#standalone i think they're okay

[nickfowlerrr]

so inviting, i almost jump in.

pairing: neighbor!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: fluff. pining. idiots in love? fake dating...kinda lol. a lil bit of angst but not too much.

words: 4.5k

notes: happy new year! i tried so hard to finish this last night but just couldn’t do it lol. this is part of the ciwywt universe, but i think it can be read as a standalone, too.

also - coherent, consistent timelines? sorry, don’t know her. idk where this fits in their story but it does bc i say it does. 😌 i really love these two and i hope you enjoy this lil fic as much as i do. thank you in advance for reading. as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome, and so appreciated! 💞

"Ow,” you wince, “damn it," you grumble to yourself as you set your eyeliner pencil down, blinking rapidly to quell the tears you could feel about to form in your eye. You huff and turn to look down at the cause of your distraction, your phone ringing loudly as it lays on the counter. You see the caller and preemptively roll your eyes. Not this again.

You swipe to answer the call and his voice immediately floats into your ear, giving you no time to even utter a 'hello'.

"Before you say anything-"

"No," you state firmly, annoyance clear in your tone as you stop him before he can begin.

"Doll,"

"Bucky, I said no," you cut him off again. "It's a no. No. No, no, no. Not gonna happen," you continue despite his pathetic huff sounding on the other end.

"I know you said no..." he says before trailing off for a second, "but, doll, I really need you."

Damn him. You sigh heavily into the phone, putting a hand to your forehead to stop the headache you know is coming. He's really trying to pull on your heart strings... unfortunately for him, it's not gonna work.

"You don't need me, Bucky. You're gonna be fine. They're your friends, if you just tell them what you told me, they'll understand. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's not," he huffs, stopping himself, and you can almost hear him shake his head, "Will you at least try to come by?"

You know you won't, but you don't want to upset him any more than he already is.

"Yeah, I'll try. And stop worrying so much. You'll have a good time, I know it," you smile, the thought of him and his friends enjoying their New Year's Eve tugging at your lips.

"Yeah," he responds, sounding a little unsure. "Okay, well, I'll see you later?"

"Mhm...maybe," you say.

"Doll," he groans, causing an unbidden laugh to slip from you at his dramatics.

"I said I'd try, no promises! But I do have to go now, so, talk later. Bye," you finish, hanging up on him before he can try and talk you into making a promise you have no intention of keeping.

You sigh heavily as you set your phone back down, returning to your almost finished makeup. Just because you aren't going out doesn't mean you can't look good.

You're still so surprised he asked you to be his fake date to his New Year's Eve party. Both because you were surprised he was hosting a party to begin with, and because he needed a fake date.

But that was just it, he didn't need a fake date. He wanted to get his friends off his back with the constant set ups and double dates they'd plan for him. What he really needed to do was tell them the truth, just like he told you. He didn't want to date, at least not right now. He said his mind was on other things. That was understandable, so you weren't sure why he couldn't just tell them that...

A part of you feels bad for not helping Bucky out, but the other part of you knows you'd feel like a total outsider at a small party being attended by the avengers.

Like, the real-life superhero team, The Avengers.

That was an immediate 'no thank you'.

You were content to spend the night alone; just you, your grapes, and some apple cider to cheers to the new year.

--

The television plays on, another episode of a show you've seen ten times before just starting up, as a knock sounds at your door.

You furrow a brow as your head shoots in its direction. It only takes a second for you to come to the conclusion that it must be Bucky. You set your drink down and stand from where you were sitting cozily on your couch.

You fix your dress, and for no reason at all, check yourself in the mirror before you near the door, making sure your makeup isn't smudged and your hair still looks nice as you do.

There's another knock as you get to it and you open your door with a bit of attitude at his impatience.

"Bucky, how many times-" you're stopped short as you quickly see that the man before you is, in fact, not Bucky. "Oh, uhm, sorry, can I help you?" you ask.

"Yeah," the man laughs, "I'm here for the party. This is the right apartment, isn't it? Bucky Barnes?" he asks, looking at you quizically.

"No," you answer, "no, wrong apartment. He's just," again you're cut off, but this time by the door right down the hall opening, none other than Bucky peeking out to look down at you and - oh my god wait...is this - this is - holy shit you're talking to Captain America. Your eyes round as you look from Bucky back over to the man before you. "Oh, gosh, you, you're,"

"Sam Wilson," he smiles brightly at you, extending a hand. You shake hands as he continues, "and you must be-"

He is cut off from saying your name as it comes out of Bucky's mouth, almost frantically. You look from Sam back over to Bucky, your eyes still wide.

"I know you're still getting ready, but would you come here for just a second," he nods at you. You look once more between Sam and Bucky, your eyes narrowing as they land back on your own personal pain in the ass. What the hell is he up to... You and Sam go to walk over to him but Bucky speaks again. "Not you, Sam. You stay there," he says in a fuss. Sam puts his hands up, a look of confusion clear on his face at Bucky's demand.

You continue toward him and as soon as you're close enough to touch, he pulls you to him, turning you both so Sam can't see what you're saying. It's a hushed conversation, a whispered argument, really.

"You have to come over."

"No, I really don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You're staying."

"No, I'm not."

"You're staying. I'm not letting you leave," he says, trying to corral you into his apartment as you swipe at him, a back and forth of swats ensuing between the two of you.

"Bucky!" you finally whisper yell, stopping the battle as you ball your fists, almost stomping like a toddler in your annoyance. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I lied."

"Huh? To me? About what?"

"To all of you. But mostly them. I told them you'd be here. Because I thought you would be. But then you said you weren't coming, but I couldn't tell them that or they'd think I was just making up another lie about you..."

"Another lie?"

"I...may have... told my friends that we're dating and have been for a few weeks," he murmurs under his breath, so quiet you can barely hear his confession.

"You what?" you balk, trying your hardest to squash the stupid butterflies that are fluttering around in your stomach now at the idea of not only dating Bucky, but of being someone he brings up in conversation to other people.

"Alright, love birds, cute as this is, are one of you gonna invite me in or am I just supposed to stand here awkwardly in your hallway all night?" Sam interjects, walking to you both as you turn your heads to look at him.

Bucky turns entirely, moving closer to you, slipping his arm behind your back and resting his hand on your hip, "Yeah, welcome in. Steve said he'd be here with beer in a few minutes," Bucky says, an annoyed edge to his voice as he lets Sam through the door. Sam raises a brow at you and you force a smile. As soon as he's inside, Bucky snaps the door shut behind him, leaving you both in the hallway still.

"What the hell," Sam says, loud enough for you to hear through the door.

"Look, it started as a lie to get out of a date, but then I just kept using you an excuse to not go to things I didn't wanna go to. And ya know, more than half the time I wasn't really lying because I was with you," he tries to excuse himself.

"Are you insane?" you ask him plainly.

"I know, I'm sorry, but I really need you to be here tonight, please," he begs, his puppy eyes starting to get to you.

"You had only asked me to be your fake date."

"Yeah, once you said yes, I was gonna work the girlfriend thing in," he smiles wryly, rubbing the back of his neck in his anxiousness.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Is that a yes?"

You roll your eyes before acquiescing, "Fine. But you've gotta come clean tomorrow. You can't start the new year with secrets, it doesn't bode well for anyone."

"Deal," he smiles his real smile this time. Then his eyes drift down to your outfit and you warm, like you always do, under his attention. "You look good," he says softly, sincerity in his voice.

"Thanks," you accept quickly. You will not let him fluster you so easily. Not tonight.

--

More of Bucky's friends arrive soon after you get back from your apartment, your bag of grapes and bottle of unopened cider in hand. Bucky introduces you to each of them and you're now unsurprised that they know your name and exactly who you are. And you, for your part, are in awe of each and every one of them. Though you like to think you don't make it obvious.

And it's surprising how normal it all feels.

You for sure thought you'd be a nervous wreck around these people, but, especially with Bucky by your side, you've never felt so calm and comfortable, and at a party of all places. Though you suppose it helps that you're already so comfortable around his apartment. Still, it's nice. They're nice. And fun!

Card games are played, karaoke sung, and stories told as you all snack and chat the evening away.

You're all laughing as Sam talks about how everyone was sure Bucky had been making you up like a summer camp girlfriend after the fifth time he claimed you were sick or out of town so you couldn't show up to the events they had invited you to. Of course, you had no idea about any of them, but you do know where you were each and every night they brought up.

You were here.

With Bucky.

So, he wasn't completely lying. You smile and look to Bucky who stands right next to you. Your eyes instantly meet his, a smile of his own already gracing his face. You look back down, bashful despite yourself.

The night has passed so quickly and it's already nearing midnight. You're about to go get your grapes ready, but Steve's voice stops you, catching your attention.

"Ya know, I can't even remember the last time I've seen you look so happy, Buck," Steve smiles as he looks at the two of you. "I'm really happy for you, both of you,” he adds. “It's obvious how much you two care about each other. It's good to see."

You don't know what to say, and you're too scared to look at Bucky. You just force another smile, feeling a bit sad more than anything. Because this isn't real. Whether you'd like it to be or not. It isn't. You have to remind yourself of that.

Bucky's hand squeezing your waist, and the feeling of his admiring gaze on you as he pulls you closer to his side, doesn't help. It just makes that pit in your stomach grow deeper.

This is easy for him because it means nothing.

This is killing you because it means everything. It’s everything you never give yourself permission to dream about. Everything you want. And it’s what you know isn’t for you. It couldn’t be.

Just a few more minutes, you breathe, and then you'll go back to normal. No dating, just friends...just friends? Whatever it is you are to him...

You're lost in thought as the conversation continues around you, Bucky's hand never leaving you and his gaze never wavering. Even as he engages in the conversation, his attention is solely on you.

"Oo, countdown is going!"

The yell pulls you out of your head as your eyes snap to the television. What the hell! How did you just lose eight minutes? Damn Bucky always taking up your thoughts and distracting you.

You don't have the time to get to the fridge for your grapes as the kitchen is crowded, flutes of cider and champagne being passed out among the group.

You tsk, oh well. At least you have on your red underwear.

As the count gets lower, Bucky gets closer, and you mindlessly lean back into him as you watch the live broadcast from Time Square. Ten seconds hits and you all count along, Bucky's other arm comes around as he holds you from behind. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Bucky turns you around in his arms, catching you off guard as you look up at him, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

Two.

He leans in, and you're frozen. His nose brushes yours, as his lips brush against your own. Oh.

One.

"Happy New Year," he whispers against you, cheers and exclamations of the same sentiment shared all around the living room, between everyone else.

"Happy New Year," you whisper back breathily before you unthinkingly press closer to him.

His lips meet yours as he leans in ever closer and kisses you, so softly. Your eyes flutter closed as you return his affection, kissing back harder than you intend before you break away. It feels like magic, it feels like home. And you want nothing more than to do it again. To lose yourself in him so delightfully…

You remember yourself then and almost shy away completely before Bucky takes your face in his hand, turning you back to him. You lock eyes once more and you feel like you can't breathe at what you see in his. You don't have time to think on it before his eyes flick down to your lips and then he's kissing you again. His lips press harder against yours, still moving just as gently but somehow it feels much more intimate. Sincere. Real.

You deepen the kiss and then suddenly the whooping and claps around you both bring you back to reality.

You pull away, taking a sobering breath, blinking away the haze of longing as Bucky's delicate touch remains on your cheek. You gingerly reach to take his hand, slowly pulling it off of you. You hold it for a second, squeezing his hand before letting it drop.

The celebration continues all around but you need to get yourself together. Alone.

"'M gonna use the bathroom," you whisper to him, knowing he can hear you even through the din.

You exchange 'Happy New Year' exclamations with everyone you pass on your way to his bathroom and bid goodnight to the people already getting ready to head home. A lot of them have early mornings at the tower, so you get it.

There are only a few people in the living room with Bucky as you look back before you escape to the bathroom, taking your time to decompress.

Sam, Steve, and Nat were talking with him, but his eyes were on you when you looked at them.

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew you'd get caught up in the fantasy. And somehow, he still got you to do it. You curse yourself in the mirror and then notice your smudged lipstick.

The thought of your lipstick staining Bucky's lips right out there has you in a flurry of emotions...

He kissed you. Twice. That actually happened. But did it really mean anything?

Your heart twists as you refuse to believe it could have. You just need to... God, you don't know what you need. All you know is right now you can't stop thinking about Bucky's hands on you. You can't stop thinking of how soft and supple his lips are. And how damn good of a kisser he is.

You look at yourself once more in the mirror.

Fucking hell. What are you gonna do? You sigh, eyes squeezing shut before you shake your head at yourself.

You turn back to the door, opening it right when someone's knock hits.

You're somehow surprised, and yet not at all, to see Bucky staring back at you as you pull it open wider.

"Hey," you say, raising a brow and shoving every fuzzy feeling threatening to strangle you back down.

"Hey," he started. "Everyone left. I just, uh. Wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm good," you nod.

"I'm sorry. About kissing you."

"Oh," you utter - sounding more dejected than you wanted to. "Yeah, no. Don't, don't even worry about it." You muster a shamefully see through smile.

His stare is near invasive as he really looks at you, analyzing you. He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it, instead giving you a tight lipped smile in return.

He nods, then looks to the floor, "Okay," he accepts.

You nibble your lip, crossing your arms as he still stands in front of you.

He notices and moves out of your way, offering a small sorry and a huff of a laugh.

You walk back out into the living room as he follows.

"Wow, this place is a mess,” you breathe a laugh, hoping to keep the subject change.

"Yeah," he agrees, "I'll be having fun tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you question. "Are you busy now?"

"... I guess not."

"Then grab a garbage bag, Barnes. We've got work to do."

He laughs, "Oh, yeah? You're gonna stay and help me clean up?"

"What are friends for if not clean up?"

He smiles at you as his mind replays his conversation with Sam, Steve and Nat just minutes ago.

He told them the truth about you, and their reaction wasn't what he expected, but definitely what he needed.

"Wait, sorry, you're not dating her?" Nat asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, I'm confused, too," Sam added. "You guys act more like a couple than most couples I know."

"And she's cute, you seem perfect together."

"Well, we're not. Not, not perfect together," he amended, "I mean we're just not together. We're friends. Nothing more."

"Looks like a hell of a lot more, if you ask me..."

"So," Steve finally chimed in, "you spend all that time together, you talk about her constantly, and I saw the way you kissed her at midnight, Buck, but you're telling us it's nothing more than friendship?"

Bucky didn't know what to say. But he knew Steve knew what he was really feeling. He knew exactly what he wasn't saying.

"Do you want it to be more?" he asked. "Because from an outsider's perspective, it seems like you have everything with her but the label."

"I..." Bucky looked around, making sure you hadn't snuck back out of the bathroom yet, "yeah. I do want it to be more. She's, fuckin' perfect," he breathed a laugh as his thoughts, as they always do, strayed back to you. That familiar warmth that fills his chest anytime you're near, or hell, anytime he so much as thinks your name, returned to him. And suddenly his thoughts went back to the softness of your cheek as he held you close earlier. How pliant and perfectly your lips moved against his as you kissed him back. Not once, but twice.

Even still, he thinks back to when he told you why he was so reluctant to go on the dates his friends kept setting up for him. It was a lie when he said it was because he didn't want to date right now... well, partially. He really didn't want to date around. And his mind was focus on other things.

Other things, of course, being you.

When you nodded and told him you got it, that you felt the same way, his heart felt like it deflated by ten.

He was getting ready to finally make his move and ask you out, for real this time. But how could he do that now? He didn't want to be another guy you had to swat away, he couldn't be another one of your rejections. And you gave out plenty, always to his selfish delight if he was being honest. In fact, he can't remember the last time you actually went out on a date. It's been months...

Most of your nights are spent together. Just the two of you. But if you weren't wanting to date anyone right now, and he asked you, he couldn't be sure what you'd say. More importantly, where it'd leave you.

Bucky wasn't stupid, he wasn't blind, and he wasn't deaf. He had every confirmation he could ever want that you liked him the same way he liked you. But he didn't want to chase you away by pressuring a relationship, especially if that's not what you want.

"It's clear she likes you, too, ya know," Steve pointed out what he thought was the obvious.

"I know, I just. I don't wanna push her away by moving too fast. I don't think she's looking to date anybody right now,"

"If you don't ask, you'll never know."

He knew they were right. He needed to just bite the bullet and ask you outright. And he would.

But as he watches you glide around his kitchen, so at home, putting things back in their rightful places and throwing away the random garbage left behind, he thinks maybe not tonight… He doesn’t want to ask a question that might make you leave. But then again…what if it makes you stay?

"Chop chop, supersoldier," you admonish him as he continues to watch, staring dreamily at you. Your back is to him so you can't see his face, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

Bucky follows your lead, tossing away the empty cups and putting away the leftover food and drinks while you wipe down the counter.

It really wasn't that much of a mess, but you're glad to get it cleaned now, so you won't have to worry about it tomorrow.

Wait...why would you be worried about it tomorrow? This isn't your apartment. God, you really are always over here, aren't you...

You turn to Bucky as he ties off the bag of trash.

You just look at him for a minute. Admiring him from mere feet away while he does the same to you. It's quiet between the two of you, but you can feel the charged silence as it brims with words unsaid.

You know what you want to do right now. But you do what you think you should instead.

"I guess I'll head out, then."

"Oh," he breathes.

"Oh?"

"I just, uh,” he shakes his head, "Never mind."

"No, what is it?" you prod, now entirely curious.

Bucky's bright eyes flash back up to yours and you see him search for what to say instead of saying what was on his mind.

"Your grapes," he remembers, turning to the fridge to get them for you, "you didn't eat them."

"Oh, yeah, well, too late now," you laugh softly.

"What's your resolution?" he asks.

"That's not how the grapes work, Bucky."

"Come on," he goads. "What's your resolution? I wanna know."

"Hmm. Well, good question," you think for a moment, watching him as he rinses off a bunch, then pulls two grapes from their stems. You mindlessly purse your lips as you think. "I want to be less scared," you start quietly, eyes meeting his intent gaze, when he looks back at you, "More confident," you add with a little nod.

"You, more confident?" he asks. "You're one of the most confident people I know. And I know Thor," he adds, getting the laugh he was hoping for from you.

You shrug, "Fake it til you make it." You give a soft, almost sad smile. It physically hurts him to see that hint of sadness in your eyes, and he wants nothing more than to do whatever he can to take it away. He hands you one of the two grapes and you raise a brow as you take it.

"And you?"

Your heart rate kicks up as he steps close, invading your space and standing right before you.

"I…would like to communicate better."

You huff a laugh, tittering, "Yeah, that's a good one."

"Let's both start right now," he says, holding up his grape.

"Okay. Let's," you hold up your own grape, bumping it into Bucky's as if you were toasting before you both pop your own grape into your mouth, stupid smiles on both of your faces.

As you finish, Bucky takes a step closer, surprising you as you look up to him. A bit of deja vu coming over you as you swallow hard. You wait a long breath for him to say something. And then he finally does.

"So. This is me, trying to communicate better: I'm not really sorry that I kissed you. Either time. And if I'm being entirely honest, I'd really like to kiss you again right now."

You're stunned silent and you think you can hear your blood rushing in your ears as you blink up at him.

It takes you a moment before you think you can respond, but Bucky speaks again before you do.

"But I'm not going to do that. Because I want to do this right. In fact, I've been wanting to do this right for months."

"Bucky?" you murmur quietly.

"Doll, will you do me the pleasure of accompanying me to dinner and a movie this Friday?" he asks sincerely.

Your mouth is dry and you have to force yourself to swallow hard again so you can speak. "We always do dinner and movies on Fridays," you point out.

"I mean as a date," he clarifies, holding himself to his resolution.

You stare at him, unsure of what to say. Well, that's not true. You know what you want to say. You know what you want to do. You want to say yes, and you want to lean into him again and indulge him in one more kiss, because you want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss you. But that terrified voice in the back of your head is currently telling you to make a run for home as fast as you can. You want to fight the fear, really you do.

Bucky is keeping his resolution already, you're just not sure if you can do the same.

"Uhm," you drone awkwardly.

He laughs that nervous laugh you rarely get to hear...the one you love.

"Is that a yes?" he asks with a hopeful wince.

It takes you a second and then your mouth moves before your brain does as you respond to him.

You stand there, a bit shocked at your own answer, and not entirely sure where to go from here...

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader #neighbor!bucky x reader #neighbor!bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x plus size reader #ciwywt #bucky x reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

[incognit0slut]

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

.

a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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[reiderwriter]

Dirty Cops

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: With a dirty cop killing women in the BDSM community running loose you and Spencer have to devise an equally dirty plan to catch him in the act.

Warnings: Kintober Day 22 - S&M, BDSM themes, public sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, interrupted sex (both of them are cockblocked by the job).

A/N: I'M BACK! Sorry for the delay. This is the fic that has been beating my ass for about two weeks now. I fear I put too much detail into the case, and now I'm 6k words deep into a part one of a fic that should've been a 3k standalone.... oops! I hope you enjoy~

You sat in your office hands on your forehead as you desperately searched for the solution to your problems. 12 women, 12 homicides that VICAP had just spotted were easily similar. All in the same jurisdiction, and yet no connections made by their police force.

Something was going on in Tampa, and you needed to get to the bottom of it before another person died. 

You supposed it didn't really help that some of the women had died in some pretty unorthodox ways. Strangulation, blunt force trauma, evidence of rope burns, and having been held hostage but not for long. Things your team was familiar with, but local detectives usually couldn't stomach.

As the BAU's brand new liaison officer, you got the job of convincing the local law enforcement to invite you in. They certainly weren't making it easy for you. 

"Listen, I'm telling you there's something here, sir, if you'd just check the case files. We're only trying to help."

"You're trying to stick your nose in my departments business because you think your fancy FBI agents can handle my cases better than me." 

"Sir, with all due respect -" 

"Fine, you think you can come find whoever whacked these street whores you come and do it." You took in a sharp breath and paused, trying to make sure if you were hearing him correctly. 

"What do you mean by whores, Captain? Choose your words very carefully." The warning was a bonus, knowing your voice had already done such a 180 he was probably regretting his previous word choices. As far as you knew none of the victims were wex workers. They mainly had office jobs or were even stay ah hone mom's.

"Each and every one of these women were jezebel's. Cheating, doing dirty things while showing their faces in church. They attended a certain establishment, not a Christian one, if you understand what I'm telling you, Miss." 

"It's Agent, actually, and if you ever leave these details out of a case file ever again, I'll make sure to have your badge pinned up on my wall like a hunting trophy. Are we clear, Captain?" He stuttered out a yes, but you cut him off quickly. 

"My team and I will arrive later today. Expect us for lunch." You said, slamming the receiver down and finally releasing a huff of breath you'd been saying for emergencies. 

A whistle from the door finally draws your attention after a few minutes. 

"Okay, Y/N," JJ clapped, looking impressed. "Who pissed you off?" 

"Just the Captain at the precinct who just very politely invited us to consult on our next case." You threw the file in her direction as she set down the coffee she'd bought you, picking it up to peruse it. "Where's Hotch? I need to tell him we've got to go now before they change their minds." 

"You know you want to say it," she teased as you began walking out of the office to find your elusive boss. 

"Ha. Sure. Wheels up in 30, Jennifer." She raised her coffee in a salute to you as you finally took off, getting ready to go to war against an unhelpful police precinct. 

–X– 

With all the time you don't have, you end up briefing the team on the jet. You have to stand and grab the edge of the table as you try not to pace up and down the aisle. 

"Twelve victims, all women between the ages of 20 to 28. He's crossing race lines, so I don't think they're placeholders." In all honesty, this case had pissed you off. 

Twelve dead women and no one seemed to care until you phoned the department up yourself when VICAP flagged it all with you. Half of the cases had been closed for lack of evidence, and the other half so poorly investigated that you knew it was only a matter of time before they got boxed up and shelved too. 

"The general public in Zephyrhills doesn't even know they have a serial killer. No one is being told to exert caution. There's no local press on this either." 

"It says that these women were all killed, but there's no viable DNA they could pick up?" Morgan asks, looking up at you. 

"That's right, no DNA evidence can be lifted, but spermicide was found on three of the victims." 

"So our unsub was wearing a condom. He came prepared, and we were dealing with a serial rapist who has bridged into murdering his victims." 

"There was no spermicide found on the other nine victims?" Emily looks up at you from her place at the small table. 

"No. Rape test kits weren't run on any of the other victims because, quote: 'it was pretty obvious what had happened.' The precinct waited too long to collect the DNA evidence  and now we don't have enough to locate, let alone prosecute an unsub based on DNA."

The whole team shared in your stressed look then, sending you matching sympathetic glances as they suddenly understood the herculean task you'd taken on trying to convince the locals to invite you in. 

Not noticing the awkward silence that fell on the group, Spencer spoke up quickly from his place, standing beside you. 

"You know, Zephyrhills is only about an hour away from Tampa. Tampa is the number one hook up spot in the US. It's residents boast on average 14 orgasms a month instead of the nationwide average of 12.5." He seemed pleased with the knowledge he'd just let everyone in on, as you looked back on him.

"Right. So our guy is trying to get his rocks off to out gun the rest of the country. Thanks, Spencer." 

"It's relevant. It's says in the casefile here that three of our victims were last spotted on the highway making their way to Tampa, but then their bodies were found dumped in Zephyrhills. What if he's following them?"

"Spencer has a point, but if he's following them, what gets them to turn around? The cars were found abandoned in Zephyrhills, too, none of these women made it to Tampa." Hotch adds, and you make eye contact with him as your next thought comes to you. 

"What could get someone to stop on a highway?" You ask, the question so simple, every single one of them knew the answer before you'd even finished asking.

"A cop." JJ filled in, and you all sat silently as you realised how dangerous this next case could truly be. 

"We're about an hour out from arrival, everyone get some rest for now, I'm going to make a call to the nearest FBI Field Office, see if any of this is on their radar."

You slunked back to your seat at the back of the jet and sat down again, trying to get comfy but ending up just shifting multiple times in your seat.

Spencer joined you, sitting beside you, so close you could feel his eyes on you as your leg began to bounce. He put his hand over it and, with a strong hand, stilled the movement. 

"Y/N, you did a good job connecting these cases." His voice was meek and calming, and you'd generally very much appreciate it if his hand weren't sending your body through some serious loops right then. 

Your leg was on fire where he was touching you, his hand hot even through the fabric of your clothes. But when he pulled the hand away, watching your legs for any further tremors, you felt the need to snatch it back and replace it on your leg, certain that it would sooth the burning once more. 

You snapped yourself out of it quickly. If you were thinking this way about Spencer of all people, then you really needed to get laid. 

"Tampa's population consists of 43% singles, you know. Good statistics for getting laid." You twisted your head around to meet his eyes again.

"Tell me I didn't say that outloud." But his small smile dashed your hopes as you realised you just admitted to feeling incredibly horny because of his hand on your knee. 

"If it's any consolation, I'm definitely the only one who heard it." His hand fell back to your thigh, and you twitched as it did, but you didn't move him. 

"Fucking floridians and their goddamn 14 orgams a month," you muttered under your breath, hoping that he wasn't paying any attention to you now, seeing as how he'd opened up a book to hold in one hand. 

"Lucky if I get even one and Florida man has 14 in him." You continue mumbling as you try to get cosy, closing your eyes and moving your head to find a comfortable position. 

“You definitely said that one out loud.” He laughed, and you threw up your middle finger while letting your head fall back and your body take the rest it needed. 

Without opening your eyes, you decided you needed the last word, a phenomenon you often found occurring in Spencer’s presence. 

“A gentleman would pretend to not have heard that, Spencer.”

“I’m not a gentleman.” Annoyance prickled you at his reply, but you were too tired to say anything more as you caught up with the sleep that had been evading you for weeks. 

–X–

Your landing in Florida comes almost too soon, and Hotch delegates tasks before you’ve even had the chance to properly get your feet beneath you after so long in the sky. 

This case was becoming more of a mindfield with each of the pieces of information you’d received. Upon getting off of his call with the FBI Field Office closest to Zephryhills, Hotch had informed the team about an ongoing investigation into the police captain’s wife, whose pseudo-Christian church group were spewing vitriol about damn near every group you could think of. 

“Religious discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia and some pretty screwed up views of basically everything else, too.” Penelope had informed the group, pulling up the files that had been sent to her.

“It seems their most recent project is… Oh, how relevant. An adult establishment just opened up on the outskirts of Tampa, right on the highway that connects it to Zephyrhills. And from the boasts of the club owner on social media, it seems he’s telling anyone who listens that he’s not going to get shut down because the police are his main clientele.” 

She sent through links to some of the posts to your iPads, and you angled the thing towards Spencer so he could take in the new information as well. 

“Could we be looking at a religious motive to the murders? You said that the police captain called these women Jezebels. The name is biblical, she was a Queen who worshipped a false god and was defenestrated because of it, but over time, the uncapitalised jezebel, as you know, tended to refer to women with loose morals.”

“The motives could still be religious, but these women were raped. It says in the case files that Mrs. James’s church group is solely comprised of women, mostly the wives of the officers in the police force.” 

Again, everything was leading you back to this stupid police precinct. You grimmaced as you realised that the next few weeks were going to be spent on the edge watching your back. 

“Y/N, Reid, I want you both with me at the precinct when we land. Morgan, JJ, go to the church and interview some of the ladies there, see if you can’t push some buttons. Emily, Rossi, some of the family’s of the victims got in touch with the field office to request inquiries, go anf find out whatever you can about the last known whereabouts of these women.” 

Now bracing yourself, you set your face in a neutral expression and let Spencer hold the door open for you as you walked into the station. 

“Hello, we’re the agents from the FBI. Where can we find your captain?” You ask the receptionist at the chatting to her desk, but just as you finish your inquiry, another officer cuts you off, stepping half in front of you and demanding some files from the woman. 

She stands awkwardly, sending you an apologetic glance as she scurries off to go and complete whatever busy work he’s just given her as you quietly seeth at his back. 

The officer turns around to you and grins, sending you a smile as he walks off, apparently pleased with himself for foiling your attempts to find his boss. 

“Y/N, keep a cool head. The captain’s office seems to be just ahead, I’m going to go and see if he’s there, smooth out some of the issues they seem to be having over here with our presence.” You nod and stay back with Spencer, who takes a quick seat behind you. 

You don’t sit, though, too on edge and pissed off to get comfortable now. 

The officers seem to ignore the two of you, bustling around you with no sense of shame, but you can tell they're watching you, hearing the low murmur of whispers. 

When one of them decides to out their hands on you, though, you've decided you've had enough.

"Sorry, little lady, I need to get through. Important police business." He practically Leeds down at you as his hands grab your waist, meaning to move you aside to her you out of his path. 

You don't give him the chance, grabbing his hands from your hips and twisting them behind his back quickly, shoving him face first into the nearest desk. 

"Fuck, you little bitch. Come and control your partner, man." He struggles in your grasp, signalling to Spencer. 

You grin as Spencer doesn't even look up at him, having pulled out a copy of War and Peace and settling nicely in his seat. You could tell he was on edge though, had seen the slight way his body tensed when you'd first been touched, and knew that if you'd needed it, he'd be there backing you up in a second. 

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" He finally said, still not looking up from his book. 

"Yes, get this bitch off of me." 

"If you ask her nicely, I'm sure Agent Y/N would release you. As for me, I'm certainly not making her do anything she doesn't want to." He grinned as he said it, and you rolled your eyes slightly.

"Maybe if you told some of these other agents here to stop looking at her likes, she's a hunk of meat and greeted her respectfully instead of calling her… little lady, was it? Maybe then she'd be more generous." The man grumbled beneath you again, but before you could actually force his hand, Hotch and the Captain were exiting his office, obviously alerted by the crashing sound you'd made. 

"Reid, Y/N, that's enough." Hotch signalled, and you complied, letting the man go and stepping back to Reid's side. He'd stood now, squaring his shoulders and making use of his quite intimidating height. You must seem tense, though, because the second you settle next to him, he puts a hand on your lower back, and you're surprised at how calm you instantly become. 

Earlier, his touch had been fire and ice, and now it was relaxing you beyond belief. What the hell was wrong with your body recently? 

"Thank you, sir," the officer said, straightening, dusting off his uniform as he levelled a glare at both you and Spencer. "I was beginning to think the FBI was just a bunch of sissy's and menstruators-" 

"Cut the crap." Hotch barked out, and even you were startled by the sound. "Captain, if you or any member of your precinct says anything further about any member of my team, or god forbid puts a hand on them, I'll personally make sure this office is charged with conspiracy to murder for not investigating these deaths and aggravated assault of a federal officer. Do I make myself clear?" 

The man seemed displeased at having his badge threatened for a second time in 24 hours, but nodded, dismissed the other officer, and finally shut up. 

He has the female receptionist from earlier show you to the room you'd be using for your investigation for the next few weeks. 

After  making sure the room is secure, you place a call to Penelope and the others trying to gauge if they'd found any further leads. 

"Some of the family members know exactly where they were going that night. One of them had a husband, said he was going with her, that they drove in separate cars because it was part of the thrill of it all." Emily's voice sounded tense and frustrated, and you could only sympathise silently before jumping in to ask her more questions.

"I thought they said it was an adult establishment? Does that not mean strip club?" You asked, perplexed at why the married couple would be going together. 

"No, from what I can tell, it seems these women were members of the BDSM community, and that place… is somewhere they can practice." 

"So even if we do somehow get another victim, any DNA test could be questionable evidence because they all left to have consensual sex." You sighed out and ran a stressed hand through your hair.

On your call with JJ and Morgan, you got much of the same. 

"Oh, they're angry, alright. About the immigrants and the drug dealers, the homosexuals, and the jezebels. Seems they're working hard to get the club closed not just because it's a house of sin but also because the man who owns it might be an illegal immigrant."

"How quaint and Christian of them."

"Yep, and get this, the club's official title? Women for the Grace of God. There were no men in this group, Y/N. We're not going to find our unsub here." 

Hanging up, you let your head hang, the fatigue of the case really kicking your ass. 

"Spencer, draw the blinds, Y/N, lock the doors." Hotch ordered, and you listened, quickly making sure that no one was even close to the door. Returning to your seat, you noted the tense set of your boss's jaw and decided that whatever he had to say wasn't going to be good. 

"Our unsub is in this precinct, which means we're not safe. But it also puts us in a unique position. They don't know we suspect them yet. We can force the unsubs hand." 

You straightened in your chair, listening closer. 

"You want to bait them out?" Spencer asked from his place beside you. 

"I want you two to bait them out. You already got under a few of the officers' skin, push a few more buttons, and we could get our unsub to slip up." 

"And how are we supposed to do that?" You asked, heart thumping in anticipation. You thought you already knew, but you needed to hear the words from his mouth to be sure. 

"They're going after women in the BDSM lifestyle. Let's convince them that the two of you are also similarly involved." 

He turned and left you with the decision then, leaving you and Spencer in the small room alone. 

Your palms were sweaty, and you refused eye contact for a few minutes before he finally cracked and gave in first.

"It'd work." He whispered, suddenly closer than you remembered. 

"What?" 

"It would work. Whoever this guy is, he's getting off on dominating these women, seeing another man that he deems physically inferior dominating a woman who's already kicked an officers ass… that's enough to get him to crumble, slip up."

"So I'm supposed to just bend over and take it?"

"Bend over, yes, but I usually prefer women to be a bit bratty." 

"What?" You found yourself blinking up at his face, even as the door swung open again, another officer walking into the small room you'd been left in. 

You stepped away from Reid slightly, putting a more appropriate distance between the two of you before the man started talking. 

"Well hello, I heard we had some feds in the office, thought I'd come introduce myself, but I didn't hear we had such a beautiful woman here, too. She a witness?" He directed the question to Spencer, but his leering eyes never left your body, trailing down slowly and disgustingly as you tried not to shudder under his gaze. 

"I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, this is my partner, Agent Y/N. How can we help you?"

"Oh, I'm all set on my medicals, doc. You can't help me. Maybe she can if you let me take her out for a test drive?" Your blood boiled as he said those words, and you were about to send a cutting reply back to the man, when Spencer sat back down in his seat, snaking an arm around your waist to take you with him.

"Sorry, I don't lend out my private property." Stunned, you tried to act naturally about your new position, but his hand on your thigh slashes your brain capacity down by half, the only thought in your head running through Spencer Reid's possible sexual preferences. 

"Oh, I see how it is. She's a slut, just not that kind. Okay, I'll bite, what's this one into? Choking, spanking? Careful, don't go too far or you'll be prime suspect number one for our perp." 

"What are you insinuating, officer?"

"That these sluts you're asking about got in over their heads. Some women like it rough, practically beg for it. Poor guy just did what they were asking." Biting your tongue, you let the man keep digging his own hole, as Spencer kept him talking.

"Actually, contrary to popular opinion, in most sado-masochistic relationships, the submissive partner is the one in control. They have power to stop whatever role play is going on in the scene through safe words and actions, and the dominant role is more of a protective role, requiring a deep level of commitment and care for their sub." As he said it, he turned your face to his, hooking a finger under your chin and then stroking your face as you fell further into his body. 

You almost forgot the other officer was there until you heard his grumbled reply, turning your head slightly to whisper in Reid's ear. 

"Long shot, Doc." With that, you climbed from his lap, turning back to the other officer with a grin. 

"Sorry, was there anything professional we could help you with? Or would you like to go and deal with your little problem alone in the men's bathroom now?" He turned on his heels and exited swiftly, face red with rage at your insinuations. 

"Okay. I'll admit, it's going to work. But we're going to need to set up some bait and deliver the profile to them to make sure we have each and every one of their attentions."

"I'll notify, Hotch." 

"Spencer, wait." He stopped at the door and turned back to listen to you. "Earlier when you said… when you mentioned that you'd prefer…" You tried to ask the question  but it seemed the question just wasn't going to form on your lips  so you simply let out a small frustrated humph and let him figure out the rest. 

"Y/N, I… I don't know how to answer that question and still act professionally around you."

He left the room shortly after, and you couldn't help but feel disappointed at the distance suddenly kept between the two of you. You were beginning to become much too distracted by Spencer Reid.

–X– 

"Let's have another rundown again, just so we're all clear on the play by play on this." Morgan said as you and Spencer were wired up, ready for your operation. 

It wasn't exactly undercover, but it wasn't quite straight police work either, but here you were. After giving the profile earlier, you'd noted that three of the officers had seemed a little bit fidgety under all the new information they were getting, all three of them matching your profile. 

Unluckily for you, they just happened to be the Captain in charge of the precinct, Detective Handsy from your first trip into the office, and Detective Dumbass, who'd asked you and Spencer all about BDSM earlier that day. 

Penelope had filled you in on each of their backgrounds. The Captain was second generation police force, but court of public opinion had ruled that his father wasn't exactly an upstanding guy, a report corroborated by his mother's multiple accidents and trips to the ER. Detective Handsy had a misdemeanour sex crime expunged from his juvenile record for masturbating in public - on the unconscious girl who sat next to him on the bus.

Detective Dumbass seemed to be the police contact for all the local prostitutes. He'd busted at least thirty in three months, and each of them had reportedly tried to turn him in as the John who'd paid for their services. 

"Run through it again." Morgan brought you down to earth as JJ finished attaching the wire under your clothing, handing you the small in ear so you could hear updates from the team. 

"We walk into the bar, get a little too close for comfort than they'd like, then ask the bartender where we can have some fun around here. She's been prepped to give us the answer we want, and we set out on the highway where Rossi and Hotch are waiting in unmarked cars to give us an escort until our unsub takes the bait and tries to pull us over." 

"Good, now, Spencer, do I have to show you where to put your hands, or do you think you've read enough to figure out how to push the right buttons?" From the grin on his face, it was evident he was enjoy pushing the younger man's buttons  but you could tell he wasn't doing it maliciously. The two of you were both tense and on edge, and you needed that waylaid somehow. 

"Trust me, Morgan, I think he knows where his fingers should go." You said before grabbing Spencer’s hand and dragging him out of the vehicle, not letting him go until you were right by the door of the bar. 

You didn't really let him go either, it's more like he caught up to you and moved his hand from yours to your ass instead, pulling you closer into his body as you made to move inside the bar. 

He hesitated a moment outside, though.

"Y/N, we haven't talked about boundaries yet. I'm going to have to touch you in there and-"

"You have my permission. For anything." Your words come faster than you expect, but they're there, filling the silence of the night quickly. 

"Anything?" He asks, a small play lighting up his lips as he pulls you in closer. You can feel his breath on your skin, and you almost take back your words until he lowers his head. Your lips are barely an inch apart and getting slowly closer as you angle your head up towards him, when the bar doors swing open and he turns and pulls you inside instead. 

You recover quickly, trying to focus on the twelve women who need to find justice rather than the many things you suddenly want Spencer Reid to be doing to you. 

You slide into a booth at the edge of the bar  but you'd canvassed the place earlier, knowing that while it appeared to be a quiet corner, every other table had a clear view of your actions in the corner. 

Surely enough  you felt a few pairs of eyes on you as you sat down, a little closer for comfort than you expected.

"Well, Penelope's sources were correct. It seems like every cop in town is here tonight." You said, whispering the words into Spencer's neck, just above where his own wire was placed, making sure the words were heard by both him and the members of your team left in the surveillance van. 

"Show time," he said, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips as you stood. He gave your ass a quick slap as you made to walk towards the bar, and you sent him back a wink as you walked to order your drinks. 

Ordering them quickly, you took a simple scan of the room, noting that all three of your suspects were social butterflies tonight. They all sat on different tables, but each had at least another man with him, and every single one of them was looking at you presitorially. 

Returning to your seat with the drinks, you never felt their gazes leave you. 

"Certainly caught their attention. What now?" You asked hesitantly, sliding up against Spencer’s body again. 

"Now we give them a show." He said, snaking a hand between your legs and forcing them apart gently. You'd changed into a shorter skirt and smaller top before coming back out, needing to look the part of the slut they'd already deemed you. 

You smiled up at Spencer as he stoked your thigh suggestively, but he never moved it further up. 

"Spencer, kiss me." You said, eyelids heavy as you begged the man to take you further than touching. 

"Why?" He asked softly in your ear.

"Because a few of our suspects are getting restless, and I want to see if we can tip some of them over the edge. Obviously you're smarter than trying to stick your hand up my skirt in public surrounded by a group of cops who would happily stick you in a cell for the night for public indecency, so you're just going to have to stick your tongue down my throat." 

"Here I was thinking maybe you wanted it," he grumbled but complied anyway, grabbing the back of your head with his free hand and pulling you towards him. The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle the way his caresses were. It was hot and it was demanding, and when he pulled away after a minute and your lips followed his desperate for more  he grabbed your hair and pulled you backwards, baring your neck to him easily as he moved his lips down slightly. 

Opening your eyes then, you again surveyed the bar, noting that the Captain and his friends were leaving, sending a stink eyed glare in your direction as they threw down their cups and left. 

"Morgan, get eyes on the Captain. Make sure he goes home and stays there," you breathe out quietly, waiting to hear the affirmative in your ear as Spencer kept his head buried at your neck. 

In another second, he was off you, taking a swig only his drink as he smoothed your hair down again. You do your best to ignore the history pooling between your legs and the haze clouding up your brain as you stare at him swallow the drink, watching a small stream of the soda you'd ordered him instead run down his chin. 

You watched it fall and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, pressed forward to lap it up from his neck. He'd spent time marking you. What harm could this do now? 

However you rationalised it, you knew it was just an impulse, one greatly rewarded by his hands pulling your hips over his and a growl in your ears. 

"Anything?" Was the only thing he said, and you pulled away to look into his eyes again before he pulled you in for another kiss. 

"Sorry to interrupt, love bunnies, but we've had a change of plan. Two of our suspects are out, and they've bailed and been safely and discreetly escorted home by FBI agents from the field office. Hotch and Rossi are on the way back. He thinks we can nail him in there and get him to act out." 

Pulling back from the kiss long enough to whisper your reply to Morgan into Spencer's mic, you can barely tear your eyes away from the man. 

"What do you want us to do?" 

"Men's bathroom is free. Hotch thinks if we make it look like you're doing something less than holy in there that it could force his hand. Especially because he's shown voyeuristic tendencies in the past."

"Shit. Detective Dumbass?" 

"Only one left. And his name is Dunbar. You'd do well to remember that in the paperwork."

Pulling yourself up and out of Spencer's lap, you took a swig of your drink again as you stood. 

"Follow me in three minutes." He grabs you by your wrist and turns you back around to him again, though before you can leave.

"Y/N, we're going to get this guy. After we do, I think we should talk." Instead of answering him, you pressed another lingering kiss to his lips and moved out again, heading directly to the dark corridor where the bathrooms were. 

You slipped into the men's easily enough, thankful that it was empty. It was a single stall, and when you heard the knock on the door two minutes later, you were suddenly thankful that it was, because it meant that you could lock the door behind him and not risk anyone else coming in while you baited your unsub.

Spencer placed a hand to his lips as soon as he made it through the door, pulling out his phone to type out a message to you without speaking. 

"Followed me. Think he's listening outside." 

You pulled your own out to answer him.

"Let's give him a show then."

The both of you discarded your phones on the countertop of the bathroom and suddenly collided again, as if you were two magnets who could no longer resist the pull. 

Your lips fought hungrily, and now you didn't pull back your voice  letting all the moans of pleasure fall from your mouth and fill the bathroom.

His hands were on you in an instant, pushing you back against the door, letting the creep behind the wall hear as much as possible as his hips found yours and you started grinding against him like your life depended on it. 

You could no longer tell what you were doing for the case, and what you were doing out of the simple desire to do so, wrapped up in all of the pleasure he was giving you in that minute. And that was before he started talking. 

"You like that, whore? You like feeling my hands on you out here in this dirty bathroom." You clenched around nothing, even as his hands trailed lower, reaching the top of your skirt just as you replied. 

"Yes, I like that, Daddy. Please touch me more." 

You crashed together again, even as Spencer's hand fell inside your skirt and panties suddenly reaching for your clit. You forgot everything. The bathroom, the unsub, the wire you were wearing. When his hands were on you your only thoughts were him. 

You gasped in delight as he began rubbing you, moaning out heartily, not bothering to restrain your voice. Even if there was not a murderer on the other side of the door, you'd have wanted everyone to know how good he was making you feel. 

"Kneel," he says, and you listen, getting down to the dirty floor for him and looking up at him innocently.

"Now what, sir?" You ask, teasing him with a smile. He gives your face a light slap in reply, but the sound is sharp, and you can hear some movement outside. You don't get to think about it for too long, however, as he suddenly removes his cock from his pants. 

"Suck" is all the instruction you need before you're taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around him. 

After the entire night of teasing, you don't have to be told twice. You take him down your throat until you're gagging, but he puts his hands on your head and pushes you further anyway. 

"That's it, baby, such a nice little slut just for me." He holds your hair as he begins fucking your face, softly whispering insults into the quiet bathroom. 

"Perfect little slut, letting me do this here. For anyone to see and hear how much you like my dick down your throat. I should unlock this door, show everyone how nicely you take my cock."

You moan around him, desperately gripping his thigh as you struggle to breathe. He finally pulls out, pulling you up by your hair until you're face to face with him again, saliva dripping from your mouth. 

"Is that how you like it?" He asks, and you nod fervently.

"Yes, sir. Please fuck me now, I've been such a good little girl." 

He turns you and presses you against the door again. As you turn your ear to it, you can hear some pacing outside of it as he lifts up your skirt.

You were ready to feel this perfect bliss, right up to the moment Morgan decided to remind you of the task at hand. 

"Hotch is here. We've got him cornered. Great acting, guys. We're thinking if Y/N exits the bathroom now, we can catch him trying to carry her off." 

His hands stilled on you, and you both stared guiltily into each other's eyes. You kept your sounds up, definitely acting now, feeling as though you'd just been doused in ice-cold water.

Footsteps retreating down the hall had you suddenly nodding in response to each other, faking your orgasm with one last large gasp followed by a few minutes of silence and you straightened your clothes ready to bait the unsub once again. He tucks himself into his pants, and you loudly discuss your plans for separate exits. 

"I'll meet you back at the table in five." He says, and with another lingering look, you're out the door and alone in the dark corridor, feeling empty and needy.

It was time to catch a killer.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

[thebirthofvenusfly]

okay but i like thinking about the events of ISAT/siffrin's struggles not as them going from a party of normal people with normal struggles to "everyone essentially now has to help Sif heal from That," but as, "everyone in the party has had their own immense, long-term struggles, and this happens to be Siffrin's." like, siffrin is not just a, "problem child," or the standalone outlier in terms of angst

here me out

[major ISAT spoilers, especially for acts 3-5 btw]

siffrin doesn't know all these things in act 1, but:

Odile has had a life-long struggle with identity. Her mother abandoned her family at a young age, her father (presumably heartbroken and betrayed) has never kept any mementos or photos or stories of her and likely avoided speaking of her at any and all opportunities. For the most part, Odile loves her culture but admits she was an outlier in Ka Bue and always stood out from the texture of her hair and eyebrows. She's tried to settle before for the peace of just letting it be, but after meeting that travelling merchant, she realizes how badly she does want to bridge that gap in her identity and has now spent years travelling--all only to find that it didn't quite fix her problem and she hasn't been able to find herself entirely in Vaugarde either. She doesn't dwell too much on her mother, but I feel there is a part of her that could never forgive the hole her mother left behind.

Mirabelle has similarly struggled, though in terms of religion and sexuality. She holds herself to a very high standard of Changing and being a, "good," Housemaiden, and has gone to great lengths to learn as much as she can in efforts to reinvent herself and Change, as she feels she, "should," do, because that's what Housemaidens and diligent followers of the House of Change, "should," do. She is so adamant about this that even prior to the game, even prior to the King's reign--which was several months-a full year before ISAT begins--she is forcing herself to look into relationships to potentially date, bond, and even have children with someone and she doesn't want to do any of that it. She is distraught because she doesn't want to change that aspect. She doesn't want to become what she's not, or try to force herself to feel things she doesn't and can't feel, but she isn't being a good Housemaiden or a good member of her society if she stagnates.

Bonnie's plight primarily comes in with the King's reign, which again, has been for a few months now. They live with their older sister who loves them and cares for them tirelessly, but she is taken by the King's Curse and frozen in time--an event which presumably happens in front of Bonnie, who is encouraged by their sister's last words to just run from the village as far as they can to safety. If that isn't terrifying enough, this leads to them wandering the wilderness for days, exhausted, dehydrated, presumably starved/ill-fed, and lonely, and likely scared out of their mind. Their only saving grace is Siffrin, who happens to find them and save them. The comfort they feel with Sif is called into question when they have to watch Siffrin take a permanent, debilitating injury to the eye to protect them. While the incident seems to roll off Siffrin's worries pretty seamlessly, this is a lot for Bonnie, who by now, has recognized a pattern of the people they love being permanently hurt or altered in some way all just to protect them. They're convinced they're a recurring problem, and after the death ritual talk in the House, has to prepare themselves for the haunting reality that they might really lose everyone they love (and, again, this is a lot. Especially for a child).

Isabeau has tried Changing before, and while it did help him make leaps and bounds, he is still in a constant struggle to love himself fully. Let's be honest here: Isabeau is easily the most emotionally put-together party member, and most equipped to handle the stresses of the party in terms of feelings. This does not make him immune, however, to his own negative feelings. He even cites as wanting to become someone that Siffrin wouldn't be, "ashamed," to know. He also mentions that he is remorseful of the new image he's given himself, as an air-headed, jock type of person, which often leads people into genuinely believing he's stupid and thus treating him that way. Not to mention, as the emotional mediator of the party, I'm sure he occasionally gets stretched thin between helping everyone else manage their problems and altercations.

all this is to say: everyone in the party has their problems, and a good sum of these are not all instantly solved by the end of the story. all of them, siffrin included, are left in a space where they have plenty of healing to do but can confidently and comfortably still rely on one another.

ISAT is just siffrin's chapter of major emotional plight, and everyone else's is presumed prior to the narrative (i can also acknowledge that siffrin definitely got the worst of it though LMAO)

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #mirabelle #isabeau #odile #bonnie #siffrin

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Repentance

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

('Burn' gifs are limited and this was hotter. Sue me.)

Summery: You know the phrase 'sleeping angels?' Yeah, not in this fucking house. Pretty soon it's gonna be you or him, but Billy may have a trick or two up his sleeve to provide a happy ending for you both

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specified genitals for Reader, prequel/standalone fic for 'My Ghost' but not required reading to enjoy this fic, ('My Ghost' may even be enhanced if you read this first, I'll be fr.) Porn with plot (if you are only here for plot, the porn is only in the second half and is easily skippable), snoring, Reader is sleep deprived, non-serious threats of violence, mentions of gun violence, banter, make-up sex, drug usage/alcohol consumption, Dom!Billy, Sub!Reader, Reader goes mostly non-verbal after smoking but their thoughts don't, dumbification, Reader gets spoiled and folds like a lawn chair me too bitch me too, massage turning into sex, doggy style, Reader gets that good dick that knocks their head into a wall, vocal! Billy, dirty talk/talking through it, pet names, possessive sex, mentions of wet dreams, happy ending for everyone :)

Other Works in This Series: 'My Ghost' (Original) • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: This was supposed to be a drabble and it was not gonna contain smut. What can I say, when the holy spirit of a short man with big brown eyes compels you, you compel him into your bitch. Anyways, this was inspired by this headcanon written by @g0ry0re0! So if you liked this fic, please thank her as well in the comments and go support her works because this wouldn't exist without it!! They're a fucking great writer as well.

                            -¤°》◇《°¤-

Have you ever killed a man?

I might.

Listen, I'm not a bitch. I'm not unreasonable even though that was a hell of an opening statement. But if you'd dealt with the shit I've put up with for the past few nights, you would understand.

How can a man who's not even that fucking large in stature make such noise? What the fuck is wrong with him?

I kick him to try and hit a reset button. It works for five minutes, which is long enough for me to begin to relax again. Right before his snoring revs up like the engine of that bike he loves parked on our front lawn. Maybe I'll run him over with it. Be poetic, take him out with his own weapon. Don't the reports show just how deadly motorcycles are compared to regular cars? It's bad for your health.

Okay, I'm assuming that bit because I'm tired, I'm cold, and Billy won't shut the fuck up. It was a little cute when he was just spending the night and we were hardly sleeping. But now that he actually lives here?

Kick. Stop. Wait. Snore.

Goddammit.

Billy has the fucking audacity to greet me with a smile this morning. Sitting at my fucking table, smoking from the ashtray I fucking made him. He should be ashamed to look so good with no shirt on, displaying his chest hair for the whole neighborhood to see as he sits near the open window with coffee set in front of him like he owns the damn place.

"Morning beautiful," he says with a smile. What fucking nerve does he have to sit there and act so happy about while I hate him?

"You snore," I growl. His eyebrows shoot into the air, this son of a bitch has the nerve to widen his smile.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said you fucking snore," I repeat.

"Don't think I've heard that complaint before," he says, shifting in his seat to look at me better. I don't like the way he looks in those sweatpants, grey and hugging the wrong areas for my attitude.

"You haven't dated anyone long enough for someone to complain about it," I mutter under my breath. His eyes focus on the oversized shirt I wear that alright, maybe I stole from the drawer I stash his things in that I now claim as mine. We live together, it's inevitable, fucking fight me. Watching me as I walk into the kitchen, taking the coffee pot off the dock and pouring some into my cup.

"Something I can do to make up for it, shirt thief?" He asks, leaning back in his seat and manspreading, his hands on his horribly thick thighs. "I was wondering where that one went," he mutters to himself, amused.

"Yeah. See a fucking doctor."

It's day five. I'm genuinely considering homicide.

Dear God, or Allah, or whoever you are. If I shouldn't suffocate this man, give me a sign.

...does the short snore that escapes Billy's mouth count?

It doesn't matter what I do. If I turn him onto his side, if I kick him, if I shove ear buds in and blast whatever music I can sleep to at max volume, he's louder and I'm on my last straw. It's him or me.

"William," I say, poking my head up from the old pillow.

No response.

Maybe it's safe.

Maybe he's dead.

Maybe he'll stay quiet.

I lay my head down once more.

"...what?"

"You fucking snore."

"I'm sorry baby," he slurs in half baked consciousness, turning to wrap his arm around my waist as he presses hot, open mouthed kisses to the back of my neck. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Yeah, let me sleep."

"Sleep is for the weak."

I am weak. I am very, very weak.

"Put your dick away."

"It isn't out."

"I can still feel it."

With a grumble and his face buried in my hair, he abandons his quest in favor of returning to whatever dreams make him keep me up at night. And I am so close to joining him when he starts back up hardly two minutes later. Right in my ear.

With a final huff, I tear the blanket off of him and stomp my bleary eyed way to the living room. Fucker is too sleepy to even notice. Fuck him.

I'm not amused when I wake up in the ungodly hours of the morning sprawled on the couch, Billy's foot in my face as early morning light peaks through the shitty blinds.

"You followed me," I groan, my voice rough with sleep.

"I followed blanket," he slurs.

"It's mine."

"I was cold."

"You snore."

"I've offered consolation, you should take it."

"William, have you ever shot a man?" I ask, bolting upright as I wipe the crust from my eyes.

"Fucking what?"

"Have you ever shot a man?" I repeat slowly, properly enunciating each word.

Billy's eyes dart to the side, then back to me, wide but still tinted from sleep.

"...no?"

"I've considered it," I tell him. "There's a gun in my nightstand. And if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to use it. I haven't before, but I can't imagine it's hard."

Billy presses his lips together in a thin line, knowing I'm not serious but that I'm on the last straw.

"... should I go back to bed?"

"I can go back to bed," I say. "You can stay on the couch."

"That's a great idea."

"I'll take the blanket."

"You do that."

It's only two hours later when I'm woken by the alarm, and the smell of sausage is fresh on the air. Even if it was short, the sleep in solitude feels refreshing, no interruptions from Yellowstone volcano on the other side.

When I wander into the kitchen he's in the midst of finishing his preparations for a feast. And by feast I mean a fuck load of eggs with sriracha on top and plenty of sausages to go with it. There's also a pile of toast, the bottle of homemade cinnamon sugar next to the stick of butter besides it.

"Morning beautiful," Billy tries carefully, eyeing me as I lean against the hallway doorframe. "Coffee's on the table."

Whatever I said earlier- which may or may not be blurry to me at this point -has clearly changed his attitude. He's even set out the hazellenut creamer for me, a treat.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks, setting a heaping plate in front of me. I don't know how to tell him I'm too sleepy to eat.

"Better," I say. I take a slice of cinnamon covered toast, trying to convince my stomach to wake up. "Kinda cold, though."

He smiles softly at that, setting down his own plate to join me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I return the smile, taking a small bite of the corner of my toast. He takes a sip of coffee and brushes his foot against mine under the table. The silence is sweet, apart from the radio just ever so quietly playing in the background to add to the calm morning atmosphere Billy has created for me. His hair is ruffled from sleep, his hand nervously fiddling with the thin chain around his neck. He glances at me, smiles apprehensively, then breaks the silence.

"Do you actually own a gun?" He asks, trying so hard to sound casual.

My brows furrow before I realize what he's referencing, letting out a loud laugh and almost dropping my toast in the process.

"I'm not gonna shoot you, Billy," I laugh, trying so hard to maintain my composure.

"Last night you called me William. I did not like that," he laughs nervously.

"William, I will not shoot you."

"My mother calls me that, I don't want you and my mom calling me the same name."

"Willy-"

"Fuck you," he groans, laughing. "You're terrifying."

"When I don't sleep," I add for him. He nods, eyes wide and brows raising in agreement. "Did you seriously make breakfast because you were worried I owned a gun?"

"When you meet the devil, you meet demands," he says. I kick at his foot playfully, giggling.

"The devil doesn't really eat breakfast."

"I know, I packed lunch too."

Fuck free will, I should've done the gun thing a long time ago. When I walk back into the ramshack house that evening fresh off my shift, Billy has dinner, a bowl and a bath prepared for me upon my return.

"I did not take your comments seriously and I'm sorry," he says genuinely, taking my coat. "I should have and you have suffered. Consider this repentance."

"Repentance is nice. You hide the gun too while you were at it?" I ask.

"I'm not answering that."

Billy may be many things, and a cook is one of them. It's simple, fresh, and nice after a long day. The backrub I'm getting while I eat makes the flavors even sweeter.

"I feel an urge to clarify my threat was not serious," I joke between bites, taking a sip of the wine Billy had run out and gotten special for the night.

"I'm well aware, but this is overdue anyways," he says softly. "You're mine and you deserve nice nights." He presses a warm kiss to the spot just under my ear, making me blush. "My baby needs spoiled."

"Well, I certainly feel spoiled," I say contently, finishing the last bite. I lean back in my chair, letting him explore my neck as his gentle hands work their way through my many knots, whispering sweet nothings in my ear all the while.

"Wait until I tell you what kinds of oils I slipped in your bath as well," he whispers in my ear.

If this is repentance, he should snore more often.

I'm stoned, zoned, and completely naked across the bed as Billy carefully massages my legs, phone propped on a spare pillow beside my head as I stare blankly at the show in front of me.

His hands are slick with oil, gliding across my skin with ease as he works at a knot on the back of my calf.

"I've been ignoring you too much," he muses, his voice soft and loving as his thumbs work in small circles. "You're much too tense for my taste."

I am too stupid to respond with English. I will tell him later about the day I've had at work, running around for fifteen different customers and a boss I can hardly stand. But for now a low moan will do, my mind too blurry from substance use and the stimulation that makes me dizzy with want.

"Does that feel good?" Billy asks, pressing a small kiss against my shin. I moan again, eyes fluttering shut. "Wanna make sure my baby sleeps well tonight."

Oh, I'll sleep phenomenally.

His hands abandon me, searching for the bottle of lavender scented oil, coating his hands before reaching for the back of my thighs, right below the curve of my ass.

"How's the show?" He asks me, digging deeply into my tissue in a way that makes me moan, arching my back subconsciously as the stimulation takes over my thoughts. "That good?" He asks, voice deep as he chuckles.

"Very good," I confirm, my voice soft against the freshly washed bedsheets. I have never said a bad thing about this man. I would never curse the provider of relaxation. Any claims otherwise are false and slandering against me and my man.

"You're grinding against the bed, you realize that, right?" Billy asks bemused, his thumbs drawing deep circles against the inside of my thighs, making me gasp in want. "There something else you want?"

Whatever strain he has given me has made me nonverbal, but the squeak I let out is answer enough. For me, anyways.

"I need words, baby. Words. Vague noises are not consent," he says softly.

"Motherfucker that noise was not vague," I snap, lifting my head up briefly before resuming my mindless appreciation against the bed. Billy's laugh echoes throughout the room, his hand lightly smacking my ass before reaching for the small towel and bottle of lube on the nightstand, wiping off his hands before squeezing a generous dollop onto two digits.

His fingers press against my entrance slowly, coating it with the thick, cold lube, making me squirm and gasp against him, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"I'm gonna start off slow, okay baby?" He says gently, still stroking my entrance as he positions himself above me. "You let me know if you want me to change something."

I moan in understanding, but it's not enough for him. His voice is low and rumbling by my ear, his lips teasing at my shoulder.

"Say yes if you understand," he says softly, breath hot against my ear.

"Yes," I say just as soft.

"Good," he praises, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck. "Good baby."

His cock slowly sinks inside of me, the pot from earlier making the sensations deeper and more vibrant as I feel the sweet stretch even at the top of my head. Billy moves slow, taking his time to enter me as though we had all the time in the world. I can't help but pant against the bed, whining for more intelligibly as Billy sheethes himself to the hilt, pressing himself against my g-spot just perfectly at this angle, no real effort needed when I'm like this. My eyes roll at the touch, my hips bucking in uneven, stupid rhythms against him as he remains still inside of me. Fuck it, he could snore in my ear right now and I'd let him.

Billy's voice is breathy, moaning as he brushes my hair with his hand. "Let me know when you want me to move," he moans in my ear.

"I am," I whine. "Fuck me."

He chuckles against me, his voice rough as he continues in a slow, even rhythm. "You don't want to go slow first?" He asks, pressing a kiss to my spine as he slowly slides against my spot again, his cock making me clench tightly around him.

"Uh uh," I moan, still trying to buck rapidly against him. "Want more."

"You usually get so overstimulated if I start fast at this angle," he teases, ignoring the pace of my hips in favor of his. "Can't even finish fucking you if I start out fast, you're so sensitive by the end."

That's a lie. Terrible lie. Slander.

"Do you really want me to go fast?" He asks softly, one hand finding my hip to guide me to a better rhythm.

"Motherfucker, yes," I whine, lifting my head. He chuckles, much to my annoyance. "Fuck me like you own me."

At that he grabs my hips, slamming me against his base before he begins to violently abuse my hole, fucking directly into my g-spot and never missing once as he fucks me hard enough to make the bed slam into the wall, making a painting rattle on the wall behind us.

"Jesus- fuck- wait!" I cry, my hips subconsciously trying to escape his abuse while I clench around him, silently begging for more.

He slows his pace once more, pressing such soft, sweet kisses to my spine as he speaks. "See? You can't handle it like that. You're half fucked out already and that wasn't even five seconds."

He's absolutely right and I should listen to him more. How wise is my man.

"If I was really fucking you like I owned you," he says lowly between slow, long thrusts, his hands guiding my hips gently as I whimper with each move like the bitch I am. "I'd pick the pace. But here you are, telling me what to do and changing your mind the moment I give it to you. So indecisive is my baby." Very indecisive. Go fast again. "And I'll do whatever you want like a good man should."

I will stay home with the kids. I will scrub my permanently stained linoleum floor until it shines like the top of the Chrysler building. I will spend my days barefoot and pregnant if he so requests of me. In Jesus's name, Amen.

Billy moves slow and purposefully against me, grinding his cock and moaning in my ear while he watches me, smacking my ass here and there when he wants to watch it bounce against his hips.

"So pretty," he moans. "Even prettier when you cum. Is there something I can do to help?"

I whine against the bed, feeling edged and whoreish with his thick dick pulsing inside of me, fucking me into blind submission and making me willing to do anything he says.

"Would someone like for me to go faster?" He coos sweetly, slightly speeding up his tempo as he slams more gently into my spot. "Does my baby wanna get fucked?"

I nod stupidly, whining and huffing as he slowly continues to gain speed.

"You gonna cum around me? Take my cock real nice and fast?" He asks, smacking my ass once more. I clench upon impact, making him do it again and again until he laughs.

"Cum in me," I moan. All care has been thrown out the window, my head scrambled and vision blind.

"Yeah? You want that?" He teases. His balls smack loudly against my front, offering additional stimulation and making my eyes roll. "Looks like you're drooling over it." Motherfucker I am, and?

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you sleep for days, sweetheart," he moans in my ear, slamming into me hard enough to make me squeal. "Kept dreaming about you for the past week. Kept getting all nice and hard only to have you wake me up before I could fuck you. Come to find out I was keeping my poor baby up, being my own cockblock."

His cock pistons in and out of me at impressive speed, one of his hands slamming against the bars of the metal headboard to offer him stability while he fucks me, the bed ramming against the wall so loudly it's all I can hear besides him. I think the painting fell.

"Now we can both sleep better at night. My balls empty, your ass nice and full. Think I'll do it again tomorrow," he muses, slamming me against the bed, pushing me higher. "And again." And higher. "And again." Until the top of my head pounds against the ceiling. "Till the fucken cows come home."

Moo, bitch. Moo.

With a pathetic scream, hardly able to make any noise due to the violent climax, I cry his name as I clench around him. His dick pounds my head into the wall absuively as he chants my name like it's the only word ever known to him, his voice raising in volume until he's shouting it so clear it raises above the rocking of the bed, loud enough surely for the neighbors to hear. I'm hardly even aware of when he cums, or really anything at this point, his dick pulsing within me and fucking his admittedly larger than usual load into me so deep you'd think there'd be no chance of it to escape. I'm only aware he came when his cock finally softens, our cum dripping and pooling underneath of me in a mixed puddle when he slips out with a small whimper, his breath so heavy and wheezing I'm almost scared he'll pass out on top of me.

"Wanna go again?" He jokes, his voice worryingly pathetic as he tries to laugh, sounding more like a death rattle than anything. All I respond with is a shaky thumbs down, my head spinning from the possible concussion I may genuinely have.

It's an effective sleep method. Works wonders for both of us.

                              ▪︎》◇《▪︎

After he slips out of the house one winter morning with my gun tucked in the back of his jeans, I can't tell you how much I'd give to hear him snore against our lavender scented bed one last time, feeling his arms that are now ash and bones on the floor of a gas station just outside of town. My only company now being his ghost echoing his bright laughter down the darkened halls of what was once our home.

You like my ending bbgirl? Special just for youuu.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #billy burn 2019 #billy burn x you #billy x reader #billy burn #billy josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson billy #josh hutcherson burn #josh hutcherson burn 2019 #burn movie 2019 #burn 2019 #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch #josh hutcherson imagine #billy burn imagine

[greensagephase]

Valentine's Day (Nonviolent Communication One-Shot)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x SpiderFemaleReader (colleagues to friends to lovers; they're currently in their friendship era, so no romance but we still have soft Miguel!) Summary: Just a rainy Valentine's Day surprising your friends with baked sweets because Valentine's doesn't have to be only about romance. Word Count: 4,311 Short A/N: This is a one-shot for my Nonviolent Communication fanfic but can be read as a standalone. As I mentioned above, they're in their friendship era, so there's no romance, but Miguel lowkey got me blushing anyway soo! Warnings: None. Just reader and Miguel being their usual sweet and caring selves to each other. Masterlist Songs inspo: "Just the Two of Us" - Grover Washington, Jr., Bill Withers (I don't know why but this song just came to mind while writing this, so just look at it as a platonic song for now :) ) Fanfic's official music playlist:

Spider webs shaped like hearts decorate corners. Holographic hearts are displayed at the cafeteria. Even some of the tables have little decorations, more than likely set up by a small group of Spider members that usually take time of their day to do things like holiday decorating within the Spider Society to make the workplace “fun.” As to the holographic hearts out and about, you imagine those have to do with Lyla, who has been all too excited about Valentine's because of her heart-shaped glasses.

You walk through the cafeteria, past occupied tables where fellow Spider members sit. A reusable bag hangs from your shoulder in which you carry baked treats. You've successfully handed out containers filled with them to the majority of your friends, with the exception of Peter B. and MJ, and Miguel. You continue to search for Peter B., certain that you’ll find him here. As you walk, your gaze turns to the windows. It’s a cold and rainy day in Nueva York, and it’s also Valentine’s Day, which prompts a memory to flash through your mind, one that you put away for now. You focus on your goal: find Peter B. and then Miguel.

You slow down as you hear Peter's voice from somewhere, so you look around until you spot him talking with another member, carrying Mayday like always.

“Alright, pal, I'll see you around,” he says with his signature smile, giving the other member a pat on the back before they part ways.

Mayday sees you first and immediately begins to wiggle around, making Peter notice you. He grins and the two of you meet halfway, Mayday already reaching for you. You smile and upon meeting them, you accept one of her hands and play with it.

“Good morning, Mayday,” you say, greeting her. She squeals in delight before repeating “morning” now that she’s speaking two-word sentences. It’s amazing how much time has passed, how much she has grown, which you don’t let yourself think too much about. Instead, you focus on her attire for the day. She's wearing pants and tiny boots, and best of all, a cute pink sweater with red hearts printed all over it, showcasing Peter's spider symbol in the center of them.

It's no longer surprising. Mayday's closet is filled with spider-theme clothes, which has made you wonder if Peter has his own merchandise creator. You feel like it would be a thing Peter B. would definitely have.

“Hey, you heard that? She said ‘morning’ - that’s another word!” Peter says happily. “Daddy is so proud of you, honey! Wait till MJ hears about this!”

You chuckle. “It’s amazing. Before we know it she’ll be speaking full sentences.”

“Okay, that just made me, like, really sad. She’s growing up too fast,” Peter says quietly, holding his daughter close to his chest. His gaze is gentle as he stares at her. “It’s part of life, I know, but…”

“I’m sorry to have brought it up,” you say gently as you give him a gentle pat on his arm. “Would some baked treats make it better?”

That seems to get Peter and Mayday’s attention. “Baked treats?”

“Brownies. For Valentine’s,” you say, pulling out a container and offering it to him. “I baked some brownies for everyone.”

“Totally feel better now,” Peter says with a grin, accepting the box.

”For you and MJ, and maybe Mayday if she can eat them,” you say. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Happy Valentine’s! Hey, they’re even heart-shaped! MJ is gonna be so happy. You know we all love your baking,” Peter says as he gets one out and eats it. Once he finishes eating, he says, “So amazing!”

“Glad you like them! Make sure to save some for MJ, though,” you reply with a smile. “Have you seen Miguel?”

Peter looks around, closing the box of treats. “I saw him earlier. He was going to the Go Home Machine room to check something but he might be back at his lab already,” he responds. His gaze flickers to your bag, taking notice of at least two boxes left in there, though he doesn’t ask anything.

“Alright, I’ll go check if he’s there. I’ll see you in a bit,” you say, saying goodbye to Peter and Mayday for now.

“See ya!”

You walk out of the cafeteria and head to Miguel’s lab, reaching it in no time. You stop at the entrance and as always, you call for Lyla to have her ask Miguel if you can enter. You never walk in unannounced out of respect, even though Lyla has told you that you should stop. Even Miguel has hinted at it, at the fact that you can just walk in, yet, you do it anyway out of respect.

“Y/N! Miguel isn’t here. He’s at the Go Home Machine room. Something’s up with the machine but he should be done in a few minutes. He said you can go in,” Lyla says, appearing suddenly and floating in midair.

“You asked him already?” you ask, amused.

“Yep. I think he’s even going to send you a message because he thinks you might not believe me when I tell you he says to go in.”

And of course, right after she says that you receive a notification from your gizmo, alerting you of a new message. A message from Miguel.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please wait for me * inside *** the lab.”

You smile softly at his emphasis to wait inside. He knows you too well.

“See?” Lyla says with a soft smirk. “So, come on in! I see you have the goods.”

You laugh softly as you enter the lab, carrying your bag with the last two heart-shaped containers you bought a few days ago to package the baked treats. The containers were easy to hide in Gabriel’s old bedroom, the same one that’s your current temporary room since your building caught on fire a few weeks ago. Luckily, your floor was spared but lower floors did not have the same luck. Now, the building is under cleaning and reconstruction, a process that will take at least two months to finish. Or at least that’s what your landlord said. You’ve been staying in Nueva York with Miguel in his penthouse after he offered his place countless times. He assured you that you were welcomed to stay for however long you needed to, whether that was days, weeks, or months. There was even a moment you swear he almost said years, before he stopped himself.

So, you’ve been staying at Miguel’s penthouse in Gabriel’s, a man that you never met and unfortunately will never have the opportunity to due to his passing, old bedroom. You’ve made his room yours for the time being, even encouraged by Miguel to decorate it as you wish to make it feel like home because as he said, “my home is your home.”

And so, currently living with Miguel meant that you needed to find a way to hide your little Valentine’s surprise. You thought about baking treats for your group of friends, including Miguel, last week, but you knew that you’d need to come up with a way to have Miguel out of his own penthouse in order to truly surprise him as well. You quickly came up with a plan and even got a little help from a certain AI assistant, who was all too happy keeping Miguel busy here at HQ last night while you baked. You thought about your plan well, so much that you even baked a cake and cookies as an excuse, so that whenever Miguel got home, he wouldn’t wonder why it smelled like baked treats when there were none in sight, since you planned on hiding the Valentine’s treats in your room, packaged and ready to go for today. And, it has been a success. You’ve surprised all your friends with a little something, as a gesture of how much you care about them. The only one left now is Miguel. You briefly wonder why you didn’t just give them to him at the penthouse this morning when the two of you were having breakfast. For some reason it felt right to leave his delivery for last.

You walk through Miguel’s lab, heading straight to his platform, deciding that you’ll wait for him there until he comes back. You take a seat on it and gaze around. Even from here you can hear the sound of rain, which sounds very peaceful. The silence and the pockets of darkness brings you comfort. You can’t help but find it amusing that over time, you’ve spent more and more time in Miguel’s lab. You recall the days when you hardly came in here. Those were days when Jess and Miguel called you in, usually whenever Jess was delivering a report to Miguel about a mission you and others had been on with her, asking you to go since you were her pupil. Now, you’re here every day, and not just once but multiple times throughout. You can easily spend two or three hours here while Miguel and you work on your own thing.

You smile to yourself. Life can really change.

The rain continues to go strong outside. You let it distract your thoughts for a few seconds, which reminds you yet again of a memory. Of a Valentine’s Day with your Peter.

It was the second before last Valentine’s Day you spent with him. It was also a rainy day in your universe. As always, you baked something for Peter since he loved your baking and cooking. You knew you could never go wrong with baked treats since they were his weakness. He, on the other hand, had a few plans up his sleeve. He always did.

You smile at the memory. He had planned a whole evening that included a restaurant reservation, but the day was cold and a rainy one, being February. It started raining at some point in the night and the rain didn’t stop throughout the day. There was so much rain that the restaurant had to cancel dinners due to flooding two hours before your scheduled reservation. It didn’t matter to Peter though. He asked you to get ready regardless, to take your time.

An hour and a half later, there was a knock on your bedroom door from Peter. As if he didn’t live there, or as if you didn’t share that bedroom, but you opened the door regardless with a smile.

And there was Peter, dashing as always. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, as if he hadn’t seen you a million times before, as if he was falling in love with you for the first time all over again.

“So, we had a little change of plans,” he said with a sweet smile. “But rain or no rain, we’re having a romantic dinner.”

“Don’t we always have a romantic dinner?” you asked softly.

“An extra romantic dinner, darling,” he replied, taking your hand and kissing the back of it with one of his hands.

You smile softly now as you remember that evening.

He held your hand and instead of leading you to the dining area, he led you to the small living room section of your apartment. The overhead lights were off. The only light in the area came from lamps and lit candles spread around the space. The scent of food filled the air, a sign that Peter had cooked. Soft music played in the background from Peter’s record player and of course, his choice was a vinyl of romantic songs. You had a feeling that the night would end with a dance in the living room. Your suspicions only grew as you both stepped onto a picnic blanket and found couch pillows placed around so that the two of you could sit comfortably. There was a vase in the middle with flowers and around it were things like linen napkins and utensils, two glasses for drinks, and everything else needed for a dinner.

Then, there was Peter, serving you a drink and dinner with flickering candles all around, soft music in the back as you talked. You remember telling him that his idea was lovely and sweet, that it would be unforgettable. The night did end with a dance, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. You even remember the pit pat of rain against your apartment’s windows and how you could see the flash of lightning even through the curtains. You recall what it was like to dance with Peter. It wasn’t the first nor last time. There were times before and times after that night, all in your small apartment, the one that was supposed to be temporary after graduating from college. The two of you talked about moving to a bigger apartment, one that would be comfortable for a family, for children. Neither of you minded your apartment in the moment though.

You still don’t. Even if you’re alone now. Even if Peter has been gone for so many years.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Peter whispered that night as he held you close to his chest. His arms were warm and protectively wrapped around you, your back to his chest.

“Happy Valentine’s,” you say now.

“Happy… Valentine’s.”

You look up as you hear the voice, finding Miguel standing a few feet away from you at last. His gaze meets yours and you notice his head is tilted to the side slightly, watching you curiously. You blink, pulling yourself out of your memory and offer Miguel a small grin, one he returns instantly.

“You keep asking for permission to come into the lab. You don’t have to ask,” Miguel says as he steps closer, breaking the short silence.

“It’s out of respect. Besides, I see the way you get annoyed when members just walk in,” you reply, amused.

Miguel looks down at you with a soft frown, his lips in a small pout as if silently asking, ‘Really?’

“Yes, but -” Miguel pauses and sighs. It’s different. You’re different. You’re not just any member. You’re his friend. His close friend. His… Miguel clears his throat. “You… Are different. You know why.”

Yes, you know why. You’re friends. Close friends. He’s your… “Right, but I still like to ask. Just to make sure.”

Miguel’s frown deepens, he raises an eyebrow almost in annoyance, yet he can never be annoyed with you. Ever. “Right, just to make sure,” he repeats, raising his hands in surrender, giving up and realizing there’s no changing your mind about this. At least not now, Miguel thinks to himself.

“Anyway, I brought you something,” you say, standing up at last from his platform. His crimson eyes immediately fall upon your bag. He’s been too busy thinking about how you always ask for permission to walk into the lab that he failed to see the reusable bag near you. You close the distance between the two of you, stopping just a few feet.

Miguel wonders what exactly you’ve brought him but he doesn’t have to wonder for long when you pull out two small containers, pink and heart-shaped. You hand them to him with a warm smile.

“I baked a few treats for everyone. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Looking at the small containers, Miguel accepts them. He can’t help but feel a little awestruck for a few seconds. When was the last time someone gave him anything on this day? He hasn’t celebrated in years. It was so long ago.

“I hope you like them. I baked a little special thing for you. It was my first time baking them but I think they turned out well,” you say, bringing Miguel back to the present. “Go on,” you tell him gently, excited to see his reaction to the second box’s contents specifically.

He nods and opens the first one. Heart-shaped brownies in the size of your palm greet his eyes. He can’t help but admire how you arranged them with cute baking parchment paper, going the extra mile to make him and your other friends feel special today. His lips curl into a soft smile and he feels a wave of heat rush to his cheeks. You baked brownies for everyone and you included him. A warmth spreads through his chest at the thought, the realization.

You stare at Miguel, his smile and blush not going unnoticed. The sight makes you smile.

“Thank you,” Miguel says as he keeps looking at them, the amazing smell reaching his nose. He already knows everything you baked will be amazing. It always is. His mouth waters just at the sight.

“Check the other box!”

Miguel grins at you and nods, closing the first book even though he wishes he could go ahead and eat one of the brownies, but your excitement over the other box deters him. He wants to see what has you so happy and anxious for him to see, so he opens the next box. His lips part and eyebrows raise in surprise for a few seconds when he sees the contents before he happily smiles at you.

“You made conchas! Heart-shaped conchas! You… I’ve never seen conchas shaped like this before, not even at the panaderia. When did you even bake them?” Miguel asks, staring at you with amazement before he lifts the box to his face, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh conchas. His mouth waters even more, thinking about how good these will go with a mug of café de olla.

You chuckle softly, pleased with Miguel’s reaction. “Last night. Before you arrived from HQ. The cake and cookies were just a distraction so you wouldn’t see them and the brownies. I wanted to surprise everyone, including you. So, I recruited someone’s help,” you say with a soft shrug of your shoulders, prompting Lyla to appear.

“That would be me,” Lyla says with a soft grin, arms crossed over her chest. “I had to keep you busy, Miguel.”

Miguel scoffs playfully as he realizes and remembers the previous night. “That’s why you kept messing up the anomaly datasheet.”

“And why I kept moving your tabs around,” she replies, which makes Miguel frown for a few seconds.

“That, too. Not appreciated,” he mumbles.

“I had to do what I had to do, to ensure Y/N’s mission was a success, which it was,” Lyla says smiling.

Miguel shakes his head at her but he’s not even slightly upset. Instead, he’s highly amused that you recruited Lyla’s help to keep him occupied at HQ, all to surprise him with these lovely and delicious baked treats. His cheeks feel even more hot now.

“They smell amazing. I’m not even going to lie, my mouth is watering,” Miguel admits quietly as he nods to the conchas. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you reply softly. “I bet… They’d be really good with café de olla.”

Miguel grins. “Is this your subtle way of saying you’d like café de olla?”

You shrug. “I’m just saying, heart-shaped conchas and café de olla sound like a good combination to me. I think, it would be quite an experience. I mean, you’re saying you’ve never seen heart-shaped conchas before so… I was just thinking, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Miguel gives you a soft smirk before he grabs one of the conchas. You can’t help but notice how small it looks in his hand as he holds it up, as if showing it to you. “You were just thinking,” he says, still smirking, raising his eyebrow as he looks at you.

“It’s just a thought,” you reply, smiling softly. “Something to think about.”

“Definitely something to think about… which means you have more at home, yes?”

“There might be more conchas at the penthouse, yes.”

“I see,” he replies. “I guess cafeteria coffee will do for now.”

You tilt your head to the side in curiosity. “For now?”

“There might be café de olla in the evening.”

“I see,” you reply with a smile.

“I hear it might be quite an experience.”

“I have to agree with whoever said that,” you say.

“You know, I do, too,” Miguel responds, still smirking softly at you.

Lyla hovers between the two of you, glancing from you to Miguel. “Great, so there’s gonna be conchas and café de olla,” she says.

You both turn to look at her. Right, Lyla is there.

“I’ll go get some coffee,” Miguel says as he places the concha back in the box, making sure to close it correctly.

“Alright. I’m going to go ahead and start on the report. There’s still so much to do,” you reply heading to the desk you always work on, the one that Miguel set up for you many months ago once you started helping him with the weekly reports.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back,” Miguel responds, placing his baked treats on his platform.

“Don’t worry Miguel, I’ll look after them,” Lyla jokes seeing how careful he has been with the boxes, as if they are precious to him. The teasing tone makes Miguel frown but he doesn’t respond as he heads out of the lab to grab coffee for the two of you.

_♡_

You sit in Miguel’s living room many hours later. The time on your tablet reads 7:16pm. Lamps lit up his space and the fireplace is on, warming the entire penthouse. Soft music coming from Miguel’s record player, the one you gifted him for Christmas several weeks ago, plays in the background.

You sit on one of the couches, a blanket over your legs as you work on the report from your tablet, the same one that Miguel gifted you for Christmas. You sit alone now since Miguel excused himself about twenty-five minutes ago, saying he needed to get something done. You didn’t ask what he had to do, not wanting to intrude on his privacy. You told him that you’d be in the living room. You only realized he was in the kitchen because you heard the opening and closing of drawers, but other than that, you have no idea what Miguel has been up to. Besides, you’ve been caught up working on the report, trying to finish it so it’s ready for scheduled meetings later this week.

You move your pen around your tablet’s screen, fixing something with a frown. Your concentration comes to a halt as a shadow covers the lighting. You look up, only to find Miguel carrying a tray that he sets on the console table that’s placed between the two long couches. It doesn’t take long before the lovely scent reaches you. Café de olla.

You glance at Miguel as soon as you recognize the scent, his crimson eyes meet yours and there’s a soft smile on his face.

“How about a break from the report?” he asks, taking a seat on the floor, clad in his lounge clothes.

You smile softly and nod, quickly placing the tablet away and joining him on the floor. It’s then that you see everything that’s on the tray.

He sets out the mugs with the hot and rich liquid, careful not to burn himself or you. He places three dessert plates out. One with brownies, another with conchas, and finally one with bimbuñuelos, a sugary pastry similar to the buñuelos you’ve had before, his personal addition to the sweets. You realize he bought them earlier when he arrived with a pastry box an hour later after you. You smile softly as you look at the sweets, finding it cute that everything is heart-shaped.

“So, there was café de olla,” you say, looking at him, still smiling.

“And there were more conchas,” Miguel replies as he hands you a clean plate to eat, smiling.

You chuckle softly before the two of you dig in, savoring the freshly made coffee and baked sweets in his dimly lit living room. Outside, Nueva York continues to have rain. Flashes of white lit up the sky every now and then due to lightning.

The two of you engage in conversation as you eat, enjoying each other’s company. And while you reply to something he said, a brief thought crosses his mind. This has turned out to be “quite an experience” as you said, but it isn’t because of café de olla or even the delicious heart-shaped conchas you baked that make him want to sigh in delight with each bite he takes. No, this evening has been “quite an experience” because of you alone. His close friend. His best…

Miguel grins at you as he focuses on your response, always wishing to give you his full attention, before he replies, continuing the conversation.

You take a drink from your mug, noticing a gentle but sudden flush on Miguel’s cheeks. Your gaze flickers to the fireplace for a second, unbeknownst to you that a certain realization of Miguel’s is the true culprit for the rosiness that now cover his cheeks.

♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡ Translation for Spanish words: Conchas - Mexican pan dulce, pastry; word translates to "seashell" because the pastry is kind of shaped like one Panaderia - bakery Café de olla - coffee made in a pot Bimbuñuelos - fried dough sprinkled with sugar; similar to buñuelos Buñuelos - fried dough fritter: typically a Christmas dessert _____ A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! Miguel got me giggling and kicking my feet here! Why is he not real? Anyway, I had this little idea earlier in January and then @heyohalie asked me a while back how reader and Miguel from "Nonviolent Communication" would celebrate Valentine's (if they even did celebrate, since they're currently just friends), and I decided I needed to write it! So, here it is :) Thank you for reading this far and I hope you enjoyed it!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara scenarios #spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel spiderman #across the spiderver fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #nonviolent communication #miguel spiderverse #valentines day #soft Miguel O'Hara #soft!Miguel O'Hara

[gimmethatagustd]

wanna make a movie | kth

The one time you fucked Taehyung was a fluke, and it will never happen ever again in a million years. Never ever ever. Right? RIGHT??

» pairing: taehyung x reader (from "wanna fuck on camera")

» genre: BTS | 18+ | frenemies to lovers | smut | a bit of fluff kinda

» wc/date: 3.7k | september 2022

» warnings: i meannn they're making a sex tape soooo | cunnilingus | unprotected vaginal sex | fingering | tae's pull out game strong 💪🏽 | cumshot | tae is Annoying but Hot | i definitely didn't edit this LOL SORRY

» notes: shoutout to this person for the video, we owe them big time 🤪 i recommend reading "wanna fuck on camera" first, but this can work as a standalone

» masterlist | ao3 | send me ur thots 👅

» what was jai listening to? movie star - cix

The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles (mini-series) Masterlist

“I already told you I’m not posing for nudes, asshole. Is the one you took of me not enough for you? Hmm?”

Taehyung grinned as he popped out the flip screen on his camera. “I don’t want to take photos of you. I want to film you.”

He was such a piece of shit. He really was. Since your ridiculous entanglement with Taehyung during Hoseok’s birthday party, Taehyung hadn’t left you alone. It was worse than before; he suddenly believed fucking him gave him a free pass to get on your nerves even more than he had to begin with. 

You hated it and you hated him. That was all there was to it. 

Crossing your arms against your chest, you glared at the man as he fiddled with the camcorder. This was infinitely worse than the film camera debacle. You didn’t even want to consider what he’d done with the photo of you cumming on his fingers. The thought of him having it made you shiver. 

“Film me doing what?” You immediately regretted the question when it left your lips and Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. The smug, shit-eating grin on his face was almost unbearable. 

“Well, babe-” 

“Do not call me that.” 

“Well, Y/N.” He gave you a pointed look. “I need to diversify my portfolio and the only thing I’m missing is erotic art.” 

You scoffed and crossed your legs. At this point, you were a pretzel sitting on the edge of Taehyung’s couch. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a sweet smile. “But I promise what I have planned isn’t as ‘disgusting’ as you probably think.” 

You didn’t trust him for shit, but you liked the idea of hearing what he had to say even if only to shut him down. You were looking for every reason to shit on his massive ego, maybe because you were embarrassed that you gave in to him when you said you wouldn’t. 

It was a fluke, though. A moment of bad judgment. You were thinking with your pussy. But not anymore. Nope. 

Fool me once, shame on you.

“What are your twisted little plans then, TaTa?” You shifted slightly when Taehyung moved to sit down next to you on the couch, forcing you up against the arm of the couch and giving you very little room. 

“Have you ever done a striptease before?” 

“I fucking told you I am not doing nudes.” 

Taehyung swiftly grabbed your jaw and turned your head to face him. The forced action made you gasp quietly, just enough to release a breathy sound when you exhaled. He watched you for a moment with the tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Fucking listen to me, yeah?” 

You could do nothing but nod, your eyes glued to his parted lips. 

“I don’t need you to be naked. I just need some shots of you taking off your clothes.” You opened your mouth to protest, but Taehyung squeezed your jaw tighter. “Headless shots, okay? Nothing identifiable. No nudity. Think of it as like an OnlyFans teaser, but make it hipster. Slap on a grainy, sepia filter. Or maybe a soft pink glow. I haven’t decided yet.” 

You were barely listening to him, most of your focus on how his hand had slowly let go of your face and migrated down to your throat. Your heartbeat spiked beneath his fingers. 

“Why are you asking me to do this?” 

Taehyung pulled away and returned to examining his camera settings. “Everyone I know who’d be down to do this would try to fuck me. Considering the theme, and everything. It would be so distracting.” He looked up at you through his fluffy bangs with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “You’re hot and would never fuck me, as you’ve made very clear.” He paused for a moment, tapping his finger against his lips. “Well, not a second time.” 

And there was that stupid fucking boxy grin again. 

“Oh shut the fuck up.” You were tired of playing games. “How much are you going to pay me?” 

“Depends on how good the shots are.” 

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with,” you huffed. 

Taehyung hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t make a move to get up. His fingers brushed along the outside of your thigh until he reached the waistband of your leggings. You fought the urge to squirm in your seat, instead doing your best to mindfully breathe and keep your fists squeezed against the couch cushions. 

“What are you wearing under here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You challenged him through gritted teeth. 

Taehyung leaned forward until his breath caressed the side of your face. “I’m about to find out.” 

With that, Taehyung stood up and held his hand out for you to take. You swatted him away, perfectly capable of getting up on your own and following him into his bedroom. To say his bedroom looked like a porno setup was no exaggeration. A large studio light stood in the corner, the head pointed toward the bed. Another camera sat on a tripod on the opposite side of the room, though it was pointed away from the bed. LED lights wrapped around the high ceilings cast the room a soft lavender glow. 

“Are you kidding me?” You stood in the doorway with your hands on your hips. 

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Do you see how small my apartment is? I have nowhere else to store my equipment when I’m not using it. Relax and come here.” 

Grabbing you by the shoulders, Taehyung positioned you in front of a standing mirror that stood against the wall directly across from his bed. He took a step back to examine your placement, making a few adjustments until he got you where he wanted you. 

“Satisfied?” Your skin was tingling from his firm touch as he shuffled you around. It was just your body reacting to skin-on-skin contact. That was all. It was just… nature. Science. Whatever. 

“Very,” he said with a wink that you did a poor job of brushing off. The burning heat of embarrassment creeping up your body only intensified as you watched Taehyung sit at the foot of his bed. With his camcorder in hand, he leaned back far enough to get the angle he wanted. It was harmless, really. He was just a struggling artist trying to make his mark in the world, that’s all. And you were half-heartedly helping him. 

So if that was the case, why was watching Taehyung’s biceps flex as he held the camera and his thighs spread making you wet? 

You cleared your throat and looked away from the man splayed out on his bed like he was the one being filmed, not you. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

Taehyung reached up to run his fingers through his hair and flip his bangs to the side. All you could think about was how you knew tugging on those wavy strands would make him moan. 

“Start with your shirt. Wait, no, not like that.”

You had one arm out and froze. “Like what?” 

“Do it sexier.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

“Oh, come on. Stop relying on that silver tongue and seduce me.”

Was it possible to feel like all your blood had drained out of your body and that all the blood in your body had gone to your head? 

“Fine,” you snapped, readjusting your shirt. The positive side to all of this was that as you slowly lifted your shirt over your head, you could revel in the fact that you knew Taehyung wanted you and he could never have you. 

Well, never again. 

But maybe that made it even better. He got a taste and you were denying him more. You had all the fucking power! 

You put in a little more effort to be sensual as you let your shirt fall to the floor. The red lace bra you wore lifted up a bit, exposing the underside of your tits, but you didn’t move to fix it like you normally would. Instead, you ran your hands over your exposed skin, even your own light touches causing goosebumps to form all over. It didn’t help that it was cold in Taehyung’s apartment. You wondered how high quality his camera was. If it was even half decent, it would pick up on how see-through the fabric was over your tits. It left little for the imagination, but Taehyung had already had your nipples in his mouth. 

The little asshole was leaned back again, shifting slightly to capture your best angles as you reached for the waistband of your leggings. You made the mistake of looking at his face rather than the camera lens. His tongue swept over his bottom lip as you slid your leggings down; you quickly looked away. 

This was just a favor. A favor for an art project. That was it. 

Bending at the waist meant you exposed the fact that you were wearing a rather skimpy thong - red lace, just like your bra. Adjusting your stance made your thighs rub together and you fought the urge to look down for fear that your underwear would be stained a dark red from how wet you were. 

A quiet groan from the bed made you look up at your photographer once again. His bottom lip was bitten between his teeth, but he immediately released it when he saw you looking. The two of you locked eyes as your bodies froze. 

“Why are you fucking wearing red lace?” 

You opened your mouth to speak but your brain couldn’t think of any response aside from the truth. And there was no way you were telling him the truth. There was no way you were telling Taehyung that you’d worn a matching set just in case something happened. Because nothing was supposed to happen.

Instead, you deflected. 

“Why are you hard right now?” 

You both looked down at the very prominent bulge that had grown in Taehyung’s jeans. He used his free hand to palm his cock and attempt to adjust it into a more comfortable position. 

“Why are you wet right now?” 

Now it was your turn. You finally dared to look at yourself, not surprised but still horrified to find your arousal soaking through the flimsy material of your thong. 

Taehyung lifted slightly so he was propped up on his elbows, the camera still positioned on you. You really prayed he wasn’t planning to use any audio for this video. Like as if that’s what mattered at the moment. 

“You’re so into this,” he said smugly. 

“No, I’m not.” Your rebuttal was weak, so weak it felt foreign coming from someone with a “silver tongue” like you. But when you watched Taehyung get up from the bed, your rebuttal wasn’t the only thing about you that was weak. 

“You’re not?” Taehyung pointed the camera toward your thighs as he reached down to press his thumb against your clit through your thong. You let out a shaky moan and felt more of your arousal soak your thong. “Sounds like you are. Feels like you are.” Taehyung fully palmed your pussy, pressing his fingers against your entrance. The action made your legs tremble and you squeezed his bicep for support. 

“Fuck you,” you hissed and dug your nails into his skin. 

“Heard that one before.” He shot you a wink. “And to think you got mad about the photo I took of you. If I’d known you’d get this wet for me so quickly, I would have brought this with me instead.” 

His taunting reminded you of the camcorder he still held in his hand. It was pointed downward as Taehyung hooked his finger into the waistband of your thong and pulled it down just enough for his fingers to dip inside your wet folds. 

“Taehyung,” you moaned when he thrust two fingers inside of you. The squelching sound your pussy made was sure to have been picked up by the camera. 

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” He pressed hard into your front wall repeatedly, the fluttering sensation making you reach for his shoulder with your other hand to stabilize yourself. “Like being my little movie star?” 

You wanted to cry when he pulled his fingers out of you, and your entire body shuddered when you felt him wipe his fingers on the inside of your thigh. The worry that he was only going to tease you to rub the whole thing in your face flashed into your mind, but it was quickly squashed once Taehyung was pressing the camera into your hands. 

“Like this.” He positioned you to point the camera downwards. 

“Wha-” 

Ignoring your confusion, Taehyung dropped to his knees, dragging your thong down your thighs as he went. The camera shook in your hands as he threw one of your legs over his shoulder. You could have came just from the way he looked up at you from between your thighs. How many times had you imagined this moment? More than you were willing to admit. And for all the fantasizing, you were lucky that it was even better than what you could have come up with on your own. He brushed his bangs out of the way and tilted his head so you had a clear view of his face as he ran his tongue flat against your lips. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

Taehyung reached up to grab your hand, stabilizing the camera. “Hold still for me, okay baby? You gotta hold still.” When he spoke his lips brushed against your skin, causing your arousal to stick in thin strings to his glistening mouth. 

Once your shaking subsided, Taehyung’s hands slid down to grab your ass. With his grip on you tight, he pulled you against his mouth. A hard suck to your clit made your hands tremble. By the time Taehyung began swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit in tight circles, you were shaking again. He had to reach up to hold your hand to stabilize the camera again. 

“I-I-I can’t,” you began to sob and shake your head. You had to wrap your fingers in Taehyung’s waves to focus the pressure of your building orgasm into something other than squeezing the fuck out of the camera in your other hand. Of course, each tug of his hair made Taehyung’s lovely baritone voice moan into your pussy, the vibrations pulsing through every nerve in your body. 

“Yes, you can.” The words came out breathy and hoarse in between hard sucks and kitten licks against your clit. You were close to believing in his faith in you until he slipped two fingers into your soaked pussy. 

“I’m…” You paused to suck in a deep breath as he pumped a mind-numbingly fast rhythm against your g-spot, “I’m gonna fall over.” 

“Nuhh uhh.” Taehyung scooted forward, pushing you backward until your back hit the mirror. 

You leaned against the mirror for support as your orgasm ripped through you so violently you would have dropped the camcorder if it weren’t for Taehyung holding it up with you. He kept his eyes focused on you as he licked one final stripe up your lips, cleaning up your arousal until he was the one messy with it all over his face. 

“God, I wish you’d let me record your face when you cum,” Taehyung groaned into the back of his hand as he wiped his mouth. He reached out to take the camera from you and laughed at the way your hands shook. “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you look.”

You should have been upset. Taehyung now had footage of himself eating your pussy. Sure, no one would be able to tell that it was you, but still… That was something very intimate. 

Yet you couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered when he’d called you his movie star. Hearing “beautiful” come tumbling from his filthy lips wasn’t too bad, either. 

“No chance in hell, creep.” You crossed your arms against your chest to punctuate the statement. You didn’t have a chance to say anything more; Taehyung quickly shut you up with his lips slotted against yours. You allowed him to lick at your mouth and swirled your tongue against his, humming at the taste of yourself on him. 

“Always so difficult.” He tossed the accusation at you as he pulled away. Using his free arm, Taehyung scooped you over his shoulder. “Y’know, the meaner you are to me the more I want to rearrange your guts.” 

You let out a gag as Taehyung tossed you onto the bed, bouncing into place in the middle. “You did not just say that.” Whatever else you wanted to insult him over died on your lips as you watched Taehyung strip. 

“Come on, Director. Take a video. It’ll last longer.” 

He gestured to the camera still recording as he unbuttoned his jeans, his taunting parallel to how harsh you’d been to him at Hoseok’s party. You were mean to him, but only because he could take it. And maybe, just maybe, you had the hots for getting him riled up, just as he did for you. 

It felt unbelievably dirty recording Taehyung as he stood at the end of the bed with his thumb rolling precum around the tip of his cock, but something about it made your pussy flutter to life once again. It didn’t help that he shot the camera a wink as he did one final pump before he was kneeling on the bed in front of you. 

“Turn around,” he commanded, twirling his finger around to direct you. 

“I liked you better when you were crying and begging for me like a good boy.” 

You glowered at him as you turned around. Taehyung’s hand quickly came down to press down your back, forcing your upper body into the mattress and keeping you on your knees. He spread you out as far as he could, the mattress muffling a groan when you felt him hook a finger in your pussy just to make you shake. 

“I can still be a good boy for you like this,” he whispered against your skin as he bent down to kiss along your spine. You shivered in response, biting your tongue to keep in your moans as you felt Taehyung swish his cock around your slickness. “But since you don’t want me documenting your gorgeous face, your fat ass will have to do.” 

Before you could snort another insult towards his disgusting behavior, Taehyung sunk his cock so slowly you could hear the gushing sound when he bottomed out. 

“Fuck, you sound so good, fuck.” Taehyung moaned as he began thrusting into you, each wet slap of his hips colliding with your ass fueling his desire to speed up. 

You twisted around to watch him lift the camcorder to the perfect angle to capture the way your pussy sucked him in with ease, each pullback evidence of how tightly you gripped him. Throwing your dignity to the wind, you decided to play the part. Hooking your legs with his, you ground against him as he thrust into you, forcing your bodies against each other even harder as you established an equal rhythm. 

“Shit, just like that,” Taehyung moaned, removing his hand from your waist and leaning back slightly to let you take over. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Fuck, yes.” 

“Touch me, Tae.” As much as it was a moan, it was most definitely a demand. 

And like the good boy he promised to be, Taehyung quickly brought his free hand around to play with your clit. The stimulation was enough to push you over the edge a second time, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully scream a little bit louder than necessary just because you were on camera now. If Taehyung knew, he seemed to not care. 

If anything, it made him even more vocal. And maybe he was putting on his own show because instead of releasing inside of you, he quickly pulled out of you to pump his cum all over your ass. 

“Y/N…” Taehyung slowly got up from the bed to get a washcloth to clean you off. You tilted your head to watch him, smug with the satisfaction of seeing that he wobbled a little bit as he walked. Even his hands shook when he worked to clean you up. 

“What?” You sat up once he was done, wincing at the slight ache of your thighs from how hard he’d pounded into you. 

Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed with the dazed look of a man who’d just gotten the soul fucked out of him. “I think I’m in love with you.” 

You snorted, but Taehyung leaned forward to cup your face. 

“I’m so serious right now.” 

“You’re just fucked out.” 

Taehyung pouted, eyebrows deeply creased. “This is post-nut clarity. I know what I’m about.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the seriousness of his expression, especially as he sat with his softening cock and his messy hair, cheeks and lips still pink. It was so unbelievably endearing and you fucking hated it. 

“This isn’t funny, Y/N.” 

All along, your (alleged) goal was to damage Taehyung’s ego. And now that you had the opportunity to, the little creep was tugging at your heartstrings in a way you hadn’t expected at all. 

“You don’t have to love me back,” he said with a sigh. “I just needed to get it off my chest.” 

Reaching for his hair, you tugged Taehyung mid-moan into a slow kiss that meant less about being sexy and more about taking away the stressed look on his face. Your fingers skirted along his jaw, holding him in place as you deepened the kiss. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” You kept a hold of his hair even after you broke the kiss. 

“Yes, thank you.” Taehyung grinned and you felt your stomach flutter once again. 

Pulling him close, you pressed your lips against the crook of Taehyung’s neck. The feeling of his strong arms holding you close made you tremble. “You’re lucky I’m into guys who are assholes.”

Maybe it wasn’t the “I love you” someone else would expect, but Taehyung understood you better than you knew.

The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles (mini-series) Masterlist

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & ao3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work  

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#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #gimmethatagustd #jai writes #wmam #wfoc #the wannabe-photographer chronicles #thanks for 1k 🥺 #thanks for 2k 🥺

[featherandferns]

surfs up (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | part of the F.W.B universe, but can be read as a standalone too!

content warning: drug use; mentions/discussions of sex

word count: 4k.

Blurb: you meet JJ's friends. whilst Kiara and Sarah grill you about your boyfriend, John B and Pope are still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that you've managed to tie JJ down.

The mirror could do with a clean. You look past the smudges and marks on the glass to focus on parting your hair with a comb. It’s freshly washed and wet, dripping down your bare back.

“Do you have to do that naked? It’s like torture,” JJ complains from the bed.

You don’t look away from your handy work as you reply. “You know, if we go to war, and you get captured, you’re in for a big shock.”

JJ hurls a pillow towards you and it hits you in the side before you have time to dodge, making you laugh.

“I don’t understand why you’re styling your hair anyway. We’re going surfing,” he says.

“I always style my hair.”

“I don’t get why. I mean, I never style mine."

Turning around to take him in, you reply, sarcastically, “you don’t say.”

JJ’s laid on his back on the bed, naked save from his boxers, eyes closed, his hair pointing in any which way. You know that for him, getting ready will consist of switching into some swim shorts, pulling on one of the many tee-shirts on the floor (that won’t stay tidy, no matter how hard you try), and shoving a cap over his unruly hair. You watch as his hand lazily searches for another pillow to toss, coming up short. A vape gets thrown instead, hitting your thigh.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Looking back to the mirror, you thread the comb through some strands, encouraging them to fall the right side of your head.

“Your hair's just gonna get wet anyway. I don’t know why you’re bother-Oh.”

“What?” you grumble, not liking how his voice has suddenly dropped off. He doesn’t reply. Starts giggling to himself like a schoolgirl. You roll your eyes, looking to him again. “What?”

“You tryn’a look pretty for my friends?”

“Shut up.”

“You are! You wanna look pretty for when you meet them!”

“Shut up!” you repeat, louder. Your face is flushing hot with embarrassment. “I just wanna make a good first impression.”

“Babe, they're so chill, you could walk in half naked and it’d make a good impression. I mean, you basically already did with John B.”

“Please don’t remind me of that,” you whine.

The comb gets dumped on the dresser. JJ’s grinning at you from the bed – you can see his pearly whites reflecting in the mirror – and you somehow refrain from rolling your eyes again. Okay, sure, maybe you are spending a bit more time than usual on how you look and are overthinking how you’re going to dress for this chill-out-surf-day on the beach…But you want JJ’s friends to like you. Think good of you.

JJ hasn’t let up on teasing you. In silent retaliation, when you reach down to collect a tee shirt from the ground, you make a show to bend over forwards, the back of your legs facing him. JJ groans.

“That’s just mean.”

“What is?” you ask innocently, standing upright again, tee shirt in hand.

“You’re not playing fair,” JJ tells you.

Smirking, you open a dresser draw and shove in the tee. There’s no point wasting time folding it, as it’s only going to end up on the bedroom floor again by tomorrow. Opening the second drawer, you dig through your clothes that have gradually accumulated in JJ’s room at the chateau. Digging out a two-piece and a pair of shorts, you move to get dressed.

“Do you think we got time for a quickie?” JJ asks.

You bark out a laugh. “We really don’t.”

“Sure we do. Please.”

“Are you seriously begging me to have a quickie with you-” you glance to the bedside table’s clock, reading the time “-ten minutes after we said we’d meet your friends outside?”

JJ shrugs, sitting up. “I’m very fast.”

“That’s usually not the kind of thing guys brag about,” you remind him.

Your shorts are on now, and you reach around to tie the back of your bikini top.

“I’m serious. In and out, I swear. Two minutes tops.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Baby…”

“JJ,” you mimic. “No means no.”

He grunts and flops back on the bed, dramatic. You grab at another tee shirt on the floor (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and toss it at him. It lands on his face and he groans.

“Get dressed. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

“Boo.”

You laugh to yourself as you walk out his bedroom, into the bathroom. As you brush, you inspect your face for any blemishes, and your hair for any stray strands which have fallen away. There’s a nervous thrum in your chest, over-layed with excitement; similar to the kind you get before a match.

You know JJ’s friends are far from snobbish. They’re perhaps the most easy-going people on earth. But earning their approval weirdly means a lot to you. Maybe it’s because JJ doesn’t seem very close with his family – at least, he never talks about them with you – so this feels akin to meeting the parents. You also have a sense that his friends inform a lot of his thoughts and decisions, and so if you were to slip up, maybe they’d somehow convince him to leave you. Whilst the pair of you have only been official for a couple of weeks, nearing to a month, you already feel how attached you’re becoming to him. How you save your dirtiest jokes for him and make a mental note of any anecdote at work that you know will have him in stiches. And the sex is better than it ever was before.

By the time you’re done in the bathroom, JJ’s pulling on his boots. He’s dressed in an old work muscle-tee and some swim shorts (just as you suspected) and there’s a cap waiting on his bed. The red one. You smile, sit down and pick it up.

“Think this is my favourite one,” you tell him. You inspect the front and read the branding.

JJ takes it from you and places it on your head, pushing down on the lip of the cap so it blocks your vision. Makes you laugh.

“Looks good on you too,” he says. “Not as good as I look on you…”

“We’re not having a quickie, JJ.”

“Damn it. Ah well, worth a shot.”

You take off the cap and hand it back to him, getting up. JJ’s kicking your trainers towards you and you slide them on rather easy, without having to untie the laces. Then the two of you are heading out the house and out the front door. The butterflies that had momentarily let up in the bedroom are back, beating their wings in full force at the sight of his friends gathered around the back of the house. Kiara is sat in the hammock, scrolling on her phone, and Sarah is half-laying at her feet. Pope is lent against the tree. He’s talking to John B, who’s sat on one of the low deckchairs, eyes closed and nodding along. JJ whistles as the two of you approach, catching their attention. When their heads turn to look at you, it makes you think of hawks fixating on prey.

“Yo. Good to go?”

“Only been waiting for ten minutes,” Pope says.

“Wasn’t it Newton who said time is relative?”

“No. That was Einstein, genius,” Pope corrects.

JJ rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We’re here now.”

Sarah’s on her feet, walking over to you, smiling with a hand outstretched. “Hi! I’m Sarah!”

“Hi,” you smile, shaking her hand, introducing yourself. Kiara follows second. Pope nods at you from the tree, introducing himself, and John B gives a small wave.

“We’ve technically already met,” he says, making you laugh through your embarrassment.

“Technically.”

“Come on!” Kiara’s calling, half-way to the twinkie. “We’re missing all the good waves!”

“Who’s got the cooler?”

“Already packed."

"Yeah, we had some time to kill...”

“Boards?”

“Attached to the roof.”

“I mean, can you seriously not see them? You do have eyes, right?”

“Shut it, Pope.”

You tag behind the gang, barely following their constant banter, chuckling at the antics. It seems they have a routine. John B and Sarah climb in the front, the former sitting behind the steering wheel. Kiara slides open the back door and her and Pope climb in first, taking the back seat. JJ offers you a hand as you step in. You take the spot nearest the steering wheel – a strange box-like podium that you imagine is hollow for storage – whilst JJ slides the door shut. He sits near your feet, leant against the wall of the front seats. The engine has spluttered to life and the radio begins to play Marley. The gang gives a few whoops of excitement as you set off towards the beach, away from the marsh.

By the time you pull up to the beach, Pope has explained the theory of the universe; JJ and John B have gotten into a brief, fleeting argument about whether Atlantis could be real; Sarah reminisced about the last time she went surfing; and Kiara has gone on a semi-heated tangent about litter on the beaches. Your cheeks ache from smiling and laughing. Whilst you haven’t fully stuck your neck out yet to join in, you’re content just listening to the gang bicker and beam.

As the engine shuts off, JJ reaches down to squeeze a hand on your shoulder. “Ready to ruin your hair?”

Mirthfully, you roll your eyes. “Can’t look any worse than yours.”

Pope ooo’s at the burn whilst Kiara whistles lowly, grinning.

Then everyone’s getting to their feet, hopping out the car, retrieving gear and supplies to lug down onto the sand. JJ carries his board and the cooler, and you lug the paddle board and a tote bag of snacks. John B and Sarah settle on a good spot, just shy of the dunes, far enough from the water that there’d be plenty of time before the tide comes in to pack up and leave. As everyone starts to dump the stuff, Kiara pulls out a blanket to lay out. A speaker beeps to life and Pope connects. Classics ranging from the sixties through to the noughts begin to play, encapsulating the feeling of summer. It’s hot under the sun but not uncomfortable. There’s a slight breeze that could catch someone out with thinking they’d avoid a sunburn.

“Who’s up for some waves?” JJ asks, pulling off his tee.

“Hell yeah,” John B grins.

“I’m in,” Pope agrees.

Sarah’s situated herself on the rag-tag blanket, pulling out a nail file. “I’m gonna wait a bit longer.”

Kiara is pulling out a joint and lounging back on the sand. It’s answer enough that she’s skipping out for now.

You decide to stay with the girls; wait for the waves to build some more. The guys begin to race towards the water, JJ cracking a joke to John B that earns him a shove. You shake your head as you watch the trio go. Searching around in one of the tote bags, you retrieve a packet of pretzels chips and pull it open.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” you say to the two girls.

“What’d you mean tag along?” Kiara frowns.

“We’ve been begging to meet you ever since JJ started hooking up with you,” Sarah tells you.

You chuckle, sceptical. “Wait? Really?”

“Yeah!” the girls chorus, making the three of you laugh.  

“God, that boy is so whipped, it’s gross,” Kiara snorts.

“It’s adorable!” Sarah corrects.

Offering around the bag to the two of them, you frown. “I don’t know about whipped…”

“Girl, you didn’t hear him,” Sarah says, amused. “After you two had been hooking up for like two weeks, he started talking about you all the time. It was hilarious.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but he’d do it in a way that he didn’t realise he was. Like he’d just randomly have to add little bits and pieces about you into conversations,” Kiara continues.

“Thanks to him we know your favourite sandwich.”

“And your favourite colour.”

“Favourite TV show…”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you laugh. Your face feels burning hot. Glancing out to the waves, spotting the three guys wading out on their boards, you smile to yourself. You never knew that. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

“So…he treating you well?” Kiara asks.

You look back to them and smile, nodding.

“It’s so weird for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before. I mean, I’ve cared a lot for people, but only like my parents and stuff. And, for most people, you’re born with that sort of affection for them, you know? But with JJ…I just felt it sort of grow until I couldn’t imagine going a day without seeing him.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you cringe. Laughing in spite of yourself, you add, “sorry. That was gross.”

“It was adorable!” Sarah is practically giddy. Kiara and you laugh. “We’ve been waiting for the right girl to get to him.”

“I knew he was a romantic at heart,” Kiara nods in agreement.

“Wait. Is he romantic?” Sarah asks, looking to you once more.

You grab another pretzel and eat it as you think.

“I guess. We’re not really the mushy-shit type couple. But he’s kind of thoughtful. Does these little things for me sometimes. Like, I told him that I used to have chocolate-covered strawberries with my nana on picnics when I was younger, and that they remind me of her. I don’t even know how it came up, really. But the next day he’d made me some as a surprise. It was kinda sweet.”

“No doy – his love language is acts of service,” Kiara shrugs. She flicks on her lighter.

“What’d you mean?”

“Like, he expresses his love and affection for people through actions,” she tells you. “I’m telling you, that’s what it is.”

“What are the other types of love language again?” Sarah wonders.

“Lemme think. There’s gift giving, words of affirmation…”

As Kiara continues to list them off, you look out to the water and mull it over. You catch sight of JJ surfing, dipping in and out of the waves, weightless like a feather, as if he were born and bred on the water. You’d played down the chocolate covered strawberries story. There was more to it then him just doing it out of the blue.

That night, the two of you had decided to watch a movie. An old classic came on – one of the Monroe films – and you went into this random spiel about how your nana used to be the biggest Monroe fan. That went into JJ asking about your family, and you nana, and you telling the chocolate strawberries story. You got a little tearful at the memory, knowing that you wouldn’t have a moment like that with her again, and JJ made a point to tell an embarrassing story from middle school gym to cheer you up. The night had gone on and you didn’t think much more of it. The next day, JJ texted you to meet him in the marsh. When you arrived, there was a blanket laid out and some snacks and drinks (mostly beer) laid out. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, as if worried it was too much. The two of you hadn’t really done an official date: mostly movie-nights and sometimes grabbing lunch purely out of hunger. But you’d never had someone do something like that for you. Then, bashful, he'd opened up a Tupperware and held it out to you, offering you a chocolate covered strawberry. Come to think, it might have been the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for you.

But telling the girls all of that felt like you might take something away from the memory. You knew JJ liked his reputation. You understood, having one of your own somewhat. The fact that he had done it without being prompted, out of the kindness of his heart and his feelings for you…It made you feel special and wanted. And what other feeling do humans crave from another, other than that? No. You’ll keep those details to yourself. They can just know about the strawberries.

“No, no, John B’s definitely a words of affirmation sort,” Sarah is saying pointedly.

Kiara’s shaking her head in disagreement. “Quality time, all the way.”

“Quality time’s Pope’s thing,” the blonde argues.

“He’s surprisingly really into words of affirmation, in his awkward Pope-ish way,” Kiara informs, taking a drag.

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you and Pope a thing?” you can’t help but ask Kiara.

She looks away from both you and Sarah as she takes another hit. The smell of weed is gradually building. “Not exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Sarah grins, teasingly.

“And it’s not a yes,” she affirms, shooting a glare. It softens, as she struggles to find her words. “It’s a…”

“Complicated?” you offer.

She smiles at you, grateful. “Yeah. 'Complicated’.”

“I know complicated,” you chuckle. “Used to be the queen of complicated.”

“You mean like before you and JJ were official?” Sarah wonders.

You nod. Resting back on your bent arms, you sigh.

“It was so hard to tell where we stood sometimes. And whenever I’d try and start up a conversation about it, he’d get all weird and defensive and stuff.”

“Yep. That sounds like JJ,” Kiara chuckles, a little sadly.

“For the record,” Sarah chimes in. “I knew he liked you from the first time he got with you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yeah. He just seemed lighter. Happier.”

“Sex does that to people,” you chuckle, brushing it off.

��No, I’m telling you. He was a goner from the start.”

“Did you forget the sandwich-colour-TV-show story?”

You laugh, waving them away. “I’m just pretty decent in bed, is all.”

“No kidding. You know what JJ says right?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t know!?”

“What? What don’t I know?” you worry, sitting up again.

Kiara and Sarah are making faces at each other, laughing. You confusion twists into anxiety that eases the moment Sarah looks at you again.

“Okay, okay, so we’re hanging out at the chateau one night, right?” she begins.

“And JJ’s drunk as a skunk, okay? Like really wasted.”

“And high.”

“Yeah, and high,” Kiara nods, chuckling at the memory. “So John B asks about who the girl he accidentally bumped into the hallway was, the other night.”

You throw your face into your hands with a groan. Are you ever going to live that down?

“Well, at first JJ tries to act all casual. Says you’re this side-chick he’s seeing,” Sarah continues.

“But for some reason, John B thinks that’s not the whole truth. So he starts pushing at him.”

“Eventually it all just kicks off until JJ lets slip that you’re the best sex he’s ever had,” Sarah finishes, smirking at you, almost like she’s proud.

You’re human. The indirect compliment goes straight to your head and makes it grow about ten times in size. Fighting and failing to hold off a grin, you check you heard them right.

“Really?”

The two girls nod enthusiastically.

“And, of course, we’ve never let him live it down,” Kiara smiles, sweet like a pageant queen.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you chuckle to yourself. This whole time, with his stupid little game of ‘best you’ve ever had?’ that he kicks up nearly every time the two of you hook-up, came from a part of him wondering if it was as good for you as it was for him. If he’s alone in feeling that way.

“I came up with the theory – which, proved to correct, might I add? – that the reason why the sex was so good is cause he had feelings for you,” Sarah proudly proclaims.

Kiara rolls her eyes as she says, “But you know JJ--”

The three of you chorus through a laugh: “deny, deny, deny.”

With that, all three of you are in hysterics. Your ribs begin to hurt from laughter. As you revel in the wonderful pain, you wonder if you’ve ever felt so at ease in your life before. It wasn’t that you didn’t have friends, but you didn’t have a group of them like this. Just people here and there who you could vent to and grab coffee with and such. But these girls liked you, and they found you funny, and they cared about what you had to say. Tied in with the added benefit of having JJ, everything felt like it was aligning just as it should.

Flopping back onto the towel, you smile at the afternoon sky. No clouds and no birds. Just endless, stretching blue.

“He’s the best sex I’ve ever had too,” you quietly confess.

The girls’ lingering giggles pause before kicking up, tenfold.

“Wait? Really?”

“Yeah,” you grin, nodding. He was. Easily. “But you tell him that, and I’ll deny it. I like that he doesn’t really know. Only has a hunch.”

“Oh yeah,” Kiara affirms. “We can’t ever give guys the satisfaction of thinking they’re actually good in bed.”

“It’s like the one thing we have,” Sarah winks.

The three of you collapse into giggles again.

~*~*~*~*~*

“What’d you think they’re talking about?” Pope asks, looking out to the shore at the girls.

The three guys are taking a moment to rest, sitting on their boards, legs dangling in the water. JJ can see you, lying on your back, basking in the sun. Sometimes your combined laughter is loud enough to travel out to the water. He feels like he can make out your distinct giggle easily.

“School maybe?” Pope continues to wonder.

“Dude, they’re one hundred percent talking about us,” JJ declares. “I bet my board on it.”

“You think so?”

“JJ’s right,” John B sighs, nodding. “I feel like Sarah and Kie have been dying to grill your girl for ages.”

JJ’s heart feels like it skips at beat at the phrase 'your girl. He never thought he’d hear someone say that to him. Never thought it would make him so happy to hear it. Huh.

“It’s weird seeing you in a relationship,” Pope says, as if reading his mind.

JJ frowns. “What? Like it’s hard to picture someone wanting to date me?”

“No, you moron. Hard to picture you settling for one girl. Honestly, I was worried you had nymphomania or something."

“Nympha-who-now?”

“It’s an addiction to sex,” Pope clarifies impatiently.

JJ grins, smug. “I mean, can’t say that I don’t have that.”

“JJ. Gross.”

“What? Like it’s a secret or something? You’re just jealous, Pope. Gotta get your dick wet,” JJ shrugs.

Now John B’s cringing. “Gross, JJ.”

“So conservative,” he jests, lying back on his board. Clasping his hands over his bare stomach that’s beginning to dry under the rays, he gazes up at the clear sky. “My girl treats me good. Not gonna apologise for bragging about it.”

“But you do you gotta do it in such a crude way?” Pope almost whines. JJ flips him off half-arsed.

“Never thought I’d see the day when JJ was pussy-whipped, but here I sit,” John B says. JJ flips him off too for good measure, then lets both arms flop back onto his stomach.

There’s your laugh again. Makes him smile.

“You guys like her though, right?” he can’t help but ask, after a moment of quiet. Nothing but the waves licking at the boards.  

“Yeah, man,” John B says.

“Course,” Pope seconds. “I think she’s a good match for you. And your out-of-control libido.”

“Pope, I swear to God, you say one more million-dollar-word and I’ll drown you.”

~*~*~*~*~*

As the afternoon turns to dusk, the beach day continues. The guys return to land and the girls take the boards out on the waves. You revive your chats from the beach out on the water, drifting into new topics outside of boys: like boxing and school and work and activism. By the time you’re walking back onto the shore, the boys have started up a fire. JJ offers you a sip of his beer as you ditch your board. You smile and accept, moving to sit between his legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, and takes the bottle back to have another swig. Sarah settles with John B, and Kiara lounges back, her feet placed on Pope’s lap.

The music lulls out well-known hits (Come on Eileen, Build Me Up Buttercup, and the never-ending American Pie) and you bask in the warmth of the embers from the fire, drying off any speck of salt water. The bottle keeps getting handed back and forth between you and JJ, and eventually a joint joins the mix. The conversation turns easy, light-hearted jokes enhanced by the booze and weed, making everyone chuckle. Sighing, you lean your head back against JJ’s collarbones, looking up at him. He glances down at you, smiles, places a quick kiss on your lips. When his friends gently heckle the two of you, neither of you respond. As he pulls away, JJ rolls his eyes at their antics. Closing your eyes, quietly chuckling at something Pope says, you enjoy the wonderfulness of summer and your boyfriend, never wanting either thing to end.

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj fic #jj maybank fic #pogues #pogues fic #pogues preferences #outer banks #the outer banks #outer banks fic #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #obx #obx fic #obx preference #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj x fem!reader #jj fluff #jj maybank fluff #platonic!pogues x reader #platonic pogues fic

[dduane]

I have only finished writing the first draft of my first novel so I'm nowhere near considering the legal side of writing yet but I'm curious, so if you don't mind me asking I got two questions:

1) Do laws forbidding writers from reading fanfic of their work go over to other mediums, like visual novels for example? Or let's say I wrote a script and was lucky enough to get it produced as an animated short, would these laws still pertain to it? Or do stories outside the written medium have a completely different set of laws pertaining to them?

2) If an author writes a standalone and reads fanfic of said standalone, then goes on to write a series completely separate from their previous work with a different world and cast can the fanfic author still sue if they detect similarities? Even if their fanfic is attached to a completely different story?

Sorry if these questions are weird and rambly, it's 1 AM over here.

Let me clarify this. These aren't laws that I've been following: they're self-designed rules, based on the current legal realities obtaining in the markets where my IP is known and on offer.

Re 1): Written or not written—drawn, sung, or performed as interpretive dance for all I care—work created with consent in one's own universe must have come about with underlying binding written agreements in place. Without such agreements existing, viewing work in any format that's based in one's own universe will inevitably expose one legally. If I write a graphic novel and people write fanfic based on it, I will not read their fanfic because it could expose me legally to claims that further work done in my IP was based on their fic. Ditto if I write a script and it gets produced, and people see it and write fanfic about it, I won't read that fanfic either. The medium doesn't matter.

Re 2): If I write what for the time being is a standalone novel and read fanfic based on it, and then write a completely different series per your description, can a fanfic author still sue me if they detect similarities? Even if their fanfic is attached to a completely different story?

Well, if they've got the money, and depending on where they're located (for national laws differ), sure they can. The suit may well be sourced in confusion, or malice, or both, but they can. And the suit may in due time be lost or thrown out of court for being frivolous, but no matter how the cards fall, it's going to wind up costing you, the writer, a fair bit of money to get shut of it. A year's worth of your earnings? Two years' worth? Five? And what will be left of your career at that point?

The whole situation is better avoided by not reading any fanfic based on your work. In any format. Any time, any place. Period.

What's workable, and legal, and safe, is the following approach to derivative works from the IP owner's point of view.

Let's say that (for example) a producer or playwright approaches me and wants to adapt So You Want To Be A Wizard as a stage play. If that happens I have them get in touch with my agent, my agent proposes a license fee for allowing them to do this, and draws up a contract with that person essentially stating that they have my permission to adapt my book. Once that contract's in force (meaning it's been signed and money's changed hands), it's perfectly safe for me to look at those people's material written in my universe, because we're both bound by a concrete agreement on how the creative process will go forward and how the results will be used.

Or alternately: Let's say that some writers I know think it would be fun to write Young Wizards stories, and when I hear about this, I say "Okay, let's do a YW anthology." And I talk it over with my agent and then we call in a crowd of writers whose talents I trust and whom I think would be interested in taking part. Those interested all sign contracts with me that say they've got my permission to create those works using my IP / in my universe, and to get paid for them. My side of those contracts stipulates (as seems fair) that, if they invent something particularly cool while working in my universe, I retain the right to use and expand on that concept or language at a later date if I like. (If they have a problem with that, that's their call: they don't have to sign the contract or be in the anthology.) And I can obviously now read all this work and have it, legally speaking, be perfectly safe for me.

But let's try looking at the situation from a different direction. I open my ask box one morning and find that someone's stuffed the idea for a Young Wizards short story into it, also saying, "And I'd like to publish this as fanfic, if it's okay with you." Without an agreement in place, without my permission, this person has forced me to look at material which potentially infringes my copyright. But that doesn't matter in terms of my immediate legal options, because fanfic is also conditionally protected by copyright. (This is a complex situation, but this article deals with some of it, and links to more discussion.)

My first urge is to simply delete the thing and pretend I never saw it. But unfortunately Tumblr's records of my web accesses will now contain proof that someone logging into my account, from my computer (or iPad, or phone...) has opened and viewed that ask. Should I ever wind up in court with this person, their lawyers will have demanded that data from Tumblr and will use it to prove that I had access to their client's idea.

So now—assuming they've actually gone ahead and done this writing and publishing—I have to get hold of my lawyer and have them contact Tumblr and get that person's identity and contact info from them, so that they can be sent a cease-and-desist letter. I hate having to do this, but evidence that you have not been defending your copyright can be used against you.

Now let me be blunt. Like most writers, I'm not wealthy. And the simple business described in the paragraph above could cost me a month's income or more in billings from the lawyer. What am I supposed to eat, next month, while I'm trying to write? ...It's a good thing I like ramen.

...Though if I was wealthy, things could get much worse.

Let's say that in an access of utter pre-caffeine idiocy, and a weary desire to be nice to a clueless innocent, I just tell that person in the ask box, "Okay, fine, knock yourself out... just don't make money from it and don't do it where I'll see it." And they say "Of course, I'd never want to cause you trouble, your fiction has meant so much to me..." And then some kind of gloriously indescribable series of events occurs that somehow or other raises the Young Wizards series' profile way higher than it is at the moment, and makes its originator even a little bit rich and famous.*

...And a year or two or five later, in these increasingly litigious times, that person from the ask box who was so nice and said they'd never want to cause me trouble... suddenly starts having second thoughts. ...After all, I've got all this money now, and without their contribution, maybe it would never have happened, right? Don't they have a right to some of that? It's only fair!

You can just hear the thought processes, because we've seen this play out elsewhere before now. "Come on, she'll never miss it. She's probably got a castle in Ireland with solid gold toilets by now. She's got a TV series in the works, and when that comes out she'll have lots more money. She'll never miss a few thousand [ / few tens of thousands / few hundred thousand...] out of that!" And shortly they're on the phone to some lawyers, and the tabloids, and Variety and The Hollywood Reporter, with claims that the Young Wizards series in the works is based on their idea. In fact, they can prove I not only read it, I gave them permission to write in my universe!

...And suddenly Hulu/HBO/RandoStartupStreamingNetwork has stopped taking my agent's calls.

(sigh) So, as I said above: just don't read fanfic based in your own universe, mmkay? You'll thank me later.

*Without the universe's originator then suffering some kind of toxic ethical shift after the fact. (shrug) Stranger things have happened.

#fanfic #profic #and their intersection

[iguessmyfishisgay]

Okay here's a little updated post about my thoughts on Chester and Norris vs Jon and Martin.

They're absolutely connected in some way. There's plenty of reason to think so. Getting the "some of him" statement (case? is that what they're called now?) after the tragedy of Jon and Martin not knowing how much of Jon would be left if they banished the entities? That's too obvious to ignore. And the glitchy names in the credits too is a good reason to think it's Jon and Martin's voices, not just Jonny and Alex's.

But I think we're forgetting that Protocol can be listened to standalone from TMA. Any connections between the voices in the computer and other characters are not going to be a big thing, lest it become confusing for new listeners. So perhaps they're a version of jmart, but I don't think they're *our* jmart, similarly to the parallels between Alice and Tim. Come on, an office flirt who copes with jokes and has a younger brother they absolutely adore? Yeah Alice and Tim parallels are going *hard*

If the third voice is Jonah we won't know for a while because it's not Ben voicing it, so it won't be Elias's voice.

I'd also like to put forward the idea that maybe this universe doesn't have the entities as we think of them? Clearly these cases have been happening well before Chester and Norris showed up, which is presumably when the fears would have been pushed to this reality if that's what happened. What this could mean exactly I'm not sure. Maybe they're even more amalgamous than before, lines blurred more than the previous fears or maybe no lines at all. The filing system seems to reflect that fact, imo. There's so many different ways you can categorize things, it's basically futile. Gwen and Alice's argument over Zombies or Reanimation is a perfect example. Zombies WOULD have been fine. Because zombies are just reanimated dead people. Maybe the verbage of "reanimation; partial" is more specific, but zombies is by no means incorrect.

I totally started rambling on a completely unrelated topic but yeah, here's my thoughts for ya.

#sorry if none of this made sense #i wrote it over the course of two days and i havent had caffeine this morning yet #the magnus protocol #the magnus pod #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus protocol theory #tmagp #tmagp vague #tmagp spoilers #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #tmagp chester #tmagp norris

[cinnasweetss]

Karmic Lover (M) - park wonbin

PAIRINGS: wonbin x kiof julie, wonbin x afab reader (if ur as delusional as he is)

SYNOPSIS: in which you come to wonbin as a karmic lover for all he's done, and continues to do, to julie. now he's forced to imagine you in her place.

GENRE: smut, pwp.

CONTENT: wonbin is the biggest dick on the planet (has the biggest one too), wonbin is in a relationship with julie, oral (m receiving), protected sex, mentions of cheating, reader is not actually involved just mentioned, wonbin is delusional as hell, mentions of wonbin taking readers virginity, other shit I know I'm forgetting to add.

A/N: I can definitely expand on this if need be...I actually just cut this part out of a whole fic I wrote and it made it into a standalone. lollll.

every day, around the clock, even in his dreams, you're all park wonbin can think about. the park wonbin who's known to be the campus' resident dick. literally and figuratively. known cheater and manipulator. especially when it comes to julie.

which is why he's been ignoring her, minus the fact they're supposed to be taking time away from each other.

julie comes in using the key that is for emergencies only. the key that wonbin should've given to sungchan instead. he'll have to get those locks changed eventually.

"Why haven't you answered my texts?" wonbin is everything but happy to see her. wishing she'd go away until he gets the feelings he has for you to go away. "We broke up." it's an exaggeration that makes julie roll her eyes. taking a break and breaking up are two different things. to her at least.

"Won..." she says, inching closer to wrap her arms around his torso. "let's make up, hm? you said you wouldn't do it anymore...I believe you." except he has, he never stopped. doesn't really plan on it either, he knows he only has to swear he'll never do it again for julie to fall right back in his lap. "Hm?"

he only does it because he thinks it'll help him stop thinking about you, that's all it is. that's why he kisses her, caressing her cheek like he did yours. making her get on her knees so he can imagine its you instead. imagine its you pulling him out of his sweats, you pushing his half hard cock past your lips that haven't touched any others but his. you that works and sucks his cock like its the last on earth.

he can imagine it, vividly, just as soon as he shuts his eyes. if he can't see her, he can imagine its you instead. it is you, its you choking on his length as he pushes it past your throat, you gagging around him so much it feels euphoric. he grabs your head, pushing your nose to his navel as he jams into your throat with no mercy. You try and push him away, give yourself room to breathe, but he won't let up.

not when he realizes its julie instead of the woman he wants it to be.

he pulls out of her mouth, pulling her over to his bedroom just a few feet away, and shoving her on his bed. the bed where he had you just a few nights before. writhing and squirming underneath him as he took your innocence.

he rips her out of her clothes, pulling her out her matching set that he didnt waste a single second looking at. a matching set that you wouldn't even put on. its quick, flipping her over so she bares her ass at him, and reaching in his nightstand to pull a condom on.

he needs to move quick, keep you in his head before he realises its julie, before he has a chance to get soft. he stuffs himself in her without a word. "Bin!" she cries, back arching just the way he likes it, back arching to where he can easily grab ahold of her hips and jam his cock into her. "missed this pussy...so much." it's for you, but it's okay if she hears it because right now she is you. he's able to slip back into imagining its you, and its so real.

"fuck, y/- julie. shit. just like that." her name tastes bitter in his mouth even though he's said it many of times before he met you. "baby! oh, god!" she's so oblivious wonbin feels a little bad for her. but not for long. only because her continuous outburst are pulling him from his fantasy.

he has to bend down and place his hand over his mouth to quiet her because she sounds nothing like you. this way he can ignore the muffled moans as he continues to use her. using her to get himself off because he can't have you. you're supposed to stay the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with. nothing more. you're not supposed to take Julie's place.

#park wonbin #wonbin #wonbin smut #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize smut #park wonbin x reader #wonbin x you #wonbin x reader #kiof #kiof julie #cinnasweetss #kpopbg #kpopgg #smut #kiss of life #julie han #kiss of life julie

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (interlude) "shake"

pairing: frankie morales/oc!river price (they/them) rating: E (18+) chapter warnings: swearing, this is honestly just pwp, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms (referenced), overstimulation, frankie being a god damn menace, sub!river this time, takes place sometime after ch6 but could realistically be read as standalone as long as you know they're together. if i missed anything else lmk! word count: 1.3k dividers by @saradika-graphics beta: @scenaaario

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary and turn on alerts ♥

series summary: frankie thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

Frankie’s often thought about how lucky he is: his honorable discharge, whatever got him out of Colombia mostly intact, and Marisol’s presence when he wasn’t sure he had anything to keep going for.

But he thinks walking into that goth club might be slowly making its way up the list for him.

“F-Frankie,” River panted, looking pleadingly up at him with big, wet eyes. “Please,” they whined. They dug their blunt nails into his shoulder with one hand, and gripped around his wrist with the other. “I’m–”

“Shh…” Frankie smirks, speeding up the pace of his fingers. “I’ve only got a few more minutes before I gotta leave for work, okay? We still need at least two more.”

River groaned, swollen lips parted as they watched those thick fingers of his appearing and disappearing inside of them. They had been at it since Frankie’s alarm clock went off early that morning. He woke up in a determined mood, and River lost count of how many orgasms Frankie had given them. Their head lolled back against Frankie’s arm, long hair draped over the only thing keeping them upright. River’s legs trembled, one foot dangling off the dining room table, and the other planted against the surface of the table. 

Frankie watched their eyes glaze over and the blush on their cheeks deepen in color. They were close, he could tell. “You gonna be good and give me another one?” He grinned, removing the two fingers inside them, a satisfying squelch hitting his ears. River moaned weakly at the emptiness, their chest heaving before they gulped and nodded as they looked up at his face. He pressed the pads of those two fingers against their clit and rubbed in tight little circles. “C’mon, baby,” he grumbled against their neck before sucking lightly at the tattooed flesh.

River whined pathetically, their thighs shaking even harder around his arm. The hand that was around his wrist moved to brace themselves on the table. Their fingernails dug into the table as they scratched against the wood. “F-fuck,” they moaned, biting their lip. Blood thundered in their ears in time with their rapid heartbeat. “I-inside, please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Frankie smirked, his bear paw of a hand covering them entirely as he swirled around their clit a few more times. His middle finger teasingly moved from their clit down to their opening at an agonizingly slow pace, making River groan in frustration. He chuckled darkly, slipping the tip of his finger inside them until it was as deep as it could go. River’s whole body went taut briefly before relaxing, their hips meeting the rhythm his hand was making in a gentle wave. “Mmm, very good,” he hummed, kissing up their neck until his lips latched onto their earlobe to nibble lovingly.

The surface of the table between River’s legs was soaked. They’d built up a little puddle as Frankie pulled orgasm after orgasm out of them, and it was about to get even worse. Their eyes shot open as the feeling low in their tummy felt… different. “Frankie,” they whimpered, looking at him with those big eyes again. “I’m– It’s not–”

Frankie looked at their face with mock worry, slipping his ring finger in alongside the middle one. “What is it, sweet thing?” He grinned, picking up the pace of his fingers again. Their pussy was loud, wet squelching sounds filling the air around them. He pressed the pad of his thumb against their clit and rubbed hard. River’s eyes rolled back and they moaned out into the apartment, unable to speak.

“Can’t even say anything, can you?” He pouted, his tone saccharine. The arm holding them up moved slightly so he could tangle his fingers into their long hair, the tips running over the back of their neck teasingly. He gripped onto their sweaty hair and forced them to look him in the eye. “You gonna come? Look at me when you do.”

River’s entire body shuddered as they nodded obediently, biting their lip.

“Good,” Frankie grumbled lowly, watching their face closely. It didn’t take much longer after that for their face to twist in pleasure and for their hips to halt all movement as they came hard. River’s body shook like a leaf as wetness covered Frankie’s entire hand. “Mmm, that’s it,” he hummed comfortingly, the hand on the back of their head cradling their neck. River’s hips rolled with the waves of their orgasm, making them whine pathetically. “Shh…” Frankie kissed their forehead, keeping his curved nose buried in their hair. They wrapped their shaking arms around Frankie’s torso as the last few aftershocks wracked through their body.

“C-can’t go again,” they panted, face buried in the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“‘S okay, baby, I know,” he smiled, kissing the top of their head. He slid his fingers out of them, one final gush of slick landing in the little puddle on the table. Frankie’s hand gripped River’s hip and pulled their body towards his own so he could hold them for a few moments. They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a little while until River came down and could breathe evenly again. “Was a big one, huh?” 

River hummed in satisfaction and nodded against his chest. Their hair was messy and sticking to every part of their sweaty body. 

“You want some water?” 

River squeezed their arms around Frankie’s soft middle before saying, “Yes, please,” in a quiet voice.

“You’re gonna have to let go of me for that, Río,” Frankie grinned.

River pouted before reluctantly detaching from him. He looked over their flushed face and relaxed body, smiling to himself. He leaned over and pressed his lips to theirs in a gentle kiss, but it slowly built to something deeper. River hummed into his mouth and cupped his cheeks with their hands. Frankie parted and pressed his forehead to theirs. “Be right back,” he whispered, eyes never leaving their face until he stepped into the kitchen next to them. 

“Wait, don’t you have work?” River asked from the table, pointedly sitting next to the little puddle they created. “And could you grab some paper towels?” They added quietly, a blush creeping up their neck.

“I can be a few minutes late,” Frankie said as he came into the dining room, a glass of water in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. He handed them the glass first and set the paper towels next to them on the table. He made a little growly sound deep in his chest at the sight, but forced himself not to act on it. He couldn’t be that late. 

“I’ll take care of it,” River smiled shyly, taking a big gulp of water. 

“You better,” Frankie smirked, hands laying on their thighs as he stepped between their legs again. “Want you to take a shower while I’m gone, okay? And do one of those weird face masks you like so much. Since I can’t be here to take care of you properly,” he frowned, kissing their cheek. 

“Yes, sir,” River rolled their eyes and pinched his hip. They took another drink of their water and set the empty glass behind them on the table. “You better go.”

Frankie sighed and nodded, giving them one final, proper kiss before he stepped back. He reached the door and grabbed his keys from the little dish on the table. When he looked back, River was leaning on their elbows on the table, one leg gracefully draped over the other. Their tattooed skin was shiny with sweat still and they were perfectly content with staying naked right on his dining room table. A shiver traveled down Frankie’s spine at the sight of them.

River waved their hand at him and giggled mischievously. “Go!”

Frankie shut the door behind him with a smile on his face, and a tightness in his jeans he hoped would be gone by the time he got to work.

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier au #oaksfics

[artbyblastweave]

Have you got any opinions of Left 4 Dead 1/2's cast of survivors?

One thing I've been thinking about a lot lately is when a work of apocalyptic fiction treats the end of the world as a site for personal reinvention. On the one hand it's potent theming, because the questions of how you choose to behave when utterly freed from existing societal constraints, and how you reconstruct your sense of identity after total context collapse, are sort of inherently packaged in with the premise. On the other hand you're kind of playing with fire, because if you treat the apocalypse as something primarily liberatory or empowering for the protagonists I personally often find it offputting. Congratulations! Your personal growth was purchased at the low low price of the death of billions! You can get away with that kind of thing if you take it in a lighter direction and maintain, like, a deliberately mock-misanthropic tone, or play up the inherent comedy of a person whose life sucks so much that the apocalypse represents a step up- but it's a knifes-edge to walk. I've found that a satisfying synthesis is examine that act of personal reinvention as a coping mechanism, a story that the person doing it is telling about themselves in order to deal with the horror of their surroundings. Zone One by Coulson Whitehead and Rot and Ruin by Jonathan Maberry are pieces of zombie fiction that I think use this lens in an interesting way. I believe that Left 4 Dead is close-to-unique among Valve properties in that they actually released a close-to-standalone self-contained narrative starring game's the principal cast, in the form of The Sacrifice*, and I feel like the comic explored this dynamic in interesting ways, because the four survivors exist on a distribution between "Apocalypse-as-New-Lease-On-Life" and "Turbofucked," in ways that pointedly affect their behavior and outlook.

Louis, the eternal optimist, Certified Gamer, still clad in white-collar garb two weeks into the apocalypse, is revealed to have been the one of the four who had the most going for him before the outbreak, a middle-class job with a well-defined upwards trajectory. His dogged insistence that things will eventually be okay is implicitly informed by how badly his life got upended by all his coworkers going nuts and trying to eat him. On the flip side, though, the comic portrays him as having had the fewest actual interpersonal connections- the only person he interacts with in his flashback is his coworker Ray, and that interaction is defined by how Ray is nowhere near ride-or-die enough for Louis to risk coming into the office at his request. He barely registers that the guy in the bathroom who attacks him is a zombie. Make of this what you will.

Zoey was a step down on the ratchet-she was floundering, but it was a comfortable flounder that's likely familiar to a lot of us. Struggling in college, no direction in life, a would-be creative struggling to turn her interest in fiction into an actual career. Parents separated and at each other's throats- but she had parents, had support, had options even as she was treading water. The apocalypse is superficially her call to adventure, letting her live out the fiction she immersed herself in before the outbreak, and you see glimmers of bravado stemming from that- but that same genre immersion is directly tied to her decision to put down her father before his immunity was apparent, because they thought that they were living out a trope that they aren't. She embodies the gap between the nerdy apocalypse fantasy and the horror of actually living through that.

On the other end of things you have Francis, who's downright gleefully cynical about the apocalypse- marrying the assertation that they're all going to die, and that nothing will ever be okay again, with the claim that the apocalypse as the best thing that ever happened to him. Before the outbreak Francis had a strong social circle but was also slated for prison; the apocalypse eliminated the immediate threat of jail, but his pre-outbreak social circle very pointedly isn't around anymore, in a way he's kind of talking circles around when he brings it up with Zoey; he mainly brings them up in the context of contrasting them with how competent Bill is at navigating the apocalypse, and you can infer that his initial attempt to treat the end of the world like an opportunity for a party didn't turn out so hot. He very badly wants to be the guy who had nothing to lose, the guy who's having a blast, he wants to inhabit that role, but there's an undercurrent of performativity there.

Then you get to Bill, who genuinely had nothing, in a way that inform his post-outbreak behavior in really interesting ways. He had no friends, no family, no purpose, and he wasn't in particularly good health. The apocalypse is, in many ways, straightforwardly a step up from his previous situation, in ways that isn't true of any of the others- now he has friends, a goal, a reason to keep moving. The Sacrifice is interested in how that affects his decision making, for better or for worse- he's myopic, invested in the well-being of an extremely tight in-group at the expense of others, monomaniacally good at fighting the infected in a way that even the other survivors find somewhat unnerving. There's a sense in which the brave new world is Bill-shaped. Admittedly the brave new world killed him dead. But it killed him dead in a significantly more badass way than he otherwise would have died, and on some level that was probably his preference. (I don't really go to Dead By Daylight, but I'm tickled pink by their implication that getting to do asymmetric survival horror multiplayer forever is sort of like a Valhalla situation for him.)

#left 4 dead #thoughts #meta #asks #no thoughts on the l4d2 crew at this time #ask

[badgiraffe]

hi! i stumbled across one of your tags on a post back in august mentioning that reading Tress and Yumi was your introduction to brandon sandersons works.

since reading them both, i felt that they'd be incredible standalone works to introduce someone to the Cosmere superseries but i've so far refrained from recommending them to anyone "green" due to how referential they are to his earlier writing, as i feared this would make the fun less accessible.

would i be able to get your perspective on what going into Tress/Yumi first was like? how did you find the narration and the way it glosses over the existence of other worlds and magic? were you introduced to the books by someone/people who could answer any questions, or was the info in the text itself enough?

looking forward to hearing your thoughts!!

Okay, so the background info is that my roommates are big Sando fans and have read most of his books and so they know lots about the Cosmere. Through hearing their conversations, I may have been able to recognize some references to other Cosmere things in Tress and Yumi more than someone with zero knowledge of his other works. Didn't mean I got the references, just recognized them. I really don't think either book relies on the reader to have a working knowledge of the Cosmere to enjoy them, I'd say they're great gateway books for someone wanting to get into his various works. It was easier for me to commit to than a big series.

I have since started a 3rd Brando Sando book, Warbreaker, which is a favourite of one of my roommates, and I am enjoying the different narrative style (not Hoid). But honestly, Hoid as a narrator is also just so, so great. Everyone should know that joy. I don't even really know who or what he is, he's just really cool.

I hope that made sense. TL;DR - You don't need knowledge about the cosmere to enjoy Tress or Yumi, they are both amazing books, Hoid is great, and Warbreaker is also pretty great so far.

#slowly venturing into the cosmere #one stand-alone book at a time #although there's likely to be a Warbreaker sequel #idk what to read after warbreaker help #brando sando #cosmere #tress of the emerald sea #yumi and the nightmare painter #codenamesarestupid

[egophiliac]

You have me very curious about kamen rider

ooh, yes, I am always happy to suck unsuspecting victims into the rider vacuum recommend it to people! ...I do sometimes wonder how wacky it must seem just based off of my fanart for it. :') (I promise it all makes sense in context! ...most of it, anyway!)

SO: Kamen Rider is a Japanese superhero franchise, the mainstay being a new standalone show (of usually about 40-50 episodes) released every year. there are some common elements between shows -- in general, they're about suited-up superheroes fightin' monsters (and sometimes each other!) and occasionally riding motorcycles (and sometimes a car!) -- but otherwise each show is doing its own thing, and there's a HUGE variety in story/tone/theme/style/what have you. so each one is pretty different! it does have the upside that, if you're interested in checking it out, you don't need to start at the beginning or watch any specific ones to understand the others (with a couple of exceptions*). I did rec a few of my favorites in this post, but if you want, you can also take a look at the entire list and jump into any that sound good to you! :D

* exceptions-wise, Decade and Zi-O are anniversary series that assume you're already familiar with past riders, and I believe Black RX is a direct sequel to Black? (I'm not really familiar with the Showa-era riders, but I think they're more connected story-wise than the more modern ones, which are just straight up completely different universes that have nothing to do with each other) (except when they do, like, crossover movies, in which case the standard explanation for how any of these characters are able to exist in the same place and interact with each other is "they just are okay") (I say this all with great affection. who needs canon when you can watch Ghost and Ex-Aid team up to fight an enormous evil Pacman together? not me, that's who.)

uhhhh sorry for talking so much, here's a Tsumuri to balance it out!

#art #children's shows are serious business #now to be fair a couple of them have also ridden skateboards #there is really not enough skitching in rider #and i do feel obligated to bring up the one time they excused the movie crossover #with the characters literally being like 'wait how did i get here. this makes no sense.' #'oh gaim did it? okay then please continue' #i'm so sorry these posts always get way too long #i do try not to go too hard on here but i have very strong opinions on the motorcycle bugmen

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

A Hazy Shade of Winter

Prompt Day 13: Road Trip | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Internalized Homophobia, Sexual Content | Tags: Canon Divergence Post-Season 4, Eddie Munson Lives, Road Trip, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Boys in Love, Dual POV

This does take place during my fic Take the Money and Run, but can be read as a standalone. They're on a road trip that's unfortunately winding down.

Day 84/90: December 18th, 1986 Madison, Wisconsin

Eddie

It's fucking cold. Eddie bounces on his toes, trying to warm up. There's a little bit of snow on the ground, but it's not too bad for December. Merlyn's, the club that he thought they were going to tonight, has apparently been closed for two years. That's just his fucking luck. 

It's not like he has lots of backup ideas for things to do in Madison, Wisconsin. It's just a stop on the way home. But he doesn't want to waste it, because every day they get closer to Hawkins, the more stressed out Eddie gets. 

They're planning to spend their last days of this road trip in Chicago, holed up, together. Eddie wants that, desperately. Everything about these days feels desperate. 

Surely there's somewhere else to go tonight. 

They duck into a little cafe, and Eddie approaches the counter while Steve hangs back by the door. Waiting. 

"Hey. So, we were looking for a club, but it's closed. Permanently, I guess," Eddie says, smiling sheepishly. "Any suggestions?" 

The guy looks at Eddie, then at Steve, then back at Eddie. 

"I think The Six is what you want, there's no live music though." 

That's fine, as long as it has heat, Eddie's game. 

"Thanks. You happen to have an address?" 

The guy gives him the cross-streets and Eddie hopes he can relay them to Steve. This place isn't going to be on the atlas, he's pretty damn sure. 

They get back in the car, and Steve cranks up the heat, and pulls Eddie's hands between his own to warm them up. Eddie smiles. 

Steve brings them to his mouth, and breathes out a puff of warm air. 

"Better?" Steve asks. 

Eddie nods. Much. 

"We could just go back to the motel, if you want," Steve offers, giving him the look. 

That's tempting. Very tempting. 

But he wants to go do something first. 

"Let's just see where this is," Eddie says, taking his hands back and looking at the map with the flashlight. 

He quickly realizes it's literally right up the street. Less than half a mile. He laughs. 

"So, it's like three blocks away. We can walk." 

"It's cold, we can drive," Steve says, and Eddie knows that's for his benefit. It's kind, and one of the reasons Eddie loves him so much.

They have less than a week left of this road trip, and that's weighing on Eddie pretty heavily at the moment. He's not ready to give this up. Give Steve up. 

He's never gonna be ready for that. 

"Let's just walk," Eddie says, and Steve nods. 

They get out of the car and Eddie leads the way, and they find it without issue. 

It's quiet inside. No live music is an understatement. There's no music at all. No jukebox. No noise. No TV blaring sports in the corner, nothing. 

They order a couple beers and find a table. 

And Eddie really looks around. He thinks this might be a gay bar. Not blatantly so, like Twin Peaks in San Francisco. This is the Midwest, still. But it's gay-friendly, at a minimum. 

He looks at Steve, and Steve looks oblivious. Or if he knows, he just doesn't care. 

Steve Harrington is too brave for his own good. 

Steve

Steve's pretty sure this is a gay bar, if he couldn't tell by looking around, he can definitely tell by the look on Eddie's face. 

Eddie's surely fretting about how he got clocked at the cafe. Steve doesn't think it was Eddie at all, it was probably him. He's not sure he can school his face to not look at Eddie like he hasn't been fucking him on the regular. 

Like they aren't in love. 

This might be a problem when they get home. 

"Eddie, it's okay," Steve says, and he reaches over to touch Eddie's hand, and Eddie pulls it away. 

Steve knew better, but he did it anyway. 

He folds his hands and puts them in his lap, "Sorry."

"No, Harrington, I was rude," Eddie says, reaching a hand across the table towards him. A peace offering. 

Steve doesn't need it. He knows how Eddie feels about him, and that doesn't change just because Eddie doesn't want the world to know. 

Steve sees. That's good enough. It's a change from his past relationships, but Steve can adapt. He's good at that, he's learned. 

Steve covers Eddie's hand with his own, very briefly, and then lets go, not wanting Eddie uncomfortable. 

"We can go," Steve offers. 

Eddie shakes his head, "No. Let's have a beer."

So they do. And then they leave. 

They drive to the motel, and as soon as they are in the door Eddie's on him. Steve knows it's an apology. One he doesn't need, but he kisses Eddie back. 

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Eddie, I'm good. We're good," Steve promises.

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles. 

"Then let's see what we can find to do, hmm?" Steve banters, reaching for Eddie's belt buckle. He pops open the handcuffs with ease, a well-practiced move, now. 

Eddie

Eddie sprawls out on the bed, and watches as Steve gets underdressed. They both have scars, inside and out, but they don't hurt so much anymore. Not when they're together. 

Eddie runs his thumb over his disfigured nipple, and feels nothing. But looking at Steve, he feels everything. 

Steve covers his body, and flicks his tongue over the nerve-damaged nipple, saying hi. 

Saying, I love you.

Just as you are. 

Then he moves to the other one, the one that can feel it and Eddie arches up under him, sliding their dicks together. It's good, with Steve. Sex is good, when you're in love. 

And Eddie is in love. Too far gone to recover. 

Steve hovers over him and smiles, "Where's that sex pumpkin?" 

Eddie laughs, and fumbles for the plastic pumpkin to get the lube. He wonders if McDonald's does Christmas buckets. A sex snowman might be a nice change, festive. 

Notes: In the research theme of Take the Money and Run, both of those bars did exist in the 1980s. Merlyn's was a club that did close in 1984, and "The Six" is The 602 Club, which was a unique bar.

Here's a great article about The 602 Club, with pictures. It had an informal split of the bar, for gay and straight patrons. In the 60s! It's described as, "Madison in the 1960s was a Midwest way station between San Francisco, Berkeley and Greenwich Village for a tidal wave of rebellion, new thought and cultural evolution."

Here's a Tumblr post showing vintage pics of the exterior of the building, including the original neon sign.

Since this fic's original chapters were song titles, this one is from Simon & Garfunkel's song of the same name.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #road trip #steddie ficlet #take the money and run #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles