for Oliver to return to at Oxford... He's not entirely surprised about that, however, there's also apparently no record of him ever attending. Any calls or enquiries he makes are shut down with the kind of immediacy that seemed reserved for shows about government conspiracies. When applications open for other universities, it seems websites shut down the minute he fills out his damn name. Nowhere in the world seems willing to consider him.

Having him audited seems like overkill. When it happens the next year, despite no employer willing to even consider him for an interview, the existential dread of his situation sets in.

Felix never had the stomach to finish the job; he'd let you haunt Oliver forever.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[remember-to-be-gentle]

Friend, I just screamed. SCREAMED.

How about this~ if I may request an Enji that happens to see a perfect little darling happening by and can't help himself...

...I'll happily write a request for you in exchange!

You'll get yours 😈 when I think of one

Subject: BNHA, Enji Todoroki aka Endeavor

Title: Future

Trigger Warning: Obsessive behavior, kidnapping, fantasizing, breeding (mentioned), Enji is a Karen confirmed

Enji fumed walking to his tailor. He had received a message from one of his sidekicks stating that his presence was "unnegotiable" at tonight's charity gala and worse, he needed a new suit within a handful of hours because he'd put on so much muscle mass that he'd burst out of his old one. It was turning out to be a rough and irritating day.

He shoved open the door to the shop, the little bell jingling to make his presence known--as if he needed it when his heavy footsteps.

A tiny figure popped up from behind the counter. "Just a minute! Mr. Ao is currently working with another client but I'll be more than happy to help when I put these swatches away."

Great, the apprentice. Well, it didn't matter to him as long as you sewed his suit correctly. He was paying good money for the best possible service, after all.

He didn't pay much attention when you lead him to a private fitting room. It wasn't until you closed the door that he remembered where he was. The private room was decently sized with a rack of premade jackets to the side, three mirrors that caught every angle in the room, a small table full of sewing equipment, and of course the dark wooded chair for Enji to sit in.

In this room alone with you, he finally processed who he was looking at. You. With your pretty little sewing apron and messy hair. Your tiny but nimble hands unwrapping the measuring tape. The way you politely commanded him to lift his arms as if you could possibly command him to do anything...

He wanted you. Bad.

Feeling your hard-working hands wrap around the meat of his muscles, giving a gentle squeeze to measure the give for the fabric. Your short arms struggling to wrap around his waist, pulling the measuring tape taught against the planes of his abs and dragging it up to the full curves of his sculpted pecs. He shivered when the tape scraped his nipples through his shirt.

"Are you cold?" You asked.

God, even your voice was cute.

"I don't get cold," Enji said. He was still grumpy, you being the cutest thing he'd ever seen hadn't changed that.

"Oh, okay." You picked up his old suit and examined it, comparing your new measurements with the old recorded in Ao's customer book. "Wow, you sure gained a lot of muscle Mr. Todoroki. Looks about a whole three inches of girth all around."

Why did you have to say girth? Now he was thinking about those little hands wrapped around the meat of his cock. Would those tiny hands of yours even be able to wrap around his balls? God, feeling you cup them would be amazing, desperately trying to wring his cum from them--

Now was not the time to be fantasizing, he reminded himself.

"Where's my tea?" Enji demanded, trying to get his mind off of you. "Mr. Ao always has tea prepared for his guests."

"Right! Sorry, sir." You skittered out of the room and returned with a paper cup of steaming green tea. When your hands brushed his for that split second of transference, Enji could have sworn he felt sparks.

When he married Rei it hadn't been for love. It had been about power when he spread her open and bred her. Enji knew of love and saw it everything and everyone but himself. But now... He felt it. This was love. Or at the very least, this was his breeding instincts begging for one last round in the ring.

Would you be a good girl for him, like Rei? Or would you fight him every step of the way? He could imagine you clawing at the wide expanse of his back, your tiny legs wrapped around his waist as he plowed into you hard enough to ensure you couldn't escape him the next day. You wouldn't want for anything under him, nothing but freedom--assuming you were coherent enough from his cock that you remembered you wanted it.

Shit, you were talking again. Oh you pretty little thing, didn't you know what you were doing to him? You had to know.

It took him everything to focus on what you were saying, "Since we don't have time to make a whole new suit, I thought maybe we could change the design to add more fabric in a fashionable capacity." You picked up a tablet and showed him a rough sketch of his jacket with red fabric inlaid in the seams to accommodate his size. Frankly he knew nothing about fashion so it looked good to him.

He just wanted you to touch him again.

"That's fine," he said. "As long as I have full use of my arms and legs. You wouldn't know anything about being a hero, but even the clothes we wear outside of work need to accommodate our movement as well as be quirk resistant."

"Of course, sir! Hero work is really intense. I can get started on your suit right away and have it delivered to your address with time to spare. Should I have Mr. Ao bill to the usual account?"

"Will you be the one delivering it?"

"Ah, no. We usually outsource deliveries, sir."

"Hm. I think it would be best if you did. That way you can come with me to the gala." What was he saying! "It would be... Uh, it would be a good way for you to show off your work, maybe make some connections. People from all walks of life will be there, I'm sure that this could be a good opportunity for you."

"I... I don't know what to say." You blushed, sweet and shy, confidence slipping in the face of opportunity. "I would love to."

"Excellent, my driver can take us there and back. Just dress nicely."

"Of course, sir, and thank you again. I'm going to get started on the modifications."

"Please do." Enji stood up, turning away from you quickly and coldy to walk out the door so you couldn't see the outline of his hardening cock in his pants.

He reminded himself to be patient.

Later that night when you arrived in your pretty, slim fitting dress and his bold but fashionable tux, Enji said, "You're a little early. Please come in. I'll make you some tea before I change."

"Oh, I don't want to bother you Mr. Todoroki!"

"It's no bother." He gestured for you to come inside and the moment your foot crossed the threshold of your new home, Enji firmly closed the door and locked it. "Now, why don't we talk about your future?"

#raven writes #Enji Todoroki x Reader #Endeavor x Reader #Tailor!Reader #Yandere x Reader #Male Yandere #Yandere Enji Todoroki #Yandere Endeavor #TW obsessive behavior #TW kidnapping #TW breeding (mentioned) #TW fantasizing

[hyunluvbug]

i need you - one

pairing: bang chan x afab reader

content: 🔞NSFW, MDNI!! established relationship, hint of corruption kink, virgin!reader, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f receiving)

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is my first series and i hope you guys enjoy what more is to come. it is only going to be three or four parts so fairly short ish.

dating chan is nothing but pure comfort. he is yours and you are his. everything about being with him made you feel giddy inside. your relationship is nothing more than pure love. he is someone you trust completely and never question. someone you can hold to a high standard and know he will always follow it.

you both are still learning new things about each other. you learn all the time how dedicated he is to his job. he enjoys making music and you love being there when he does. you visit him all the time at the studio, just to watch him in his element. he always lets you listen to what he is working on and it always is a hit in your eyes. he is so talented and you remind him anytime he struggles. sometimes while he's working, he'll get frustrated. his face will go into a pout and his eyebrows will scrunch up. a tell tale sign he is struggling with lyrics or even the composition of the song.

when you notice this, you try your best to help him and reassure him that he is capable of anything. he has already made so many great songs so why be afraid to try something new. this is why he loves having you there, being able to hear the input from someone he loves is amazing. days like this are where you really realize how in love you are with him. he's sitting with his back towards you, clicking away on his computer. you're sitting on the sofa behind him, reading a book, or just scrolling through your phone. finding comfort in just having his presence with you.

the studio is where both of you end up hanging out a lot together. the studio being his hotspot, he barely leaves it and only does to get food, use the bathroom or go to bed. today, is just like any other day. you are sitting on the couch, your feet curled up under you. you're scrolling through your tiktok for you page. making sure the volume isn't too loud to disturb the boy at the computer. the many clicks of his mouse fill the room as well as the squeak of his desk chair.

you can feel his frustration from where you're sitting. many sighs leaving his lips as you watch him delete and add new lines of lyrics. his shoulders hunched over onto the desk, clearly showing his stress. you place your phone onto the couch and stand up. you make your way over to him and you feel his body relax when your hand touches his shoulder.

"hey, you okay?" you peck his cheek.

"yeah, just having some troubles with lyrics." he sighs below you. you place your hand onto his cheek and he nuzzles into it.

"need a break?"

"please."

you see this as an invitation to sit in his lap. his hands rest on your waist and he looks up into your eyes. you begin to place kisses all over his face, causing his face to scrunch up. giggles falling from his lips.

"is this a good distraction?"

"yes." he chuckles, his hands run up your back soothingly as you continue placing kisses on his face. then you move to his neck and he lets out a tiny moan.

"oh, i think i hit a sweet spot." you tease and continue kissing there. he lets out heavy sighs as you begin to suck on his skin, hoping to leave a hickey behind.

"you're going to drive me crazy."

"what if i want to?" you mumble against his skin. then chan, pulls your face away. he places a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing the soft skin.

"then you'll be in trouble."

you stare at him in shock of his reply but it excites you. you and chan have never had sex. most of it having to do with you being a virgin and not knowing when the correct time was. chan didn't ever want to make you feel rushed to have sex with him. he never insinuated anything sexual and stopped make outs before they ever got too heated. but, you always wish he would make a step towards that direction and right now, your heart is pounding. you can feel tingles in places that you never felt for someone else before.

"what if i wanna be in trouble?"

now chan looks at you surprised, "oh yeah?"

you begin to feel a dull ache in your core. starting to imagine what it would be like to be with chan sexually. it excites you. so much that you don't even notice that you're grinding into his lap. he lets out a groan beneath you.

"fuck baby, we can't do this in here. i will be damned if we start anything in this studio."

"then maybe we should go home." you plead, looking up at him with puppy eyes. of course he can't say no to you.

"i guess the song can wait until tomorrow."

you leap up from his lap, excited to head home. you don't even notice that chan has an erection.

----

when you get back home, it gets semi awkward. for many reasons really. you aren't quite sure what to even do as you have never done any of it. of course you're not completely innocent to sexual activities. but you just have no experience what so ever. frankly, chan finds it adorable and is secretly getting off to the fact he will be the only to take your virginity. that you will always be his and no one else's.

"i say we start by kissing and see where it goes from there." chan says, you both sitting together on the bed. you nod happily with a smile and he smiles back, his dimples showing.

"come here." he whispers and presses his lips to yours. the feeling is just as amazing as it was the first time. his lips fitting to yours and sending flutters throughout your heart.

the kisses soon turn needy and sloppy. little whimpers falling from your lips. he place you into his lap and retss his hands on your waist. he moves your hips over him, the friction making your eyes droop. your hips roll down into him quicker.

"fuck chan."

he smirks as he watches your face contort in pleasure. loving how pretty you look just for him. he begins to place some kisses down your neck as you continue to move in his lap. he sucks on a section of your neck, returning the favor you gave him earlier.

"baby, can i eat you out?" chan suddenly asks and your face gets hot. you nod and he begins to unbutton your jeans. he slides them down your legs and lays you down onto the bed.

he sees a wet spot on your underwear that has already developed. he places his finger on the spot and begins to rub. the feeling of someone else's touch drives you crazy. and he's not even touching it bare. he rubs onto your clit, the feeling driving you insane.

"chan, please."

"please what?"

"s-shit, i want your tongue."

"ask and you shall receive."

he pulls down your underwear and tosses them to the side. he scoots down until his face is near your pussy. he blows air on it and it makes you twitch. a soft giggle falls from his lips, that also making you twitch.

"channn."

"okay okay."

he places his hands onto your thighs and then dives in. his tongue licks up your core and your slit. the feeling makes your eyes begin to roll, his tongue feels like heaven. it feels like something you have never felt before. you can feel his nose nudge at your clit while his tongue delves deeper into your cunt. your wetness growing even more and mixing with his saliva.

"fuck fuck." you moan and he hums. his tongue presses against your clit and you squirm above him.

"feels so good holy fuck."

chan continues licking, letting your wetness coat his tongue. the taste is divine and he is already addicted to it.

"i want you to cum for me." he says and he stares up into your eyes. his eyes on you are what sends you closer to your high. his eyes stay on you as he licks quicker and quicker. his tongue going inside and out of your cunt, delving into your walls.

you feel your eyes roll as you begin to reach your peak. "im go-gonna cum." you sigh and then you let it go.

chan licks up every drop, loving how much pleasure he is able to give you. he pulls away and sits up. his dimples are showing as he stares down at you, your laying down onto the bed. your arms splayed out in tiredness, it all felt so good. he felt so good. chan scoots up further to lay with you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"how was that baby?" he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. right over the spot he left a hickey.

"amazing." you reply feeling breathless. your chest moves up and down as you let out heavy breaths until it slows down. chan cuddles up into you as you finally come off the feeling.

"i didn't get to do anything for you though." you realize and turn towards him.

"don't worry, we have all the time in the world to do other things. i just wanted to please you, i'll let you do something for me next time." he reassures and buries his face into your neck.

you feel satisfied with his answer as you know there is more time to make love with him. you couldn't wait.

#stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #kpop smut #skz smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan smut #chan smut #chan x reader #chan imagines

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

In Case I Do Something Stupid

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV and Dean POV

Summary:  Reader is a grad student in college trying to work hard for her degree while maintaining a long distance relationship with Dean Winchester. This is part three of my "Before You Go" series (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Age Difference, (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's), Established Relationship

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: There is some swearing (only a few times), implied reference of past sex (once or twice), Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

This fic includes song lyrics that are in italics and bold font.

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

***************************************************

Reader POV

"Did you get it?" Dean asks.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the lobby of your apartment, cradling the phone between your shoulder and neck while you sort through your mail. There were a lot more bills than you were hoping for.

It had been a long day and all you really wanted was to go lie down, but you had a test in the morning, which meant that you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

It had been two months since the whole “Cooper” thing and despite Dean’s insistence for you to come over to the bunker if he ever showed his face, Cooper hadn’t appeared once.

Of course that meant that Suze was out of the apartment more to spend time with him, wherever it was he lived. Neither of you had spoken about the incident, not since the morning after when Dean was asleep and you snuck out to make coffee before he woke up and you ran into her. You remember the dark circles under her eyes and  the way her face was red and puffy from crying. You hadn’t known what to say so you nodded a “good morning” and walked back into your bedroom with coffee for you and Dean.

Dean was trying to convince you to move out, but the rent was so cheap you didn’t think you’d be able to find anything better. But with the summer approaching quickly, that meant you could spend more time at the bunker with Dean.

An elderly woman breezes through the main lobby of the apartment building, wearing a bright purple tracksuit. "Hi y/n."

"Hi Mrs. Travis." You respond, holding off from answering Dean.

"Where's your special friend?" She smiles widely at you.

The last time Dean had visited, Mrs. Travis asked him to come help her unclog her drain. You and Mrs. Travis sat at her kitchen table together watching Dean work under the sink while eating mass quantities of chocolate chip cookies. You'd been over to see her a few times since, and each time she told you that Dean reminded her of her husband and would ask when he was coming back.

"He's at home this week."

"What a shame. Tell him to come back anytime. I'll make some of those cookies for him again." She smiles before continuing on to the elevator.

"Who was that?"

"Your wife." You snort into the phone.

"Oh she's the best. Those cookies were so good." Dean moans. "Can you please bring some of those when you come this weekend?"

"I'll see what I can do." You sift through the mail in your hand. There's a collection of bills and a large green make-shift envelope that has been duct taped together with thick silver tape to cradle the contents.

"But did you get it?" Dean asks again.

"By it do you mean a creepy duct taped envelope? Because yes I did." You hold it by the corner turning it over to see Dean's untidy scrawl in black sharpie over the front of it.

This looks like a kindergartener made it. You imagine Dean sitting at his desk in the bunker with a pair of scissors, his tongue between his teeth in concentration and smile to yourself.

"Okay good." Dean sounds relieved.

"I could have just picked whatever this is up this weekend."

"You're telling me that you don't like getting mail?"

"I like getting mail, but this looks like a ransom note. Is someone holding you hostage? Because if that’s happening I don’t have any money and I'm sure you'll be fine." You smile, trying to find a way to open it, but the duct tape was thwarting you.

"No it’s not a ransom note." Dean pauses on the other side of the line. "Wait, you wouldn’t pay money for me?" 

"I mean. Maybe?" You shrug as if he could see you, smiling wide at the envelope.

"That’s reassuring."

"Alright so you’re saying that if I was being held for ransom, you’d give them Baby for me?"

Dean doesn't answer. You can hear him mulling it over in his head, but you already know the answer to that question. You knew that Baby always comes first.

“That’s a long pause Dean.”

"I’m sure the connection is bad. Because I did answer-" Dean begins to say.

"How is the connection bad?" You interrupt, raising an eyebrow.

He tries again. "I’m driving through a tunnel?" It comes out like a question and you can’t help but laugh at his attempts to cover his mistake.

"I thought you said you were back at the bunker."

"Well, then the reception here sucks." He finishes and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You sigh to yourself. The last time you'd seen Dean was only a week ago, but it wasn't enough. Long distance was hard, but you felt that you both were giving it your all. Not to mention that this weekend you were coming to see him at the bunker, and it was a long weekend, which meant you both didn't have to rush.

"Uh-huh. Sure. If I get kidnapped I’m just gonna call Sam.”

"We are definitely off topic.” Dean sighs. “But you did get it?”

“Yes Dean I did. Whatever it is." You trace a finger over the silver taped edge. "Is this construction paper? Dean, you are a grown man, why do you have construction paper?”

“There’s a lot of old shit in this bunker.”

“For your birthday I’m getting you envelopes.”

"Sexy."

You roll your eyes, but finally break through the paper and pull out a bright yellow and black contraption. “You bought me a Walkman?”

Dean had previously bought you a cassette tape player that was on your desk in your apartment so you could listen to the mixtapes he made. Dean often made you mixtapes of his favorite songs, most of which you knew given you had almost the same taste in music, but each time you listened to one of his tapes it was like he was there in the room with you. It made the distance between you less when you missed him.

"Where did you even get a Walkman?" You ask.

"I told you there's a lot of old shit in this bunker." He laughs. "But this way you can listen to the mixtapes when you go to class or when you're at the library.” He says it nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that you don't understand.

I wonder if he's worried about something.

The thought makes you worry about him. Dean worried about a lot of things, but he usually kept it to himself. You figured it was because of his dad. You didn’t know too much about Dean’s father, only that he was dead and that he put a lot of responsibility and pressure on Dean’s shoulders when it came to Sam and the job he did, which forced Dean to be more guarded and unable to admit when he needed help. You of course, were very good at reading him and whenever Dean was worried, you made it a point to have him talk to you about it, even if you didn't have a suggestion. You wanted him to be comfortable letting his walls down. You needed him to know that you were there for him and that he didn’t need to carry the burden alone no matter how heavy it was.

You examine the Walkman, running your thumb against each black button that line along the top and against the smooth plastic edges. “That was very thoughtful. Thanks Dean.”

“You’re welcome.” He pauses. “I-uh- also included a new tape.”

“Oh cool. I can't wait to listen to it. I loved the last one."  You pop out the cassette and look at the label.

Dean always came up with ridiculous  names that made you laugh, names like "Psyched to See You Mix Vol 1," and "It's a Good Day to Call Dean."

This one was called "In Case I Do Something Stupid." "I love the name. Does it mean that this is just a pre-recorded blanket apology if you're not careful on a hunt-"

"No it's not."

"Uh-huh." You put the tape back into the Walkman.

“But for this one, when you listen to it, can you call me? I really want to know what you think.” Dean continues.

“If it’s another 8 minute drum solo of Moby Dick-“

“It's not and it hurts me that you didn’t like it. But promise that you’ll call after you listen to it.”

“It wasn't bad. And will there be a test?” You tease him, confused that he's so adamant about you calling him after you listen. Whenever Dean gave you a mixtape he was excited to know what you thought, but was usually more nonchalant about it.

"No." Dean laughs, but it doesn't sound right. "I just want to know what you think."

"Well I can bring it with me when I come this weekend and we can listen to it together-"

"NO!" Dean exclaims. "I mean-um- you should listen to it now and call me." He recovers stumbling over his words.

"Okay." You draw it out confused as to why he is acting so weird. "I will take detailed notes over all of the songs and tell you how much I loved them."

“Okay.” Dean pauses again. “Um y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I- I’m gonna be at the bunker for a few days researching so you can call me anytime-“ He says it quickly, not in the cool and collected way he usually spoke.

“Dean are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? You sound a little weird."

"I'm sure it's just the connection." Dean pauses again. "I-"

"Dean?"

“I miss you.” He says it hesitantly, and for a second you think that he was going to say something else.

“I miss you too. I promise I’ve just got the one test and then I’ll be there this weekend.”

"Okay."

"Okay."

You could feel the three little words hovering on the tip of your tongue, the three little words you would have gladly told him five months ago when you first started officially dating. You knew that you were in love with Dean, had been in love with him from the moment your eyes locked with his, but the problem was that you'd never said it to anyone else. Of course you'd never felt about anyone the way you felt about him. He was kind, caring, sexy, protective, and just the right amount of batshit crazy that always kept you guessing.

I miss him so much.

Dean hadn’t said it either. But you understood that he was a little slow when it came to stuff like that and it wasn’t that you thought he didn’t love you. Dean said it plenty of other ways. Not to mention you figured he probably also hadn’t said it to anyone before and might be afraid to admit it aloud.

"I'll see you this weekend okay?" You sigh into the phone while wishing that Dean was there to hold you.

"Can't wait. Bye Sweetheart."

"Bye Dean."

****************************

Three days pass and you still haven’t listened to the tape. Honestly you forgot about it,  too wrapped up in studying for the test and preparing a lab report that took twelve hours to finish, all the while your lab partner, Tim, was frantically proofreading over your shoulder so you could turn it in by the deadline.

It was Thursday night, one day from seeing Dean, and you were sitting in the library for your overnight shift. You reach into your backpack for your notebook, but when you pull it out, the headphones from the Walkman are tangled in the spiral of the notebook.

Oh no. You think to yourself. You couldn't believe that you forgot about the tape and you wonder if that's why Dean hadn't texted or called the past few days, because he was waiting for you to call him to tell him what you thought.

You carefully untangle the headphones from the notebook, before raising your head to look around the library. It was midnight, which meant that the only people in the library were you and the guy in the corner slumped over a stack of textbooks half asleep. His loud snores echoed through the empty room, something else that reminded you of Dean. He didn't believe that he snored, until you recorded it on your phone and played it back to him. But, you didn’t hate that he snored. Sometimes you hated how quiet it was in your bedroom when he wasn't there sleeping beside you, that was usually when you called him just to hear his voice through the phone and closed your eyes to imagine he was there.

Dean never cared what time it was when you called him, in fact, Dean liked it when you called him on your overnight shifts and when you were walking back to your apartment. He liked to make sure that nothing happened to you.

You didn't think that the sleeping man in the corner would need any help anytime soon, so you slip the headphones over your ears and hit play. But when the first song starts, you're confused.

The first song is one of your favorites, "I'll Have to Say I Love You In A Song,"  by Jim Croce. A singer that you liked to listen to when you winded down at the end of the day and also a singer that was not Dean's favorite. He often teased you about it. For Dean to include the song on the tape was unusual, but you figured that it was because he knew you loved it.

"Well I know it's kinda late,

I hope I didn't wake you,

But what I've gotta say can't wait,

I know you'd understand,

'Cause every time I tried to tell you,

The words just came out wrong,

So I'll have to say I love you in a song…"

You hum along to the music while tapping your foot along to the melody as you reach back into your bag to pull out your textbook and pencil case for your highlighters and note tabs.

The second song starts as you turn back to your textbook, finding the right chapter to begin studying. You had expected the next song to also be a Jim Croce song or another song that you liked given the name of the mixtape. You assumed that "In Case I Do Something Stupid" meant that the tape would be filled with songs you loved to make you feel better if Dean pissed you off, but the next song is not one you know. You can tell it's Kansas, one of Dean's favorite bands, and one that you didn't often listen to before you met him.

"…Stand beside me

I will never let you fall

Stand beside me

I'll come whenever you call…"

You smile to yourself at the lyrics, it makes you think about how dependable Dean is. How he's willing to drop anything and show up whenever you need him. The melancholy tone of the song makes you miss him even more.

The smell of coffee wafts from the 24/7 coffee shop in the lobby, drawing you up from your seat to answer the siren call. When you get back with a iced coffee, you place the headphones over your ears once more and hit play.

The next two songs you recognize, both Journey songs, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully." You’d heard "Open Arms" before, but you'd never taken the time to listen to the lyrics:

"So here I am

With open arms

Hoping you'll see

What your love means to me

Open Arms…"

When "Faithfully" follows, you can't help but feel a nagging sensation in the back of you mind when you listen to the lyrics of the soft ballad like you're missing something:

"…Lost without you

And being apart ain't

easy on this love affair…

Oh, girl, you stand by me

I'm forever yours

Faithfully…"

You highlight another definition in your textbook while chewing on the inside of your cheek. You did like Journey.

Maybe Dean just wanted to include songs that I liked after the whole 8-minute Moby Dick drum solo fiasco.

When the next song comes on you can tell that it's a Led Zeppelin song, given the familiar tone of the lead singer. You continue to listen, focusing on the chorus:

"Oh, all of my love, all of my love to you, now

All of my love, oh yes,

All of my love to you…"

You sit there for a second in the brief silence that follows the song, before you shrug. Dean always included a Led Zeppelin song in his mixtapes because he wanted to continue your education of music with one of his favorite bands.

The next song begins and you immediately know what it is, "Feel Like Makin' Love" by Bad Company. Dean had included the song in a previous mixtape, not to mention you had heard it before on a tape he played when the two of you were together in his room at the bunker. Your cheeks blush as you remember what you were doing when it played. He had plenty of mixtapes that were devoted to THAT particular subject.

But this time you really sit and listen to the words of the song, highlighter poised high over the page:

"Darling, I don't live without you

And your love…

Darling, if I live without you,

I live without love…"

It makes you think of Dean again. You sigh to yourself wishing that it was already time to go back to see him.

There are actually some nice lyrics in this song. You think making a note in the margins of the textbook perched on your knee. You look back up to survey the empty room. The only patron is still in the corner snoring away.

You sit back in your chair, textbook forgotten and pause the tape. You couldn't help but notice that all the songs had a particular theme and you couldn't understand why.

When you hit play the next two are Van Halen, one of your favorite bands, and you immediately recognize both songs. The quick pace of "So This is Love" washes over you, making your heartbeat spike with the beat of the drums.

"Yes, she knows she's mine

And ain't letting go

So this is love?

Ooh I need you love,

Baby, got to have your love…"

Your breath catches in your chest as "When It's Love" starts to play and the smooth sound of the piano tickles against your skin.

"When it's love

Ooh, when it's love

Hey it'll last forever

When it's love

You and I

We're going to feel this thing together…"

And before you can think about the words the next song follows, "Is This Love?" by Whitesnake.

"I feel my love for you growing stronger

Day by day

And I can't wait to see you again

So I can hold you in my arms

Is this love that I'm feeling?

Is this love or am I dreaming?

This must be love

'Cause it's really got a hold on me…"

The next song that follows is Styx, "Babe" and you had heard it on a previous playlist Styx tape that Dean loaned you when he found out that you'd never heard anything by the band before. But this time the song catches you off guard.

"'Cause I'll be lonely without you

And I'll need your love to see me through

But please believe me, my heart is in your hands

'Cause I'll be missing you

Babe, I love you…"

You sit there in the silence that follows "Babe," unable to stop the rapid beat of your heart recognizing the familiar theme with all of the other songs on the mixtape and unable to stop focusing on the words of the song. You take a sip of your iced coffee, tapping your highlighter against your textbook while trying to gather your thoughts. But you couldn't focus on anything on the page. Your thoughts turn to the funny name that Dean decided to call the mixtape.

It's just a coincidence. Dean made another mixtape with songs that he wanted to share with me-

And then the Jim Croce song, "I'll Have to Say I Love You In a Song," comes back on. And you understand. It was exactly what Dean was doing. He was saying "I love you" the only way he knew how.

You look at the label of the cassette again, running your thumb over the writing. You thought that the "In Case I Do Something Stupid" title Dean wrote, meant listen to the tape whenever he pissed you off for being careless on a hunt, but you realize the title referred to if Dean hurt you, if he broke your heart somehow along the way, the tape was a reminder and a confession of his love. A reminder that he wasn't going to give you up, and that he was going to fix it the best way he could.

*****************************************

Dean POV

He tapped his pen anxiously against the ancient text as he laid across his bed, glancing every few seconds at the dark phone on his left.

You still hadn’t called.

It’d been three days since you said you’d listen to the mixtape, three days of absolute agony. Dean sighed looking back at the text but he couldn’t focus on any of the words.

What if she listened to it and didn’t love me? What if that’s why she wasn’t calling? He thought to himself, frown deepening.

He’d thought about saying it to you a million times, almost said it on the phone three days ago, but he was afraid. Dean didn’t like admitting that, but it was true. His fear that you would reject his declaration of love kept him from whispering the three little words that he’d wanted to say from the moment you’d met and patched him up two years ago. He'd never said it before, but he'd never wanted to say it to anyone before he met you.

He glances back at his phone hopefully as the screen illuminates, but it's only a notification from his email. It was past six am, but every time Dean tried to go to sleep all he could think about was you, you and the fact that you hadn't called or texted.  Dean taps the pen on the book again, as his heart continues to sink.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t I just say it to her? I should call and tell her right now- Dean picks up his phone, but then puts it down.

Because what if you had listened to the tape and this was your way of avoiding him. What if you’d never call him back and that was it? What if this was your way of saying that you didn't love him and you didn't know how to get around the awkwardness of calling to tell him that you didn't?

His heart seized in his chest to think that. His mind began to circle the drain again, thinking of all the things he said to you the night that you told him that you wanted him. He had been surprised of course. You were so different than him, so warm and full of life that it made him feel like he’d swallowed the sun whenever he was around you. He didn't realize that you'd wanted him as much as he wanted you, in fact, half the time Dean believed that he didn't deserve to be with someone like you, not after all the things he'd done.

Dean rolls over on his back to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, tracing the cracks in the metal and the familiar patches of rust, hoping for sleep to give him some relief.

But he can't, all he can think about is you.

Dean remembers his younger years, his years of stringing women along and flirting with whatever caught his eye. But you made him better man and that's why he loved you. You knew him better than anyone else, saw his flaws, allowed him to be open and vulnerable for the first time. You didn't make him feel like less of a man when he expressed emotions and you allowed him to break. Dean couldn't wait to see you again, because when he was with you, he didn't feel the albatross hanging around his neck.

A loud, frantic knocking at his door stirs him from his thoughts.

"I'm not in the mood Sammy." Dean grumbles. He throws his muscular forearm over his eyes to shut out the light above and to staunch the flow of self-deprecating thoughts.

The knocking persists.

Dean sighs loudly, before standing from his bed and walking to the solid metal door, his hotdog pajama pants swishing against his ankles.

"I said I'm not-" Dean looks up where Sam's face usually would be, but sees nothing.

What?

Then he drops his gaze and he sees you. Your cheeks are flushed bright red, hair blown back away from your face in tangles, wearing Dean's favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug you so tight that it makes him have a hard time focusing. Your smile breaks something in his chest, spreading warmth and comfort through his body like a wildfire.

Dean can't remember the last time he felt comfort before he met you. When you were with him it felt like home, something that he was missing for so long in his life.

"Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing he-" He barely gets the words out before you throw yourself at him. Dean stumbles back with the force of your tackle as your lips find his, arms wrapping around the back of his neck to grip his bare shoulders and pull his face further down to yours.

Dean falls backward on the bed with you on top of him, the thick volume pressing into his back painfully, but he doesn't feel it all he's aware of is you. How your body feels on top of his, how your lips move together as one, and the soft sounds you make into his mouth when he deepens the kiss and drags his hands down to your hips.

You pull back out of breath, lips bright pink. "I listened to it. I'm so sorry it took me so long."

"You did?" Dean's hands are comfortably seated on top of your hips, squeezing just enough that he knows you're here, you're real, and he didn't fall asleep.

"Yeah, and I didn't want to say this on the phone." Your eyes are bright. "I love you too Dean."

Dean's heart skips a beat, an uncontrollable smile shining from his face with your confession. He can't remember a single solitary moment in which he'd felt so much love, comfort, and happiness surging beneath his skin.

"You do?" He didn't mean to ask it, but the little voice was back spreading doubt.

"Of course I do. It's impossible not to." You lean down to kiss him again, your fingertips flitting over his muscular torso in a way that makes pins and needles trace in their wake. "But I'd like to hear you say it." Your forehead presses against his, hair tickling his cheeks.

"I love you y/n." Dean whispers. He watches the way your blush swells over your cheeks, smile widening with his words. And all he wants is to make you smile like that for the rest of his life, to bask in your glow because you are the sun.

Dean secures his hand at the back of your head and draws you down to him, losing himself in the warmth of your love and the soft promise of what tomorrow would bring.

**********************************************

Thank You For Reading!

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[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 1: nostalgia

ao3 link for additional author's notes | playlist | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye.'--- ' It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I'm thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name]

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)'

word count: ~5k; tws: none for now

2-4-2015

Dear Fushiguro Tsumiki, 

How are you today? I’m so sorry that we haven’t talked in so long. 

Forgive me for asking so many questions in this letter— I know too little about writing them; my mother is the one who asked me to write this saying that it would help me keep in touch with my friends or write better (either of the two, I can’t quite remember). 

Between an urban area or a rural area, which would you prefer? I’ve had to go all around the place because of my mother and I’m still all the way in Tanegashima now. If you were to go from Tokyo to where I am, you’d have to either go for a drive lasting more than 20 hours or book a three hour flight. 

I’ve only stayed in the city once— that was when we were still in the same school, and we could all fit in my aunt’s apartment since my father was outstationed for the whole year. But I digress. Personally I prefer the city. It all feels so modern, and so much less empty than how it’s like here on this little island. I mean, we have the space centre, so I can always visit that, but after the third or fourth time you’d probably get a little bored of it too. 

I wish I could go to Tokyo again one day, though. I’d definitely take the time to visit you, too. I read on a pamphlet once of how pretty everything gets in Tokyo during winter time, especially during Christmas. We don’t really celebrate Christmas here but the pamphlet reminded me of that one December when we spent it at my aunt’s, we ate lots of KFC and had a little party while my aunt sang songs and drank enough alcohol to prove she had a liver of steel a million times over. 

It’s nice to reminisce on these things, and it’s nice to reminisce on when we were still there too. I know I never told you this enough, but I was so happy when you walked up to me on the playground that day and asked if you wanted to be friends. I really, really liked your hair and wanted to ask you the same. I was just too shy to do it, and thought that if I would I’d end up messing things up and mortifying myself. I miss that and you and I miss 2010 and I miss Tokyo, and walking back from school with you and Megumi (you were like my cool older sister), and I really, really miss doing each other’s hair. It was the most joyful I’d ever been in my then 8 years of life and every day was a new fragment of happiness to keep in my heart like a picture in a locket. 

Now I really want to go there again, and maybe go to the Shinjuku-Gyoen, or see the lights at night. I wish I could stay for a whole year and see how the trees can change from being highlighted cherry blossom pinks, to lush greens with summer dew on them, to golden ginkgo leaves. I’d keep them with me, too. I hope you can take me there one day and we can see everything together again. My apologies if I’m asking too much of you. 

Also, how is Megumi? I miss him too. Is he the way he was, still? Is everything okay between you and him, still? Unlike elementary school, the boys in junior high are all taller than the girls, so since we’re the same age do you think he’d be taller than me too? Is he taller than you, or are you still one of the tallest girls in junior high like how you were in elementary school? 

It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I’m thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name] 

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?) 

28-2-2011 

The train to the airport is arriving in a minute, and you’re sure your mother won’t let you just wait for the next one, so you’re stuck clutching your little luggage bag as you look at Tsumiki and Megumi, that inseparable pair, and their snowy-haired “benefactor” (whatever that means. You think he’s more like their father sometimes, though). 

Even if you knew it was inevitable and that this day would eventually come, especially with your leaving Tokyo being pulled even earlier than you thought it would, a part of you pretended that you’d still get to stay with them for a little while longer. In Tokyo you’d solidified your place and built your roots— you had friends, were doing alright in school and had even begun to be less anxious about everything. Now you’d be uprooted again, you thought as your fists trembled, Now you’d be back to square one. 

2011 had started as a busy year— your father had begun preparations to move somewhere else where you and your mother could follow him and the three of you would be together again. It was busy for Tsumiki, too, who had more school matters to tend to due to her being one of the best, most well-rounded students in her year (you didn’t know much of the details). 

…it had also begun with you seeing a dog when you were alone with Megumi once. It had these unique markings on its head, with alabaster fur and jaundice-hued eyes. And Megumi then had a panicked look in his eye, asked how and why you could see them as well as whether you’d seen them before, which you suppose caused him to be busier after that, too. Tsumiki and Megumi’s benefactor visited you and your mother the night after, asking to speak with your mother and your mother alone. He paused before you, almost shocked, you supposed, but you couldn’t see through his pitch black sunglasses (he was one weird guy, seriously— pitch black sunglasses? Really?). To which she frowned, as the man uttered that you could be a “window”, but that you could still be able to use “cursed energy”, or something. You’d heard of neither of those, and weren’t able to eavesdrop or discern anything else they’d said. 

Then nobody else mentioned the dog anymore. 

If you questioned any of them, you’d only be told that the dog was a stray, and that those markings must have been a particularly special birthmark. Yet you knew it was all a lie, but after multiple tries you gave up on wondering. 

When you’d first learned you’d be moving yet again, you cried and screamed for your mother to let you stay, and for what felt like hours. After relaying this to Tsumiki, she just put her hand on yours before hugging you— always wise, always kind, always smiling, you can’t say this enough about her. Megumi patted your back before she pulled him in as well, and for once he didn’t shove her hand away. You couldn’t even bother to be confused at that— you just continued to weep as Tsumiki comforted you, whispering, “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to talk to you, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch when I can. And even if we don’t, we’ll always be friends, okay? So we’ll meet again someday, don’t forget that, okay, [Name]?” 

A day after that Megumi told you to stay safe. Nearly ordered you to swear you’d stay safe and protected, always. He said that the world was dangerous since it was full of dangerous creatures and people who could kill you at any moment, but as long as you were on an island like the one you were moving to, you’d be fine. You furrowed your brow at that as he held your hand and felt him squeeze it— subconsciously, most likely. 

“Well,” Tsumiki starts, a tinge of sadness in her tone, her eyes slightly swollen. Megumi’s expression is unreadable but his fists are balling the fabric of his shirt and his leg is shaking. It makes you want to sob and cling to both of them and you know if you did they wouldn’t ever let go, “I guess this is goodbye, [Name]…” 

Before you realise it, tears start pooling in your eyes and soon they’re trickling down your face uncontrollably, just like the day when you’d first met her. “We’ll still be friends, right?” You won’t leave me, right? 

“Mhm!” Tsumiki smiles— she was always smiling, always, even when she was about to cry along with you. Her lip was trembling and for a second you swore you could detect that in the ever-stoic Megumi, too. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. We’ll be friends forever, so we’ll surely see each other soon enough,” Tsumiki assures you, close to sniffling, “We made a promise to always be friends, right? So you’ll see the two of us again in just a few years’ time no matter what.” 

“Okay,” you sniff, “I’ll see the two of you when we’re all grown up, and… and I’ll be taller, too! I promise I’ll visit Tokyo next time!” 

“...that’s good,” Megumi says, his leg still shaking discreetly, joining you and Tsumiki’s conversations in a way he’d rarely done. 

Tsumiki nods, “Yeah. That sounds really, really good, [Name]. Wait—! Let me give you something. You can call it a gift!” 

She takes it off, and her hair unfurls like flowers from bouquets after they’re untied, placing the red-ribbon hair tie securely in your palm. 

“Your hair tie?” you ask, “No, it’s okay—!” 

“Please, just… just keep it, okay? It’s a gift from Megumi and I to you, [Name]!”

Then you’re in her embrace again as you clutch the hair tie, while after a little hesitation Megumi joins in and you swear you can see their benefactor smiling— not just the smile he had when you first saw him, this one in particular seemed proud, fatherly, the same way your father did when you told him about how you were able to read through a whole book with beginners’ kanji in it. 

“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. 

The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye. 

15-3-2011

The phone continues to vibrate in your hands as you anxiously tap your foot on the ground. You’re sure it’s going to end up sore. Frantically, you press it almost forcefully to your ear when it stops ringing. “Tsumiki, Megumi!” 

“[Name]!” 

“Are you alright? I saw the footage of the earthquake on the news, are you safe? Were you and Megumi evacuated, are you all safe? Please tell me whether you’re safe—!” 

“Megumi, it’s [Name]!— Don’t worry, we’re safe now.” 

Relieved, you sigh, “That’s good, that’s good,” you say, “It must’ve been really scary…” 

“Mhm— everything started shaking as if we were on some boat in the middle of the sea and the waves started getting wilder, and it was like the ground was rumbling.” 

You shiver. “That sounds so scary…— I’m glad you’re safe, though. I don’t know why stuff like that has to happen so quickly sometimes, and so suddenly, too. And it takes so many people along with it. I thought I could’ve lost the two of you.” 

“Well, we made a promise,” she tells you, “So don’t worry. —Oh! Megumi wants to talk to you. Here, Megumi.” 

“Are you alright?” he inquires, “Have you seen anything scary in the countryside?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t seen anything. Why?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted to know.” Now that sounds like a bold-faced lie. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” 

-20-5-2011-

“Hello? Is this Tsumiki? I need to ask if she’s alright—” 

“Oh, little [Name]?” a man says over the phone— the benefactor, you remember, “So sorry, she’s pretty busy right now… call next time, okay?”

-21-5-2011-

“Hello? This is the Fushiguro house contact, right?” 

“Sorry, Tsumiki’s busy at the moment. Me too, actually.” 

“Megumi!” you smile, bringing the phone closer to your cheek in excitement, “How is everything?” 

“Good, to say the least,” he replies, “We’re just a bit busy. Sorry, but I’ve to hang up soon.” 

“Oh, oh-okay! Bye bye, Megumi!” 

“Bye.” 

-13-7-2011-

“Hi, [Name] speaking. I called twice last month and a few days ago. Are you still busy?” 

“A little— well, Tsumiki is,” the voice on the other side says. You know it’s not Tsumiki, not yet at least. “She’s really sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I don’t want to bother any of you either, so thank you for telling me!” 

“Well, if you want I can try to get Tsumiki right now,” the voice offers. 

“Really? Thank you so much!”

The pause that ensues after is followed by the fifteen happiest minutes of your life since February this year. 

“[Name]? Is that you?” 

“Yeah! Hi, Tsumiki!” 

She gasps slightly in the way that children do when in awe or when someone finds out they’ll be eating their favourites for lunch. “Hello!” 

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m good! Really busy, though, so I’m really sorry if I can’t call you as often… but everything’s been alright. You?” 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head even if she can’t see it, “I’m good, too!” 

-18-8-2011- 

You don’t know when you started heading to the phone and keying in the number, doing everything but ringing it. You’re busy, too— you’ve less time now to ring them up, and the last time you did, Tsumiki still apologised but sounded a little distant, just that one bit too busy to be able to tend to you. One step farther away from you. And Megumi was seldom ever the one by the phone. Still, you could understand why. You supposed they always had something going on that you never understood or never asked about. That would explain the incident with the unusually marked dog. No, they weren’t sketchy, but there was definitely something they must have known about the world that you didn’t. 

Now you don’t know if you can even muster the courage to talk to you or write to you. The distance between you has widened exponentially and you hesitate just a bit more every time you hold the phone and press its buttons. 

Then the phone rings, and after you hesitate once more, you put it down. 

9-2-2016

If there’s one thing you remember from about half of your life ago, it’s that your first crush was probably Fushiguro Megumi. 

You’re honestly surprised it wasn’t actually his sister. That over Tsumiki and her abundant compassion and beautiful soul, you’d feel your heart leaping and overflowing with warmth because of him instead. Constantly angry, never for once not irascible, always serious and aloof. You’re sure that if you’d met him now instead of back then you’d find him some asshole who you just wouldn’t be able to understand— why’d he always have to seem so angry? 

Yet it was a struggle, trying to understand him. It really was. Maybe you didn’t really have to understand anyone, much less Megumi. He never ceased being so serious and easily angered but you could tell from his eyes that he must have not intended to hurt anyone; half of the time you understood him: like when you could see that glint in your eyes that replaced what would have been a ghost of a smile on his lips, the other half of the time you didn’t: like whenever he shoved Tsumiki’s hand off his shoulder, and Tsumiki just continued to smile. Now, that really confused you. You’d thought about that for days before coming to the conclusion that you’d probably never find an answer. 

Conversely, Tsumiki was kind and patient. If you’d met her now you’d have fallen in love with her immediately and she probably wouldn’t even notice in that terribly goodhearted, unknowingly innocent way of hers. 

In retrospect it should have been more obvious: he scowled at you and if it were anyone else who did so to you back then you would have merely cried and closed in on yourself, yet you never did when it came to him. You just continued to stick to him like those kind of glue residuals left behind after you take a sticker off a table or a price tag from the back cover of a book. You were probably annoying like that. And to some degree you suppose he’d given you his own form of special treatment by letting you do so anyway. 

If you’d known what you were feeling back then you probably wouldn’t have admitted anything, anyway. Probably you would’ve kept it all within you, quiet and unnoticed, trying to drown yourself into life’s backdrop like an insect engulfed in resin. 

But you’re older now, more mature and slightly more outspoken; you’re going to try to be confident and meet someone, this one person alone who you can only meet now without his sister there just because you used to have a crush on him and— 

You don’t think you’d be able to admit anything either. Yet to yourself he’s the first. He always will be, and you’re not sure whether that sounds pathetic, miserable or disgustingly, hopelessly delusional, considering you don’t even want to pursue anything yourself. 

It’s going to be Valentine's Day soon and you’re quite sure that most of your school friends are making Valentine’s chocolates for their boyfriends or their crushes. In all truthfulness, you might as well not feel blue about it— you’re 14, that’s still pretty young, you don’t have to rush things like relationships or confessions through and you’ve been told to focus on your studies instead— but the thought that you’re going to be alone is still kind of depressing. 

10-4-2015

Dear [Name], 

Don’t apologise— it’s partially my fault. I ended up being really busy that year due to something we had to deal with. 

But anyway, it’s been so long! I miss you every day as well! 

Megumi and I’ve been great, and I hope you’ve been too. It’s been a long four years since we last talked (it’s already 2015, how time flies!), but you still sound the same. It’s like you’ve got better handwriting now, though! 

Aside from the fact that I’ve been swarmed with stuff to do (I joined the student council, yay!), junior high has been okay, to say the least— and hey, I’m still pretty tall, you know? Plus, a lot of the teachers say I’m surprisingly tall for my age, heheh. Things are going the same as always. I’ve got accustomed to the loads of homework we have now too. But it’s like Megumi’s been having a problem lately— he’s getting into fights, beating people up, things like that. I wouldn’t call him a delinquent, though: moreso someone who beats the delinquents up instead. I know what he wants to do and why he does it, but I don’t want him to fight other people and get himself or others hurt. 

I’ve tried to tell him this before, to be honest. I’ve tried it many times but each time I must sound more annoying to him than the last— I don’t want to force him to do anything, though, and I understand that part of why he does this is because of his own ideals. I just want him to not raise his hand against others. So I have to resort to this. 

Sorry for spilling it all on paper like this… I just wanted someone to talk about this to, and I thought you would listen to me, I suppose. Sometimes it’s hard— sometimes I really do feel like his parent instead of his sister and it makes me feel so lonely, really. 

Oh dear, what do I do to make him hear me, seriously… 

Anyway, I totally get what you mean— I’ve stayed in Tokyo all my life, but I’m sure that if I was uprooted and had to live somewhere else I’d have lots of trouble. Tokyo to me is my home, and my whole life is here. Moving somewhere else would probably shatter it completely, I think. 

And please visit when you can! Maybe if your mother allows it, we can come to us instead, one day! And it’s not like we can’t visit you either. Our door’s always open. Once this school year ends, perhaps we could stay with you for a night or two! (If you would have us, of course). 

Besides that, I don’t really have much to say. I did have a good day today, though. I went out with some of my friends from school after our classes ended and we ate some donuts. They were so tasty!!! Honestly, whenever you have the time, I really recommend going there with some of your friends after school!! 

Regardless, I think this is all I have to say in this letter. I promise I’ll try my utmost best to always set aside time to write to you!!! Get some good rest whenever you can, okay? Miss you always! 

Sincerely, 

Tsumiki 

(P.S.: Do you have an email or a phone number of your own yet? If so, please shoot me an email or give me a call! I can reply more there since I have those now and can use those instead of always relying on our house contact.  You can keep the hair tie, too, by the way! It can be like a memoir (*^▽^*). And it’s for you, after all!) 

13-3-2015 

You remember seeing a little dog one time back in your hometown when you were around six or seven years old. 

It was a tiny little thing, with the fluffiest black fur you’d ever stroked, and though every second it was barking louder than your mother could ever handle, it was adorable and seldom threatened to bite anyone. And it liked you— it never barked at you and let you shower it with pets despite how much it had frightened you initially. 

He was irritable but calm, someone who frowned and scolded but never raised his hand against anyone— not even that “benefactor” of his who you’d never heard him talk about without mentioning how much he’d like to punch him someday. You genuinely don’t think he’s ever done so, either. He doesn’t seem like the type: from what you remember, if he were to think he’d hurt someone he knew or evidently cared about— as much as he’d like to deny this, however— he would blame everything on himself, you think. He’d feel the guilt rake through his body and lacerate his skin, piercing through his ribs. Yet he’d keep living, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it; he’d be so quietly miserable. 

That’s what he was like: quietly miserable. There’s a certain sorrow in the way he does things; you could tell this from the start despite how young and inept at articulating yourself you were at that age. But you’d always known and sensed that there was a sadness running through him, coursing through his veins, one that you could feel like heat from the warm blood beneath one’s skin. 

Today you wonder if he’s the same, if he still seems like the saddest person you’ve ever met, if he still seems like he would have been the saddest and most doleful had he not always tried to act as if otherwise, living defiantly against it. If he hadn’t always been able to keep living while suffering quietly like a child with nothing but muffled sobs in the desolate corner of an empty classroom. 

But at eight you thought maybe you could liken Megumi to a puppy. Or something like that. He certainly reminded you of that all-bark-no-bite puppy from the past. You wondered how it was now, whether it was still being fed and taken care of. 

Tsumiki was vastly different, though— the kindest girl you ever knew, with neat, soft hair and the type of handwriting all the girls in her class wanted to have. She was always smiling, always kind— you thought she was immensely wise for a girl around your age; you always wanted to be as amazing of a person as she was: always hardworking, always clever, always kind and forgiving, no matter what. 

…you don’t even know why you’re thinking about some kids you met once who you’ll probably never see again. Just two kids who you never kept in touch with. Or at least never tried to. You had their contact— you tried talking to Tsumiki a few times, but for some reason she could only ever reply once or twice (she apologised profusely for not being available any time she picked up as well), and as time passed the way the distance between the two of you grew, by the summer of 2011 you’d begun holding a telephone close to your ear without keying any number in it, as if clinging onto it would provide you with any sort of closure. 

You miss them, though: smiley Tsumiki and frowny Megumi. 

Leaning back into the mattress, you trace your fingers over the hair tie on your wrist, fingers rubbing against each thread of fabric in its red ribbon. 

Could you even talk to them or face them anymore after ceasing contact with them for years, though? Heck, you don’t even know whether they’re alive or not. Would they be angry at you? Disappointed? Feeling as if they’d been wronged or left behind? 

Still, you miss them. You really do. 

Your mother’s calls bring you downstairs, and you eat until your stomach is full before washing your plate. The only other step in your routine now is to head up and retreat to your room again. 

“Come down, [Name], could you?” your mother says, interrupting your trip back up, “I just want to talk to you for a second.” 

Now, that… that was a bit strange. Your mother rarely ever asked you to talk to her. You spent enough time with each other as is, doing almost everything else besides being in school or at work in the same house, even if it never meant asking about each others’ day. It just was never part of the conversations you had with each other. You’d ask where she wanted you to throw things or how you could cook something, but she’d never go out of her own way to learn about your own day since you were about nine or ten, and it wasn’t like you ever did either. Perhaps she was trying to make the effort to? 

“What is it?” 

“You like writing, honey?” 

“I mean, I guess so?” you reply hesitantly, “As long as it’s not for school or my grades don’t rely that heavily on a task, writing can be pretty fun.” 

“Good, good,” she remarks, nodding her head, “Actually, I recently found something you may be interested in online. You still have your friend and her brother’s house contact, right?” she questioned. Instantly you know which friend she’s referring to and say yes— how could you not, after all? “Ever heard of pen pals, darling?” 

Which brings you to where you are now: your mother leaning by the door frame of your room as you’re hunched over the table writing the letter. Surprisingly, she really seemed to care about this, even preparing the prettiest paper you’d ever seen, with pastel pink patterns printed on the paper’s edges, and though you struggled with what to say it first the words have begun spilling out of you despite how late it’s started to get. 

You wonder whether she’ll reply. She probably will, though, but a fragile part of yourself surmises that she may not, and although you’d like to talk to her again you fear that because of the time that’s passed things may just not be the same anymore. You wonder if the years have made the three of you infinitely different than your eight and nine year old selves. 

But that was growth, right? So you had to grow and learn how to talk to her, learn how to face her without thinking that she’d be angered or frustrated, or anything like that. And even if she did, even if it would hurt you, you’d be able to live. The world would keep spinning and all that would be lost were two friends who you lived without for about four years, ceteris paribus. Who could claim that the seventy or so years after those four would be any different? 

That’s why you took the pen and paper and started to write, telling yourself you’d face it and finish the letter no matter what. Even if it was short. Even if it wouldn’t be enough to express four years’ worth of unspoken words, from funny things that had happened in school, or what you thought of whatever was on the news, or how your parents had gotten you a new phone. 

As your eyelids gradually grow heavier, you watch how you fill two whole pages in the handwriting you have— you wish it could have been at least a tad bit more similar to Tsumiki’s, who never needed any boxes or lines to write completely straight and uniform for each character as if copying excerpts from finely printed books to the letter. 

Soon, you’re reaching the end of the letter, determined to keep the handwriting legible even if you feel like plopping your head on the table and falling asleep— to some degree you still need it to look presentable, after all. 

“(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)” 

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#it's finally up :) #yayy #take me back (take me with you) #jjk megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fluff #megumi angst #jjk x fem!reader #fem!reader #fushiguro tsumiki #fushiguro megumi #megumi #ruer writes

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Rescue

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven,

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

A/N: Guys this is a very long chapter with a lot going on please put on your seatbelts, settle in, because it gets wild.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific Chapter Warning: R explains the trauma she dealt with as a child, SMUT. Oral (F receiving), Fingering (F receiving), Praise, Dirty talk, partially protected sex (F on the shot) Aaron has a slight breeding kink, cream pie,

Present Day

David waves one final time before slipping into his car, the parking deck of the quantico office quiet and still in the late hours. It’s nearing 12am, you’re mentally taxed, your brain begging to shut down but you can’t stop fidgeting in the passenger seat beside Aaron.

Aaron’s face is hard set, his eyes gauging your every move. “What do you want to do?” His voice is soft, filling the quiet cab, “I can take you to your neighbor’s if that would make you feel better…” There’s another option he would like to give you, his own nerves firing in overtime, afraid to let you leave his sight.

You’re staring out the window at the concrete walls, you feel hallow, like something inside your body has shattered and you’ve lost all of the important pieces. “I…” you like your lips, trying to find your voice. “Anna said she was okay with Bruce, right?”

“Yes.” Aaron draws out the word, searching for your face in the darkened glass, barely able to make out your reflection. You look torn down, the strong woman he has known chipped away to reveal a scared little girl, running from whatever darkness haunts her past. “We can go wherever you need to.”

“I’d… I just…” you take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have only been a few hours between what happened and now, and each one has been filled with flourished activity. You haven’t had time to stop and process what has happened, your brain now catching up to your body. Your head throbs slightly, the few cuts in your palms sting when you close your fists, your eyes hurt from crying so much. But the worst of it all is the war raging in your mind, the struggle of keeping it all in or letting it all out a constant battle that you seem to be losing more and more control over.

“Why don’t we take a ride?” The suggestion breaks through your thoughts, making you turn towards Aaron. His face is so soft, an expression you’ve never seen before, and you aren’t sure if you want to hate it or long for it.

“Okay…”

And so he does just that. He drives into the city, the street lights zipping by, barely illuminating dark houses and empty streets. Aaron drives with no real destination in mind, taking random turns, navigating the roads as you sit in silence. Eventually one of his hands come to rest beside your thigh, the flash of light on his watch catching your attention.

It’s a reminder.

An offer.

Salvation.

An hour passes in stark silence before you take your first deep breath, the noise loud in the small space. “Thank you… for saving me.” You force your voice to steady out, grappling for the mask you so carefully constructed all those years ago to shield the rubble of your true form.

“Do not thank me.” Aaron responds, rolling to a stop at a traffic light. You’re unfamiliar with this part of town, but it looks like a nice area with large lawns and small houses. “I just want you to talk to me.”

Your lips press together, glancing down at his large hand. Slowly you let your own hand slip off of your lap, tentatively touching his pinky with yours.

“I… it’s hard… and messy.” You whisper, watching how his fingers twitch but he makes no move to take your hand.

“I understand… but please, let me help you.” The light above suddenly cascades the car in neon green, and Aaron’s drives on, his face stoney and a twinge of desperation in his voice.

You turn your gaze back to the window with a deep breath, the cracks in your soul widening as you speak.

“I… I had a fairly normal childhood when I was younger. Very typical suburban family, my mother stayed home with me while my father worked at a mechanic shop. Happy, picturesque family…” You swallow thickly, choking on the pressure building in your chest. “I was 8 when my mom died… she was hit by a drunk driver and my dad just… he couldn’t handle it. He loved her so much that when she died he snapped. He started drinking and I… he would drink so much that I would find him passed out for hours on end and I was still just a child…”

A dark bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head as you lean back into the seat. “Then one day he seemed to wake up. Instead of being mad at the world and God, things that felt no retribution from his anger, he decided that he needed something that would. Me. The night she died she was on the way home from seeing her mother. It was so late but I missed her, she had been gone for two days. I begged her to come home.”

You can still see that night vividly when you closed your eyes, the old house filled with police officers, the broken sound of your father’s begging screams. The female officer who had taken you to your room to explain that your mother would not be coming home as she sat with you on the floor surrounded by coloring books and stuffed animals.

“He told me my emotions caused everything. That if I had just sucked it up and been strong she would still be with us. He made me believe it, and… I still do to this day. From that moment on he had decided to train me to be better.”

Your fingers inch farther across Aaron’s knuckles, and finally he flips his palm, lacing your fingers through his. The feeling of him squeezing your hand settles your rolling stomach.

“Our house was a fixer upper, the guest bathroom had never been completed so my dad… painted over the small window, put foam over the gaps to the door and threw me in. I…” Your grip tightens, your throat restricting. You look over at Aaron’s normally stoic face and see barely restrained rage. “Hours and hours I’d spend in that room…. As I grew older it grew worse. He’d keep me from school… have me do everything my mother used to do. Clean, make all the meals, laundry. By the time high school rolled around I had missed so much school CPS has been called. The case was dropped in an instance because my dad charmed the woman over, said I was a run away most of the time since my mother died.”

Aarons grip on the wheel is white knuckled, his lips pressed into a hard line as he focuses on the road ahead. “I was beat with a belt that night. It gave me the courage to leave though. From that moment on I worked my ass off to get here… I just… I didn’t want there to be another kid like me… I know what my father did was wrong but it’s so ingrained in my head that every emotion I let slip through could be my undoing, could be the reason the next bad thing happens to me or those I care for… I can’t… I can’t let that happen again.”

You glance over to Aaron, who’s silence is becoming unnerving as his thumb strokes over your own. Finally he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles for a long moment before he speaks.

“I’m sorry. I know those words do little for what you have been through… I also know you don’t want to be pitied, and I’m not going to do that. You are extremely strong, Y/n. You have over come something that most people would let consume their lives, steer them to destitution.” He licks his lips and glances your way briefly, noting the solemn look on your face. “You know my opinion on your emotions, and I think you’re wrong about believing they can only bring you harm or failure. You’ve done so much involving them already you just haven’t realized it yet.

You have accomplished things that others only dream of, you alone and no one else. Your father played no role in this, he didn’t train you to become the woman you are, that was there all along. And I know deep in my heart that your mother is watching you with pride.” Your heart, the damaged organ that it is, swells from the praise and the thought of your mother. Your eyes burn and you’re surprised you have anything left to let out. But then again it’s years of buildup all coming to a head.

“Is he the reason for these?” Aaron gestures to your thigh, and you nod slightly.

“He threw me into the bathroom once and some of the tiles were broken… I can’t really feel the area anymore but I have what I guess you would call a phantom pain every now and again.”

Aaron brings your hand back for another gentle kiss, the delicate action such a contrast to the gleam of fury in his dark eyes. “My brave girl.” And for whatever reason, those three words break you. Maybe it’s because Aaron is seeing you, and not a facade, maybe it’s the perception of the fact that you are brave, or maybe it’s the simple claim that indicates so much more than ownership.

Comfort.

Safety.

Someone to rely on when you need it the most.

You clamp your other hand over your mouth as you sob, leaning into his shoulder as you feel everything fall into you all at once. Letting another person hold the weight of your world for just a little bit.

Aaron turns into a parking lot, into the first spot he can find before killing the engine and wrapping you in a tight hug. The consul is digging into your ribs, his hold is a little suffocating, but you bury your face into his chest anyways.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Are you sure?”

Once you had finally calmed down Aaron offered you his guest room for the night. You were an hour away from home but only 20 minutes from his. After a long moment of hesitation you agreed, much to his visual relief. But now standing in front of his door you feel your reservations creeping back in.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He pushes the door open and steps into a dark room. Your breath unintentionally hitches, your eyes scanning the deep darkness until light floods the area. “I have a security system installed. We will get you the same one for your home.”

The beeping of the alarm would have went completely unnoticed had Aaron not said anything as he fiddles with the control panel on the other wall. He turns once it goes silent, watching you as you linger in the doorway, doubt and fear waging in your eyes as you scan over his simply furnished apartment.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

He’s warm reassurance makes you feet ease into the room, the door shutting firmly behind you. You’re entire body is rigid, arms slung around your center like you’re holding yourself together with your own white knuckled grip. Aaron bites his lip slight before stepping closer, gesturing to the rooms behind him.

“What would you like to do? Are you hungry?”

You tug slightly at your necklace, opening your mouth only to find the words are stuck deep in your throat.

“Y/n?” He steps closer and your eyes snap to his.

“I… I don’t know what I want to do… my head is pounding and I just… I can’t figure it out, I can’t decide.” Your stare is helpless, eyes flickering back and forth between his brown ones. It’s your way of asking for his help without letting the words out because if you do you’re scared of what you will become after that.

Something in his face shifts, it’s ever so slight but you can see it in the way he shrugs out of his coat, tossing it on the back of the couch. You can see it in the way his shoulders roll back and the lines around his eyes soften. “I know baby.” He closes the distance between you, cupping your face between burning hands and you physically feel the tension draining from your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up okay? We will go from there.”

Aaron leads you through the apartment, flicking on the lights as he goes, he walks you into his bedroom, a space as simply furnished as the rest of his home; and towards his joint bathroom. “Why don’t you wash your hands and I’ll find you something to wear to bed?”

Even though he is phrasing everything as a question you know he’s giving you the guidance you need, not making you over think or pick what needs to be done first. You nod your head and he gives you a soft smile before ducking out of the restroom.

You glance at your hands, the nurses had cleaned your hands enough to remove the shards of glass but there is still blood caked between your fingers and under your nails. Turning on the water you test the temperature before easing your hands under the flow. A soft hiss leaves your lips at the sting but you find yourself leaning into it.

You don’t notice Aaron standing in the doorway, watching as your hands tremble under the steaming water. “Here.” You jump faintly at the sudden rasp of his voice, finding him in the mirror.

He steps by you, his hand skimming your waist and your attention zeros in on the touch. Aaron grabs a rag from the shelf over the toilet, gently pushing you from in front of the sink. He wets the rag and turns to you, reaching for your hands without another word and begins to wipe away the blood and grime.

His hands hold yours softly, and you never knew he could be so gentle. Your eyes can’t leave his face, the concentration making lines appear between his brow, his eyes squinting slightly.

Aaron glances up at the feeling of you watching him and your cheeks flush, having been caught but still unable to look away. Once finished with your hands he rinses the rag, cupping your face once more as he runs the rough material over your cheek, cleaning away the stains of makeup.

Your eyes flutter, something in your body thrumming to life with each swipe of the cloth. “Aaron…” You don’t even mean to say his name, the syllables just fall so easily from your lips and he stills, eyes boring into yours.

“Sweet girl.” He breathes back, and your insides twist sharply. The tension is undeniable, the feeling of him so close forcing your body to react. You inch closer, your eyes dropping to his lips, watching as a smile curves the corner of his mouth.

The rag falls to the counter, his hands pulling you in the rest of the way. You’re nearly on your tiptoe, your hands finding his arms to steady yourself. He brushes a soft kiss against your lips and you whimper, the sound high in your throat and he breaks, deepening the kiss with hunger.

Electricity shoots through your body, pinging off of every nerve, setting them all ablaze. His hands move to your waist, bunching up your shirt until his palms meet your warm skin, and you shudder at the feeling. Aaron moans, the sound deep in his chest and you whimper as it travels through your bones straight to your core.

Pressing you backwards, Aaron walks you out of the restroom, hands wandering the plains of your back. You stumble against him, letting him lead you to the bed where the backs of your knees brush the king sized mattress. Your heart pounds in your chest, but when Aaron breaks the kiss to look down at you, he finds no hesitation in the dewy set of your eyes.

“Can I?” His voice is husky as he tugs at your sweater and you offer a small nod. He kisses you again, knocking the air from your lungs as he helps you pull your arms free, backing away to slip the cotton over your head and throw it to the floor. You’re in nothing fashionable, a simple black t-shirt bra but the hunger in his gaze is undeniable. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your hands find his chest, going for the buttons of his white shirt only for Aaron to grab your wrists, pulling your hands to his lips to kiss your palms. “Aaron I…”

“Do you know how hard it was to work today? Knowing you’re just a few feet away from me?” You shake your head, swaying slightly on your feet. “All I was able to think about was you. How your lips taste, how you moan my name, the way you looked underneath me in the morning.”

All of those things felt like a lifetime ago, and as his teeth nipped your skin just over the pulse in your wrist, you realize you would do anything to relive it. “I need you.” Your voice is a desperate, soft plea; your eyes alight with need making his lips curl.

“Then let me take care of you.” He whispers, his grip tightening slightly. You lick your lips, his gaze darting down for a breath before snagging your eyes again, there’s so much lust and need swirling in the depths of his brown irises that you find yourself lost in them. “Let me show you how you deserve to be treated, princess.”

“Please.” It’s a soft breath of a word, but it’s all that’s needed.

Aaron kisses you so forcefully that you’re sure your lips will be bruised, but you don’t have time to care as he suddenly pushes you. The bed springs squeak under the sudden impact of your body, the air leaving your lungs in one big whoosh. Aaron’s fingers expertly pop the button of your jeans, and your blood buzzes with excitement as you lift your hips, helping him pull them down and off your legs, taking your shoes and socks with them.

There’s something about the way he is suddenly above you, still fully dress in his work clothes where as you’re laid out scarcely clad in your underwear set, with nothing to hide behind. It’s a display of dominance that sends a rush of wet heat to your center.

Aaron smiles down at you, his hands making their way up your thighs, spreading your legs for you to display the soaked gusset of your grey panties. The moan that rips from his throat makes your stomach clench, your teeth impaling the pink flesh of your lip.

“You are all I have been able to think about,” He whispers, his fingers curling into the band of your panties as he moves to his knees. “And now I finally get to have you.” Aaron pulls your panties down your trembling thighs, laying you bare before him as he slips one of your legs over his shoulder.

His warm breath fans over your soaked lips, your vision going hazy as you prop yourself on an elbow to see. He looks sinful between your thighs, dark eyes looking up at you through darker lashes, his hair tussled, jaw hanging open slightly. The anticipation makes your stomach swoop and the breath in your lungs freeze.

You’re given no warning before he ducks his head, his tongue licking a fat stripe from your entrance and catching on your clit. You gasp at the sensation, your head falling back against the bed. Aaron wraps his arm around your thigh, holding you still as he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, your legs threatening to squeeze his skull.

“Oh fuck…” You moan, your hand finding his short hair and tugging almost painfully, back leaving the bed. Aaron smiles against you, his teeth nipping at your folds before he lazily fucks his tongue into your dripping hole. “Oh god, Aaron…”

“You taste so fucking sweet.” His arm tightens on your thigh, his other hand tracing patterns on the inner skin of the other. You squirm at the feeling, your eyes pinched shut as waves of arousal roll through your body. Aaron’s dark eyes travel up the expanse of your body, seeking your face but he can only see the way your chest rises and falls with each gasping breath, your head tossed back as noises of pleasure fill the room.

His cock pulses in the tight confines of his slacks, the need to feel your wet heat wrapped around his aching member nearly driving him insane.

“Fuck, please Aaron…” You aren’t sure what you are begging for as your orgasm begins to swell under your skin, pulling your muscles taught. A part of you wants to feel embarrassed at how easily he has been able to bring you to the brink, but the sounds of his moans between your legs quickly floods the thought out.

“Cum for me baby, make a mess on my face.” It’s dirty and mind reeling all at once, your jaw going slack as your hips grind up to meet his mouth. Aaron slips two fingers to your opening, gathering the combination of slick and spit before easing into you.

A soft whimper accompanies the sudden intrusion, your hips undulating to take more of his thick digits as your orgasm creeps ever closer. He sets a steady rhythm, slow and deep that leaves stars dancing around your vision and with one final swirl of his tongue as his fingers curl into that spongy spot deep in your walls you break.

Your orgasm rips through your body like a bolt of lightening. Your limbs lock and your back bows up, your lips form a perfect ‘O’ as waves of pleasure crash over you.

“That is, that’s my good girl.” Aaron praises, keeping his pace steady as you moan his name like a prayer. It’s a few more seconds until your body collapses back onto the bed, your fingers falling from his hair taking a strand or two with them. Aaron pulls away, standing back up licking your slick from his fingers with a grumbling groan.

Climbing back up your body he creates a trail of kisses that leave you feeling hot and desperate, a distinct emptiness between your legs as he settles over you. Aaron cups the back of your head, lifting you to meet his bruising kiss. The tangy taste of yourself is heavy on his tongue as he explores your mouth, your still trembling hands finding his back and pulling him closer.

The hard ridge in his slacks presses against your heated, slick core, grinding slowly. You whimper into his mouth, hands trialing up his back, scratching at his shirt. You break away with a gasp. “To… too many clothes.” Going for the small plastic buttons Aaron lets out a soft laugh as your fumble over them.

“Easy princess. All you had to do was ask.” He sits back on his heels, your legs draped over his thighs and you watch mesmerized as his fingers easily work the buttons free, revealing his chest full of dark hair. You manage to twist your arm behind your back, freeing the clasp of your bra and quickly throwing it somewhere in the floor to join the growing pile.

Aaron groans at the sight of you, his mouth watering as he thinks of every spot he wants to cover with bites and bruises. Starting with your breasts. He leans over you, snagging your wrists and pinning them to the bed.

You bite your cheek, surprised that you welcome the weight of him above you, that you like the feeling of him pinning you down, leaving you to his mercy. You find your mind slipping more, every worried thought falling into some unreachable place that can remain in the dark.

Clearing his throat lightly, Aaron licks his lips. “Maybe I should have asked this sooner but… when was the last time you were with someone.?”

An awkward but none the less important question to ask, even if he is seated between your trembling thighs, staring down at your naked body.

A new flush spreads over your cheeks and you shift against the bed, against the hold he has on your wrists. “I… I was in high school.”

A moment of shock steals his features before he can school his face back. “Do you take birth control?”

You squirm again, chewing the inside of your cheek as his thumbs rub over your galloping pulse. “I.. Every three months I go get a shot. It’s better than taking a pill every day that I might forget.” You explain weakly, searching his face.

Aaron nods, shifting his weight on his knees, his cold belt buckle pressing into your thigh. “I can always grab a condom if that makes you feel better.” One hand leaves your wrist but you don’t dare move as he places it on your lower tummy, spreading wide. “But I have to admit, the idea of fucking you full of me is very, very exciting.” Your breath catches, eyes widening and Aaron’s grin turns devilish. “You think so too.”

All you can do is nod slightly, a thrill working through your body that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end, gooseflesh cascading over your skin.

Sitting back, Aaron releases you completely to fiddle with his belt. The brown leather hisses through the belt loops and when he stands he takes his pants and boxers down in one swoop. Your eyes instantly fall to the hard member standing up between his legs and your thighs clench.

His cock is long and thick, the dark hairs at the base trimmed neatly like the rest of him. A few veins run along his shaft, the prominent one on the underside pulsing slightly. He takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, to relieve some of the ache, the mushroom head a light shade of pink.

You whimper at the sight of him, the need in your belly almost painful. “Aaron… I want you.” Your voice is sultry, your eyes glazed over when you finally look at his face. He smiles crookedly as he slinks back onto the bed, his eyebrow cocked.

“You can have me, princess. Every part of me is yours.” The words scorch through your chest right to the very center of your soul and you find your legs falling apart, your hands still gripping the sheets above your head. “Come here.” Instead of covering you with his body, Aaron lays down beside you, turning you so you lay on your side as well.

“What?” He pulls your back flush to his chest, his hand slipping over your thigh and dragging your leg on top of his. You whimper when you feel the smooth heat of his cock glide through your wet folds, your back instinctively arching into him.

Aaron’s arm tucks under your head, his other hand free to roam your body as he rocks his hips, slipping his cock between your folds with ease, gathering your slick. “So wet baby, so ready for me aren’t you?” He breathes, pressing kisses along your shoulder and neck. You whine and press your head back into his shoulder, exposing your neck more. “That’s my girl. Are you going to let me mark you up? Show everyone just who you belong to?”

You nod without a thought in your head, “Y-yes… please Aaron.” He smiles against your skin before nipping the delicate area, turning the skin a deep shade of red as he closes his lips over the spot. You moan loudly, rocking your hips back against his, the steady glide of his cock bumping into your clit driving you wild.

“So fucking pretty.” He whispers and you force yourself to turn your head and look at him. When you do your heart jumps to your throat, his hooded eyes burn with lust but there’s something else swirling just below the surface, something that makes your head groggy and your body melt into his.

“You belong right here.” His voice is deep and rough and it makes your jaw slacken. Your chest squeezes, butterflies erupting in your stomach, beating at you with their wings as his hips draw back. The round head of his cock presses against your entrance, his hand tightening on your hip. “I’m going to enjoy every moment of watching you come undone for me.” He presses forward, stretching you around him and your nails dig into his forearm with a whine. Aaron’s gaze never wavers from yours, caught in the depths of your irises. “Then every moment of piecing you back together.”

Leisurely Aaron rocks his hips, slipping deeper and deeper into your wet heat. Every inch has your back arching, the ridges and bumps rubbing along your walls in the most perfect way. Your eyes slip nearly shut, your breath puffing across his pink lips and your only awareness is of Aaron. How his muscles bunch under your hand, how your body sticks to his from the heat radiating between you both, how his fingers dig into your flesh guiding your hips back to meet his as he sinks home.

Never have you felt this full, the stretch burns and it boarders on painful but you wouldn’t want it any other way. Ecstasy skirts down Aaron’s spine, making his own groan slip free and his cock twitch. You jump at the feeling, your breath wheezing in your lungs and he smiles, repeating the motion.

“Aaron… oh fuck.” It’s all you can manage, head falling back into the crevice of his shoulder, one arm wrapping up around his that pillows your head. His name is a soft, sweet beg and it has Aaron’s stoicism crumpling.

“Tell me what you need, princess. I’ll give you everything.” His breath is warm against your ear, your eyes starting to water for reasons you can’t explain the longer he stays seated inside you. His hand continuously strokes your side as you fight for your words, kisses littering your jaw as the seconds pass.

“I need… I need you to move, Aaron.”

There isn’t a chance in hell he would make you beg twice, slowly he pulls back, ensuring you feel every part of him before pushing back in. Your jaw drops, uninhibited moans falling past your lips at the steady rhythm he sets. Aaron slips his hand to your cheek, caressing you with his thumb in time to each deep thrust. “You take me so well, my cock was made just for you wasn’t it?”

It consumes your body like a wild fire, burning intense and bright, cracking through your skin which each grind of his hips. You cling to him where you can, your eyes rolling back into your skull, and he uses the opportunity to turn your face back to his. Aaron kisses you with no sense of urgency, no rush to throw you to the end, he claims your mouth the same way he claims your body; with a measure of patience and understanding that leaves you reeling.

You break away first, moaning his name and his hand travels down your neck, cupping your heavy breast as his lips find your neck. His long fingers toy with your pebbled nipple, sparks flying into your stomach with each pinch and roll. Your leg tightens around his thigh, your breath coming faster as your body arches into his touch.

“I’m… fuck I’m going to cum.” You breath into the warm air, your cunt fluttering around his cock rhythmically.

“Cum for me, take what you need and cum all over my cock.” Aaron’s rhythm doesnt falter in the slightest, the pump of his cock hard and slow hitting spots you’d never dreamt of finding. His hand leaves your breast, trailing down your stomach slowly circling your belly. You moan at the feeling, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin. “This little part right here, this part of your beautiful belly, drives me mad.” His hand presses down into your lower stomach slightly and you see stars at the sudden pressure, feeling his cock against rubbing against your muscles. “Imagining you heavy and round-.” Aaron groans as your cunt tightens, your breath uneven like the sudden stutter in your hips. “Pregnant with my baby.”

A guttural version of his name leaves your lips as you snap in two. The fire inside your body turning into an inferno, consuming you entirely as you cling helplessly to Aaron. Your head is flush with his shoulder, your foot hooked around his leg as your pussy spasms and coats his cock with cream. Aaron’s pace suddenly falters and he moans loudly, the feeling of your velvet walls clamping down around him nearly his undoing.

Slowly you drift back to yourself, gasping for air and shuddering as the aftershocks rock through you. You lick your lips, about to say anything when suddenly Aaron is pressing you forward, rolling you onto your front. He slips free of your pussy and you whimper, letting him adjust your pliant body to his needs. With your chest pressed to the bed and your ass thrust into the air Aaron groans at the sight of you. Your thighs tremble in effort to keep yourself up right, sweat gleams across your back and shoulders, flushing your skin a beautiful shade of pink. “You’re doing so good for me.” His hands graze over the globe of your ass, settling on your hips as he nudges your knees apart, adjusting your stance. You make a soft noise in your throat, fingers finding hold in the bedding. “I know baby, you’re being such a good girl though. I know you can take it, just relax for me.” Your brain hardly keeps up, picking out the important words in its state and your body melts into the mattress with a sigh. His cock aligns with your opening, teasing until you whimper, rocking back trying to impale yourself on him. Aaron smiles, sweeping your hair off of your neck and into his fist. He's gentle as he tugs at the strands, testing the waters and you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"That's it baby. Just like that." He draws out the words as he sinks into your heat. The angle is so much different than before, the head of his cock rubbing along the front wall of your cunt and you gape at the sensation. Your grip tightens on the bed as his hips become flush with your ass, giving you a moment to adjust.

"Oh fuck... Oh fuck." You mumble, electricity skimming up your spine as Aaron pulls back until only the tip is left.

"Beg for me." The words are a laced growl and you simper below him, the hold on your hair growing tighter.

"Please, please Aaron I want- I need you so bad. Please fuck me." You don't know where the words come from, somewhere deep and primal in your guts but they have never felt so right.

Aaron's hips snap forward, sinking into you at a punishing force and you cry into the air, the need and pleasure curling back into your stomach with a vengeance. To say Aaron is fucking you into the mattress is an understatement, the hold on your hip is bruising and the grip on your hair is punishing. The lewd sounds of sex fill the air, wet squelching as his cock sinks into you, the slap of skin against skin and the unmistakable moans of pleasure.

"Such a good. Fucking. Girl." He breathes, his body curving over your own, husky moans falling from his lips as he pounds into you. "Fuck baby, you're squeezing me so hard. Are you gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock?"

Your head tips back a smile curving your lips at his praise and you nod what little you can. "Yeees! Oh god yes Aaron.” You hold onto the sheets with white knuckled force, your moans and gasps mixing with his grunts making an intoxicating song. He growls low in his chest, his teeth bared, sweat gleaming on his shoulders and forehead.

“I’m gonna cum Y/n… I’m gonna make you mine. Again.” A harsh thrust makes you keen, your head tilting back making your neck strain. “And again.” Another one leaves you gasping, your mouth falling open. “And again.”

You snap simultaneously, his hips slamming into your ass as you cry his name. His cock switches, painting your walls with ropes of milky cum, your cunt squeezing every last drop free as you shudder and collapse. Lights dance behind your lids, your orgasm moving through your body with such force you are scarcely aware of the moans falling from Aaron’s kiss bitten lips.

“Mine. My good girl, my pretty little thing.”

It takes a few more moments before Aaron is able to roll onto his back beside you, grunting slightly at the burn in his hips as you let out a soft moan, stretching out your soar muscles. Aaron pulls you into his side easily, wrapping an arm around your waist as your head finds his shoulder.

You both lay like that for several minutes, basking in the afterglow of it all as you try to catch your breaths. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to your sated body, letting the euphoria and calm take the lead for a while longer.

Aaron is the first to break the soft silence. “We need to get you cleaned up.” A soft noise of protest leaves your lips, your limbs too heavy to move. A smile in his voice makes your own lips curl, “I know. But we need to. There’s going to be a lot going on tomorrow.”

With that you can’t argue, so you allowed Aaron to slip from your grip, the sound of water running in the bathroom filling the quiet. Moments later he’s back, helping you into the restroom on unsteady legs where a warm shower awaits.

When he steps in behind you, you only have a moment to be surprised before he pulls you under the stream of water. The shower is small with just enough room for the both of you, but you find no protest on your lips as Aaron begins massaging his fingers through your hair.

You sigh blissfully, letting your weight rest against his chest as he works away the agony of today, but also a little off of the mountain that has weighed you down for so long.

“I don’t care about the contact.” His deep voice is sudden making you jump slightly.

“What?”

“I don’t care about the contract.” Aaron runs his hands down to your shoulders, turning you slightly so you can gauge his face as he speaks. “I care about you, the contract was… is a piece of paper to ensure neither of us got hurt. We don’t need it.”

You scan his face, his dark eyes reading so much more than he is saying. “What… what do we do then?” Your throat works as you swallow, butterflies eating once more at your belly as Aaron cups your check.

“Whatever you would like… but… I like the idea of you coming to me with your problems, of taking care of you, of you being mine.” He curls your necklace around one of his fingers, tugging softly and a new heat flairs at the bottom of your spine. Aaron’s dark eyes scan your face, trying to read your thoughts.

“I…” You swallow, the reality hitting you. These last few days had you thrown through the wringer, forced out of your comfort zone, and brought dark secrets to light. You’ve struggled and cried and raged all while finding comfort and passion and acceptance in ways you didn’t know existed before Aaron Hotchner knocked on your door one dark morning.

You nod your head slowly, licking your lips as you run your hands up his chest, the water spilling over his shoulder and the mist sprinkling your cheeks. You press in tighter and Aaron cups the back of your head, angling it ready to capture your lips at a moment’s notice.

“I can still call you ‘Sir’?”

A large smile breaks across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he cups your face, bringing you closer. "You can call me whatever you would like, little one..." His palm slips into your wet hair, tangling his fist into the strands and giving a soft tug. "As long as I get to call you mine." He laces the word with a growl and crashes his lips to yours with surprising force, need instantly flooding out the exhaustion from your system. You gasp against his lips, whimpering a soft yes as his tongue sweeps over your own.

"Good girl."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you all so much, once again, for sticking with me through this story. This has been the most grueling, but rewarding thing I have written, and I am just astounded by the love it has received! I plan to make a few blurbs off of this story so fill free to check in ever now and again but if you would like to be tagged in future tidbits please feel free to leave a comment! 💜💜💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

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#apollyonsdarksecrets #smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic

[solarmorrigan]

So this started out as some scribbly thoughts on FTM Steve and devolved a little bit into smutty Steddie rambling. As happens. So anyway, explicit text below the cut, click through at your own discretion, et cetera

Warnings(?) for some clumsy language and hints of period-typical transphobia; some discussion of Steve and Nancy together, but only for Steddie purposes. This is mostly just silly

-

“So, wait, you slept with how many girls in high school, and still managed to keep this a secret?” Eddie asks, brows climbing his forehead.

“Not as many as rumor would’ve had you think.” Steve shrugs. “Like maybe four? The rest, I just… didn’t discourage when they exaggerated. Helped my image.”

Eddie can’t help but snort. He’s glad Steve outgrew that image. “Still, four is a lot to keep a lid on. All of them agreed not to tell and then just – didn’t?”

“Actually, most of them never found out. It was only–” Steve pauses, eyeing Eddie cautiously, as if talking about his past female sexual conquests with his current boyfriend is fine, but what he’s going to say next will be a bridge too far. “It was only Nancy who ever knew.”

Ah.

Ah, yes. Nancy. Nancy Wheeler. Steve’s one true love.

Until now, Eddie fiercely reminds himself. He eyes the t-shirt that is very much his that Steve is very much wearing and slides over the jealousy to address his more pressing question.

“Okay, how did you have sex with at least three other people without them finding out you don’t have a–” Eddie stops short, fumbles for a moment, “a, uh, conventional dick?”

Steve snickers. “Nice save. And, uh – I never actually took off my pants. My talents are in other areas, and I always provided enough of a distraction that they didn’t seem to notice when I just… took care of myself.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, who can’t help but give him the laugh he’s looking for. “It didn’t say flattering things about my stamina, but multiple orgasms are a pretty good bribe. I got good reviews.”

“Huh.” Somehow, Eddie can’t help but feel impressed; he doesn’t quite understand why Steve had felt the need to do it at all—still doesn’t really understand Steve’s drive for popularity when he’d been in high school—but he can admit the skill in the subterfuge. “But you told Wheeler?”

He’s not sure why he’s asking. A part of him, he thinks, wants to make sure Steve had been able to tell her on his own terms, rather than having his hand forced.

Steve shifts, shrugs. He doesn’t look sad, but he’s maybe a little melancholy.

“Nance wasn’t… temporary, for me. She wasn’t a fling, and I didn’t want to hide from her. And it’s the same with you.” Steve’s gaze falls heavy on Eddie. “You are the… third? person I’ve ever told. I want you to know just– all of me.”

Eddie reaches out, grabbing for Steve’s hand; he’s pretty sure he’d be physically incapable of stopping himself from somehow touching Steve after an admission like that.

A thought is beginning to form, however, leading back to what had started this conversation in the first place. Eddie would bet anything that if Wheeler was the first person Steve told, then Buckley was the second.

And that meant only one person Steve had slept with had ever known all of him – but just how much of all of him had Wheeler been interested in?

“How’d she take it? Wheeler, I mean,” Eddie asks, as casually as possible while his thumb is still stroking Steve’s knuckles.

“Uh… pretty good, actually. She was kinda surprised, and she wanted a little bit of time to come around to the idea, but I think she was mostly just bothered that she didn’t figure it out before I told her.” Steve smiles, distantly fond. “But after that, she was cool. We didn’t talk about it much, but I knew that I could talk to her if I wanted to. I’d never had that before. It was… nice.”

It does sound nice. It had probably been the first time anyone had ever been close to accepting every part of who Steve is, and Eddie feels almost bad about turning the memory to sex.

Almost, but not quite.

“So… she was cool with…” Eddie’s eyes flash down below the belt, obvious and significant, “getting involved?”

A sly grin spreads over Steve’s face as he catches Eddie’s eyes. “Are you trying to ask what Nancy and I did in bed?”

Eddie throws his hands up in defense, forgetting for a moment that he’s holding one of Steve’s hands and pulling it up with him. “I’m just trying to figure out what I’m working with here,” he insists, smiling a little too hard to be innocent. “Now, you insinuated you have talents in the oral and digital departments—which I am very interested in, by the way—but what I want to know is what’s been done for you.”

Steve eyes Eddie like he’s considering whether or not to answer, but the way he’s licking his lips says he’s already decided, even if he doesn’t quite realize that himself.

“She… definitely didn’t mind being involved,” he says finally; there’s a slight stain of pink gathering at the tops of his cheeks that Eddie sort of wants to bite. “She would finger me. Sometimes she’d go down on me, but I think we both enjoyed it more the other way around. I think she liked seeing me get myself off while I did it, and I– definitely liked that, too.”

Eddie makes the mistake of imagining it: Steve on his knees, fingers buried in his cunt, wet and dripping, his hips jerking down onto his own hand, maybe kneeling between Eddie’s legs while he does it, maybe looking up through his lashes while he sucks Eddie’s cock.

A little noise escapes Eddie.

“How about… toys?” he manages after a moment. He’s leaning closer now, raptly watching the way the flush on Steve’s face darkens. “You ever try those?”

“I have a… a couple,” Steve says, voice gone low and rough, his eyes fastened now to Eddie’s mouth. “We didn’t use them together, though, they’re just mine.”

Oh, they’re going to revisit that. They are absolutely going to revisit that, but right now Eddie is on a mission. He won’t let himself be distracted.

He slides closer, practically on top of Steve now, one hand on his hip and the other spread warmly over his ribs.

“Never thought about a strap?” he asks.

Steve shrugs, not nearly as nonchalant as he’s pretending. “Thought about it, never quite got there.”

“Which way were you thinking? Would you have worn it? Or…” Eddie is going out on a limb here; just because Steve has a pussy doesn’t mean he likes the idea of penetration, but Eddie has a hunch. “Or would it have been the other way around?”

A sharp breath escapes Steve’s chest. “Do you want that?” he asks, soft, almost hopeful.

Eddie strokes a thumb across his ribs. “Want what?”

“To fuck me.”

This time it’s Eddie who goes breathless. “Is that even a fucking question?” he demands, and then, in case he wasn’t clear, adds, “I would want very much to do that, yeah. If you want me to.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” Steve says. “I mean, I know you’re strictly into guys, and I don’t exactly have… a conventional dick.”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Eddie asks, eyeing Steve’s smirk.

“We’ll see,” Steve says, which likely means no.

“Fine. But Steve,” Eddie reaches up, cupping Steve’s face in his hands, “I am one hundred fucking percent into you. You are a guy. You are an incredibly hot guy whose pants I have been wanting to get into forever, no matter what you’ve got in there.”

Steve smiles, and Eddie caresses the corners of it with his thumbs.

“Well, you do seem to prefer the weirder shit, anyway,” Steve murmurs.

“Not weird. Different,” Eddie says, and Steve makes a face at him but readily allows him the kiss he presses in for after that.

“So have you…” Steve starts, once they’ve broken apart, “ever been with a guy with my, uh– sort of equipment?”

Eddie would make fun of how awkwardly the words had tumbled out if he hadn’t suddenly been feeling a bit awkward himself.

“Not, uh, exactly.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him and Eddie amends snappishly, “okay, fine, not at all, no.”

“But you’re open to it?” Steve checks, as if the way Eddie has pressed against him like a needy cat has left any room for doubt.

“More than open,” Eddie says. “I might just, y’know– need some direction? To start with?”

“Directions, huh?” Steve smirks. “I can work with that.”

Eddie has no doubt that he can – and that Eddie will enjoy every second of it.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans steve harrington #stranger things #solar wrote #let me know if there's something I need to tag this with that I missed #eddiesteve

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

This is the final part! I was supposed to post it yesterday but fell asleep. You can find parts 1-3 here.

Simon’s birthday wasn’t a special day. Only one person knew about it (Price), and all he got from him was a “Happy birthday, son” and a pat on the back. It was okay, though, because the captain couldn’t give him the only gift he wanted.

He had tried. Really. But he just couldn’t bring himself to ask you for a hug. How did people do that, anyway? Initiate that kind of contact?

Ghost was pretty sure you wouldn’t turn him down. You were too nice to him. But he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Didn’t want it to be uncomfortable, or weird. You were so… Human. So warm, so much expression, skin, so much life.

He, on the other hand, had the name of a lost soul and the face of an abandoned body.

A poor combination – one that couldn’t manage to think of an effective strategy, by the way. Whenever he saw you, he opened his mouth and all that came out were sarcasm and dad jokes. An it really wasn’t that bad, because you were laughing a lot -and in his birthday, no less-, but he wanted to know what it felt to be safe. Unbroken. Close to you. Maybe then he’d be infected by your humanity.

He had watched Soap. How easy it was for him to touch people. But Ghost had put up a barrier, a boundary, and now it had become a prison. How was he supposed to cross it? To get out? He was a soldier. A fighter. He could stop people. He could kill. But Ghost wasn’t a fucking climber. And feelings can’t be pierced by bullets or cut by knives. He could hit the punching bag all he wanted: his knuckles still ached for a soft caress, not because of the blow.

It would have been the perfect birthday gift. Scratch that, it’d just be the perfect gift in general.

But no, the only perfect thing in Simon’s life were the sturdy defenses Ghost had installed around him.

Well, you were perfect too. Not in the same way, of course. You were so much better. You were unpredictable, flawed, changing. More than perfect. Simon could rely on you, even though he could never guess what was going to be your next move. You were always there, always close, but never enough (though he wasn’t sure it could ever be enough- can one melt into somebody else? Could he make himself a home inside of your ribs?). Always seeing, even when you weren’t looking (you didn’t look at him that much- maybe slightly longer than at the rest of the people at base, but his expression was always harder to read with the mask).

He, on the other hand, was blinded by your light, unable to see past the brightness you casted over everything.

That’s why he found himself hiding in the kitchen, just a couple minutes away from midnight. Ghost liked the kitchen. It reminded him of you. Like anything else, if he were to be honest. But in the kitchen, he felt the warmth of the oven and could pretend it was your heat, finishing cooking the parts of him that were still raw. The fridge was full of the time, dedication and love you had put into baking whatever sugary thing you had been craving recently. It tasted better than a birthday cake, even if it didn’t fully satiate his craving for something sweet.

He'd figured he would be able to enjoy his pathetic beer on his own.

Not in peace, though, because- as usual- you were there. At first, just in his head. You were in the buzzing of the fridge, in the condensation of the bottle, in the empty space between his fingers.

But then you were also under the doorframe, looking at him.

Your head had the same inclination it had when you were perched on a rooftop, eye against the rifle’s scope: you were searching for your target. You said hello in a sleepy voice, and all the lack of air in his lungs allowed him to do in response was nod. As you walked towards the fridge to get some water, he turned back to the table. There were eight chairs. The only one occupied was his.

What if you decided to sit down with him? Make a birthday toast, even if you didn’t know it was his birthday? Maybe all the years piling on his back would weigh less, huh? Especially if there were still seven chairs unoccupied after you sat down.

You didn’t sit. You stood there, quietly sipping water with your hip against the counter. Simon felt your eyes scratching at the back of his mask.

He ran out of beer rather quickly. Maybe a little bit of alcohol would help? But it was just a bottle, after all, and even though he smashed it as hard as he could against the wall surrounding him, it didn’t even make a dent. It just shattered. Ghost knew he’d still be finding shards of glass the next morning.

Taking in the absolute failure, he stood up and fixed the chair against the table. There, as if he’d never been here. Ghost threw the bottle in the trashcan next to you, the fabric of your pajamas was cotton, and pulled down his mask. He muttered some variation of “Sleep well”.

You were wearing shorts, goosebumps on your legs. His hoodie was warm. And big. He was almost certain you both could fit in it.

You blinked at him and left the glass on the counter.

“G’night, Simon.”

You took one step towards the door, and he was already willing his body to move, to open the way for you to leave first.

Ghost had always known you had better sight than him. You were an amazing sniper, out on the field, of course, but also out in life. You saw all the stupid little things: the defeated tilt of his eyelids, the dead motion of his hands hanging at his sides, the chains around his ankles that reached all the way to hell. And, again, you were an incredible shooter. An empathetic one.

Another step, and you were inside. Your arms held his waist softly. It was a slow movement- inhaling before pulling the trigger. Your cheek rested on top of his chest, the shot going straight through your target.

He felt your weight against his ribs, your hair on his neck, your fingers in his back… Simon felt you. He felt you.

His hands tripped to hold you; the grip stronger than socially recommended. But he was doing his best- he wasn’t a climber, after all. The height scared him. So, naturally, he held on for dear life.

Simon ducked his head, nose against your hair. That way he couldn’t see the empty space under his feet- it was easier to pretend he was still standing on the floor, and not floating above it. He took a step towards you, boots almost bumping into bare feet. It wasn’t a big step by any means, but it was the first.

Behind his mask, he could finally smell you. It wasn’t just your shampoo. It was your perfume (faint, subtle, fresh against the heavy air in his side of the fabric), you: special, delicate, and so different from him. Clean- somehow you had managed to get rid of the blood and gunpowder, the guilt, the grime. The last time the sun had touched his face (the first ray of a cool morning): that’s what you smelled like.

Outside.

Good, beautiful things on the other side of the wall.

No humidity, no rotting, no locked darkness. Clean, healed wounds. Life growing, symbiosis, instead of desperate survival. Even though he was so much bigger than you- back hunched, arms wrapped all the way around your ribs, body practically eating you, absorbing- Simon understood his own insignificance.

It was such a relief not being the strongest person in the room.

Simon’s lungs swelled, his knees and brows relaxing, lips and hands trembling. Finally, there was someone in his side of the wall.

If you have any requests/ideas, you can send them and I'll do my best to write them.

#fanfiction #cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #task force 141 #lennadanvers

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Wolfish

warnings: unprotected sex(i literally write nothing else unless asked otherwise), feral chan, oral(f receiving), breeding kink cuz im gross, slight impreg kink for the same reason, overstimulation, mind breaking (kinda mutal), slapping(once and chan receives it), desperate overall kinda sex, squirting, mention of the title daddy once, few pet names, lots of filth pretty much, reader refers to him as ‘chris’ in speech

summary: schedule has been crazy and chan hasn’t been able to see you as much as he’d like to. it’s starting to get to him. all that changes when he decides to leave practice early and finds you in the dorm parading around in just his t-shirt.

chan x female reader

word count: 6.3k (i got carried away)

Chan was exhausted. For more reasons than one. Schedules were rolling into one another with no real sign of stopping. Practices seemed to last longer than usual, dragging to a point where he could feel every second ticking by. His internal thought was wracked with melodies, lyrics, and rhythms bouncing off the walls of his skull leaving him with no semblance of peace. To complete the myriad of his stress masterpiece, he was missing you. 

It was nearing three weeks of minimal contact with you and he was beginning to feel guilty in addition to everything else he was feeling. Every moment he had a chance to glance at his phone, it would be ripped from him just as quickly—the text that he was typing dying at his fingertips. 

You understood what you were agreeing to when you decided to not only let Chan into your life but to let him in as your partner. You didn’t mind these long stretches of time where you didn’t get to see him. In fact, you almost preferred it. Allowing you to really indulge in the time you got to spend with him with nary an interruption. No matter how many times you reminded him of this, it still ate away at his emotions. Making him feel like this was yet another area in his life where he felt his promises were not being fulfilled, ultimately making him feel less than.

You had flown out to Seoul in an attempt to surprise him and hopefully pick up his spirits, but with all the craziness of upcoming schedules you, unfortunately, came at a time where you didn’t get to see him as often as you thought. You understood though. Not holding it against him. Chan also more than appreciated being able to nestle up to your body when he finally trucked into the dorms early in the morning finding it easier to sleep with you near him. He felt an unspoken comfort with you around that he needed more than he realized.

With a five hour dance practice finally wrapping up, Chan moved in silence. Grabbing his belongings he came to the conclusion that he needed a bit of a break. A moment to decompress from everything. Letting out a sigh he turned back around to the boys informing them of his next moves.

“So…I was going to go to the studio after we were finished here, but I think I need a break honestly. It’s all a little bit too much right now.”

Everyone went a bit silent, feeling the tense energy radiating off of him. Felix took the opportunity to offer a hand recognizing that Chan was in a funk, in a feeble attempt to ask if he was okay.

“You sure you’re good, man? Like you don’t need anything from us?”

Not wanting to pry too much knowing how his emotions could fire up from nowhere, he was trying his best to keep it open ended.

“Yeah. I just prolly need to sleep or something.”

“Okay. If anything we’re here for you. And I’m sure Y/N will be more than willing to help you with anything you need.”

He knew Felix meant well, but it just struck a nerve in him that ultimately made him feel worse. Feeling like even when he was supposed to enjoy spending time with you, you were always snubbed to “taking care” of him when it should’ve been the other way around. Sighing, Chan closed his eyes and nodded.

“Yeah–alright, I’ll see you guys back at the dorm later.”

With quiet goodbyes, Chan left the practice room and walked towards the exit of the JYP building where someone would be waiting to take the boys home when needed. No questions were asked as he looked at the driver silently signaling that he was in need of being taken back to the dorms. The ride back was even more silent. Every self deprecating and stressful thought ran through his mind like a traumatic PowerPoint stuck on a loop. The buildings passing by were just distant figures in his vision no matter how close they actually were.

The car finally came to a stop and Chan lowly thanked the driver before getting out of the car and walking towards the entrance of the dorms. He didn’t realize he took the stairs until he was already halfway up to the floor he was supposed to be on. Laughing through his nose he shook his head.

“I can’t even pay attention to where I’m going, my gosh.”

Reaching the floor he was supposed to be on, he opened the door and walked down the hallway to the dorm. Approaching the front door, he could hear music playing inside and a small smile designed his face, wondering what it was you were doing on the other side. Opening the door, he entered and kicked his shoes off immediately. The confines of his shoes adding to his irritation unknowingly. He dropped his bag at the front door as well, not wanting to be bothered with dragging it to his bedroom.

Turning the corner he was acquainted with you in your own little world dancing to the music playing from a speaker that was perched on the island of the kitchen. His smile slowly faded into something a little more lustful when your figure moved from behind the island, showing that you were wearing nothing but one of his shirts and some underwear. He walked up to you and slipped his hands around your torso, his hands connecting over your tummy.

It startled you, to say the least, but only for a quick second before you settled into his touch recognizing it was him.

“Chris! You scared the shit outta me. What are you doing home so early? Where are the rest of the boys?”

Chan just hummed not answering you right away, swaying you against him. You rested your hands on top of his and tried to turn your head to see him resting his head on your shoulder. You couldn’t get the look at him that you wanted, so you tried to move to turn around and look at him, but Chan just held your body tighter and closer to him. 

“Don’t move, I’ll tell you in a second.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling concerned with how his mannerisms were. Before if you could ask if he was okay he inhaled to speak.

“Just…really tired. Schedules and all that and I also kinda feel like a bad boyfriend.”

Hearing that, you just couldn’t stay in the position he was trying so desperately to keep you in. You turned around and cupped his face to bring it up to face your own. As quickly as you turned around, he dropped his head not ready to face you. You moved your head to look at him but he was refusing.

“Chris…where’s all this coming from? How are you being a bad boyfriend?”

He sighed, taking another long silence before he spoke.

“Ch-”

“-I’m never around. And, you came to see me and you can’t see me because I’m literally never here. And when you do see me I feel like, you feel like you just have to take care of me and I can’t help but feel like an ass for that.”

“Chris, c’mon. You know I’d never feel that way.”

“See! Like that. I know what you're gonna say next and it just doesn’t make it any better because I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Dropping your hands you dropped your head as well, having a hunch where you could tell where this was going.

“Chris, I knew what I was getting into from jump when I said yes to being yours. And it’s my fault for not telling you I was gonna come out here. You had so much going on that you didn’t mention it and that’s okay! I’m not upset about any of that let alone upset with you. Stop beating yourself up.”

He stepped away, running his hand through his hair.

“You’re missing the point.”

You furrowed your brow and grabbed your phone off the counter to lower the volume of the music. 

“What point am I missing exactly?”

“That you deserve better than me and I need to do better and you-”

“-Hold on, stop right there because you’re already off track.”

“No! You’re not hearing me Y/N.”

The last thing you expected was for him to get loud. You knew Chan didn’t regulate his emotions as he should, but you didn’t think he would take them out on you. You pressed your lips together and slowly it formed into a frown. You knew he didn’t mean it but nonetheless, it left a sour taste in your mouth. Chan was standing with his hand over his eyes, seemingly even more stressed than when he came in and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“I’m gonna just, give you a moment and let this kinda settle because I know how you can get.”

You turned to walk out of the kitchen and began to walk towards his bedroom to wait for him. But before you could even make it out of the kitchen, Chan’s hand wrapped around your wrist, halting you in your tracks. His breath was heavy like he was trying to calm a panic attack and his eyes were blown.

“Don’t. Don’t walk away right now. Please.”

“Chris, the last thing I want right now is to add to your stress so I think it’s-”

“Y/N!, No it’s not what’s best right now! I need you and you’re trying to walk away from me. What aren’t you getting from that.”

Now you were looking at him as if he was mad. You had never seen him act out in such a way and especially with you. It left you confused and moreover concerned for him. But now you were on track with getting annoyed. He was leaving you with little explanation expecting you to just understand verbatim what he needed without telling you. Any time you tried to speak he cut you off and was actively creating more conflict. 

“Chris. I don’t want us to do this right now.”

You tried to step away again but your body ended up pressed against the counter. Chan’s body pressed so closely into yours it was almost like he was trying to become one with you. His brows furrowed and he dropped his head again, his breathing picking up once more.

“I. Need. You.”

You were unsure of where to step. He was unhinging himself by the second. Leaving you stuck in a hard place on what to do next. He was getting closer to you, pushing himself closer.

“Chris, I don’t know what you need from me unless you tell–why are you hard right now?”

He was almost grinding into you now. His head dipped into your neck again except now there was a different feeling attached to it. He dragged his nose up your neck landing underneath your ear. Biting lightly at your earlobe, his hands moved to your hips gripping at your flesh trying to bring you even closer.

“You smell so good, baby.”

Your breathing began to quicken in response to this change of behavior. Your body reacting a lot more quickly than your brain would allow you to comprehend.

“Wearing just my shirt, what if it wasn’t me that came home early, huh?”

Chan backed up so he could stare at you, trying to read just your expression.

“I-I, you guys have normally been home really late so I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

“You just wanna show yourself off to them?”

“Nono not at all I just-”

Before you had the chance to explain your case, Chan’s large hands trailed down to your ass, squeezing at the fat. A small moan choked out of you surprised at the action.

“You don’t understand how much I need you, do you?”

Panting, anticipation running through your veins, you looked up into his eyes.

“Why don’t you show me?”

Any control he had left in him, completely dissipated in just five words. Everything that was too hard for him to verbalize no longer had the capacity to stress him out. Your consent finding the perfect way to let him express himself without something to dwell on. His mouth landed on yours, a certain kind of anguish running through the kiss. His hands were all over you. Trying to grab at every inch he could.

You kissed him back with equal intensity. The irritation you previously felt was soon gone as he stopped trying to haphazardly explain his needs to you. He lifted you up onto the counter, placing himself between your legs. Rolling his hips into yours, you could feel his need attempting to break through the cotton of his shorts which sent a heartbeat straight to your core. You could feel him smirk against you as he felt you clench against him, your underwear providing you with little decency to hide. 

“Oh, seems like somebody is a little needy too.”

“Chris, I…”

You didn’t know what came over you but you felt that what you were about to offer would solve what he was feeling at such an overwhelming capacity. You rolled your hips against him, desperate for some type of friction. Looking at him you made sure that he could see the sincerity in your eyes. 

“Use me. Whatever it is that you’re feeling right now, take it out on me. We’ll talk about it later.”

Chan pulled away from you and the Chan you’d become accustomed to made a quick visit, searching your eyes for any hesitation. When he couldn’t find any he spoke wanting every form of confirmation.

“Are you sure? Once I let go I don’t think I can hold back.”

You nodded quickly, wanting nothing more than to have him ruin you in whatever way he was imagining. 

“I can take it.”

Verifying your words, Chan picked you up and carried you to his room. Laying you on his bed he hovered over you gazing down at your body. 

“You have, no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Licking your lips you found his eyes

“I’m sure you can show me better than you can tell me, baby.”

His sexual appetite was ravenous and it was more than he could handle. Chan felt as if he was gonna bust at his seams and staring at your body in his shirt made him feel all the more manic. He moved his body down toward the foot of the bed and stared up at you from the apex of your legs. Your scent dripping through the fabric of your underwear. 

“Look at you. Already soaking through your panties for me.”

You whined out, slightly embarrassed by his observation. He had barely done anything and yet everything he did made you feel so enticed and bound to him. 

He brought his hands up to the lining of your underwear and slowly dragged them down your legs, letting them hit the floor. He kissed up your legs ending his travels at the fat of your thighs. Sucking small hickies into your tender skin. 

You moaned out, the sensation of the hickey in that area making you clench a little tighter than you had before. Chan chuckled and noticed the way your body was already beginning to squirm under his touch. Bringing his face closer to your heat, he finally licked a fat stripe up your lips. Your walls clenching uncontrollably at the wanted touch. 

Chan moved his tongue in a way that had you on the brink of orgasm faster than you ever had before. He bounced back between sucking lightly on your clit and circling his tongue around it to break up the intensity. He could tell by the way your breathing changed that you were approaching your climax. Wanting to see you fall apart underneath him, he brought his hand up to tease at your entrance. Prodding just the tip of his fingers inside. 

Your hand made way to his curls. Scrunching at his hair in an attempt to ground yourself from your impending euphoria. He moaned against your pussy, the extra stimulation causing you to clench around nothing yet again. Chan’s fingers finally found their way inside your soaking hole and a loud moan escaped your throat. Unable to control the reaction of how it felt.

Chan moved his fingers in a come hither motion, rubbing at that special little spongy spot inside of you. 

“C’mon baby, cum for me. I can feel you’re almost there.”

His fingers began moving a little faster to be in tandem with his tongue. The double stimulation had you soaring over your inhibitions and you came around his fingers. Squeezing around him uncontrollably. It felt so undeniably good. It had been so long since you two had a moment to have this and he was relishing in it. 

Watching you fall apart in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to see it again. On the come down of your high, his tongue began moving around your clit again. 

“Shit, shit, Chris!” 

He lapped at your arousal, your juices coating his chin. 

“C’mon Y/N, baby. One more. For me?” 

Your back arched from the bed, his tongue sending you tunneling into your pleasure. 

“Fuck, Chris, I’m cumming! 

All he did was moan into you, the vibrations sending you into your second orgasm. The overstimulation hitting you a little harder than usual. When Chan lifted his head up, you watched a bead of wetness fall from his chin. 

“I’m going to make you do that, every fuckin time now. So fuckin sexy.”

You were almost too fucked out to comprehend what he was talking about until you felt a coolness stick to your inner thigh. Your eyes widened in horror. Coming to terms that you just squirted on his face. Panting, you finally found the breath to say something.  

“Holy shit. I did not just do that.” 

“Sure did. Kinda wanna see if I can make you do it again.”

Chan smiled as he dragged his finger up your folds, causing your body to jolt at the stimulation of his finger running across your clit. Your body was covered in goosebumps.  Anticipating his next move. Trying to sit up, you wanted to return the favor, but Chan bound your wrists in his hands pinning you back down to the bed. 

“Nuh uh babygirl. As much as I wanna watch your lips wrap around my cock, I won’t make it.” 

Chan crawled back up to you so you could be face to face with him. 

“And as much as I love you in my clothes…I wanna see all of you while I make you mine. Over and over again. 

His hands pawed up your body and removed you from his shirt. His head came down to leave a trail of kisses starting from your stomach and ending their journey at your nipples. Sucking at your supple flesh, he kneaded your other breast in his hand. You moaned out, back arching slightly as you rubbed your head into the pillow beneath you. You felt so small beneath him. His energy was massive and brooding. He was domineering but still, when you looked into his eyes you could see the softness swirling somewhere beneath it all. 

Your hands found their way back into his hair, gripping at his locks as you rolled your hips up into his painfully hard cock. With each roll, you could feel his cock twitching behind the cotton of his pants. 

“Take it off, baby. For me.”

Your hand trailed down to his pants rubbing over the fabric to play with his cock. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he wiggled out of his pants and threw his shirt somewhere in the room. His hands roamed up your sides again, making you feel smaller than you were. He was eating you alive with just his eyes. Devouring you in every way fathomable before even thinking of entering you. 

He kissed you, with a yearning you hadn’t felt from him before. It was rough yet gentle. Giving and taking all in the same breath. He was grabbing at you like he couldn’t get close enough to you. His hands traveled down to your hips and lifted your lower body up just a bit before worming his way in between your legs.

You moved your hand to stroke his cock earning a loud groan to expel from his throat. He hissed as you played with the head, thumbing over his painfully sensitive slit. Taking his hand to wrap around your wrist, he brought your hands up to your head pinning you to the bed again. He took the tip of his cock and rubbed it back and forth between your folds, teasing you. He wanted you to whine out for him. So he could hear that you needed him just as much as he needed you. 

“Chris, please. Don’t tease me like this.” 

He halted his movements, a smirk spreading across his face.

“I thought you said I could do whatever I wanted. Use you, is how I think you put it.”

An airy laugh left him as you whined out against him, trying to get a tiny moment of friction just to satisfy the ache you were feeling. 

“Use me then, don’t tease me. I need you. I need you inside of me. Want you to ruin me.”

Your voice trailed into something softer as you began to hear yourself and felt a little flustered from it all. You were so desperate for him and he didn’t even have to ask. You were feeding his current ego sending even more blood rushing to his cock. 

“Didn’t even have to ask you to beg. You need me that bad?”

“Yes! Yes, I need you that bad. Please, please stop teasing me and just fuck me already.”

He chuckled. Almost sinister.

“You want me to fuck you, yeah?”

Pushing his tip into your entrance, your breathing picked up and squeezed around him. 

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re gonna squeeze me out clenching that hard.”

“Please, Chris. It’s been so long.”

Your eyes were pleading. Your body was suddenly hyper aware of how long it had been since you two had been intimate with each other. Your neediness was becoming unbearable. You needed him and he was having too much fun making you squirm. You tried to push yourself onto him further, which prompted Chan to grab your hips and keep you still. 

“Don’t even try it.”

Before you got the chance to respond, Chan sheathed himself fully inside you. The thickness of his cock filling you up deliciously. It had been so long since he was inside you, it feel like he got bigger. His cock was so hard and was filling you up so well. 

“Fuck, you feel so much bigger, baby. Fill me up so well.”

Chan’s head dropped into your neck, rolling his cock in and out of you agonizingly slow. You could feel each ridge of his dick and his groans were so close to your ear that your body just shivered and clenched around me. 

“Chris, fuck. Please move faster. I can’t take this.”

His eyes blew wide as he looked down at you. An animalistic gaze glossing over his pupils. His breath, heavy and his hands squeezing at your body. 

“Want me to move faster, huh? Want me to fuck you dumb is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes! Please. Please use me however you want fuck. I just need you to m~ah!

Thus began the beating of your precious little cunt at his mercy. He was drilling into you and he brought his hands under your lower back angling your body to hit every spot possible. His pace was erratic and his skin was beginning to become sticky. His tip barreling at your cervix with each thrust, your back was arched so far away from the bed.

Moans were in tandem with each other, being the only real communication now. Bring your body to become friendly with the bed beneath you again, your hands planted themselves into Chan’s back dragging down his skin, needed something to cling on to keep you grounded. 

It felt so good and with the inconsistency of his thrusts, you could tell he was getting close. 

“Fuck, Y/N. Cum with me. I need you to cum with me.” 

You squeezed around him, his words bringing you closer to your peak than you thought.

“'m gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you mine~fuck!”

He picked up the speed and within a blink, you felt his warm seed spread inside of you. You convulsed around him, the feeling of his cum inside of you sending you over your edge. 

“Fuckin shit Y/N. Fuck that felt so good.”

He was panting and so were you, but you needed more. You brought yourself up to your elbows and then moved yourself up enough to be able to turn the both of you over so that you were on top now. His eyes became a little wide, trying to understand what it was you were doing. 

“Y/N, baby you gotta give me a little bit o-”

You cut him off as you sank down on his cock, beginning to overstimulate him.

“I need more of you, Chris. I need so much of you, fuck!”

 You rode him like you never had before. You were beyond desperate, chasing your fourth release of the night. His cock was hitting all new angles and made you feel even more full than you did moments prior. You were overstimulating him and his moans were doing nothing but stirring you on. As you bounced on him, the mixture of both of your arousals was dripping down his cock and pooling near his pelvis. 

His moans were getting louder and louder, letting you know that he was getting close. For a moment you felt the power roles shift. And for just that moment you wanted to relish in it. Running your hand down his chest, you ran over his nipple before bringing your hand up to rest on his collarbone deciding your next move. 

“Aww, look at you being taken care of. Bet you like this don’t you?”

Chan looked up and groaned at you, not really indulging in what you were saying as the mind fucked atmosphere shared between the two of you was beginning to cloud his mind. You don’t know where it came from, but as quick as the idea came, it went. You brought your hand back into the air, only to have it land across his cheek the sound sending shock waves to your previous confidence. 

“I asked you a question.”

Chan smiled with his tongue in his cheek, amused by your little number. 

“You think you’re cute don’t you?”

Submissive nature found its way back into you, the demeanor Chan was radiating sent you back to its familiar nature. 

“I asked you a question Y/N…what’s the matter?” You panicked internally, knowing you just fucked up royally and that you were about to get your ass handed to you. His hands grabbed at the fat of your thighs, crippling any dominance that was lingering in you. His eyes were near black, his pupils dilated so far that the color of his iris was something only your memory could provide. 

“You’re brave, I’ll give you that. And I won’t lie, I liked it. But I think you need a bit of a reminder of who’s in charge.”

 In an instant, Chan had taken your body and flipped you on your hands and knees. He was rougher than he had been all night. Carnality his only motive. He grabbed your hips again to position you how he wanted. He was stalking behind you and every breath he took landed back on your neck, sending shivers down your skin. Impatient and anxious of what he was planning next. 

His large hand trailed down your back until he laced it in your hair gripping at the root to control your body to his liking. You moved with him, finding yourself being pressed against his chest. Chan rested his chin on your shoulder and nibbled at your earlobe, the sensation causing you to push back into him and feel his cock standing on edge again. 

“I’m going to fuck you now in a way that will ruin you for anybody else. Understand?”

Not putting any faith in your voice, you nodded as best you could with Chan’s grip on your hair.

“Y/N…words.”

“Yes, yes I understand.”

You pushed your hips down again trying to feel something. Surprisingly Chan reciprocated, thrusting his cock between your thighs, slightly grazing in between your folds. You whined out needing him to be inside of you again.

“Chris, please fuck me.”

“Okay princess, but only because you said please.”

His tone was condescending and it sent a new kind of excitement rushing to your core. Chan let go of his tight grip on your hair and let you fall forward back onto the bed. He lined himself up with your entrance not wasting any time with teasing which you were silently thanking him for.

He always filled you up so nicely. No matter how many times you had him, the feeling of him sliding in and bottoming out always felt as good as the first time. You were too gone to care about how you sounded, your moans overpowering his as he fully slipped himself into you. 

The pace he was setting was unrelenting and feral. Pounding himself so that your cunt would mold perfectly to the shape of him. His hand found itself in your hair again but instead of pulling you up he was smushing your face into the sheets beneath you. 

“Who’s pussy is this, huh?”

You whimpered and squeezed around him, not prepared for him to start talking. Displeased with your silence he asked again, punctuating each word with a thrust that was harder than the last. 

“Answer. Me. Who’s. Pussy. Is. This?”

You screamed out, the stimulation becoming almost too much. 

“Fuck! It’s yours! It’s your pussy, Chris.”

Tears were beginning to well in your eyes and fall across your nose, melting into the bed sheets. Without warning, Chan pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back. The lack of his cock inside of you pulled whines out of you. Your tears fell a little more rapidly as you were so close to another orgasm and it was just stolen from you. Chan moved the hair from your face and stared down at you. He reentered you and your back arched, any stimulation bringing you so close to your edge. An arrogant smile decorated his mouth as he saw your tear stains and wet lashes. 

“Aww, is it too much for your little pussy, baby? Need me to stop?”

“Nonono. N-need your c-cock. Please, daddy. Please.”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me”

A rigid pace attacked your flowery cunt, overstimulating you immediately. Chan’s thumb found your delicate clit and started to rub soft circles. You moaned out loudly, your throat feeling hoarse from all the damage you were inflicting on it. You grabbed at the sheets, Chan’s back, anything you could to keep you on the bed. It was too much. It felt too good. 

“Look at my pretty baby. Can’t even take all of me anymore. Crying all over my cock. Gonna cum soon baby?”

You nodded and whimpered out a small yes trying to focus on every sensation that was ripping through you at this moment.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

You opened your eyes, staring at him showing how desperate you really were.

“I-inside. Inside me.”

Chan groaned out and picked up the pace of his thrusts. The thought of him cumming inside of you always bringing him right to the precipice of ecstasy. 

“Yeah, want me to fill you up till you can’t take any more of me? Till I’m spilling out of you.”

You clenched around him so hard you were almost pushing him out of you. His words amplified everything you were feeling.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

Chan was beginning to feel the mind fog of sex again and he was saying anything that came to mind. Unlocking doors for you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Want me to fill you up and make you a fuckin mommy, huh?”

Your eyes blew wide before they rolled back immersing you completely in the pleasure you were feeling. 

“Chris, fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna cum again! Fill me up again. Wanna feel all of you~ah!”

“Fuck Y/N. Take it. Take it all.”

Chan’s hand came up to your throat pressing on the pressure points just enough to bring you to the brink of your arousal. With one more roll of his thumb, you were squeezing and gushing around him. 

“Fucking shit! Chris!”

His name became a mantra. Something that reminded you that this was real and not a dream. You were really being demolished like this by him. Both of your moans echoed off the walls of his bedroom, making a cacophony of sounds for anyone on the outside to catch. Chan’s thrusts almost transformed into scoops as he blew his seed inside your velvet walls one last time. Making sure that none of it had the chance to escape.

With nothing but heavy breathing and sweat being shared between you two, Chan’s body collapsed onto yours, his head nestling into your neck. Finding the strength to get off of you, he pulled out of you as well. Looking down at your swollen pussy, his cum was leaking out a bit, to which he took two of his fingers to push it back inside of you.

Your body jerked. Completely overstimulated. You shuddered and squeezed around his fingers before he took them out completely.

“Sorry.”

An airy chuckle followed his words as he laid down next to you. Popping back up as he had a thought.

“Wait, lemme go grab something.”

You were too fucked out to respond and honestly were still trying to catch your breath. You closed your eyes, a small smile spreading across your face. Your eyes opened again when you felt Chan’s hand on your leg trying to move them to open a bit more. You saw he had a warm, wet cloth in his hand and opened your legs the rest of the way so he could clean you up. You grimaced at the feeling, still sensitive from all the damage just bestowed on you.

Chan looked up as he heard a small hiss come from you, a small frown starting to take shape on his own face. Finishing the preliminary cleanup, he tossed the rag towards the hamper in his room and he laid back next to you.

“Was I too much? I’m so sorry if it was”

You slowly turned your head, trying to silently let Chan know to not start rambling. You spoke before he could again, in hopes to calm his worries before more could arise. 

“Chris, if it was ever too much I would’ve told you. Think that was the best sex we’ve had in a long time.”

“Really? You’re okay?”

“Look, if that’s what being stressed does to you, by all means, use me whenever because god damn. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before.”

“Okay, as long as you’re okay then I’m alright.”

You turned over to face him and draw shapes onto his chest. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love how we normally are. But that here and there…” 

You trailed off, whistling to end your sentence instead of using words. Chan smiled lightly, moving his hand down to find yours and lace your fingers with his.

“And what was that about making me a mommy?” It was so easy to tease him now, seeing that Chan was starting to relax. Instantly his ears went red and he tried to cover his face.

“Gosh, don’t repeat it back to me.” 

“You’re the one that said it!” 

You both laughed letting the topic fade into the air not wanting to push much further.

“I mean, one day I’d like to.”

You smiled as you looked up at him.

“That would be nice. Not now obviously, but sometime in the future.”

Silence fell over you. You knew he was holding back verbally about how he was feeling and you wanted to make sure that he was alright in full. You squeezed his hand to grab his focus.

“You ready to talk about everything? Or are you still on edge about it?”

He sighed, knowing that there was no way you were gonna let him get away without speaking about his feelings. Even when he thought he could, you always found a way to pull it out of him. 

“Yeah…yeah, I guess I should talk about it.”

You thought for a moment.

“Why don’t we run a bath and you can tell me everything while we’re in there. We’ll clean up and have a therapy session all in one.”

You pointed at your head as if you just discovered the most mind-blowing idea. Chan chuckled as he nodded along. 

“Sounds like a good idea.”

You both got up from the bed and began to gather what you would need after getting out the bath. Before you even choose a set of clothes to put on you heard a voice echo through the dorm that you recognized as Changbin’s.

“Whenever you guys are done fucking, we’re thinking of going to get dinner.”

You both looked at each other, horror and embarrassment filling your faces. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You closed it and then opened it again, finding your words.

“I hope they didn’t hear all that.”

Chan raised his hands in defeat.

“Let’s just not think or ask about it.”

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a/n: hope whoever comes across this enjoys it. i had fun writing it! as always requests or asks are currently open :)

#bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #kpop imagines #bang chan x you #bang chan fanfic

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Mansion walks

This is mostly just a ramble post, but I keep imagining, because it's getting warmer, that Slender has made the executive decision to start going on mansion walks with everybody. He thought that it would be better if everyone started getting out and getting fresh air more, despite complaints that they get outside enough as it is, so now every day they go on walks together as a group. Some of them handle this much better than others, but they're surviving.

BEN handles it the worst. He goes in his physical form, and while BEN does actually like getting out and walking around, he cannot handle the heat at all, so he's panting and sweaty and uncomfortable by the time they get back, and he just wants to collapse and not go out anymore. However, he still goes because as much as he won't admit it, it's fun being out there with everyone, joking around and talking while they walk. 

Jason also can't stand it. He has a visceral hatred for bugs so he doesn't like just wandering around the woods in general, but it also causes his hair to get all frizzy from the humidity, and he doesn't want to get dirty or gross at all so he spends most of the walks focusing on avoiding any mud or dirt or nature in general because he would much rather be back in the mansion in his clean, sterile environment and away from all of the grossness of the woods. He argues they should all just go to a park or something that is more open and spacious, but Slender always reminds him that it's just easier and faster to walk through the woods, rather than trying to get everyone to a park.

Jeff, Toby, and Natalie handle it the best. Jeff has always loved the outdoors since he was a kid, constantly running around outside to stay out of his shitty living situation, and Natalie was the same way. On the flip side, Toby's inability to go outside growing up has made him treasure being outside, and he prefers spending his time out there. The three of them are usually leading the group, and the most excited and boisterous to be out there running around and getting out in nature. The three of them benefit a lot mentally and physically from these walks, and it really shows in their improvements overall since the daily walks have started.

While some of them voice complaints about the situation though, all of them are showing some form of general improvement from being able to get out and be in the sun, soaking in some fresh air for a little bit every day. It gets them all closer, providing everyone a time when they're all together in the same place and able to talk and catch up with things. It allows Slender to keep his eyes on them and catch up with them as well, making sure everyone is doing okay and feeling fine. It's good team building for them, and good for their mental and physical health overall, and so the morning/evening (depending on the weather) daily walks have become a mansion staple. It probably also helps that Slender makes everyone a bunch of snacks and fresh drinks when they all get home to reward them for it. It makes him very happy to see them all getting along and being more active instead of just sitting in their rooms all day.

And, you know, it would make him even happier if you'd join them on those walks too, as would everyone else. You always liven things up, and your company would make it even better for everyone involved, so make sure you're getting out and walking too. They'll be proud of you and happy for it.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #slender mansion mayhem #slenderman #slenderman headcanons #slenderman headcanon #ben drowned #ben drowned headcanons #ben drowned headcanon #jason the toymaker #jason the toymaker headcanon #jason the toymaker headcanons #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer headcanon #jeff the killer #clockwork #clockwork headcanons #clockwork headcanon

[emmyrosee]

“Dadda?”

Naturally, you were the first to stir, the pitch of your toddlers voice being something you’d been able to recognize even before it slipped from her mouth. It’s muffled slightly behind a pacifier, but it’s still loud enough for your Keiji to wake beside you.

“Mei, my love, light of my life…” there’s a pause. “Why are you awake?” The bed shifts next to you, and it’s plenty hard to cover your laughter as it is, let alone with the causality in Keiji’s asking.

“Snack time?” The small voice peeps. There’s another pause, and this time, Keiji’s trying not to laugh, and he tries to mask such a reaction with a cough.

“N-No, baby it’s uhm…” he looks over at the clock. “It’s two in the morning, snack time’s not for a few hours now.”

“But I’m hungryyyy!” Mei whines, prompted by a ‘shhhh,’ from your husband. “Okay, okay baby, just don’t wake mommy up.”

Too late. But you appreciate the effort. With a yawn, you feel the bed lighten next to you as Keiji stands up. He grunts softly, and you assume he’s picked Mei up to speed up the process.

The rest is fairly quiet, save for the occasional laughter from your three year old and the deep voice breaking through of Keiji. You sigh and follow Keiji’s example, toeing on slippers and finally making your way out to the kitchen, shivering slightly at the cold.

“…that’s why we go to bed every night,” a drowsy voice hums from the kitchen, and you can’t help but chuckle softly at yourself.

“But that’s not what uncle Bo says!” She gasps, and you watch from the doorframe as Keiji drops his head with a defeated sigh, “yeah. Remind me to stop letting you hang out with him.”

Your hand physically comes up to cover your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself unknown, you just want to soak in the scene a little more- Keiji’s arms flex as he balances his fatigued frame against the counter, arms caging Mei while familiar blue eyes blink up at him. It’s something he does commonly to prevent her from falling, but now he just looks like he’s doing it for himself than anything.

“Uncle Bo says you n’ mommy used to be fun, but I think you’re lots of fun, daddy!”

You hear a husky chuckle slip out of Keiji’s lips, and he offers her a shrug and a sigh of exhaustion, “I appreciate that, princess. But please, finish your cereal.”

“I think you’re fun too,” you say, stifling your laughter when Keiji absolutely buckles his knees from fright, nearly collapsing to the floor while your daughter cackles with her mouth full of dry cereal. When he finally is able to recover from his folded knees, he sends you a playful glare and a shake of his head, “oh you’re such a biiii…” he stops himself at the remembrance that his child was right there, and when you cock your brow in challenge, he clears his throat. “-beautiful, loving soul, who I’m proud to call my wife.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” you grin, stalking into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around Keiji’s waist. He’s still warm from the sleep he was robbed from, and you nudge your nose against the dip in his back. “Do you want a snack too, my love?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “If I eat now, I’ll be up the rest of the night.”

“Babe,” you snort, watching your toddler put the tiny marshmallows in her cereal to one side, the actual part of cereal to another, her feet swinging softly as she does. “I think we will be, anyways.”

He sighs and drops his head in defeat, “an apple with some peanut butter, please.” You snicker again as you place a kiss to the back of his neck, finally parting to go make his snack.

And sure, tomorrow morning, when Keiji has to snooze his alarm four times, you’ll both regret this. And when you and Mei go to the grocery store, you might fall asleep on your feet as you wait in line, but that doesn’t matter now.

Because right now, there’s a little bundle of joy sat on the smooth countertop sorting her marshmallows from her cereal, and the man who helped make her so perfect stands just a few feet away, sweatpants low on his hip while he forces himself to stay awake.

And there’s not one thing you’d do to change the memory you’re making.

#MORE AKAASHI BECAUSE I LOVE HIM #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji fluff #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x f!reader #akaashi keiji x reader fluff #akaashi keiji imagine #akaashi keiji haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x f!reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #dad!haikyuu #dad!hq #dad!au #dad!akaashi

[mccn-bcys]

JUST A TOUCH OF YOUR HAND pt. 3

pairing: moonboys x fem!reader

summary: jake finally makes his debut to ask the reader a question the boys have been dying to ask. reader gives her answer and jake is just a cutie.

warning: jake (he's a warning, yes), just some nice fluff for ya.

authors note: okay ik a lot of you have been wanting this chapter for a long time (sorry about the long wait, I had a lot going on the past couple of months). this chapter isn't as long as the others but it just felt right to have this one be short and sweet. the next chapter, maybe we'll see some more of marc 😏🤭

word count: 1,028

and then there was jake. it was funny actually. he'd been dreaming of meeting his soulmate since he had gotten the stain. and he had so badly wanted to meet you when you first brushed against their hand on the sidewalk that day.

god how he wanted to meet you. and yet he couldn't make himself front. even when steven or marc would hand it over to him, especially when you'd plan days to meet and spend with him, he just couldn't front.

none of them understood it. it's like he'd freeze up. it was eating him up. he was pretty sure he was in love with you – actually he was positive he was in love with you. and he'd never even actually met you!

you, being the amazing person you were, were so patient with him. whenever you'd see the boys on the days you were going to meet jake, and find out he wasn't fronting, you'd have marc or steven tell him you didn't mind waiting.

"you boys are all worth waiting for," you'd say, making them melt.

and jake would try more to front around you and it just wouldn't happen. he couldn't figure out why. although on a deeper level, he knew why.

he supposed he wasn't much different than marc. as much of a hopeless romantic as he was, he also knew his reputation. it was said reputation that caused him to romanticize the thought of a soulmate. he never really thought himself capable of being loved. if marc thought his hands were stained with blood, jake was swimming in it.

if he was realistic, he couldn't imagine why you would love him. he was ruthless, he could be cold, he had a tendency to shut people out if they got too close.

But he wanted you to get too close. He wanted to able to talk to you, learn about you and not through the other two. He wanted to hold you and comfort you, and be held and be comforted by you.

but like marc, he'd been scared. scared you'd run for it, if you knew him. everyone else did.

and yet here you were: sitting across the table, smiling so wide, eyes so patient, like he's your favorite person in the world. if you kept going, he's sure he would probably cry.

"jake?" you called cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. his eyes snap to yours, smiling at you. he thinks: 'they're right...the way she says our names is addicting.'

"sí, amor?" he answers softly, but you seem to brighten up even more.

"yes," you simply said.

his eyebrows furrow. had he asked a question?

yes, you did, you bloody idiot!

holy shit...she actually said yes...

"yes?" he repeated, since his alters weren't helping him at all.

you laughed at that, at him seemingly forgetting his own question. he loved that sound.

"you asked me to move in," you reminded him patiently.

"and you said yes?"

"I did."

"but you don't know me," he tries to reason, because how on earth would you have agreed to move in with the mess of these three men?

"I know that i love marc and steven, and if I love them, i already love you too," were you trying to kill him?

"why?"

that threw you for a loop. you hadn't been expecting it. why did you love this man you've never actually met?

"well...for starters, we're soulmates-"

"that doesn't mean that I'm not a terrible person." steven had warned you of this. that he might try to talk of himself like this.

"but you're not-"

"you don't know that."

"except that I do."

"how could you possibly know that?"

"because I just do-"

"amor, that's not an answ-"

"I know because you're a weirdo who wears gloves while he drives a limo. You send a bouquet of my favorite flowers every time you can't front when we planned. I know because I can feel you follow me home every night after work when you're patrolling, making sure I get home safe. I know because marc's told me that you can't pass a cat without petting it. I know because I *know.* You're a *good man,* jake," you say, looking at him completely serious.

and for the first time in a long time, every voice in his head is silent. they're at a loss for words. there's this strange feeling in jake's heart and he's never felt it before.

what is that, he thinks.

that's love, jake.

it feels like a heart attack.

yeah...it's great, innit?

you watch him closely while he's silent, watching to see if you've overstepped somehow. to try and see what he's feeling. amd when he stands, you're worried he's leaving. that he's going to change his mind about wanting you to move in.

but he quickly crosses over to you and he cups your face, gentle as he is urgent, and leans down and kisses you, deeply, passionately. and for a moment, you're confused. but you quickly kiss him back, matching his energy, his passion. after a moment, he pulls away, both of you panting lightly, breathless from the kiss. he presses his forehead to yours, looking into your eyes so intensely you swear he can see your soul.

"te amo jodidamente mucho," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you too," you say back softly, meaning every word.

jake has feel that twist in his heart again, but he knows what it is now. it's love. and it's strange and foreign but...he thinks he likes it. he feels like he's never smiled so wide in his life. he presses one more soft kiss to your lips before moving back to his seat at the table.

"so...tell me about these gloves you bought me," he grins.

and you start talking about them, explaining every detail about them and why you thought he'd like them. he swears he's never smiled so dopey in his life, talking to you about anything and everything you wanted to talk about. he'd finally fronted and he'll be damned if he doesn't take advantage of every single second he gets with you.

______________________________________________________________

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#jake lockley #moon knight #marc spector #moon boys #steven grant #moon knight x reader #jake lockely x reader #soulmate au #just a touch of your hand #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fluff #mr knight #part three