#STAND UP for what you believe. Straight to my face.

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

❧ prompt:  "Why are you so worked up?" "Because they wouldn't stop fucking staring at you like they wanted to eat you." From here.

❧ the act’s performers: kiyoomi sakusa x f!reader

❧ wc: 1.7k

❧ warnings: swearing, jealousy, kissing, insecurity (let me know if I missed stuff)

❧ a/n: just a little something lolol idk I hope ya'll like it!

"You're not my type."

"And you think you're mine?"

Sakusa Kiyoomi could not believe the conversation he was forced to participate in. A mixture of disgust and amusement contorted his features at the woman staring up at him with a devious glint in her irises. Over the last year, it was almost nonstop bickering between the two of you. Well, according to Atsumu it was flirting on your end and bickering on his friend's end.

To be honest, a study needed to be conducted on why your presence alone could drive the wing spiker to insanity. From the way you would push past his physical boundaries without hesitation to the siren-like expressions, you would toss his way during class. It stripped him of his rationality and delivered him straight to madness.

All he wanted was to focus on college and volleyball, and yet sometimes all he could focus on was you.

"If I'm not your type, why do you only bother me?" The black-haired male surveyed your face for a nonverbal answer to his question. However, as always, he was greeted with a flirtatious bat of your lashes rather than a clue as to what was going on in that head of yours.

"How are you so certain that I only bother you?" Bringing your index finger to your mouth, you lightly bit down on your nail with a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Your answer evidently caught the male off guard, as there was a momentary crack in his usual nonchalant demeanour. "How arrogant of you to think you're the only one."

"If you have other toys, go bother them instead. I'm busy." Sakusa shifted his gaze away from you, with tension applying to his jawline. He had to bite back the urge to pout. Where was his mask again? Why did you have to catch him in a moment when he was shieldless?

"Really? You won't miss me, pretty boy?" The hand that was once near your mouth was now extended so that you could guide his attention back to you. To both of your surprise, he did not stop you immediately when your finger applied light force on his chin. Though once his dark eyes landed on yours, he was prompt in swatting your hand away.

"First, don't call me that. Second, why would I miss you?" The volleyball player's words were coated in venom, but he ignored the bitter taste. It was nothing in comparison to the emotion flooding his chest right now.

And the last thing he wanted to admit was that his heart was drowning in jealousy.

"Okay, pretty boy. Just remember... Be careful what you wish for." After dipping an eyelid into a wink, a harmonic laugh follows your words as you step away from the male.

Sakusa instantly regretted his choice of words, and yet all he could do was glare in response.

****

Silence and peace accompanied Sakusa for the following two weeks, along with bright warm spring days. His volleyball team even secured a win against their rival, one that had the hallways of the college buzzing in excitement. But the male could not find himself satisfied with his victory - not when someone was missing from the stands. A certain someone who attended his every game to shamelessly flirt and ward off the fangirls.

It was becoming progressively clearer just how much your absence impacted his daily life. Just how much he did not truly care for quiet days. And just how much he missed your mischievous mannerisms.

Atsumu practically snapped at his team-mate on day 13 - claiming that Sakusa was merely ruining his own chances with the girl he obviously liked. Sakusa cursed out the blonde-haired boy in response, but he secretly agreed with everything that was said.

But what was stopping him from seeking you out? Over the last year, you were the one who pursued him. Should the tables not turn anyway at some point? It was only fair that he chase after you now. Even if that meant going against his better judgment.

Who said emotions were supposed to make sense?

It was day 16 when Sakusa was finally successful in diminishing the distance between you two. Well, rather than being successful in his mission, it was pure luck that caused him to accidentally stumble onto your location. However, luck was truly a nasty creature, as the scene he had entered was one that had a storm brewing inside of the male's chest.

A sickening realization had suddenly plagued the male.

He hated the idea of you "bothering" someone else. Why the hell did he send you into the arms of another!?

"If I had known there were such pretty girls in Japan, I would have come here earlier." The blue and blonde-haired male towered over you with a smirk on his mouth. Based on his accent, he was a foreigner who likely transferred to the school recently.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty enough to move across the globe, Kaiser." A cheerful smile painted across your lips as you interlocked your fingers behind your back. It was more friendly than flirtatious, yet Sakusa felt rage burn in his palms.

When he made the comment about your other toys, he did not think you'd actually give him space. In the past, he had made all sorts of snarky remarks. How many times did he tell you to go away? He had lost count. But what mattered was that you never acted upon his harsh words.

What changed now? Were you fed up with him?

"I'd do a lot more than that for someone as pretty as you, y/n." This time the male named Kaiser lightly grabbed onto your chin, forcing your head to move skyward. And as he leaned in closer, his eyelids dropped just a smidge which even had someone like you blinking in slight astonishment.

But before you could register what was occurring - a new individual entered the stage. Warm fingers were wrapped around your wrist, and with one swift motion, you were pulled away from Kaiser. A familiar scent of laundry detergent tickled your nose. It didn't take you too long to realize whose chest you were currently pressed against.

"Kiyoomi?" His name was breathed out with a fascinated laugh as you peered up at him. Although, his consideration was not on you at all. No, he was engaged in a staring match with the foreign soccer player.

"Y/n. I didn't know you have no standards." The comment comes from Sakusa who refuses to release your wrist. A grimace moulds your features at his incorrect and disrespectful assumption.

"Oh-oh, what do we have here? You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend, y/n." Kaiser raised an eyebrow with a humourless chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"I don't have a boyfriend, that's why." Sakusa tensed up at your retort, which only brought laughter to flow past your lips. "But I do have a grumpy cat it seems." A quick glance was stolen of the male beside you who remained focused on what you realized he considered his love rival.

"But your heart isn't owned by the grumpy cat, now is it?" The soccer player discovered far too much entertainment in the situation. Sakusa was practically sending daggers in his direction, and yet it was all just simply amusing. Kaiser was not interested in you enough to willingly enter a fistfight. But he could not keep himself from teasing the unknown male. "I'm sure I can satisfy your needs much better than he can, my sweet y/n."

"We're done here." It's the latter comment that has the wing spiker suddenly dragging you down the hallway. However, right before leading you away, he released your wrist and instead tangled his fingers with yours. Butterflies sang a melody inside of your stomach as a number of curses were mumbled against the fabric of his mask, causing you to stifle back a titter.

"Why are you so worked up?" The inquiry is posed once Sakusa leads you into an empty classroom. The black-haired male only realized he was holding your hand when his feet stopped carrying him to his destination. A light blush could be seen peeking out from the top of his mask.

It was ridiculously adorable.

"Because he wouldn't stop fucking staring at you like he wanted to eat you." His words were huffed out as his fingers were sent to toy with the strings looped along his ears.

"Eat me? Oh, I'm sure he wanted to do much more." Since ending the physical contact, Sakusa remained a meters distance away from you. A calculated decision on his part, clearly. But you were prompt in destroying that distance with a few steps forward. "I thought you wanted me to play with my other toys, hm?"

The volleyball player elected to remain silent, instead his dark irises bore into yours. Even when you extended your hand to lightly remove his mask, he did not utter a word. Nor did he disturb your movements.

When he brought you here he was not thinking straight, he had no plan. He just wanted to separate you from that man.

"Kiyoomi, if I had known you were such a jealous boy, I would have used this to my advantage earlier." The admission was exhaled with a dramatic sigh, but the playful edge to your tone was difficult to miss. "If you want me, pretty boy, I think now is the time to confess. Unless, you want me to go back to -"

The soccer player's name was swallowed back down as Sakusa's lips suddenly crashed against yours. There was no way in hell he would ever allow you to say another man's name in a romantic context again. The pads of his fingers brushed over your cheeks so lightly you could have confused it for a breeze. The earlier feelings of jealousy melted away with each passing second, as Sakusa bathed in the thrill of finally giving in to his desires. And when you broke the close proximity to catch a breath of air, he was quick to bring your mouth back to his in an urgency you had never expected from the male.

Well, it was needless to say... Operation jealousy was a success.

#sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa fluff #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #sakusa imagines #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa #hq sakusa #haikyuu

[lostloveletters]

Crimson and Clover (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: Bucky expects a lot of things when he arrives at Thorpe Abbotts, but Holly Dean isn't one of them. He's not complaining, though.

Word count: 5.1k

Note: I wrote most of this in a notebook over the past 3 days so my hand hates me, but I hope y’all like this! This fic covers pretty much from when Holly and Bucky meet to about Damn Yankees (mid-May to mid-June). Title comes from the song (Joan Jett version, we're bisexuals here). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies (I’m playing a little fast and loose with who was at Thorpe Abbotts early with Bucky). Depictions of grief and depression. Period typical attitudes.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“Some of the Air Exec girls are having another typing contest,” Dye said.

“Who’s the favorite to win?”

“Dean’s won the past two, but Spinelli’s pretty good.”

He was glad to have caught Lieutenant Glenn Dye when he did. The guy had been making a beeline to the Air Exec office when Bucky joined him. His first night there, and already some kind of action—socially, at least. No one had been able to tell him when exactly he’d actually get to join McDaniels’ crew on a mission, but he was itching to get up there, even despite the weariness McDaniels carried with him.

He looked a lot more relaxed in the Air Exec office, standing toward the front of the bustling chaos with Duvall, his navigator. Bucky and Dye pushed their way through the people packed in like sardines to witness the typing contest. Dread fell over Bucky for a split second. What if that was the most exciting thing going on at Thorpe Abbotts?

A shout carried over the conversations. “Last chance to place your bets, ladies and gents!”

“Over here!” Duvall fished a quarter from his pocket. “I’m in on Pinkowsky.”

“You’re throwing your money away,” McDaniels said.

Bucky pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and placed it in the outstretched hat next to Duvall. “Put a dollar on Dean for me.”

A young woman with blonde hair in messy twin braids and oil-stained coveralls rushed over, nearly knocking into Duvall. “Hey, did I miss it?”

“Just about to start. Hey Major, have you met Woody yet?” Duvall asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”

“Private Woodward—Woody,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, Major, but I’d probably stain it.” She held up her right hand, covered in black grime that she made some effort to scrub out before arriving.

“Major John Egan, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said, before gesturing to the women sitting around the office. “So who’s who in this thing?”

Of the Air Exec typists, three were competing in the typing contest that night. Nancy Pinkowsky, a Floridian, sat a little toward the back of the room, as she applied red lipstick in a small compact mirror. Leona Spinelli of Newark, New Jersey, had her heels—sleek black pumps, not regulation—kicked up on the desk of one Holly Dean, straight from the nation’s capital with the brightest smile and sparkling brown eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life.

“He bet a buck on Holly to win,” Dye said.

“You bet on Holly, and you haven’t even met her yet?” Woody asked.

Bucky grinned. “Intuition. I got a good feeling about her.”

“You’re right about that.” Woody smiled. “She’s my best friend.”

His eyes scanned the room as he tried to commit faces to memory, but his gaze kept drifting back to Holly until she caught him staring and responded with a smile that he couldn’t help but return. He moved to make his way over and say something to her, but his introduction was interrupted by the announcement for the competing Air Exec girls to get to their desks, and all spectators to shut the hell up.

Holly’s eyes met his again, only to fall to the blank page in front of her when he blinked. From the sound of just three typewriters clicking away incessantly, Bucky could tell he’d end up with a headache if he stayed stuck as Air Exec, and that would be on top of the inevitable hangovers. 

Her fingers moved fluidly across the keys, her face calm and focused, no evidence of her smile to be seen. 

He finally tore his gaze from her to glance at Woody at his side, the mechanic silently bouncing back and forth on her feet, bottom lip between her teeth. Her focus was fixed on Holly, too.

“Finished!” Holly shouted to a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Two guys walked over, one of whom had been collecting everyone's bets. Scanned the paper and muttered between themselves for an agonizing minute before one of them announced Holly had, in fact, won with no mistakes and an impressive word per minute count.

Woody bounced back and forth on her feet, excitedly grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Beat her own record!”

“Attagirl, Holly!” Bucky shouted.

Just as soon as the chaos began, it promptly ended with Holly’s win. No reason to stick around after hours any more. Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, as Bucky had heard many a bartender say at last call. People slowly filtered out of the office.

A few bills and some change were shoved into his hand. “Here’s your cut. $4.50.”

He raised his eyebrows, slipping the money into his pocket. Not bad for his first night in East Anglia.

Holly didn’t recognize the man standing next to Woody, but something about him seemed familiar, comforting without the ache that usually accompanied thoughts of home, of…she figured it best not to spoil the rush of her win before she even reached Woody and met the man smiling her way. 

Woody threw her arms around Holly in congratulations, their embrace lasting a few seconds before remembering they weren’t alone.

“Oh, Holly! This is Major John Egan. Just landed a few hours ago,” Woody said, her arm around Holly. “Major, this is Sergeant Holly Dean, typing queen.”

“Quit it!” Holly laughed. “You’re the new Air Exec officer, aren’t you?” She extended her hand. “Good to meet you, Major.”

Bucky shook her hand. “Looks like you’re batting 300, Sarge. I gotta keep you on my roster.”

“Starting lineup?” she asked.

“You bet,” he said. “You’re from DC, aren’t you? You must be a Nats fan.”

“Sure am,” she said, with all the foolhardy pride of someone devoted to an ever-struggling team. “How about you?”

“Yankees.”

“So you’re from New York!”

He shook his head. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

“How does a man from Wisconsin end up a Yankees fan, Major?”

“I know winners when I see ‘em,” he said with a wink. “And call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky.”

The two women leaned into each other, sharing an expression Bucky couldn’t quite read. Their closeness palpable, he found himself missing Buck. Probably would’ve had something to say about his betting on a typing contest, and Bucky would astutely point out typing wasn’t a sport, receiving an eye roll accompanied by a movie star smile of amusement in return.

“I hate to be that person,” Woody said apologetically, “but we should be heading back now.” 

He nodded. "Right, well it was nice meeting you, Woody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”

“Bright and early, Bucky.”

——

Despite being in East Anglia for less than 24 hours, Bucky knew Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t anything to write home about, even if he had someone to write home to. The Rip Van Winkle village was only woken up from its slumber by the arrival of the United States Army Air Force and Red Cross. Local farmers were forced to trade a rooster’s morning crow for the roar of bomber planes as their alarm clocks. The English and Irish laborers who worked around the base considered their American compatriots novel and exotic—or a nuisance, depending on who he was talking to.

Found out there was a pub in town. Headed over with some of the other pilots and local laborers the night before. Good drinks, fun company, and a pretty barmaid. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on typing contests and the officers’ club exclusively to get his kicks. Though, if the typing contests happened regularly enough, he’d be looking at a decent payday if he kept betting on Holly to win. A guy the previous night had argued that Spinelli would win often enough, but Bucky, in all of his misguided superstition, figured there must have been something to going into the damn thing blind and making the best bet.

When Bucky got to the office, he almost couldn’t believe it was the same place that had been bursting at the seams the night before. Nancy Pinkowsky’s lips bore no trace of the bold red she painted on them. Leona Spinelli wore WAAC-issued heels, clacking across the floor as she walked over to a file cabinet. And Holly Dean’s brown eyes were dull, framed by light purple crescents below them.

Bucky frowned, making his way over to her.

“Morning, Sergeant,” he said.

“Good morning, Major.”

“Rough night?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Something like that. Did you get a chance to meet Corporal Pinkowsky or Sergeant Spinelli last night, sir?”

“Afraid I didn’t,” he said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other pretty well. Major John Egan, but you can call me Bucky.”

They all seemed more controlled, stifled in contrast to the night before as they introduced themselves. Women always had personas to shift in and out of, social chameleons depending on the situation. Bucky had gotten along just fine without watering himself down for anybody, but as an old paramour of his had pointed out to him, he had the distinct advantage of being a man, and the world was far more forgiving to men with character than women, who had to shrink themselves to fit into perfume bottles, lipstick tubes, or in the cases of Holly, Nancy, and Leona, ribbons of typewriter ink.

“Looking forward to working with you, Major,” Nancy said, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. She desperately wanted to be a flirt, but lacked the nerve to follow through. 

Always sharp, Leona hardly missed a thing. Her attention could be unsettling, too intimidating for some people unless they knew her well enough. “Nice to meet you, sir.” 

Bucky shifted his weight on his feet, looking away from Leona. 

“Oh, Colonel Huglin’s looking for you,” Holly said.

He sighed. “That sounds about right. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Major.”

As soon as the door to Huglin’s office shut behind him, Nancy and Leona’s focus turned squarely to Holly, their attention weighing her down. She knew exactly what they were going to ask, anticipating their disappointment at her answer that no, she didn’t know if the handsome Major was taken. She would have been surprised if he were.

“So, what’s his deal?” Nancy asked.

Leona leaned over her desk. “Yeah, I saw you talking with him last night.”

“Well, he’s from Wisconsin, but he’s a Yankees fan.”

Nancy groaned. “You know what baseball team he likes, but you didn’t find out if he has a girlfriend?”

“What, you wanna make your move after flopping last night?” Leona teased, her cat-like gaze drifting over to Holly. “Besides, he’s got his sights set on you, Holly Dean.”

Holly shook her head. “I’m not ready to even consider anything romantic. You know that. I’ll never say ‘no’ to making a friend, though.”

“He might,” Nancy said.

“Well then you ask him if he’s getting his dick wet, if you’re so curious,” Leona said, snickering at the way Nancy’s face paled. “See, you need someone more your speed. Hey Holly, he say when the other flyboys were getting in?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Geez, maybe Nancy’s got a point. Is baseball all you talked about with the guy?” Leona asked.

The women’s chattering fell to whispers when Bucky stepped out of Huglin’s office a few minutes later. Perhaps Holly hadn’t noticed it sooner, caught up in the throes of her own exhaustion following a near sleepless night, but Bucky was quite clearly hungover. He certainly hadn’t kept his aviators on inside for style, that much became abundantly clear as he rubbed his forehead. The three typists shared wordless side glances at the state of him. First day on the job and probably got chewed out already.

“Any of you know where a guy can get aspirin?” he asked. 

“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over there. Should be some,” Holly said.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, sir.”

They went back to typing, silently, slowly, glancing up every now and then to watch Bucky rifle through the first aid kit and promptly dry swallow two aspirin pills. He haphazardly shoved the contents back inside the box and closed it, shoving the first aid kit back into the cabinet. He retreated into his own office, presumably to sleep off whatever ailed him.

“Forget him,” Nancy whispered, only loud enough for her compatriots to hear. “He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s hungover. That’s sick.”

Holly gave her a pointed look. “Don’t be rude, Nance.”

“And he made a mess of the first aid kit.”

“I got it,” Leona huffed, getting up from her desk. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”

Nancy stuck her tongue out at Leona as soon as her back was to them. 

Holly liked them both well enough, at least more than some of the other women in the Air Exec office. Considered them friends, close enough to go out with, share some drinks and laughs, but she never quite clicked with them on the same level she did Woody. Some kind of disconnect emotionally, never quite able to meet her energy the way she needed.

The two had met in San Francisco a little over a year prior, the weekend Stan was being sent off to the Pacific. Holly went with him, glad she had in hindsight, and among the mischief they got up to their last weekend together, one of Stan’s Navy buddies, Frank, invited them to a party. Woody had been Frank’s date, and in a city bustling with women who'd signed up to help Navy or Marines, the two WAAC women bonded right away. Like the stars aligned. The best weekend of their lives. Nothing short of a relief when they were both stationed at Thorpe Abbotts.

She wasn’t quite sure how to describe her relationship with Woody. Friends didn’t encapsulate the complexity of how deeply she felt for her, the certainty with which she knew she could rely on her. She found herself hard pressed to find anyone who understood her the way Woody did.

Holly didn’t see Bucky for a few more hours, and wondered how he could possibly get shut-eye with all of the commotion. If it wasn’t the combined clicking of half a dozen typewriters, it was the talking, a whirlwind of new reports and telegrams and projects to be started and those subsequently scrapped near completion because something had changed, which then affected everything else and brought everyone back to square one.

Quite different from the law firm she worked for as a typist prior to the war. Typically kept up case files and typed up minutes and summaries for various meetings. Sometimes, the lawyers would bring her with them on the cases that went to trial instead of being settled out of court, needing a typist to sit in and record testimonies. While her knowledge of shorthand helped back then, learning the United States Army Air Force acronyms and jargon was like learning another language, not to mention the plethora of accents she had to interpret on top of that.

At least it was interesting work, important work. Kept her on her toes, like she figured Bucky would, as around noon, when she made her leave to get lunch, he emerged from his office and rushed over to her just as she was walking out the door.

“Mind if I join you? I’m still learning my way around,” he said.

“Isn’t half your job knowing where you’re going, Major?” she joked.

He grinned. “That’s the navigator��s job. I’m a pilot, doll.”

“Well, I’m no navigator, but I think I can get us to mess in one piece, as long as you don’t mind walking.”

“Not at all.”

“You won’t be saying that for long, believe me. It rains so much here, you’d think you’d need a rowboat to get around.”

“Know where I can find one of those?”

She shook her head. “What you need is a bike. They’re hard to get a hold of, but since you’re a Major and all, you can probably get your hands on one easier than most.”

“See? I’m learning from you already.”

On their walk over, it became clear Bucky’s fanaticism for the Yankees rivaled Holly’s feverish devotion to the Nationals, and when he made a joke at their expense, he almost thought she took it as a personal offense. She also made a passing remark about how if she had any doubts about city life, it had been snuffed out after a mere two weeks in Thorpe Abbotts, the countryside charm wearing off rather quickly for her. Bucky agreed, neglecting to mention he hadn’t experienced much of fast-paced, city living himself, but he knew he’d thrive in it given the opportunity. 

“So, you writing to anyone back home?” he asked when they found a table to sit at.

“Just my parents and a few friends.”

“No boyfriend?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”

“It’s not that. I was engaged but…he died.”

“Was he a pilot?”

She shook her head. “Navy. Was killed at Midway last year. His name was Stan.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said softly, “I remember watching the newsreels from that.”

“I could never bring myself to watch ‘em.”

Biggest naval battle in history. The headlines screamed it. Boisterous radio and newsreel announcers regaled the public on the heroic exploits of the members of the Navy and Marines who took on and triumphed over their formidable Japanese enemies. He remembered the restless envy that tore through his gut with each newspaper article, each newsreel—not over the coverage or accolades, but of the action. Lucky bastards got to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine while the 100th was still running practice missions. He hadn’t considered the losses very much. Didn’t have reason to until then.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Holly. I feel like a real jerk.”

She shrugged, a weak smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. Just make sure you hit ‘em where it hurts when you’re up there. Doesn’t matter what continent. It’s all the same.”

He nodded. “You got it, Sarge. I’m goin’ up in two days. We’ll give ‘em hell.”

“Good,” she said. Cleared her throat, tried to shake off the sadness that slithered through her like a snake. “So, where’s the rest of the 100th?”

“Got lost coming over here,” Bucky said, laughing when her eyes widened. “Hey, I’m kidding! They’re still training stateside. They’ll be here in a few weeks. June, probably.”

“Anyone single?” Holly asked, quickly adding, “Leona and Nancy wanted me to ask.”

“Off the top of my head? Crank, Douglass, Brady, DeMarco…” He grinned. “Hey, maybe you can type up a list for me.”

She laughed. “Sure I can.”

“You gotta meet Buck. I think you’d really like him.”

His best buddy. Second best pilot in the 100th, only following him, of course. The one of the greatest storytellers she would ever meet. Pretty much inseparable since they met at basic. Didn’t mention how being the focus of Buck’s attention felt like being on top of the world, could send him even higher than any of the forts did. Couldn’t think of a time he felt that way about anyone else.

“He sounds terrific.”

“Pretty square, though—“

“Square?”

“The guy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like sports, including baseball, and he’s been dating the same dame since high school.”

“You make the last one sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, it will be for Nancy and Leona’s list.”

“Are we seriously going to make one?”

Bucky snickered, increasingly amused with the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?”

——

If Holly minded Bucky’s company, she never said anything about it. Didn’t bat an eye when he’d tag along to wherever she was headed to every now and then. Sometimes on her own, but she spent a lot of time with Woody, and the more he was around the two of them, the more he was itching for Buck to finally make it over.

The Wilhelmshaven mission rattled Bucky. His first. Poor Duvall caught the bad end of flak and was covered in blood and barely hanging on when the fort landed back at the air base. Woody’s voice wavered when she told Holly about it, the state of the navigator. Woody was friends or friendly enough with most of the bomber boys by virtue of working on their forts, their babies, really. Being ground crew meant she also had the unfortunate burden of witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the brutality the bomber crews faced in the skies.

Suddenly, Bucky carried the same weariness Holly had seen the other men wrestle with in their own ways. She was hardly surprised when Bucky drowned his in alcohol at the village pub, inviting her and Woody along to join him and some of his fellow pilots for a nightcap, a celebration of Bucky’s first mission.

“Mark my words, Holly,” Bucky said, well into his fourth beer. “If there’s gonna be two pilots left in the sky by the end of this war, it’s gonna be Buck and me. I’d bet anything on it.”

His certainty caught in his throat when her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. 

“That’s hopeful.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think too much about what could go wrong. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

A stormy melancholy hung above Holly once in a while, and though it never poured, she withdrew within herself. Some mornings, she greeted him with a shadow of the smile he always looked for as soon as he walked into the office. On those days especially, he reached out, tried to bridge the gap between them with whatever story or one-sided conversation he could think of.

He had asked Woody about it, knowing she’d be able to explain it to him better than anyone else. Only started after Stan died. Unnerved some people, annoyed others who thought she was being too dramatic, moping for so long over the man. Her behavior could be erratic, mostly self-isolating, occasionally self-destructive, but that aspect hadn’t reared its ugly head for some time. 

“I wish you knew her before,” Woody had told him quietly. “She wasn’t always like this.”

“I like her just fine now,” he’d answered, almost defensively.

“Good. She thinks the world of you, Bucky.”

His heart had jumped. Stopped himself from saying the same. 

Now, however, sitting with Holly in the small pub, He smiled, smacking his palm against the table, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a song?”

“You can sing?”

“Nope.”

But he did anyway. Blue Skies. Enthusiastic. Off-key. Loud. Ran around the place like someone lit a fire under his ass while the pub erupted in cheers and heckling at his performance. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Woody asked, sitting down next to Holly, half-drunk glass of beer in hand.

“Trying to cheer me up."

Singing certainly wasn’t his forte, and adding dancing to the mix only served to make the performance worse. He crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses to the ground with shrill shatters that cut through his song. Holly’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle her laughter at the mess and the fact that he kept going. Pulled the exasperated barmaid in for a twirl, and she nearly hit him with her tray.

“He’s nuts,” Woody laughed.

Holly grinned, clapping enthusiastically when Bucky concluded the song, half out of breath, perspiration on his forehead. “Yeah, he is.”

“How about another round and an encore?” he asked when he returned to the table, pleased with himself at how big Holly’s smile was.

“Yes to another round!” Woody exclaimed. “Hold the encore.”

——

June didn’t offer a reprieve from the incessant English rain, but by the second week of the month, it brought Buck Cleven, and as far as Bucky was concerned, things were as right with the world as they could be, all things considered.

He tried not to think about the possibility of Buck not liking Holly. Knew he wouldn’t show it even if he somehow weren’t all that fond of her, ever the gentleman, good ol’ Buck. But Bucky had heard one too many guys make some snide remark about Holly and her odd behavior, her grief, to leave him with more than a few healthy grudges. Still, he wasn’t shocked at Buck’s incredulous attitude when he brought up Holly.

“Where are we going?” Buck asked from the passenger seat of the jeep.

“Quick pit stop to the Air Exec office,” Bucky said. “You gotta meet her—Sergeant Holly Dean, best typist you’ll ever see in your life.”

“Bucky—“

“C’mon, I talked you up to her! She’s keen to meet you.”

Buck shook his head. “You want me to humor your little girlfriend?”

“It’s not—Buck, come on.” Bucky scoffed. “What, I can’t have friends now?”

Buck hummed. “Sure. Friends.”

“She’s great, Buck. We should all go out sometime. You’ll see.”

“You know, Marge went to the trouble of introducing you to Peggy—”

“Holly’s fun! She makes the desk job less boring.”

“Whatever you say,” Buck said as the office came into view.

Holly swore she heard Nancy whisper “oh my god” when Bucky walked into the Air Exec office with whom she could only assume was Buck Cleven. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out her palpitating heartbeat. He almost looked like he walked off of a movie set. 

Then he took off his cap and smiled at them, introduced himself to Nancy first, who managed a quiet “Hello Major,” and then to Leona, whose deep eyes almost bore a hole through the pilot. Holly swallowed roughly when he made his way over to her.

“You must be Holly, then,” he said. “Buck Cleven, it's nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too," she said, glancing between him and Bucky. "I already know I’m gonna get your names mixed up, so I’m sorry in advance, sir.”

Buck smiled. “My first name is Gale, if that helps.”

“Gale’s a great name. Why go by Buck?”

“On account of this one,” Buck said, gesturing to Bucky. “He doesn’t have any manners, if you haven’t noticed.”

“He’s swell,” Holly said. “Best Air Exec we’ve had yet.”

“Heard you’ve been keeping an eye on him for me.”

“Trying my best, sir.”

“Well, he’s in one piece, so you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”

Kind and handsome—and woefully taken. But not perfect. Didn’t like booze or baseball, pretty much non-negotiables as far as she was concerned. Nancy and Leona didn’t know that, though. Neither of them had Bucky’s insider knowledge the way she did. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to them all that much, anyway. Most importantly, she wasn’t ready to date again. Ignored who came to mind when she thought of where she’d like to start, though. Probably ruin a damn good thing if she did.

“It was nice meeting you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Buck said kindly.

“Don’t be a stranger, Major,” Leona said.

Nancy nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“You girls behave while I’m gone,” Bucky joked.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the three typists shared dazed expressions.

“Was he on that list you gave us?” Nancy asked.

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “Bucky says Buck is hopelessly devoted to his girl back home.”

Leona groaned. “That was the most gorgeously unavailable man I’ve ever seen in my life. I need to have a drink or four over it tonight.”

——

The day of Buck’s first mission, Bucky clung to Holly the way a child would a blanket during a bad thunderstorm. He felt ridiculous making the comparison between himself and her, but he knew she’d understand the uncertainty, the waiting. Didn’t say anything when he found lame excuses to keep her working in his office, unsure of how else to express that he didn’t want to be alone with himself, with his thoughts.

The practice missions were just that—practice. Though Buck took them on with all of the focus and skill of real missions, there wasn’t much risk involved. Death couldn’t reach out its cold hands and touch them quite yet, but on his first mission, Bucky swore he felt its frigid grip on his shoulder, trying to pull him away with it somehow. Learned how to ignore it by his second mission, not to see its face behind his eyes every time he blinked or hear it calling for him with each burst of flak. But he couldn’t tell Buck, no way for him to understand until he was up there and experienced it for himself. Maybe that was why Holly sometimes retreated into silence when it came to Stan.

Wondered how she felt before she got the news about Stan. Was she expecting it? Had a gut feeling that she hoped was indigestion? Blindsided and crushed? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Wasn’t sure he could handle knowing her answer. 

Instead, they talked baseball, as she’d given him a Lou Gehrig card she got from an old pack of Big League Chewing Gum, having inexplicably brought her modest collection of baseball cards over to England with her. Had a Yankee among her more treasured cards and didn’t think twice about giving it to him. So Lou found his home among Bucky’s two rosaries and various homegrown talismans that carried his hope and superstition. Took the place of his lucky deuce which he’d given to Buck that morning, not that he’d dream of biting a corner off of it.

He scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact with her as he said, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“What do you mean ‘putting up with you’?” she asked. “I like being with you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He almost couldn’t believe how close they’d become in the weeks since they met. So close that every so often, they’d be asked if they were a couple, brushing off the assumptions with laughter and the answer that no, they weren’t. Hell, even Buck assumed it before he met Holly. But really, he couldn’t think of how much would change between them if they were. Didn’t matter. He knew things would be okay if he had Holly around, no matter how that looked.

“Hey, shouldn’t they be getting back soon?”

“Shit, you’re right. I’ll see you later, Holly.”

“See you, Bucky,” she said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Take care.”

He nodded silently, slipping the hand she held into his jacket pocket when he turned to leave, wanting the warm, comforting feeling to last until he could see ‘Our Baby’ approaching and finally relax. A smile spread across his face, but there was no way for her to have seen it.

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #mota #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #ch: holly

[halloworhorecrux]

A concept, feel free to run with it anyone.

It's time travel with Draco Malfoy. 

He passes the arch of the Court Chambers where he has been sentenced to 3 years of Azkaban. No happy thoughts, only the regret and sadness of having to relieve his mistakes in technicolor within the drab walls of Azkaban. 

Anyways, he passes the arch, which has been destabilized because of the dark magic from Voldemort. He passes out and wakes up to his mother and father looking at him with worry.

It's July 31, 1991.

They fret and hover over him and argue over if they should continue to Diagon Alley for his school supplies. Draco is discombobulated and just smiles winningly because he can't remember how he was at that age but he is sure there was happiness surrounding this day ( there was he meet the love of his life, Harry) so he smiles and encourages them to continue with their day with the dopiest grin. Alright so maybe he has a slight concussion and cannot see straight (pun intended). So on they go apparating into the alley while Draco clings to his parents because he is slightly concussed and slightly because his parents are healthy and petting his hair. Sure this might all be a fever dream and he will wake in a cold, dreary island filled with dementors. He is a firm believer in delulu is the sululu so he will take this small amount of happiness that he can.

This time his parents refuse to allow him to go alone into any of the shops. They are worried about the slightly dazed look in their son's eyes. At the entrance to the robe shop, he berates them to let him stand on his own and not embarrass him. The two decide to wander the shop with a keen eye on their son. As before a ragged looking boy enters the shop without the notice of the two adults. Draco however has never been more excited. He didn't know it at the time but he knows he is Harry Potter. The biggest grin on his face he practically shouts " hullo, Hogwarts too?" 

Taken aback by this small pale boy, Harry thinks “oh great another weird person who knows his name”. Warily the thin boy steps up as he is instructed to by the matron. 

"Uh yea, Hogwarts too"

Nodding along, Draco speaks "I thought as much. I've been waiting for....that door to open.  You know because the nargles told me." He isn't sure why he lies but he decides he can't be blurting out things that might make him wake up. After all dreams start to shatter once you  start to think too hard. 

"uh what are nar..nargles you said?" young Potter asks.

"Oh well you know, those little pesky things that go bzzz in your brain, like uh huh yea they go bzzzz. Like bee's except they’re magical. “ He does a little motion to indicate a bee flying. 

“Yea magical bees. Wonder if that would make me allergic to them as well. I’m allergic to bees you see? Had to be flooed to St.Mungos once after I tried to eat one of mothers flowers. Of course, it was Uncle Sev’s fault entirely. He said they were edible. I just didn't get the right color. But how did I know that flowers of different colors can do different things? It was horrible, Mother made me read about flowers for weeks after that as punishment for messing up her garden." Rubbing along his lips remembering that incident he finishes his little rant " so I guess I could be allergic, she (Luna) did say they cause a type of reaction like a bee sting.." His words putter out as he realizes he just ranted at poor potter about bees. A flush rises to his cheeks. 

Harry is laughing softly at the now embarrassed boy. Not wanting to alienate his first potential friend he asked " Did you learn anything about flowers I mean. I haven’t read much about them but I do tend to our weeds and such for my aunt." Though the task sounds much better, he can feel the calluses his hands acquired from having to dig and pull without proper gloves.

"Oh, actually, yea, I learned about this weed called Venus tentactular that has vines that can kill you, but just show it a bit of sun, and it calms right down. I spent hours trying to make a lumos just so I could see it. Mother has never been more horrified, than when I tried to coax it out of the greenhouse. I think she wanted me to appreciate the pretty flowers, but what's a garden without a couple of weeds? Want to see?" 

Then promptly face palms  because he has just asked the savior if he wants to see a weed that can kill him. 

" Oh Merlin, not because I want to hurt you or anything. I’m very good at light charms or well mainly I can make fire with my mind. It's really just accidental magic but I mean I think it and boom it’s there in my hands. But not like a boom like a bomb just like a small night light but with fire. Not that I need a nightlight or anything, I’m not a baby anymore. And I couldn’t object to it as a baby anyway so that's really why I had it then. Of course. "

A boisterous laugh makes his ramble come to stop. Harry Potter is clutching his ribs as he cackles and giggles with mirth at the babbling boy next to him.

Face as red as a candy apple, Draco somehow is able to tell Potter to write to him. Though the conversation on Owling leaves Harry in more tears as Draco does an impersonation of an owl. Who sounds and all. Draco doesn't even try to understand Harry's explanation of a landline.

It's as what feels like a week goes by that Draco fears he may be in some type of coma because he has not returned to the chill of the North Sea.

Letters are passed, and it's Sep 1, 1990, when Draco begins to have worries of how exactly he is still in the past or whatever fever dream he is in. Sure, making friends with Harry Potter had been a dream for the first four years at Hogwarts, but now he is getting increasingly tense with the situation.

It's the sorting hat that tips the scales for his confirmation of where he is.

"Ah we meet again Mr. Malfoy."

"What"

In his first life, the hat had barely touched his head before sorting him.

"Playing games with level ten I see. It's good to see ambition such as yours learn new ways to thrive. Alas duty calls. Hufflepuff maybe, such daring could go to Gryffindor,but never well thought so Ravenclaw is not for you."

The horror of possibly being Hufflepuff is enough to have him cry out in disgust. Him a hufflepuff! He will find a way to burn the disgusting hat before it could say Puff"

" Ah well I suppose it’s good to have some creature comforts."

“Slytherin!” It bellowed out into the hall. 

Draco broods at the slytherin table after all he knows where everyone will go.Until the hall goes silent. He picks up his head only to find Harry Potter striding towards him with a smirk. 

Oh no! He has ruined everything. He thought this was a dream or a coma. The afterlife may have thought why he got to be happy was baffling. He’s a slytherin. Any random good fortune should be analyzed before moving forward. On the contrary maybe that is why most of his schemes against the golden trio did not work out so well. Now he  was with the speccy boy as a slytherin. "Merlin, I'm an idiot'

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Draco I was sure you were headed for Hufflepuff and I wasn't sure how I could get into that house with you. " 

"What of course you could get into Hufflepuff, I mean hardworking is a trait isn't it? And you do that, at your aunts with all the chores you talk about. Though academically you were a bit lazy. Loyalty is a pretty trait uh except does it count if you still disobey the people your loyal to cause i dont you like to do that very much, maybe your problem is authority figures ya know?"

Harry was busy looking at the professors to catch that Draco words were just a smidge suspicious. Regardless once he tunes back in the mumbles of the blonde he taps against the top of his temples. 

"Oy stop trying to sort me into another house. also you should watch your words, I think i'm rubbing off on you. What would your elocution tutor think of you using words like yaknow? "

Draco sighs deciding this is a future problem. or maybe he can run it by the savior himself. Obviously an 11 year old potter was able to take care of problems since he entered Hogwarts. 

It's seconds before their first potions class that he remembers Uncle likes to ask difficult questions that he pulls Harry aside and whispers.

Draught of death, Aconite and Stomach of a goat.

Harry, who has decided that Draco is really just a dumb blond with some kind of divine foresight, does not question him at all. 

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

Fast forward throughout the year, Draco keeps trying to help but just ends up helpless until Harry saves him.

Then because there were no clues, Draco just straight up asked, if someone was going to steal something and if you touch their hand they probably disintegrate into what would you do?

Uh well you could try to steal the thing first so that they can't get to it but if you just stopped them by holding hands then why not just hold hands? Is this a hypothetical, because you can just ask to hold my hand if you're scared.

Draco dares Harry to hold Proffesor Quirrels hand and double dog dares him to hug the professor. 

Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason in his first life. The DADA teacher turning into dust in the middle of the corridor was not what anyone expected. Harry however is unphased, sure the black cloud was a good effect but it will take more than that to scare him Draco Malfoy. Draco has decided that Harry is insane. 

The duo is seen bickering because Draco refused to tell his best friend how he was able to make the black smoke appear and why he had his father fire the DADA teacher. Harry didn't hate Quirrel that much, though the smell didn't help.

#drarry #harry x draco #au #harco #If you write this please tell me #I have a lot of feelings about these two #time travel for the win #time travel fix it #sometimes its best to just run with it #Draco is the type of person to ask hypotheticals #Hypothetically would you love if i was worm #please ignore the typos and grammer stuff

[artist-issues]

Reblogging this because ya’ll still want to run your mouths.

Okay, you know what, "HellCheer" fandom?

Grow up.

This site is FOR looking at all types of media, fan work and professional, mainstream and indie, and then SAYING HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT IT. Doesn't mean you have to like what people say. Doesn't mean you have to agree. Doesn't mean you have to be offended.

What, didn't anybody ever cook a meal, and you decided to inform them that you didn't like broccoli? Didn't anyone offer you coffee, but you don't drink coffee, and in fact you think it's an unhealthy beverage? Because that's all Doverstar did. She looked at your coffee and said "personally, I'm not a coffee drinker, and I think coffee is silly." And you wanna get bent out of shape?

how insecure do you have to be to find one person in a sea of like-minded individuals who happens to not agree with you, and then spend time typing up long, nasty responses? You don't have anything better to do?

You wanna be the kind of fandom that says "everybody is entitled to their opinion...unless I have to see it and I disagree with it, and heaven help you if you DARE dislike something I MADE."

That the kind of fandom you wanna be, "HellCheer?" You don't claim Doverstar? Thank God. Because who would want to be claimed by that kind of fandom? What rank company you're so thrilled to exclude her from.

Guess what? In the professional industry, where adults work and pour their actual souls and livelihood into their art, they get rejected. They get told what they've done isn't what the studio is looking for; the producer doesn't like it, the execs want to go in a different direction. Then, if they're successful with their execs and it gets produced, the critics don't like it. The critics and the fans hate it, too. If this is the kind of hissy fit you're going to throw when one person makes a list of traits they don't like in one particular niche of fandom, no wonder a fandom is the only place you're creating. Your skin isn't thick enough to turn this into a craft.

So here's MY opinion, and I'm throwing it into the water for the sharks to shatter their teeth on: Doverstar is the best fanfiction writer to ever put anything under the "HellCheer" tag. When she uses the tropes she hates, it's tasteful and it's built up and it's salt on a strong, delicious foundational meal of good storytelling. It's not just a plate of salt, all taste, no substance. UNLIKE what Doverstar claims, I have actually read the majority of non-M and unrated fanfic for HellCheer that has accurate grammar and some grasp on paragraph breaks. I have only made it through a handful of them. Because Doverstar's is head-and-shoulders above the rest.

So keep tossing crap in her inbox and spending all your time defending yourself against an imaginatedly-personal attack that wasn't directed at you, and came from someone who actually has something great going for her. Someone who remembered that PEOPLE are on the other side of that post you don't like, and that nobody with class or a basic understanding of mature human decency spends so much time typing up mean-spirited crap and high-school drama text posts to directly attack an opinion she simply disagrees with.

Doverstar has class. She's kind. So she took her post down because it offended some of you.

I do not have that measure of class or kindness. I am a full-fledged hypocrite in this matter. You want to argue, come argue with me. I don't get tired. I don't get hurt over this crap. I have time.

Doverstar has nothing to do with this reply, did not ask to be defended, and would not want me to stir the pot, but I'm stirring it. so y'all can direct your subsequent ferocious responses to me if you've got the nerve.

#this is one of the most toxic examples of fandom I’ve ever seen #HellCheer #pheonixwrites #a-strange-inkling #makingatomlette #anyone else? #come on #Actually STAND UP #STAND UP for what you believe. Straight to my face. #if you support something it either looks like defending it well or being confident enough to shut up. #it does NOT look like talking crap on anon #it does NOT look like passive aggressive posts that leave you plausible deniability but everyone knows who you’re talking about #LET’S. GO. #It’s not just doverstar #HellCheer fandom

[hairmetal666]

Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #fluff #friends to lovers #famous eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #feelings confession #oblivious steve harrington #the grand tradition of steve harrington not realizing he's bi #eddie falls first steve falls harder #eddie's so cool about it #grammy award winning eddie munson #vaguely inspired by lupita and joseph at the oscars #driver roll up the partition please #a little bit spicy

[fairy-hub]

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨; 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mean/angry nerd!switch!choso, hate fucking/academic rivals, Daddy/brat, biting, degradation/mocking, two pussy slaps, a hint of oral/fingering for some prep, pain kink, begging, just the tip, choking, light fem dom!reader, biting, hair pulling/dragging, mirror sex, full nelson, squirting

Oreo: @arminsumi @vampress7 lets all be delulu over nerd!choso, normal choso could and would never be so mean. I stand by that but this is nerd!choso Au whose done with your shit even if you are right! 🤤

“You’re such an annoying brat correcting me in class.” Choso grabs your arms pinning them above your head. Stuffing his thigh between your legs. Grinding your hips, your soft clit perfectly rubbing on his thick thigh.

Fighting the urge to groan. “If you weren't wrong, I wouldn't have to-!” Choso shuts you up with a rough kiss, biting your bottom lip. Slipping his tongue past when you cry.

Squeezing your neck, pulling away, smirking down at you. “Say something now, do anything other than grind your clit on my thigh like a pretty dirty whore.” Glaring up at him, unable to stop yourself. It feels to go to rock your clothed cunt on his clothed thigh.

Sneering, “If only the class knew what a pathetic whore you are. Glaring up at me like you won't beg for my cock.” It’s going straight to your needy cunt the way Choso is looking down at you with such angry hunger.

Moving his thigh from between yours. Roughly unbutton your pants, yanking them down your thighs with your underwear Curling two thick fingers into your cunt. “Already stupidly wet for me, nnn can't believe such a pretty cunt belongs to such a brat.” Letting go of your neck, crouching down ripping your pants down the rest of the way.

“Aw Choso Kamo is mad 'cause I’m right! Doesn't matter how much of a stupid cock drunk slut your fat cock makes me it won't change that!” Slapping your clit and cunt repeatedly. Slapping your hand over your mouth, muffling your cries from the sweet sting.

Biting your stomach, gliding two thick fingers. You grab a fistful of his dark hair tugging till he whines. Your sloppy wet cunt quivers around Choso's thick fingers from the beautiful sound. “Annoying brat.” Propping your thigh on his broad shoulder, shoving his face towards your clit.

“Shut up and suck my clit.” Biting your thigh, pumping his thick fingers faster. Massaging your sweet spot, licking your soft clit. Groaning into your cunt, grabbing your hip digging in his nails.

Squirming grinding your hips, swiping your clit on his pierced tongue. Curling from your toes from the sweet pressure of his hard bar. “Fuck you for being so damn beautiful with my cunt on your face.” Sloppily sucking on your soft clit, groaning getting off in the soft squelching of his finger sinking into your sloppy wet cunt.

Gliding his fingers out, slipping your thigh off his shoulder standing up. Unbuttoning his dark pants, pushing them down, kicking them to the side. “No underwear? Figures why everyone could see the fat outline of your cock when you were in front of the class.”

Picking up his beautiful cock. Biting your lip, stroking your clit, you love the way he’s so fat and heavy he hangs. He smirks looking down at you, trapping your head between his large hands.

Grabbing his cock touching stroking your clit. “I knew you were lookin’ n you lied sayin’ you weren't.” He groans when you slide your side lips along his cock, smearing slick into his cock head. Helping you stroke your clit better.

“Fuck you, you didn't deserve the satisfaction after being wrong. You should have studied better I'm disappointed in you can I even think of you as a rival after that.” Biting Choso’s tattoo of black flowers and dark green leaves and thorny vines.

The large garden covers most of his body. Hiding scars you’ve memorized the placement of. You hate him so much, yet you know his body better than your own.

Tracing over the one above his heart. Kissing the bite mark. “Please you know you’re going to be thinking about seeing me in class tomorrow. Let’s see how good your essay is, if I think it’s less than 96 you’re not cumming.” Grabbing your hair pulling your head back.

Looking up at him, siding your hand down from his thick hard pecs to his sculpted abs. “Fuck whatever stupid grading system you have it's rigged. You just want to hear me beg.” Stepping back, taking away his thick, warm cock on your soft clit.

Choso leads you from his living room into the hallway with a firm grasp on your hair. “Damn right, I want to hear you beg for this cock. Watch yourself, see what a dumb slut I fuck ya into.” Letting go, shoving you into his bathroom, grabbing your arm, and twisting you to face the mirror. Bending you over, lifting your ass up in the air.

Grabbing the counter. Admiring Choso in the mirror. His broad chest, thick arms, and slim waist. “I want to be fucked dumb by your fat cock.” Lining his thick cock up gliding in just his fat cock head.

Suspended in the air with only his tip in you, you look so desperate begging. "Please fuck me with your fat cock, I don't want to think of anything else. Wanna be your pretty dumb cock sleeve." Gliding his cock out, slapping himself on your lips.

Clenching with every wet smack, lining himself back up gliding only his fat tip into you. His fat head alone stretching your cunt feels too damn good. "Please fuck my bratty attitude outta me, make me your mindless cum stuffed slut. NNn." Roughly pulling you back to meet his harsh thrust, stuffing you full of his cock.

Loudly moaning, "Fuck me!" Choso grabs your hair, yanking you upright. Wrapping an arm around his neck. Choso slips his arms underneath your legs, folding you in half. Bouncing you in time with his hard, quick thrusts.

Stroking your sweet spot before stirring your guts up. "That's what I thought it's ok ya can moan you are my stupid pretty slut." Slipping his arm across your body, trapping both your legs over his thick forearm.

You're tightly pinned, knees to your chest watching your cunt get stuffed. Getting off on how Choso needs one arm to support you. Stroking your clit whining from the sweet toe-curling pleasure, clenching his fat cock. "Nnn daddy please!"

"Daddy? Already is it that good? Like seeing how your cunt is making a perfect circle from how fat my cock is." Steadily stroking your soft clit. Over the months of ending up in his apartment he's perfected playing with your clit.

You couldn't do it better yourself anymore. Couldn't cum this hard that your eyes are rolling back, body trembling, jaw-dropping. Your thick slick dripping down Choso's balls, some of your squirt splashing onto his counter.

Forgetting everything but getting fucked stupid on Choso's fat, veiny cock. “Ya cummin' so much for me, thought ya hated me but look at you. Giving me those love sick eyes." You don't have the mind to protest.

Choso smirks, "I might be second in class but I'm still your Daddy. No one else can fuck ya like I can look at ya already a stupid drooling brat.”

Oreo creampie’s m.list

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #choso smut #choso x reader #kamo choso #choso kamo smut #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo #jjk choso #jjl x reader smut

[hyewka]

—what a loser! | c.bg

୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.

୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic

“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.

“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”

He ignores you.

You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”

There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.

Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.

Look where you are now.

“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”

His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.

He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.

Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”

“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.

That wiped off the cocky demeanour.

“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”

He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.

“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.

“Yeah.”

You blink confused. “What?”

“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.

“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.

Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.

A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—

A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”

And that was your last straw.

The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.

That’s the more…reasonable explanation.

The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.

The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.

Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.

His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”

You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.

Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.

The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.

If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”

You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”

He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.

“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”

You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”

He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”

“But-"

“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.

“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”

You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?

“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”

His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears’ already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”

He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”

A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”

You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.

This isn’t worth it.

You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.

“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”

He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.

You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.

When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.

Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.

“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”

He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”

The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.

There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.

You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.

“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.

He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?

You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.

We’re over, bye.

I’ll go home now, don’t call me.

I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.

I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.

“Don’t leave me.”

…That has you snap out of your reverie.

His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.

You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.

“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”

You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"

Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."

You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.

But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”

Of course you give in. Again.

୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #sub!idol #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader

[tteokdoroki]

✩ — ANGELS SHOULD NEVER FALL THIS FAR FROM HEAVEN ⁀➷ everyone believes satoru gojo to be an angel. your mother considers her new son to be a blessing, even if he’s bratty and spoiled. but never once did think teasing him would make your step-brother to act on such ungodly desires. (3.2K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, pwp, college!au, religious imagery, step-cest, groping, fingering, ‘just the tip’, exhibitionism, clothed sex, male masturbation, slight degradation, bratty behaviour, use of oneesan, unprotected sex, ruined orgasms, cumplay, fem!reader, step-bro!gojo.

things to note. lol sorry it’s been a while !! trying a new layout also posting this into the void while i work on kinktober eee !! idk i’ve had a rough time trying to write a one shot so im glad i could make this !! special thanks to @kishibye for beta reading. i hope you enjoy this bestie boos ily <3

“what are you doing?” there’s a sharp edge to the tone of satoru’s voice, splayed across his tongue that holds back a stream of curses. his eyes speak fury in their piping hot flames of wild cerulean as he watches you enter the kitchen and shoot straight for the snack cupboard.

you can feel the weight of his gaze as it crosses the slopes of your body, from the back of your head, twirling around your curves before ultimately falling to your behind.

playing innocent, you stand on your tip toes and grasp at the bag of chips you’re after. the ones on the top shelf. “whaddya mean ‘what am i doing’?”

“what do you mean what do i mean?” your step brother retorts childishly, as if you’re two kids fighting on a playground at recess.

you click your tongue and pay him no mind. “don’t be such a baby, satoru,” you wave a hand in his face in a haughty manner. “use your big boy words.”

gojo suppresses a whine when your shirt rides up and reveals your skin to gorgeous eyes. he lets it gargle around in his throat like the sting of cool mouthwash, before striding over to you — grabbing the chips and slamming the cupboard shut so hard it makes you jump.

“you can’t just walk around dressed like that.”

he gestures to your get up — the clothes you wear when nobody’s home. your sapphire silly and scallop-edged panties, your old and ratty band t-shirt haphazardly thrown on.

“why?” you turn around to come face to face with your younger (step)brother, noting the way his stare hones in on the plush meat of your thighs as you squish them together — leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“my friends are coming over.”

“so, what’s the big deal?” there’s something about pissing gojo off that entertains you. he’s a brat by all means, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and daddy’s dollars tucked into his pockets. whenever there’s a problem, all it takes is a classic ‘toru temper tantrum and your parents are on the scene to fix things for him. he’ll never know the hardships of being raised by a single mother, always having a little less than most. he walks around in his own little bubble of riches - and you can’t help but want to pop it. “shoko thinks i’m cool and geto will probably jack off to me later. it’s whatever.”

“but it’s not whatever,” you can practically see satoru fight the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child — even going as far to have the audacity to pout down at you. “you’ll just embarrass me. so do us both a favour and put some clothes on, nobody wants to see all that ‘round the house.”

“do you own this house?”

“no but i-“

“but your daddy does. and daddy isn’t here! so shut up, satoru!” jabbing a finger into his chest, you smile up at your not-so-little little step-brother, evilly. “i make the rules.”

“oh fuck you. all you do is mooch off of my dad, princess. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your mom whoring it out for him.” he sneers in response, upper lip curling into a distasteful snarl like a dog with a stranger on its territory. his words, though cruel and foul, are far from the truth and you know that he doesn’t mean it. satoru is a brat that throws acid laced words at anyone who gets in his way — yourself included.

even though you agree that your parents tied the knot all too fast — barely giving the two of you a chance to get to know each other as siblings. they were in love and far too happy for the rivalry between their children to get in the way. you know that the fact pissed gojo off to no end, he hated how your mother doted on him and how he’d always needed to fight for his father’s attention. now it certainly wasn’t ever going to be on him. but the two women in his house instead.

your poor, spoiled, baby brother.

however, you won’t let his words and how he projects onto you, hurt you. “whoops! looks like i dropped my will to give a fuck!” whilst pretending to drop your snack, you bend over in front of him to reveal inches of beauty marked and blemished flesh, drawing hungry seafoam eyes to the bounce of showing your ass — testing your little step brother. “i don’t care satoru, i’m older.”

satoru’s mouth snaps shut after moments of wordlessly opening and closing. he stands frozen on the spot, as if he can’t seem to process the very idea that his older step-sister had just flashed him to prove a point.

but just when you think you’ve won, the silver-haired brat is pressed right up behind you, forcing your body to bend over the cold marble counter that instantly has your nipples hardening against the icy surface. heat rushes to your face, blossoming just under the barrier of your skin as his hard on nestles it’s way between your ass cheeks — a symphony of your surprised squeaks echoing through the modern kitchen.

“hey! what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

instead of responding, he pushes your head down against the counter — circling his increasingly wet erection against your behind, manhandling the globes of flesh back onto his dick. “not so fun, is it.” he coos down at you, voice chilly and full of condescending highs and lows. “yanno…you’re awfully mean to me.”

saliva pools on your tongue, weighing it down in your mouth like a paperweight as satoru’s girth slips downwards, seedy tip brushing over panty clad and your swollen clit. “aren’t oneesan’s s’pposed to take care of their baby brothers?” his breath is hot and ragged against your ear as gojo haunches over you, caging you in like a wild animal as you thrash and writhe under his touch.

you can’t even bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame when gojo’s left hand dances between your tangled limbs and slips past the frilly band of your underwear — ghosting over the throbbing pearl laying between your sticky pussy lips. “step…step brother!” you whinge at the tingle of pleasure that blooms in your lower tummy and spreads like angel wings throughout the rest of your body. 

satoru takes turns playing with you, alternating between his nimble, skilled fingers and his seedy girth that smears precum all over your inner thighs and panties. “like that even fuckin’ matters.” he laughs, twisted and proud. “could you get off like this? yeah i think you could…. you’re already so wet. just from grinding on your little brother’s cock.”

your legs grow shaky at his ministrations, beads of your juices oozing from your empty entrance to stain the man’s sweats, slicking him up as if it’s a signature of your claim. “‘toru!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into the depth of your skull. “m-more.”

“look at how fast you fold for me…” he pushes up your shirt so that the fabric pools around your waist — pawing at the fat there, massaging your hips softly as if he isn’t violently, cruelly rubbing one out on your achey pussy. “i don’t think you’re in a position to ask me for more, big sis.” satoru taunts, a heavy hand coming down on the bare skin of your ass, leaving a raw handprint in its place. “such a nasty slut, i bet you’d let me fuck you like this too. out in the open, where anyone could catch us.”

you yelp in surprise at the feeling of gojo’s messy, cream coated cockhead nudge at your entrance from over your panties — a slender finger pulling the soaked material to the side so he can fuck you with his tip. “oh, i bet you’d like that, huh baby?” he continues to purr, jutting his hips forward ever so slightly — feeding your greedy cunt a few more inches of him. satoru’s barely sheathed inside of you, but you’re already stretching deliciously around what he’s given you. he’s fat, girthy just as he is long and his mushroom tip drags along sensitive spots in your walls you didn’t even know you had.

 he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet.

you sob, wail and writhe on your little step brother’s cock, nails clawing at the marble counter while your breath escapes you. “satoru, please fuck me. ‘m sorry… sorry—!”

“shh big sis, you’re being too loud,” he cups a hand over your mouth. gojo eases two digits past your plump lips to pacify your cries as he shallowly pumps his wet cock into the heat of your sex — gritting his teeth to hide his own moans. “we…fuck, you’re tight as shit… we wouldn’t want my friends to know that you dress like a slut for my cock, would we?”

you shake your head with a muffled moan, suckling the taste of yourself from gojo’s fingers and breathing heavily through your nose. “no, we wouldn’t. that’s right. good girl, oh shit.”

satoru laughs, a little cocky and a little drawn out in a long, whiny whimper over the wet slap of the backs of your thighs in the front of his own. but he trembles from behind you, like his legs are about to give out every time your creamy cunt sucks a little more of him in. it’s a miracle he’s managed to hold you both up.

guilt wracks your body intertwining with the red blood cells coursing through your veins and carrying limited oxygen to your brain — your head practically empty at how your little brother ruins you on half of his fat cock. this isn’t right, this is completely wrong and yet you feel yourself coming undone — weak in the knees and shaky in your lips, the dam in your lower tummy threatening to burst at any second and flood the room in an erotic river of your arousal. 

pushing your head off of the counter, you lean into satoru, throwing your ass back onto him in rhythm with the harshness of his thrusts. everything is hotter, heavier and you can’t even think about how much of a bad step-sister you are when he’s dominating your body like this. the silky locks of satoru’s silvering hair press against your shoulder and he wraps a fist in the fabric of your shirt to pull you further back onto his cock. 

“‘m gonna c-cum, oh god!” you squeal, flinching as your juices crudely slap against the kitchen floor. “i’m so close!”

he pants into your ear like a desperate dog, fully wrapping himself around you and trapping you against the counter so that you have nowhere to go except towards your high. “yeah?” gojo breathes heatedly, temperate breath cascading over the back of your neck and only adding fuel to your fire of desire. “i can tell, you get like this. all needy ‘n cute when you’re about to cum.” 

his words have you clenching around his bulbous tip every time it pushes up against the pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had — your arousal catching in the pretty blue veins that spiral around the length of gojo’s shaft. “you don’t think i can’t hear you, big sis? late at night when you think everyone’s sleepin’….” his whistle tone moans are quickly replaced by deep growls and grunts that only just manage to escape from between the gritted rows of your step brother’s pearly whites. “when you stuff those tiny fingers into that tight little hole and—“

he reaches down between your mess of slick soaked limbs to land a harsh smack against your quivering pussy, sending the foamy ring of white where your bodies join flying about the place. “—and make yourself cum to the thought of me?” he continues, breathing ragged and laughing at you again when you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

“s-satoru!”

he soothes you with quick circles over your swollen clit and kisses to your shoulder — being careful not to leave marks. “oh did that hurt, baby? am i  the mean one now?” licking a stripe up the side of your face and tasting the sweat on your glistening skin, satoru rambles on — filling you up with praises and copious amounts of precum. “you know i—fuck— you know i love you. my precious big sister, so fucking good to me. let’s make you cum, yeah?” 

you’re allowed to rut back on him for a little longer, since he loves the sound of his name whirling around messily on your tongue, all high-pitched and sugar coated for him. if only you knew how badly he’d wanted you, how pissed he was when his father went on to marry your mother. gojo has wanted you since the very first night you met — his every waking thought has been carefully carved to lust after you, think of your eyes, your smile, your lips. fuck, everything about you has satoru under some kind of spell. 

“r-right there. right there, t-there!” you chant the words like they’re the a prayer, as if they’re the only ones you know, allowing satoru to throw you through the loop of pleasure until you’re too far gone to stay on the ride. 

angling his slender hips upwards, his cockhead bares down on the gummy centre of your g-spot just has he buries himself inside of you — right up to the hilt. “h-here? this where you want me, big sis?” gojo’s amused gasp turns into a coo when you let out a meek hum of agreement, babling wild nonsense and drooling into the counter you’re pressed against. “mmhm, got you creamin’ around me already. so cute, so good when you listen. when you’re a good t’me, oneesan.” 

the honorific alone has your mouth running dry as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. though the syrupy pap, pap, pap of your sex says otherwise. it tells the truth of your sin.

and the thing that you don’t know about satoru is that he loves to give, feeding pieces of himself to you as he fucks you wild in the middle of your family kitchen. he wants you to have all of him, every corner and inch of his body just like he dreamed about. he knows it’s forbidden and that it’s wrong, but he can’t help but relish in the feeling of your pretty pussy sucking him in so selfishly, greedily clamping down on his thick base. 

he would give you anything. anything you wanted and asked for if you’d let him. his hands slip from your waist to intertwine with yours splayed out on the cool marble surface, using his last spurts of energy to drag you towards your orgasm and the deep depths of sinner’s paradise. 

“fuck me, fuck me, baby.” he growls possessively against the shell of your ear. “let go for me. lemme see how much you love your little brother—“

the crescendo of your pleasure is at an all time high, about to come crashing down on you like a tonne of heavy bricks. 

that is until the door bell rings, accompanied by the sound of geto’s voice from the outside of the house. “yoo, satoru! open up!” 

you’d think that you’d have been good enough for your little step-brother to keep going — to push onwards and let you cream all over him before he went to attend to his silly little friends. but he flips the script, pulling out of you just as you teeter over the edge to ruin your orgasm.

“no, no, please!” you sniffle, teary eyed with dissatisfaction sitting in your lower belly — the need to cum still there but the feeling of emptiness within your dripping walls taking over. “satoru…” you whine.

when you look behind you, he’s too busy finishing himself off — his black shirt between his teeth, sweats hanging low on his waist while gojo palms  his hard and heavy cock as he pleases. 

it’s coated in your arousal, shining under the artificial lighting in the kitchen and you watch with a pout as gojo jacks himself off to the view of your ruined cunt. he thumbs the seedy slit at the centre of his bright red tip, hissing through the sensitivity. he’s a picture perfect vision, appearing as an angel before your very eyes. a mop of halo white hair flop backwards with satoru’s head, rich sapphire eyes locked behind fluttering lashes that glisten with pearls of pleasure filled tears. 

you know not to be mistaken, you know that satoru is more like an incubus than the heavenly being he presents as. the parts of your brain with better judgement see him as the sinner who made you fall from grace, committing such a heinous act. the desperate side of you with a brain full of lust and smoke screens sees your step-brother as a god who controls all of your desires. 

you think you prefer that side of you more. 

meanwhile, a drop of sweat runs a track down the length of satoru’s neck, catching on the curve of his Adam’s apple as he swallows down his euphoric laments. you find yourself jealous that his own fingers are wrapped around his sloppy dick instead of drawing shapes against your aching clit. you envy how good it must feel for satoru when he finally cums. ropes of thick white sling around his knuckles, much paler in contrast to his pearlescent skin tone.

a deep, gravelly moan erupts from his hot mouth like lava, accompanied by curses and the stuttered syllables you recognise to be your name while he finishes himself off. gojo jerks his sensitive cock over your ass to paint you with the last spurts of his release. it’s a claim on you as your step-brother, a way in which he can show you that he always gets his way no matter what.

whilst still recovering, your step-brother drags a slender finger through the puddle of cum he’s left on you, and drags it down to your stretched little hole before pushing it against your overstimulated clit. “hmm, so pretty.” gojo grins, slow and sly, when you twitch and attempt to jolt away from him. then unexpectedly, he lands a hard smack against your bum — revelling in your sweet cry of pleasure, impatience and pain. “go put somethin’ on, will ya, sis? my friends are still waiting outside.” 

“i…i hate you.” you whimper shakily, brain frazzled from the situation. 

satoru might be a spoiled brat, but he’s not mean enough to leave you here a shaky, dripping mess so he helps you to your feet — tenderly fixing the hem of your shirt and panties back into place (failing to wipe his cum off of you beforehand). you’re still pouting from your ruined orgasm once he’s done, and he nudges the underside of your chin with a singular knuckle. 

“don’t worry big sis, i’ll come take care of you later. maybe i’ll even let geto watch since you love prancing around half naked for him too.” he teases, squishing your cheeks as you try to swat at him. “and you don’t hate me, you love me and this cock. clearly.” gojo sings and sends a cheeky wink in your before prancing away to open the door for his friends. 

he pulls his pants up as he goes, not minding the wet patch you’ve left on him. 

whereas, you scurry up to your room before they can greet you and gojo tells them that you’re feeling unwell. 

that day, you learn two valuable lessons: 

one —  never mess with a spoiled brat, it’ll never end well for you and gojo will always get what he wants no matter who pays the bills. 

two — geto really does like to jerk off to you, even more so when he watches his best friend punishes his older step-sister with enough orgasms to make her forget why she was in trouble with satoru in the first place.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo smut #gojo thirst #jjk thirsts #jujutsu kaisen thirst #tw: stepcest #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

[luveline]

also didn’t realise that amanda was their little baby but here’s an idea if ur up for it. amanda inherits like spencer’s smartness i guess and so when she starts spewing facts about the random-est stuff spencer’s overjoyed and then bombshells just staring at them with adoration in her eyes?? idk something really fluffy

“Shoes?” Amanda asks. 

“Yeah, babe.” 

“No thanks.” 

You hold Amanda’s socked feet in your hands. “You need shoes to keep your feet warm.” 

“I’ll have socks.” 

You look past her tiny face to her father for some assistance. Spencer scratches his neck, looking absolutely exhausted, though he’s dressed sharply. You’d spent a few minutes finger curling his hair this morning before it dried, and he’s brushed them out gently, giving him a windblown look. You pretend to take a photo of him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Amy,” he says lovingly, baby-voice in play as he leans over the back of the couch, “you know why you have to wear shoes?” 

“Why?” 

“Because growing up, your feet are very small, and very fragile. They need time to grow in proper structures, and they can’t do that if you don’t wear shoes when you’re walking a lot.” He gives her shoulder a rub. “Don’t you wanna match me and mommy?” 

“You wear shoes… different. Mom has heels,” she insists. 

“What if I wear flats?” you ask, eager to leave the house before afternoon. 

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest with a Spencer style pout. 

Spencer sits down next to her with a sigh. You’re both aware of how smart she is for her age, and while it can be interesting, it’s also made some stuff so, so hard. Like explaining shoes. “I’m not want to wear them. It’s good for my skin to breathe.” All her r’s sound soft, like w’s.

You rub your eyes. Spencer sucks in an excited breath. “Yes! Skin can’t really breathe, but it’s good to have it uncovered sometimes to help your circulation and your pores.” 

“‘Xactly,” Amy says. 

“And, you know, shoes that don’t fit right force your feet into narrow positions, which can cause a whole bunch of problems.” 

“No shoes,” Amy says. 

“But…” Spencer backtracks, thumbing under her eyelashes gently. “If you don’t wear your shoes, we can’t go out to the store for groceries and we can’t go to the bakery on the way home. Which means you won’t get your sugar donuts, mommy won’t get her slice of cake, and that’s gonna make me so sad.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love when your mom is happy. It makes me happy when she’s happy. She doesn’t look very happy now, does she?” 

In all honesty, you’re much too pretty to be sitting on the floor, tights to the carpeting and your cute black dress bunching up your thighs. You refuse to close yourself into the ‘mom’ box some may expect of you, dressing as you had before you became a mom, but you’ve allowed Amanda the opportunity to choose your necklace; a gold pendant ring with green and pink sapphires. It’s gorgeous, colourful, and doesn’t even slightly go with your outfit. Spencer reaches for it now, tugging it straight carefully against your neck. 

You frown deeply, pulling your widest, softest doe eyes. “Please, lovely girl, put your shoes on. Or I’m gonna have to be strict, and I hate being strict.” 

“Don’t fw-own, mommy,” she says, listing into Spencer’s side, “you’ll get wrinkles. Worse wrinkles, ‘cos your muscles remember.” 

And again, all her r’s are w’s, her pronunciation lispy and sweet despite her amazing expertise. Spencer laughs and takes her face into two hands, kissing “Wow, smarty pants,” into her crown. “You’re so smart! I can’t believe it!” 

You feel your annoyance softening. Fine, she’s a smarty pants, and you secretly love it so so much. You’ll just have to carry her to the car. Or her genius dad can carry her. Actually, that could be great, Spencer’s never looked so handsome as he does carrying around your little baby, especially now he’s started working out every now and then. 

“Better role your sleeves up, Spence,” you say, standing up off of your knees. “I’m keeping my heels on. Daddy’s gonna carry you, and you’re gonna get wonky feet.” 

“That’s fine,” Spencer says to her in a whisper, “I’ll carry you forever if you want me to, even if you do get all wonky, bubby.”  

Amy preens as she wraps her arms around him and he picks her up. He takes her shoes from your hand without her seeing. 

“Isn’t she amazing?” he mouths, and he means it, his eyes wide with it. 

“She’s gonna protest socks, next, Spencer Reid, and then what are you gonna do?” you ask. You aren’t half as concerned as you’re pretending to be. Amy’s a baby. She’ll learn how important shoes are soon enough. 

“I’m gonna hold her in my coat, like this,” he says, pulling his coat over her legs. 

“Like that,” you say to yourself, grinning. “Okay, you two do what you want. Can we go now? We really need to get some groceries.” 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[papercorgiworld]

I don't need space, I need you

Mattheo and Theodore fluff

Based on this request, please don't hate me for taking 29 days to post this rather average piece, but I had a lot of requests and not a lot of time. I hope you like it!

Finally I had time to write today! Big yey for me, people. I needed it and I'm so happy I wrote something today. 💛 Sending you lots of love and of course: happy readings!

A/N: I got some stuff going on in life so if I don't respond, I'm sorry. Just know that I love you. 💛

Mattheo

“Where’s my princess?” Mattheo sings as he enters the common room in search of you. “Not here, I would check the library.” Blaise states not looking up from his book. Mattheo nods and is about to turn around to head straight for the library, but Draco’s snickering stops him from doing so. “I bet you’re pleased to have a moment of peace.” Mattheo focuses on Draco, not completely getting where the blond's going with this. “I honestly pity you, man, must be so suffocating.” Suddenly all eyes are on Mattheo and not just his friends, the entire slytherin common room is curious to hear what the big bad boy has to say. Mattheo moves a nervous hand through his curls and chuckles. “Yeah, she’s a bit much with her hugs and cuddles, and urgh those constant questions to check on me. I’m lucky she studies so much, so I have a break from time to time.” Mattheo sits down opposite of Draco who grins and nods, fully believing that Mattheo feels saved by your absence. However, Mattheo felt miserable sitting there, knowing that he could be spending time with you.

Just like Mattheo was searching the castle for you, you had been searching for him and ended up checking the common room. With watery eyes you turn around, unnoticed by anyone, and leave the common room. He thinks I’m too much?

***

“Who is it?!” Mattheo yells as he pushes you against the wall of an empty hallway. He rarely raised his voice with you, but now his face was close to yours, his eyes dark and piercing yours. He looks more pained than angry, but you just look confused. To him it was obvious, you had fallen out of love with him and probably found someone else. There was plenty of proof:

A quick kiss on the lips and a wish of good luck before Tuesday's test was all Mattheo got, instead of the tight hug and intense kiss you would normally give him before a test. 

When you got your results back on Wednesday you jumped into Luna’s arms and just gave him a happy smile, while he was standing right there next to Luna. His heart ached to hold you and press you against his chest. Worse was when you asked Enzo about his test first and ended up discussing all the answers, barely giving your boyfriend any attention.

Thursday you went to sit next to Pansy in the common room, instead of settling in your boyfriend’s lap. Mattheo was forced to watch you the whole evening without touching you once. When you left for bed, you told him not to walk you to your room and reminded him to spend some much needed time with his friends. The sweet kiss you gave him, didn’t make up for any of it. 

Were you trying to get rid of him? To Mattheo the case was obvious.

Friday was the worst. Happy to finally have you next to him as you were both reading, settled close by the fire. With his eyes still on the page of his own book his arm moved behind you to pull you closer and you let your head rest on his shoulder as you continued to read, but still Mattheo frowned. Normally you would sling your legs over his and cuddle up against his chest, wrapping your blanket around the both of you and creating this warm bubble of love. He could barely focus on his book, as his eyes constantly wandered to you reading next to him but not cuddled up against him like you used to.

So by Saturday Mattheo had pretty much had it with you. You rubbed your temple as squeezed your eyes. “I have a headache, I’m gonna head to my room and rest for a bit.” You got up from your seat to leave the library and Mattheo did the same. If you weren’t feeling well then he needed to be by your side. “Oh, don’t Matt. I’ll be fine. I’ll ask Pansy to give me something against the pain and settle next to me until I fall asleep.” Mattheo stood perplexed as you just kissed him and left. Now he wasn’t even good enough to take care of you anymore.

This was the moment he snapped. With stern strides he follows you.

“Who is it?!” You frowned at the question and met Mattheo’s dark eyes. “Obviously, you’re done with me. So who’s better than me, huh?” His voice was filled with anger, but his question sounded so heartbreaking, that you felt no need to get angry with him for pushing you against the wall and snapping at you. You cup his cheeks and softly shake your head. “Matt, I love you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your voice is calm and endearing, reminding him of how much he needed your love. You were always so gentle with him and feeling you slip away the past week hurt so much that he felt like falling apart on the spot. He's too hurt and afraid to lose you to act tough and with a whisper he confesses his worries. “You don’t check up on me anymore. You don’t wish me luck before a test like you used to. We don’t cuddle anymore.” You stare at him in silence for a moment, you had never seen Mattheo this soft and vulnerable before. 

Your hands still resting on his cheeks move to his neck as you wrap your arms around him and pull him against you. Mattheo snuggles his face in your neck, embarrassed with himself and desperate for your warmth. You rest your head against his and your fingers move through his curls, making him sigh at your touch. “You told Draco I was a bit too much. So I backed off, because I didn’t want to lose you. I know I can get clingy sometimes, I’m sorry.” Mattheo moves away to look at you and his eyes look guilty. “No, no. Don’t apologise. Don’t be sorry. I love you clingy and cuddly. I need you to be around me.” Your eyebrows knit together. “But I heard you say-” Mattheo interrupts you and shakes his head. “I was being stupid. Don’t listen to the things I say. Just stay with me and love me… overwhelm me with everything you have.” You tilt your head in confusion. “No, I mean listen to me, just forget about what I said back then. I- I was trying to act tough so I pretended to- you know.” You chuckle. “You pretended not to like cuddles, because you wanted to be a tough guy?” Embarrassed with himself Mattheo nods. “I’m a softy for you and I need my daily dose of love. I don’t need space.” 

You sigh at Mattheo’s pouty face. “My boyfriend’s an idiot.” Mattheo nods and leans in for a kiss. “Please, let me take you to your room and let me take care of you, because I want nothing more than to be around you.” You pull him in for another intense kiss as an answer and as you walk to your dorm, he squeezes your hand the whole time walking.

Theodore

“Where’s my lady?” Theodore frowns as he sits down opposite of Blaise, who raises his shoulders without looking up from his book. Theo shakes his head in annoyance, he needed you like he needed cigarettes. He spent the whole day longing for your love and warm embraces. Merlin, all he wanted right now was for you to entangle your fingers with his hair and ask him about his day. “For once the two of you aren’t attached to the hip.” Mattheo quips and Draco snickers. “Must be refreshing to have a moment to yourself.” Theodore stays silent for a moment and a little further, near the common room entrance you halt in your step. “She’s so mothering, it’s almost toxic. I don’t know how you do it, mate.” Draco wiggles his eyebrows at Theo as Mattheo talks. “You know, if you ever need us to come save you, we could always come up with a code word.” Draco offers and Theodore chuckles, not knowing what to say. “It’s not toxic, but I’m happy to have a moment with you guys, because she can be a bit much. She’s always so… clingy.” You chew your lip and slowly take a step back, leaving the common room as the word ‘clingy’ rings in your head. 

***

You didn’t want to lose your boyfriend due to being too clingy. So you decided to keep your distance. 

Instead of spending your evening studying cuddled up with your boyfriend you ask Hermione to help you out with potions who of course never passes the opportunity to study. Keeping up his tough act in front of his friends, Theodore can’t protest as you leave the common room to go study with your friend instead of with him. Theo feels himself get cold as he sits by the fireplace with his friends. If you’re not there to keep him warm the room just feels empty and even the conversations are boring. He can’t help but curse himself for letting you go study with Hermione. Having to make peace with an evening without you, Theodore longs for the next day and having you next to him during breakfast while you talk about your plans for the day. 

The next morning, at breakfast Theo only gets a small kiss from you before you turn to Pansy gossiping about some third years. Theodore can’t resist but snake an arm around you and you love his touch, but you try not to be too clingy and decide to not fully lean against him. Your boyfriend is happy to have you next to him, but disappointed that you stay engaged with Pansy’s gossip instead of giving him some much needed attention. Why were you not combing his hair with your fingers until it looked the way you preferred it? Why were you not checking if he had done all his homework? What was so bloody interesting about Pansy’s conversation?!! He was getting so annoyed that he was caught by surprise when you kissed him tenderly and headed for class. His mind and body were screaming to have you back by his side and walk you to class, but he just turned to his breakfast and spent the morning sulking.

Finally, after two days, he had you close to him, settled on his bed with a book in your hand. You were all alone in his room and you both enjoyed the peace and quiet. You lay between his legs with his arms around you, while his head rested on yours, reading some of the paragraphs of your book but mostly taking in your warmth and scent. He gives you a soft kiss on your cheek and you smile and lean against his chest. “I love you.” You whisper and his eyes shine even brighter than he smiles. “Love you too.” However, your romantic moment is ruined when Blaise and Mattheo enter. “Astronomy tower?” Mattheo raises his eyebrows at Theo who is about to decline the invitation, but you speak up first. “I was just about to meet up with Luna.” You jump up and Theodore's eyes go furious at the suggestion of you leaving. “No you’re not.” Theo snaps at you, shaking everyone in the room. “Why are you so eager to get away from me?” Theo questions and Blaise and Mattheo’s eyes move from their friend to you. You take a step back at your boyfriend's accusation. “I’m not. I’m just giving you space so you can hang out with your friends.” Theo shoots Blaise and Mattheo a dark glare. “Out! Both of you!” 

As soon as the duo closes the door behind them and you and Theodore are left alone in the room Theodore gets up and towers over you. “I don’t want space, I want you. So tell me what’s going on, because I can’t stand it anymore.” His voice is stern, but you feel yourself relax as you no longer have to act differently and you can finally be honest with him. “You think I’m clingy and sometimes I’m too much… and I get that and I don’t want to lose you… so I did my best to give you some space in the hopes of saving our relationship.” Theodore’s heart aches at the soft tone of your voice. How could he make you feel like you were too much when you were all he wanted. “I’m such a shit boyfriend.” Theo sighs as he sits back down on his bed, making you frown and join him. “No, I was too much.” Theo’s head snaps to you. “You are not. I didn’t want those idiots to think I was whipped or soft or- so I said you were clingy, but you're not, if anything I am… I want you around 24/7.” Your eyes widen at his confession. “Soooo, you’re saying that ‘the’ Theodore Nott is so in love with me that he prefers cuddling over hanging with his friends.” Your boyfriend chuckles. “Yeah, so please just go back to reading in my arms and make me the happiest man alive.” You lean towards him and he meets your lips. The sweet kiss quickly turns passionate as you both fall back on the bed.

For the ones who asked to be tagged, here you go lovies: @ho3forfakeguys and @bitchoftoji

#mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #pepercorgiworldwritings

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

[jyoongim]

Can I have human Alastor x reader smut n like they’re both virgins n it’s their wedding night like newly weds n he eats her out for first time n they fuccccc n like super fluffy n hand holding n i love yous n both are nervous n shy n adorable pleeeeeaaaase im begging

I almost missed this request but its so cute!!!!

You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to get your nerves together. 

You had changed into a short silk nightie. Your lacy garters clung to your plush thighs, holding up the thigh highs. You had pulled your robe over it and took a deep breathe.

Tonight was the night.

You had just married the man of your dreams.

The wedding and reception was beautiful; your families danced, sang and drank to their hearts content.

Your aunties had teased you about your wedding night, making rather vulgar comments about how exciting your night was going to be. Your mother had snuck and packed lingerie into your luggage for this moment.

”Oh honey that man there? I know you’re gonna have a wild night.”

”Youre gonna be giving us some little ones by the time y’all come back”

”dearest remember men like it when you do…”

”Oh I can’t to hear everything when you get back”

You had half a mind to change and just put on one of your nightgowns, but you wanted to be sexy. 

It was your wedding night after all.

And you wanted to look good for your husband.

You gathered your nerves and made your way to the living room.

Alastor wasn’t there.

You padded over and poked your head into the kitchen and found the man pouring himself a drink.

”mind pouring me one on the rocks?” You said, making him turn around at the sound of your voice.

Heat pumped to your cheeks as his eyes widened, you held your giggle as you made your way to stand in front of him.

You feigned innocence as you wrapped your arms around his neck, sighing as he kissed your forehead and handing you a glass of whiskey.

You took a sip, nose scrunching at the taste but smiled as Alastor clinked his glass with yours.

”To us my dear” he said chugging the liquor. You giggled and really took in your surroundings.

You hopped on the kitchen island and sighed “I can’t believe we are married. Oh my stars Alastor we-were really married” you covered your smiling face, feet swaying.

Alastor let out a laugh, coming to stand between your thighs, hands on your waist, smiling at you “yes we are. And I am the happiest man alive doll”

He caught sight of the sheer material on your foot, his brow quirked, making you smile slightly. His hands fingered with the knot of your robe, loosening it and his jaw went slack.

”My momma seems to want us to give her grandbabies soon as possible” you giggled as he toyed with the garter, trailing his finger along your skin.

“That can certainly be arranged” he mumbled to himself, opening the robe to see what you were hiding .

Alastor felt heat rush straight to his cock as he took you in;

The silk garment clung to your figure, hugging your soft curves and making your skin look so soft, your garters teasing him, making him want to use his teeth to rip it off.

You looked gorgeous.

His fingers tapped along your skin, he pushed his hips into the counter as he leaned into you, burying his face in your neck.

The entirety of your courtship Alastor had been a gentleman and did not even try to indulge in you. 

Sure there was heavy petting and intense kissing…

but this oh this was different

The two of you were married now.

It was now acceptable and even encouraged that the two of you would be connected at the hip.

Large hands danced along your thighs and slipped under your nightie to follow the garter straps.

A low groan met your ears as Alastor’s fingers dug into your soft flesh, his teeth nipped at your ear ”No panties doll? Oooh my dear always a vixen”

Your cheeks heat up as you feel his thumb graze the slit of your soft lips, rubbing soft circles on your clit.

”A-Al?” You whined as he littered your neck and shoulder in kisses, nipping at the delicate flesh as his thumb pressed onto the bud that made you tingle.

He hummed before pulling you closer to the edge of the island “how lucky am I to have such a pretty wife?” He drawled, taking his free hand and hooking his finger under your chin and pressing his lips to yours.

”A pretty wife I adore, worship, and would do anything for.” 

You keened as he deepened the kiss, head dizzy with pleasure.

Alastor pulled away and chuckled at your lidded dazed eyes.

You let out a squeal as he heaved you over his shoulder and made his way through the estate. Your breath caught in your throat as you watch your husband remove his shirt, leaving his chest bare.

Your husband was not a very large man no, instead he was tall and lanky. Lean muscle rippled under his flesh and you bit your lips as your eyes roamed over the scars that littered his skin.

Heat pulsed between your legs.

Alastor caught you ogling and flashed you a smile as he crouched between your legs.

Your nerves twisted as he nuzzled the skin of your thigh

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want darlin” he reassured you, running his hands over your legs.

“N-No its okay. I ju- i want to experience the whole wedding night thing. And with you. I want us to explore this new thing together.” You tried to focus else where, pouting, making him smile.

Contrary to what many people thought, Alastor, the dazzling radio host, was not as experienced as one would think.

Not a womanizer, though he looked like it. The old handsome bastard

Alastor slithered up your body, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers, bringing your hand to his lips, thumb fiddling with your shiny wedding band.

”If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable just tell me and we can stop ok?” He said with a serious look.

You nodded and pulled his head to yours, connecting your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, scratching his scalp and massaging his bare shoulders.

The two of you just stayed like that; happily sucking at each other faces, tongues sweeping over each other and pecking lips.

Alastor nipped at your swollen lips, nudging your chin to expose your neck to him ”I want to try something dearest” he said softly,  making you tilt your head.

He slide down until he was kneeling on the floor, his hands on top of your thighs and head wedged between your legs.

You watch his head dip under your nightie and tensed up feeling his breath on your mound.

He brushed his nose against your clit, mouth ghosting over your slit. Your lips formed an ‘O’ as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked!

”Oh!” You gasped, back arching.

Alastor’s tongue swirled around the bud, alternating between licking and sucking on the bud.

His tongue dipped down to tease your quivering hole.

”A-Al!?” You whimpered, hands fisting the covers.

The man propped your legs atop his broad shoulders to angle you better, to slot his mouth against your cunt.

His hands gripped your waist to keep you from withering away from him.

The sound soft suckling and your gasps filled the room.

With a slight pop, Alasto released your throbbing clit and licked a strip up your slit.

He let out a chuckle “Ooh ma cherie you taste as sweet as I always thought” he lifted his head and smiled at you, chin glistening in your juices.

Your face was flushed as you panted. Your fingers pulled at your nightie until the garment was tossed to the side, leaving you bare and only in your stockings.

Alastor’s cock twitched at the sight of your full, perky tits.

He shimmied out of his loose pants, climbing up your body to capture your lips. His hands pulled your legs around his waist as he grinded his hard cock into your wet heat.

You moaned into his mouth as you lifted your hips into his, clit catching onto the tip of his clothed cock.

”A-Al i want…I want to please you as well”

He hummed as his drifted towards your chest, teeth tugging at your nipples before enveloping the mound into his mouth.

You lightly pushed against him to sit up. Lips never parting, you fondled his cock, bristling as he groaned into your mouth and cock hardening within your hand.

”I-Inside p-please Al” you begged, pressing your head against his.

It wasn’t as easy as your aunties had tried to tell you. The magazines made it look easy, but by god!

Your eyes clenched as you gritted your teeth, taking his weeping tip and running it over your folds. Alastor held your hips, kissing your shoulders “darlin don’t force yourself…we can take it as slow as you need” he reassured.

A whimper met his ears and he let out a hiss as your tight warm walls sunk down on him, stopping just shy when met with resistance.

You took a deep breath as you plunged down, a cry leaving your throat “Aaah!”

You buried your face the groove of his neck, nails biting into his skin leaving angry marks.

You felt so full.

It was like you could barely breath, his cock filled every crevice and stretched you beyond limits.

Your fingers never felt like this.

You needed to move, to adjust and get accustomed to him being inside.

Your teeth found themselves bedded into Alastor’s flesh as you finally took the last few inches.

Your sweet husband made sure to soothe you, kissing you cheeks and lips, lavishing your chest in kisses as well, muttering positive affirmations.

”Oh my sweet girl”

”Youre doing so well”

”deep breaths baby, I got ya”

After a while, you let out a shaky moan as Alastor softly kneaded your flesh, before rolling his hips into yours. He groaned as you clenched around him, pupils dilating.

”I-I know we said we would go slow but my god cher, you feel so good”

He took it upon himself to slowly move you. Alastor had heard from other men that a woman’s pussy was like heaven on earth. He used to think they were exaggerating, but your warm, gummy walls hugged him perfectly.

He had been hard since he had tasted his wife. 

You were sweeter than any fruit he’s tasted. He would live between your thighs if he could.

He peppered your shoulder in kisses as he grinded into your heat.

”A-Al!” You whined, body buzzing with pleasure.

Soft moans and grunts filled the room as the two of you made love for the first time.

”Please Al oh my god please!” You moaned throwing your head back against the bed. Alastor was on top of you, head buried in your neck, soft grunts and growls pouring from his lips.

”You gonna cum for me baby?” He purred, hips snapping into yours, your legs wrapped around his waist.

You nodded as your cunt fluttered.

Alastor lifted his head to catch your lips, intertwining your hands.

”c-cum!c-cummin oh Oh fuck my god! A-Al..I’m gonna cum” you whimpered as the ball in your belly tightened.

Alastor smiled against your lips “Its okay. Just let it happen baby. C’mon. Cum on your husband’s cock. That’s it…fuck baby”

You saw white as your body seized. Your thighs trembled as you pulsed around his cock, orgasm ripping through you as you milked him of his first orgasm.

”Iloveyouoloveyouiloveyou” you chanted as Alastor rode out your orgasm, humming in amusement at his wife.

You twitched in sensitivity as his thrusts sped up before he stilled, groaning as he emptied his ball into you.

You both panted,chest heaving as you overcame the sensation of passion.

Alastor curled his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, making you sleepily blink at him

”Was that ok?” He asked nervous

You smiled, pressing a kiss over his heart sighing

”That was perfect” 

the two of you sat in bliss, just taking each other in.

”Al?” You muttered, making the man look down at you

”C-Can I suck your cock now?”

That made the man short-circuit. 

You looked up when you got no response only to see your husband sporting a nosebleed

”oh my god Al!”

He had a silly smile of his face

”I love you my dear”

You giggled, making him tilt his head back

”I love you too”

————————————————————————————————

@boney-horse@zombiesnips-blog@rulesareshadesofgrey@southern-bayou-beau@doggone-devil@polytheatrix @yourdoorisunlocked @amurtan@sassuguru@confessioncassette@evedenn@alastorsaries@alastors666creampie@alastor-simp@alastors-deerest@bigfatbimbo@okay-babe@purplecatsandhearts@altruisticalastor@horrorartsworld@dasimp777@nettaw@nightshadelm@certifiedcrybabyyy

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #human alastor x reader #human alastor x wife reader #jyoongim

[frmisnow]

✧˖ ?! — DRIVING SERVICES. - (SUGGESTIVE)

— ‧₊˚ — 🏍 : "y'know you're pretty ungrateful for a person who gets hopped off and picked up to and from work everyday by no other then me.. "??

summary. your boyfriend driving both of y'all a lil carelessly, turns into a bickering sesh which turns into him accussing you of not repaying him enough for his 'driving services' - well oh how wrong he is and how could you prove just that??

notes. FINALLYYY BACK!!!! (it's been ten days but we move), i'm finished with exams FOR NOW and the rest of the week and the next one i'm pretty much free and i rly feel like writing again!! hope you enjoy <3<3

warnings/includes. non idol? jungkook x non specified! reader, established relationship, motorcycling background (duh), they're so bickering i love 'em!! (they're a lil mean to eachother but lovingly), blatant flirting, 'brat' + 'bending over' mentioned

"why can you never just be happy? always have to insult me tsk tsk" jungkook shook his head dramatically, taking of the black dome, running his tattoed hand through his luscious hair somehow managing to make it look straight out of a shampoo ad.

"cause you drive like a fucking maniac, do you even see yourself when you take sharp turns?" he turns around fully, lips parted, eyes wide, making that lil noise of surpise and faint amusement that's a mix of a grunt and an intake of breath as he rolls his eyes when you added: "i see the gates of heaven the second your hands touch the hand clutch"

he opens his mouth and closes it instantly after, a small teny tiny grin on his face, hands slapping the motorcycle seat lovingly like trying to underline his point, "y'know you're pretty ungrateful for a person who gets hopped off and picked up to and from work everyday by no other then me and.... her" he slaps the motorcycle gently once more, raising his eyesbrows, piercings moving slightly - like trying to silently mimick 'you wish that was you huh'

"are you really trying to make me jealous with a motorcycle?" you can't even hide the smile that sneaks its way onto your face, looking into his face, his own lips not quite settling themselves.

"my point still stands- you should repay me more often... for my immaculate driving services" the immediate shift closer to you almost remarkable, his arms pushing through, hands settling on the motorcycle back right behind you- basically trapping you.

his eyes now being the ones not knowing where to settle, moving from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes the second he notices you noticing his tiny dilemma he let out a overly dramatic sigh, like completly careless and unbothered.

"oh i think i'm treating you just fine and i think i'm just grateful enough considering the fact that your driving services are..... best case scenario questionable"

he furrowed his brows, one hand immediately finding his own heart acting like he just got shot, "ouch, you additionaly hurt my feelings each day"

he pauses, looking around the parking lot not far from your apartment, "you act like a brat a little to much sometimes"

you mindlessly toy with the incredibly lose tie around his neck, not failing to hold eye contact, taking your sweet time with responding, "i think that's just what you like actually, you're not even really mad at me rn"

his tongue that was just playing with his lips piercing paused, lips forming into a knowing smirk - you got him all figured out "what makes you believe in that theory?"

"if you actually were, you would've had me bent over the bike already but you don't-" he cut you off straight away, hands beginning to lazily run through your hair, feeling the thin strands between his fingers, "i never even told you why i drive a tiny tiny little bit carelessly sometimes- my mind is just always filled with the things we could do, it's so hard being me"

you rolled your eyes once more, pushing him away from you jokingly, "i wish i had even just a piece of the confidence you have"

he took your hand, instantly walking ahead of you basically pulling you from behind him out the parking lot, making that 'tsk tsk' sound once more, "i'm still considering the bending over by the way-"

some biking terms explained (i googled them all pls correct me if wrong):

'dome' — biker slang for motorcycling helmet 'hand clutch' — basically the steering wheel of a motorcycle

#kpop smut #bts ff #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x you #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine

[star-girl69]

In A Good Way

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: basically episode two but if clarisse had a gf (so what should have been canon pretty much)

a/n: sorry dior is so fine i had to get the thoughts out this is kinda shitty also but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

In A Good Way - Faye Webster

warnings: some violence, swearing, soft and ooc clarisse but only bc i wholeheartedly believe she is soft only for her gf and i love soft clarisse, also protective!clarisse my weakness, i’m insane, cringe, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You watch Clarisse bump into the poor boy.

You’re sitting with your siblings, Tyla and Jackie, but your eyes were drawn to her even across the courtyard. Your eyes are always drawn to her.

She shoulders him hard, then immediately turns around and pushes him straight to the ground. Tyla gasps next to you as he crashes sharply into the dirt.

“Your girlfriend is a literal menace, Y/N,” Jackie scoffs.

“How do you think I feel having to deal with her?”

You really do feel bad for the boy, Percy, you think. Regardless of whether or not he really killed the Minotaur (Clar spent the entire night talking your ear off about how it simply can’t be true) it’s his first day at camp. He’s helpless, to say the least.

Feeling less than your whole life and then finally coming to a place where everyone else is like you, finally getting answers- it’s a shock.

You always feel bad for every new camper. Especially the young and tiny ones like him. Besides, you like his cute blonde hair.

“Oh, haha,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “You love her.”

You start to get up, faking a dramatic sigh, “I do.”

Tyla giggles as you walk away and come into earshot.

“Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke seems as unimpressed as he always does, slightly apathetic, as another Hermes cabin member tugs Percy up.

“Wait, so, this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” she takes a step forward, a misleading smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Percy says, awkwardly looking around.

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, her eyes lighting up in prospect of someone new to torture. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“Clarisse!” you say in a sing-song voice, walking up to her and placing your hand on her shoulder. “He’s, like, twelve.”

“Oh, but he’s strong enough to kill a Minotaur?”

Your eyes lock, her hand brushes your hip, and you get those same cliche butterflies in your stomach you always do when you look at her.

You smile.

You see her eyes soften.

She turns back to Percy after a moment, faking forward, and he flinches so hard he almost falls back.

Her and her Ares siblings laugh, you roll your eyes, and push her away. She walks away, her siblings in tow, and you turn back to Luke.

On Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth’s last stretch to camp, they came across you. Your satyr protector had been killed by a monster protecting you, and Luke had held your hand and promised that all of you were going to make it to camp.

You’ll always have that bond with Luke, even though Clar hates his guts and his best swordsman in camp title.

You place your arm on his shoulder, he slings a loose arm around your waist.

Luke is pretty much the only person who can get away with touching you like this, or else they’ll receive a nice message from Clarisse in the form of a dagger barely missing their face.

“Ares kids,” Luke explains to Percy. “They come by it honestly. You got lucky today. If Y/N hadn’t come around, you probably would have gotten knocked over again.”

“Hi,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I’m Y/N.” Percy shakes your hand, smiling awkwardly.

“She’s Clarisse’s girlfriend and the only thing that stands between the camp and total destruction.”

“Oh,” Percy says, not quite able to hide his surprise and slight disgust. “She seems… nice.”

“Well, if you look like me, she’ll love you. But… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Percy chuckles a bit.

“Why don’t they bother you?” he asks Luke.

“Ah, they know better,” he says, squeezing you closer to him.

“Yeah, Luke’s the best swordsman in camp,” one of Luke’s siblings says. You can see something in Percy’s eyes, a light that reminds you a bit of Clar.

“So, they stay away from you because, glory? So, if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“Exactly,” Luke affirms. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. What the Hades is he teaching him?

“And people think I’m a big deal?”

“Well, sorta-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me.”

Oh. Your heart squeezes for him.

“You… you can’t force the Gods to do anything,” Luke says, trying not to hurt Percy too much.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it a lot harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” Luke concedes.

“Great. Where do we start?”

You laugh. “Ooh, I like the way you think.” You slip away from Luke, smiling at Percy. “Come find me if you wanna try your hand at some Aphrodite skills.”

—-

You find Clarisse sitting outside her cabin at a picnic table, polishing her spear, her favorite activity.

You sit down next to her.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, a bit too entranced with the gift from her father.

“I only have a few minutes before I go to archery, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.” She looks over at you for a second, then right back to the spear. “Don’t make me charmspeak you, La Rue.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry, what?” she sets the spear down in her lap, staring up at you with a smile as if she hadn’t been ignoring you a second ago.

“Percy Jackson wants to find glory so you’ll stop bothering him,” she snorts, “and so his father will have to claim him.”

She hums.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s cute.”

She shoots you a bored look.

“Don’t say horrible things like that.”

You play with a curl hanging over her shoulder. “We both know I’ll say whatever I want.”

“Oh, I know.”

—-

“What happened to you?”

You turn to look at Clarisse’s smirking face.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean forward, across the space between the Aphrodite cabin and the Ares cabin tables. Clarisse puts her hand to your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. She pulls back, and you stare at her dirt covered thumb.

“You’re covered in dirt, gorgeous.”

You hurriedly raise your hand up to your face, groaning when your palm does in fact come away covered in dirt.

“Percy is definitely not a child of Apollo,” you mutter.

“What d’you mean?” Clarisse asks, handing you a few extra napkins as you begin to wipe off your face, a spot on your shirt you had noticed.

“Luke’s taking him around, trying to figure out what he’s got a talent for. It was funny, actually, he shot the arrow over all of us on the side and we all went crashing into the ground.”

She doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do.

“It was an accident, Clar!” you say, all sing-song again.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Exactly why I don’t believe he killed that Minotaur.”

“Adrenaline makes even mortals do crazy things.”

“You don’t kill a Minotaur with adrenaline,” she hisses.

—-

Capture the Flag is held the next day. Clarisse and two of her siblings have been particularly pissed off all morning, and no matter how much you bug her, she only says “you’ll see” in this horribly nerve-wracking tone.

You have the same job you do every game. Sit in front of the flag, and charmspeak anyone who tries to come near it.

You’re decent with a bow, okay with a sword, but this is one area where you really shine, where you can really help.

After the first game, the blue team has learned to wear ear plugs when they come near you. But you’re like a siren, you come around and take out their ear plugs anyways. They’re scared to touch you, because one of the Ares kids will run right off to Clarisse, and she tells you all the time that she’d rather lose dessert privileges for a month then see you with one scratch.

Chiron stands imposingly on the large rock at the start of the small river that divides the two halves of the woods.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor.”

You know these rules by heart.

Ever since your first Game, the day you met Clarisse, you’ve loved them. You’re not the most violent person, nothing near Clar and her insatiable thirst for competition, but there’s just something about the game.

She walks forward through the sea of red-marked armor, digging her spear into the ground and glaring at what you can only assume to be Percy Jackson.

“Any magical items you may possess are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged.”

You suppress a laugh at that rule. That one was only implemented a few games ago, right after the one where you had been taken prisoner and tied with vines to a tree. When Clar had heard, she actually almost murdered a few kids and maimed some more.

Although it made keeping prisoners a little awkward, Chiron had proclaimed it was in everyone’s best interests.

“Let the games begin!” he shouts, the conch blows, and the entire team screams in a terrifying war cry.

The blue team bangs their shields and weapons together, and now you have 20 minutes before game on.

Clarisse is the captain of your team, of course. She marches around barking orders to everyone, as if their positions aren’t already drilled into their heads.

“Hey Clar,” you say. You’re surrounded by a few Ares kids, a few other good fighters, ready to protect the flag and by extension you- with their lives.

Capture the flag games are taken seriously.

She looks at the red flag in your hands, smiling in that smug way she always does. She doesn’t smile this way when it’s just you and her, but you can still see the softness in her eyes even now. With Clarisse, her emotions are all about the eyes.

“You all know what you’re doing?” she asks. All the kids behind you nod. “Good,” she smirks, starting to walk away.

“Are you hunting in your usual woods today?” you ask, heading in the same direction as her.

She smiles, a full toothy grin.

“Oh, baby, I have something even better planned.”

Clarisse is not one to change the strategy.

You can’t get it out of your head what she’s been saying about Percy.

“If you kill someone, I’m killing you.”

She just smiles.

—-

One of the kids holds the flag from up on a rock, acting like a lookout. You lean against that rock, your armor digging into your thighs at the awkward angle, waiting for someone to come. Everyone else surrounds you in the flag, in battle stances.

The conch blew about 20 minutes ago, and you should be seeing someone soon.

“I think Luke’s coming,” Corey, the Apollo kid lookout says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter. He’s always in charge of getting the flag, because he’s not afraid to touch you. Clarisse knows he’s just your friend, or else he probably would have been dead by now. They emerge from the woods, not bothering to try for stealth, all in defensive positions.

Everyone lets you take the lead. You understand why Clarisse loves power. It’s addicting, it’s like lightening in your veins.

“Hi, Luke,” you smile.

He can’t hear you, but he returns the smile.

“You’re all going to turn around and walk 300 feet in the other direction.”

Luke sighs as one of the kids actually turns and walks away, heeding your command. Everyone else has their earplugs in tight, but it always gets one or two of them.

You roll your eyes. “You always make this so difficult, Luke.”

You walk towards him, maybe you can surprise him and rip the ear plugs out of your ear, but he suddenly springs his leg out so you trip, slamming into the ground and getting a face full of dirt.

“Bitch,” you mumble, ready to get up. Suddenly, a Hermes girl throws herself on top of you, slapping a hand over your mouth.

As soon as you hit the ground, the fight erupts around you.

“You can’t do this, Luke, it’s against the rules!” you screech, but it’s muffled through the girls thick leather gloves.

Matty, one of Clar’s siblings sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ hate this dude,” he mumbles. “Marjorie, go get Clarisse.”

The girl runs off, and Matty adjusts his helmet.

“Don’t know why you do this to yourself, man.”

Luke kneels down in front of you while you scream obscenities next to his name. He makes a big show of taking out his earplugs before ruffling your hair.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He whips around and his sword immediately clashes with Matty’s, and they’re locked in a flurry of metal clashing and glinting in the sunlight. Matty is really good, probably bested only by Clarisse, but Luke is still the best swordsman in camp.

He puts up a valiant fight, but Luke disarms him.

Your back is really, really starting to hurt like this.

It’s whirlwind, but there were more blue team then red team, and sometimes sheer number beats out even the best of the Ares cabin.

They grab the flag and run for the beach.

The girl waits for another moment until one of the Ares kids points his sword at her.

“You’re really gonna want to let her go,” Matty says. She stands up and books it, following her team.

“Eat dirt!” you scream as she runs away, but she still has her earplugs in.

Matty helps you up.

“Clarisse’s gonna kill us all.”

“I hate Luke Castellan. I hate him, I hate him, I wish him nothing but pain and suffering.”

Matty claps your shoulder.

“Hey, at least we all get to watch Clarisse beat up the Hermes cabin at sword practice tomorrow.”

And you do like seeing Clar fight, the way she’s so focused and truly in her element, sweat making her skin glisten in the sunlight…

“That will be fun,” you concede. Matty laughs, and you all make your way down to the beach.

—-

The scream scares you.

All the kids around you jump up with their swords, thinking a monster had somehow made its way near camp, but you recognize that voice.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, feeling frozen.

“What?” Matty asks, his eyes scanning the forest. “What’d you say?”

“Clarisse,” you repeat, breaking off into a run towards the sound of it, towards the beach.

“Clar- wait, Y/N!”

But you’re already long gone.

—-

You make it to the beach a minute after the conch sounded, the blue team having won, making it just in time to see the blue trident appear over Percy’s head. You can barely even register the fact that he’s a forbidden child, your eyes immediately finding Clar’s siblings, the ones she was supposed to be hunting with today.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe out, almost slamming into one of them. “W-where’s Clarisse? I heard her scream-”

You love her so much it’s like your heart will break if you even think about her being hurt. It always seems like Clar is the one who loves you more, only because of her proud and overprotective nature, but really you love her just as much.

You just never have the opportunity to threaten to kill someone like she does for you. She does that all on her own.

“Oh, uh, she went that way,” he points in the direction of a barely there path, heading into the woods and back to camp.

“Great, thanks!” you shout, already running after her.

You catch up with her after a minute, your gaze landing on her practically stomping through the woods. She’s angry. She’s angry, why?

“Clar!” you shout, and she whips around, standing still while you sprint over to her. “Clarisse, Clarisse, are you hurt? I-I heard you scream-”

You run your hands up and down her arms, and after a tense second of her staring at the ground, she puts her hands on your hips.

“I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

She looks like she’s about to cry. But you know she won’t ever let herself cry, won’t ever let herself be perceived as weak.

You wrap your arms and let her put her face in your neck. She’s almost shaking with how angry she is, her fingers digging into your hips, and she stops herself and lets go before she can hurt you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. You’re not sure what happened. But she screamed like that, not like she was scared, but like she had just lost something. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She says into your neck, simple, and you respect it.

“Okay, well, let’s go back to your cabin. You’re not gonna believe the day I had. Will it make you happy to know I give you permission to beat up Luke?”

She looks up at you with skeptical eyes. You both ignore the tears staining her cheeks. “Really?” she asks, slightly hopeful, even through all her anger and sadness.

“Come on,” you smile, letting go of her and sliding you hand into hers. She meets your pace and wraps her arm around your waist. She doesn’t tell you she loves you, but you know.

—-

You flop down onto Clar’s bed. As the head counselor, she gets the best bunk. On the second floor loft, where there’s only enough space for single beds, meaning she doesn’t have to deal with bunk beds, all the way in the corner for a little privacy.

She stands in front of you, slipping off her shoes, and your reach forward to work at the knots of her breastplate.

She stares at you until the armor is lose around her, and she lifts it up over her head and leaves it haphazardly on the ground.

You lay flat, stretching your aching back, and Clar leans over you to help you take off your armor. You probably don’t even need armor, but Clarisse is overprotective by nature, by blood. It makes her feel better, and it really doesn’t bother you much. She lifts it over your head, letting the metal crash into the floor before laying down next to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m supposed to be here for you but I’m so tired, and my back hurts so bad…”

She laughs. You smile, and it falls into comfortable silence.

“Can I really beat up Luke?” she says after a second.

You open your eyes and she’s laying on her side, propped up her arm and staring at you.

“Oh, you can.”

“Why?” she asks, still not quite believing you.

“Okay, so, Luke comes over, right. And you know, I try to charmspeak them but only one of them goes. I walk over to Luke and he fucking trips me! It was so embarrassing, baby, I literally ate shit.”

She smiles and puts her arm around your waist, tugging you closer to her.

“Then, some girl tackles me before I can get up, and puts her hand over my mouth so I can’t do anything. Which first of all, is completely against the rules, and second of all, it really hurt my back! Then, then, Luke has the audacity to say ‘Oh, thanks Y/N!’ and ruffles my hair, like? I swear to Gods, I just want him to… well, I don’t know. Suffer.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” she mutters into the top of your head. “I’ll make sure he’s unrecognizable.”

You smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Clarisse. Who would defend my honor and fight my battles?”

She seems sort of placid, tired, like she’s just a still lake reacting to your body wading in deeper. It’s almost like she’s gonna fall asleep, and she’s always tired after capture the flag, so it’s not unusual.

“I’d be there,” she mutters, her eyes closed.

You’re both silent for a few more minutes, just the two of you together, her strong arm around you, the way it’s always meant to be.

“He’s a son of Poseidon. Did you see?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I saw.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, like the child she never got to be. “I spend so much time, so much time trying to make him proud- it took months for him to claim me and he gets claimed on, what, his third day?”

Her head lands on your chest, your hands smoothing down her hair.

She touches the necklace she gave you months ago, bringing it out from under your shirt, the simple chain with the pretty charm that looks like a spear. More so an arrow, but it’s supposed to be her spear.

“He broke it,” she whispers.

“Broke what?”

She sits up a little higher, her hands reaching behind you and undoing the clasp on your necklace. You haven’t even taken it off since she put it on you, so of course she would be the one to take it off.

“He broke my spear.”

“Oh, Clarisse…” she stares at the necklace before folding it up tightly in her palm. She breathes out as she lays back down on your chest, her legs entwining with yours, your hand back in her curls.

“The Hephaestus kids can fix it, but it won’t be electrical anymore.”

You don’t say anything. Most people would say “it’s better than nothing” but you’re demigods with absent divine parents.

Clarisse didn’t tell you it was better than nothing to at least be claimed by Aphrodite when one of your siblings got a magic item from her. She didn’t try and tell you “maybe someday” when you cried in her arms.

Because more often then not, you’ll die before your godly parent even claims you. More kids die on their way to Camp Half-Blood then Chiron would like to admit.

And what would the Gods do? Nothing. They would do nothing about it, because they don’t care.

Clarisse doesn’t cry, but you know she wants to, and you let her know that she can cry if she wants to. She can, if she has to. You’d never turn her away.

If she hasn’t realized already, you’re in this for the long run.

—-

Clarisse fell asleep in your arms, then pulled you back when you tried to go back to your own cabin, and you figured Chiron wouldn’t mind this once.

She finally let you go after you screamed that she couldn’t kiss you before you brushed your teeth, mumbling about how you’re depriving her.

When you meet up with her again, she has her sword in hand and her armor strapped tight to her body.

It was just a great big coincidence that the Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares and Demeter cabins all had sword practice at the same times. Clarisse looked all too happy at being able to get out some anger from yesterday, because sparring is the only way Clar has to work out the intense feelings she inherited from her father.

“So, who should I metaphorically kill?”

“Ooh, big word,” you tease. She grabs your chin, making you look at her, but she’s smiling too much for it to be a threat.

“C’mon, baby, who?”

“Luke. And…” you point, “That’s the girl who tackled me. Oh, and that’s the boy who fought Corey and got the flag. I don’t know his name.”

“‘Cause he’s irrelevant,” she says. You hum. “You just wait right here, gorgeous, enjoy the show.” She winks before sauntering off in the girls direction, smiling in that misleading way, asking her if she wants to spar.

You beckon Jackie and Tyla over to you, who both seem unimpressed.

“Please don’t tell me you put Clarisse up to attacking the Hermes cabin,” Tyla sighs.

“I didn’t put her up to anything. She did it all on her own.”

“Oh, sure she did,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you all aren’t gonna enjoy it.”

Tyla meets your eyes, then Jackie’s.

“Sorry, Jacks, it’s, like, really entertaining!”

You all laugh as Clar leads the girl into the circle, laughing even harder when she disarms her after a minute. The boy who took the flag barely lasts 45 seconds.

When Luke walks up to her, she throws her sword down and tackles him. You give her a minute before you pull her off.

—-

clarisse, about to beat up percy

y/n: oh no no no no you don’t

clarisse: ok i won’t kill him rn 😍😍😍😍

—-

y/n: yeah like idk what i would do without you who would protect me and fight my battles

clarisse “i would be there” la rue: bitch our love transcends the laws of physics I WOULD BE THERE

—-

y/n giggling and kicking her feet watching clarisse beat up luke

—-

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #pjo x you

[pathologicalreid]

stuck between a rock and a hard place | S.R.

next

You, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

who? spencer reid x fem!FBI!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, hospitals, medical inaccuracy, drugs, sex crimes/trafficking, attempted sa, reader works in sex crimes. mentions foyet and also 6x24 (supply and demand). established relationship. word count: 7.7k a/n: this has been sitting in my wip folder for far too long. i am now emotionally attached to these two. i will write more of this specific pairing because now all i want is for them to be happy.

Spencer

It wasn’t every day that men and women in suits piled into the BAU carrying evidence boxes, everyone stood up at their desks. Spencer watched as Andi Swann followed in behind the other agents, not even bothering to greet the team as she went straight to Emily’s office.

Prentiss opened the door, letting Andi in before beckoning for Reid to join them. This had to be about you.

Ignoring the way his heart rate spiked, Spencer stood up from his desk and went up to Emily’s office. On the other side of the bullpen, the rest of the team filed into the roundtable room.

“Spencer, have a seat,” Emily offered, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Glancing at Agent Swann, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “No, I’ll stand.”

Andi cleared her throat, looking at Spencer, she spoke, “Y/N missed her last two check-ins. As her next of kin, I need to notify you to let you know that as of now, the FBI is considering her missing.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted so badly to be mad, but he’d seen this before. Years ago, an agent in Andi’s unit missed her check-ins and the BAU helped find her. More than that, he knew how much Andi cared about her agents, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Section Chief Cruz has asked that the BAU help to recover Y/N,” Emily said, looking at Spencer. “You know I have to tell you that you can’t be on this case,” she explained, leaning against her desk, eyes flickering as she tried to read Spencer’s expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at Emily, “Y/N’s gone missing, and I’m not allowed to help look for her?”

Sympathetically, Prentiss shook her head, dark hair swaying with the movement. “You know it’s a conflict of interest to be involved with a loved one’s case.”

“Isn’t that kind of what the BAU does?” He could’ve rambled off a list of BAU agents who worked on cases involving their loved ones – including himself and Emily.

Turning to face Agent Swann, Emily suggested she join the rest of the team in the roundtable room. She waited until the door was closed before speaking again, “When’s the last time you saw Y/N?”

Closing his eyes, he remembered the morning of the day you left, the both of you had stayed up late as if you could delay your departure, but the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the Sex Crimes Unit before making his way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. “We haven’t even spoken since she left,” he answered, almost a month ago now.

“Is there a chance she tried to reach you or her family?” Emily asked. She had to ask, he knew that, but it didn’t make the questions any less ridiculous to him.

Shaking his head, he began to pace around the office, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. She follows the undercover playbook obsessively. She always said freestyling was like signing your death certificate.” He tried. He tried to get you to leave him breadcrumbs, but you never did.

Nodding, Emily watched as he paced back and forth “When did you get married?”

Pressing his lips into a thin white line, he stopped in his tracks, “When I came back after The Believers. It was the next day.” You had offered to sleep on the couch in an attempt to give him space when he asked you to go to the courthouse with him. That was two months ago now.

He didn’t want space. Not from you. Never from you.

Finally, he sat down.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emily asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Did you have a witness to sign your marriage certificate?”

Nodding, Spencer reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced three rings, his wedding ring, your engagement ring, and your wedding band. You didn’t have the time to get them soldered together yet. “Rossi was our witness,” he responded, “He was the only one who answered his phone.” He slipped his ring on and closed his fist around your two rings.

After a moment, Emily stood, “I’m going to speak with the rest of the team, but I won’t tell them anything I don’t think is pertinent to the case.” Which was her way of saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ “Stay in here as long as you need, Spence,” she offered before walking out, shutting the door tightly behind her.

He thought of the last night you were together. Spencer tried to check in with you, he told you that if your job ever became too much, you just had to tell him, and he’d be there. What he neglected to tell you was that he was beginning to feel like your job was too much for him.

You had given him the opportunity to hold you close, and instead, he let you slip through his fingers.

Opening his fist, he looked down at your rings and the indent they had left on his palm, slipping them back into his pocket before he walked over to the roundtable room. Everyone paused what they were doing to look up at him.

Spencer just shrugged and looked at Emily, “I can’t just do nothing.”

In response, Emily nodded solemnly and suggested he go through the case files with Matt.

It had been hours. The sun had set, jackets had been shed, and takeout had been ordered. The clock behind him showed it was nearly midnight, meaning it had been almost two days since anyone had last heard from you.

“Oh god,” Penelope said, her voice cutting into the thick silence of the roundtable room. Her fingers began frantically typing on her laptop.

Spinning in the office chair, Spencer wheeled over so he could look at the screen, vaguely aware of Emily hovering above him, “What is it? What did you find?”

She hit the keyboard so hard he thought they might break, but she answered, “The trauma center at Johns Hopkins reported a Jane Doe brought in a few hours ago. She matches Y/N’s description.”

“Did they run prints?” Andi asked, of course, there would be red tape if the hospital tried to run your prints, seeing as you were undercover.

Another tap and dozens of files opened, “It looks like she went right into surgery. Uh, the EMTs reported she was listing off a string of numbers when they brought her in… 265D019Z?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, “That’s Y/N’s badge number.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at the map of DC on the wall, “It’s a two-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”

“But it’s a thirty-minute flight, Reid, Tara, Swann, and Alvez go. The rest of us will look into what happened from here,” Emily doled out responsibilities, nodding at everyone as the team broke.

Spencer stayed still, still looking at Penelope’s screen, his eyes flickering over the documents. Words jumped out at him, drugged, punctured, and knife. It made his stomach churn. How had you gotten to Baltimore? Your unit had you set up in an apartment near the Hill. When did you travel from the district to Baltimore?

The thirty-minute flight felt like it was hours long, the drive from the airstrip to the hospital dragged on, but thankfully Emily had called the hospital ahead of time to let them know who you were and who was coming for you.

A doctor stopped the four of you from going into the room, a police officer was already stationed outside of the room, and the blinds were closed. Please, Spencer wanted to plead, please just let me see her.

“She’s weak, she just came down from recovery and she hasn’t fully woken up yet,” the doctor said, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t in good faith let you go in there and badger her with questions. Not with no one in there to focus on her well-being,” she ordered. The doctor stared the four of them down with piercing gray eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer peeked through the doorway when a nurse exited your room. “She’s my wife, I’ll advocate for her,” he responded, hoping the doctor would let him through. He could feel Tara and Luke staring, but he didn’t care.

Nodding, the doctor continued sizing Reid up, “Alright, but just you, for now. She’s not awake enough to be questioned anyway.” Stepping to the side, the doctor let Spencer through before blocking the doorway to everyone else.

In the worst way possible, you took his breath away. Your skin was sallow, you had an IV, nasal cannula, and a chest tube out the left side. Walking to your right, he took a seat next to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your bloodied knuckles – evidence that you had put up one hell of a fight. “Oh sweetheart, what did they do to you?” He whispered even though he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Reaching over you, he smoothed your hair from your face, your skin was clammy, probably as a result of blood loss. It looked like they were still transfusing, so you had probably lost a considerable amount of blood.

Shuffling the seat closer to you, Spencer took your hand in his. The doctor came back in holding a tablet, “Dr. Reid?”

He hummed in response, not daring to take his eyes off of you. “What happened to her? Why did she need surgery?”

“She had been bleeding out in an alley, according to the police officers who reported to the scene. The other agents are talking to them now,” the doctor said, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “She had been stabbed several times in the upper left side, we went in to repair damage to her spleen, liver, and lung. There was some strain to her heart, it appears she was drugged before she was stabbed.”

He intently watched the steady rise and fall of your chest before he spoke up again, “Is she going to be okay?”

Setting the tablet down, the doctor paused before answering, “We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

Spencer leaned back in the chair, finally taking his eyes off of you and looking at the doctor, “Was there anything… did they…” He felt ridiculous, having spent the better part of his adult life in the BAU, and he couldn’t even put the words together.

To his relief, the doctor shook her head, “There were no injuries that suggested she was sexually assaulted.”

Reading the doctor’s badge, Spencer nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Herman.”

“Hit the call button when she wakes up, we’ll need to evaluate her pain and other treatment,” the doctor said, gathering her things before walking out of the room, and shutting the door behind her.

Spencer kept his eyes on you, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, every once in a while, his phone rang, but he didn’t have the energy to talk on the phone. When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the messages.

Penelope Garcia: How is she? Spencer Reid: Still sleeping. Penelope Garcia: How are you? Spencer Reid: Not sure.

Setting his phone on the table, screen down, he watched you again, every once in a while, your nose would twitch, or your eyes would flutter. Every time he would hold his breath, hoping you’d open your eyes.

He waited, and about an hour after he had arrived, a small, keening noise came from you. His head snapped up at the sound, your eyes were still closed, but you were moving. “Y/N?” He whispered hesitantly, not wanting to wake you up if you weren’t ready. Slowly, he stood up from the chair, not sure if he should keep waiting or if he should hit the call button.

You were muttering something, talking to someone in your sleep, when suddenly you jerked away. Instinctively, Spencer put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from tearing your stitches, and it was that touch that caused your eyes to snap open. “No, no, no, no,” you babbled, frantically looking around the hospital room.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “You’re safe, I’m here. You’re at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

With wide eyes, you looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘Baltimore.’ As if you were trying to figure out how you had ended up in Baltimore, something the BAU still hadn’t figured out. “I thought I…” Your voice was nothing more than a rasp, but with the bruises he could now see littering your neck, that didn’t surprise him much. “Did you see it?”

Spencer pushed the call button without you noticing, “Did I see what, love?” He asked, keeping his voice low as he gently sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around the room, “Is Andi here?" Your voice was tight, like you were struggling to breathe. "I need to talk to Andi.”

Helplessly, Spencer watched as the number signifying your heart rate jumped, “Not just yet, alright?” He said, looking up when the doctor and a nurse came through the door.

The doctor introduced herself and started trying to get you to even out your breathing, one of the monitors was beeping like crazy until the nurse hit a button on it.

All he could do was watch, making sure he didn’t get in the way. Listening in to words about medications and making a mental note to research everything. “How’s your pain, Y/N? On a scale from one through ten.” The doctor asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like a seven? When I breathe it’s more like a nine,” you answered, every word was strained. The doctor flashed a light in your eyes, “That isn’t helping,” you said through gritted teeth.

The doctor said something to the nurse, prompting her to nod before pushing something through your IV. After a few moments, Spencer watched as your heart rate lowered and your body visibly relaxed into the mattress. You nodded softly when the nurse asked if that was better.

Dr. Herman left and the nurse scrawled some notes down on your chart, introducing herself as Amelia before she left as well.

“Oh no,” you whispered, looking in the direction of the door. “Is the whole BAU here? How badly did I fuck up?”

Quickly, Spencer shook his head, “You didn’t, at all. It’s just me, Tara, and Luke,” he tried to reassure you as best he could without knowing the full story. “Do you feel up to talking?” He asked, smoothing your hair away from your face.

You nodded gently, “I need to talk to Andi. Alone, if it’s okay with you.”

“I can wait right outside in the hallway,” he offered, holding your hand in his and skimming the pad of his thumb over top of your knuckles.

You hummed contentedly, “Could you see if I can have water?”

Grateful to have something to do, Spencer stood up, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the room, garnering the attention of the agents who were waiting in the hallway, all of them staring at Spencer expectantly, “Andi, she wants to talk to you.”

The Unit Chief nodded and disappeared into the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

He was gone for three minutes, that was the time it took him to walk to the nurses’ station and ask if you were allowed liquids and back, but when he returned the door to your room was wide open. “Where did they go?” He asked, looking over at Tara.

She was still leaning against the taupe hospital walls before nodding in the direction of the red exit sign, “Swann was in there for maybe two minutes before she came out in a huff, she took Alvez with her.” Lewis spoke calmly like it didn’t necessarily mean anything to her.

But it did to him. Walking back into your room, he stood at the side of your bed, “What did you tell Andi that you didn’t want me hearing?”

“Huh?” You sounded tired – rightfully so. Your pupils were dilated, which told Spencer that the drugs that the doctors had given you were working.

It comforted him that you weren’t in as much pain, but you were still hiding something from him. “You asked me to leave while you talked to Andi because you didn’t want me to hear what you were telling her. What did you tell her?”

Your face softened as your eyes filled with a different kind of hurt, “Don’t profile me.” You were too tired to hide the pain in your voice.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Don’t lie to me,” He countered. You were lying by omission, but what was worse was that you might’ve been putting yourself in danger.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimpered.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched your eyes fill with tears, he sat down on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think I’d leave you, darling?”

Your eyes were half-closed, “because you…” your voice trailed off and he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “When Scratch had Emily, you wanted to kill him,” you murmured.

The air had been knocked out of his lungs. You hadn’t been talking about a divorce. You were saying that you could identify your assailant, and you didn’t want Spencer to know. “I won’t go,” he whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

“It was Jake,” you mumbled, barely able to open your mouth as you fought your exhaustion.

That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He swallowed thickly, “Jake did this to you?” He asked slowly, looking at your hand, your fingers intertwined.

Minutely, you shook your head, “Jake blew my cover, Spence.” Yawning, you proceeded to mumble about him doing it on purpose.

Untangling your fingers, Spencer reached out and smoothed your hair away from your forehead, “Get some sleep, angel. I love you.”

You hummed an ‘I love you’ back, and the next moment your eyes were shut.

A nurse came in and asked for a moment while she checked the output of your chest tube, ushering Spencer and Tara out. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s Jake?” Tara asked, putting a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly at Reid.

“Jake is her partner. When she’s not undercover and just out in the field, they’re partners,” Spencer explained.

Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully, “So, he would’ve known that she was undercover.”

Nodding as the newly added weight of the situation threatened to pull him down, Spencer turned and faced you, watching as the nurse examined you as you slept. “He blew her cover on purpose,” he reached up and rubbed his eye. Jake knew exactly what he was doing when he blew your cover, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you begged Spencer not to leave you.

“We have to go back in and ask her more questions,” Tara said.

Usually, Spencer agreed with Tara, but not this time. He saw the monitors you were hooked up to, he read your chart, and he watched the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces. They all told him that you weren’t stable enough to be speaking, let alone a cognitive interview. “No,” Spencer said finally.

Clearing her throat lightly, Tara stood next to him in the doorway, “We can’t let them get away, Reid.”

“And I can’t lose her,” he rebutted, ignoring the way his voice broke in his desperation. 

Stepping back slightly, the other agent nodded in understanding. “Okay, I’ll call Emily. You go sit with her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice; he pulled a chair up impossibly close to your bedside and draped his jacket over the back of it before loosening his tie and sitting down.

You

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, but the bright lights of the hospital room made it hard for you to get any real rest. You were pleased to find that, true to his word, Spencer was right next to you when he woke up.

He was sleeping, resting his head on his hand with his wrist bent awkwardly. “Spence,” You whispered, clearing your throat, “Spencer.” You couldn’t reach out to touch him, but you wanted to wake him up, so his wrist wasn’t sore.

Jolting awake, he looked at you, “Hey, did you just wake up? How do you feel?”

It was a weird question, you felt like an absolute dumpster fire. “Better,” you whispered, “less hurt, achier. Sore. I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy,” you rambled, trying to move higher up on the hospital bed, but being limited by the chest tube. “How long do I have to have it?” You asked, staring at the plastic tubing as if you could make it go away via the power of suggestion.

“At least through the night, but it could be longer,” he said, reaching over and smoothing over the edges of your blanket. “Do you know what they gave you?” Spencer asked, shaking out his wrist.

You hummed in response, “No, it was intravenous though. They were big on amphetamines, but it didn’t feel like a stimulant. Benzos maybe,” you told him, your voice was soft. The pain in your throat had subsided after being intubated during surgery, but you were still swollen from when Cal grabbed you.

None of this made sense to you. The one thing that bothered you more than anything else was why Cal stopped when Jake said to. It couldn’t have been as simple as the money.

Spencer must’ve noticed you burrowing into your memories, “You remember everything?” He asked gently.

He knew what he was implying, in more cases involving severe trauma, victims generally remember everything or remember nothing. It was lucky for law enforcement when they remembered, but bad for the victims. Bad for you. “Mostly,” you breathed, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tried to reassure you, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

You hummed, “I don’t remember anything after they drugged me, just the stuff before. Just the…” Your voice trailed off as you returned to your confusion. “Who’s still here that I can talk to?”

He squeezed your hand comfortingly, “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” you answered him despondently.

Spencer nodded before he got up from his chair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he stepped out into the hallway and let Tara in.

The agent smiled at you gently, “Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asked, sitting down at a free chair at the end of your hospital bed, leaving the chair at your side available for Spencer to return to.

You gave your best attempt at returning the smile before you answered, “I think I’m going to make it.”

As Spencer sat back down next to you, placing a water cup on your bedside table, Tara opened a file and looked through it, “Can you start by telling me a little bit about your assignment? You were undercover as… Barbara?” She read from the file.

Nodding slowly, you held out your hand for Spencer to hold, “Yeah, but they called me Babs.”

Three days ago...

You shifted self-consciously in the gold dress. It was a silky, slippery number that displayed more than you particularly liked. Spencer would probably like it, but he’d hate how uncomfortable you were in it.

Inadvertently, you smiled at just the thought of your husband. It was late, so he was probably at home, reading next to the fireplace. Maybe he was on a case, off somewhere in the United States and saving lives.

It had been twenty-nine days since you had last seen him.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Babs,” Johnathan McCallister, better known as Cal, told you, reaching out and placing a hand on either one of your shoulders before placing a kiss on both cheeks.

Bashfully, you smiled at him, “You’re too good to me, Cal. I can’t believe you got me in!” Deep down, you knew tonight could be the night, you would be able to take down The Program. At least the D.C. chapter of it.

When it was over, you could be Y/N Reid again, instead of Barbara McFarston.

The Program took women around your age and sold them into sex slavery. The chapter in Washington D.C. was one of the most active, which made sense when you looked around the room and saw a majority of the people were elected officials – men and women alike.

Andi Swann had assured you that taking down this chapter would create a domino effect, causing the other chapters to topple. According to her, if you could take down D.C., Miami, and Los Angeles, The Program would most likely cease to exist.

Turning to ask Cal about the selection tonight, you were startled to see familiar gray eyes on your companion’s other side. You felt your façade slip, but only for a second before you pasted a brilliant smile back on your face.

You tilted your head to the side, “And who might you be?” You asked Jake, wondering if Andi had sent him in to get a status report on you.

“Jake Cohn,” he answered, and goosebumps spread over your exposed skin at his answer. He should’ve said William Jacoby, that was his identity for this case.

In horror, you watched as Jake leaned in to whisper something in Cal’s ear, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your tongue as Cal wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in tightly, “Let’s talk.”

You stumbled a little over your own feet and looked at Jake with wide eyes, the leader forcefully shoved you into a private room, one that would probably light up like a Christmas tree under a blacklight. “What’s wrong, Cal?” You asked, standing up straight.

He reached over and grabbed the back of your neck, gathering the hair at the nape of your neck in his fist. The force of it made you scrunch your shoulders up, “You’re a fucking fed?” He seethed, tossing you to the ground in one swift movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to convince him. Tried to flip the script so that Jake was the liar instead of you.

Cal grabbed your throat next, holding you down on a booth seat. “Oh, Y/N… Jake’s been one of my best employees for years.” He said, chuckling at the betrayal in your eyes, he only laughed more when you kneed him in the gut. “Oh, I like it when they fight back.”

You shut your eyes tightly as you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, but they snapped back open when you heard the word, “Stop.”

“What? Did you want first go on her?” Cal asked, wiping his cheek – you must’ve scratched him in your struggle.

Jake cleared his throat and met your eyes, “We should keep her clean, you know?” He said, and for a moment you thought he was actually trying to help you, “Think about how much a clean fed would go for here. Especially in D.C.”

And just like that, your hopes were dashed, “he’s right,” you told Cal, trying to formulate a plan.

“Shut up, whore,” Cal spat, causing you to involuntarily flinch.

At least there’s nothing he could call you that you hadn’t heard before, in your line of work, people got very creative.

Cal looked at you, inspecting your neck where he had grabbed you before, “You’ll make me a lot of money, won’t you?” He said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm soothingly before poking you with a needle.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but Jake caught you before you hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do this. I thought he’d kick you out, but I didn’t think…”

Looking up at him, your throat burned, and you weren’t sure if you were going to cry or throw up, but you shut your eyes. “No, you didn’t.” You don’t just casually tell the leader of a sex trafficking ring that the person with them is an FBI agent.

Present

“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Tara asked, scribbling something down in your file.

You nodded absentmindedly, “I think…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at Spencer, “I think Jake might’ve been in charge the whole time. Pulling the strings from behind the curtain while he waited for the perfect time to catch me off guard. That’s the only reason Cal would’ve backed off when Jake told him to,” You proposed your theory, not missing the way Spencer was holding your hand a little tighter than before.

Tara’s brows were raised, “Jake Cohn has worked in the bureau for almost a decade, it would be hard for him to evade detection for that long.”

“But he knows exactly how to evade it,” you rebutted. “He’d know all of the tricks from Sex Crimes and all of my tricks. He- He set me up,” you realized.

Spencer turned around and looked at your monitor, “Okay, let’s take a break. We can talk more later.”

Getting up, Tara let Spencer know she was going to call the rest of the team before she stepped back into the hallway.

“My chest hurts,” you said, hating how your voice sounded like a whine.

In response, Spencer smoothed your hair back in an attempt to comfort you. “Your heart is racing,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath, okay?”

You nodded slowly, breathing in deeply through your nostrils and letting the air collect in your lungs before blowing it out your mouth. Looking up at Spencer, worry plain in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you came to a decision, “Spence?”

He bowed slightly closer to you so he could hear you better, “What is it, love?” He moved his hand, so it was gently cupping your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you whispered, “It’s too much.” The only thing you had left was to hope he knew what you were talking about, the words were too hard right now, but you felt them contributing to the burning in your chest.

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone.”

You practically melted back into the hospital bed; the weight of your job eased off of you. Nodding, you closed your eyes, “It’s good, this is good. I just feel crazy, but a good crazy.”

Spencer smiled at you, “Okay crazy,” he whispered, “I’m going to-“ He was abruptly cut off by his phone ringing, furrowing his brows, he swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, “Hey, JJ.”

Cocking your head to the side, you tried to listen to JJ’s side of the conversation, but either she was speaking quietly, or Spencer had his phone volume really low. From the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, you knew that this couldn’t be anything good.

He looked at you before looking at the door, “Do you know where?” He said in a tone entirely unfamiliar to you, it was low and steely. Reaching over you, he nimbly pressed the call button on your bed, “Okay, keep me updated.”

“Spencer, what is going on?” You asked as the nurse came into your room, faltering for a moment as she looked at the two of you.

Placing a hand on the bar of your hospital bed, Spencer looked at the nurse, “Do you have somewhere secure she can be moved to?”

The nurse looked shellshocked, surely the FBI occupying the hospital wasn’t an everyday occurrence, “I don’t… I don’t think so?” She seemed unsure of herself.

“Spencer,” you repeated his name.

He turned to look at you, “Jake’s here and he’s looking for you.” Turning back to the nurse, he pointed at you, “She has to be moved.”

“I don’t… I’m just a student, my preceptor is taking a break. I could try to find-“ The nurse stammered nervously. “We don’t usually just move people.”

Nothing about this situation was usual, but one look at Spencer told you this was life or death. Your life or your death. You sighed in defeat, “This is really going to suck.” Reaching over to your side, you gripped the tube that had been draining blood from outside your lung and pulled it out. Like ripping off a band-aid.

In the process, you tore the stitches holding it in place and set off all kinds of alarms, leading to a crowd of nurses and doctors charging into the room.

As someone held pressure down on where you were bleeding, someone said something about moving you to a sterile procedure room, and the nursing student trailed along, whispering “That was the stupidest smart thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Everything was blurry when you woke up next and, through the blinds, you could see that the sun was finally rising. The warm, orange light peeking through like lines on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Spencer said from right next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered.

You looked away from him, back towards the blinds, “Will you open them?” You rasped, your throat felt raw, and your body felt heavy.

He got up and ambled over to the window, twisting the mechanism until the sun poured into your room. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavy,” you whispered, the mental weight of the past several days was threatening to take you down, but physically you felt like Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Spencer hummed in response, “They sedated you, standard procedure for people who rip their own chest tubes out.” He adjusted the way your gown rested on your shoulders, “Luckily you didn’t do too much damage.”

You took a deep breath and leaned your head so you could look out the window. The outside felt so foreign to you now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had breathed real, fresh air. “So, what is the damage?” Your voice was little more than a murmur but with just the two of you in your room, it wasn’t hard to hear.

“You’re going to be fine; they think the tube can go later today. Then they’ll evaluate whether enough you’re strong enough to go home, it’ll probably be another couple of days,” He explained to you, matching your gentle tone. “Johnathan McCallister is in custody, and Jake Cohn is dead,” he told you, studying your face for any kind of reaction.

Closing your eyes, you felt white hot tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, laughing a little despite yourself. He probably thought you were losing it, crying over the death of someone who had nearly had you murdered.

The edge of your mattress dipped down slightly, and you opened your eyes to see Spencer sitting next to you, “You don’t need to be sorry, my love.” Gently, he rested a hand on your hip, skimming his thumb over the rough fabric of your hospital gown, “He was like family to you. I’m not sorry he’s dead – I’m not. I am sorry for that loss, though.”

Nodding, you felt it as your face crumpled, leading Spencer to lean down and hug you as best he could. “I’m sorry I scared you,” you said as he pulled away.

Your furrowed your brows in confusion as he reached into his pocket and produced your wedding ring, taking your left hand, he slid the rings on, “For better or for worse, right?”

A small smile grew on your face as the gem on your finger shimmered in the morning light, “for richer or for poorer,” you continued.

“In sickness and in health,” Spencer whispered, eyes flickering around the hospital room.

You reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek with your palm, “to love and to cherish.” You said, feeling a dopey, lovesick grin blooming on your face.

He turned his head and kissed the center of your palm, “until parted by death,” he finished, taking your hand in his.

“No dying,” you insisted, feeling your energy begin to drain, you started to understand why the doctors didn’t want you going home for a few days.

Spencer hummed in response, “You almost did. If you hadn’t been found when you were-“ his voice broke off and you had to tear your eyes away from his for a moment. “I still can’t believe you chose that,” he whispered, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Shrugging as if it was nothing, you melted back into the pillows, “I had a split second to weigh my options – get sold into sex slavery or get stabbed in the chest.”

“A catch-22,” he nodded, wrapping his head around your impossible decision. You couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until the fear in his eyes left.

You shifted a little in the hospital bed, the sheets rustling as you did, “We get it, you’ve read Joseph Heller.”

He smiled at that, the light teasing seemed to bring brightness to his face, “What is it about blood loss that makes you think you’re funny?”

Laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand as tightly as you could manage, “I am funny. And I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep then, baby,” he said softly, “it’ll all be here when you wake up.”

There was a party in your hospital room. It started with just Emily, coming in because you were finally up to seeing anyone other than Spencer, and it ended up being the entire BAU.

Someone had gone to the apartment and gathered clothes for you so that, once your chest tube was removed, you could put on real clothes. So now you were sitting up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old college sweatshirt, and laughing with the BAU. You were leaning heavily on Spencer, who was also sitting on your hospital bed, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping you steady.

Luckily for you, no one in the BAU wanted to ask about what had happened on your assignment, they were more interested in the rings that adorned your and Spencer’s fingers.

“I still can’t believe you two secretly got married,” Penelope said. “Of all of the times for me to not answer my phone.”

Next to her, Luke shrugged, “Honestly, I can believe it. It feels like a very Y/N and Reid thing to do.”

Gently, Spencer rubbed your back. His hovering was quickly going to become insufferable, but right now you were welcoming every touch with open arms.

“Well, we’ll have a party for the two of you. When you’re up for it, of course,” JJ said, smiling from where she was standing next to Emily.

You wanted to shake your head and tell them that it really wasn’t necessary, but asking the BAU to refrain from throwing a party was like asking a shark to stop swimming. Instead of debating, you just smiled and bobbed your head.

Eventually, Andi showed up, just as you knew she would. “Hey, guys,” Emily nodded in the direction of the doorway, “Why don’t we go raid the hospital cafeteria?”

After a few more hugs, including a lingering one from Garcia, the BAU, save for your husband, filtered out, and Andi made her way to the foot of your bed. “Hey,” you said, your voice was soft.

Nine years. You had spent nine years in the sex crimes unit. Spencer had done the math, you’d spent approximately seventy-six percent of that time undercover, missing birthdays, holidays, not ever really looking forward to the future. Until now.

You, the most decorated member of the sex crimes unit, were leaving.

Suspiciously, you eyed the files in Andi’s arms, one was a case file, the other a plain manila folder. She silently handed you the case file, and you shared a look with Spencer before flipping it open. “The Program is gone?” You asked, your eyes skimming the folder.

Swann nodded, her brown hair swaying with the movement, “The arrest of the leader of the D.C. chapter greatly contributed to that, but it was the death of the ringleader that took the remainder of The Program down.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded as you tried to process what she was telling you. Jake had been in charge all along. “Andi, I-“

“It was your intel that did it,” she cut you off. “From your last several assignments, everything you collected directly contributed to the downfall of this trafficking network. One of the largest networks the FBI has ever seen.”

She handed you the next file, labeled with only your name. You flipped it open, well aware that Spencer was reading from over your shoulder. “I don’t qualify for retirement,” you told her, furrowing your eyebrows, and looking at the papers in front of you. You didn’t qualify for retirement, and yet, you were looking at a retirement offer.

Your unit chief nodded understandingly, “I pulled some strings, with some help. Collectively, Prentiss and I know a lot of people.”

Spencer placed a supportive hand on your back, and you looked up at Andi. “I’m only thirty-two?” You asked, it wasn’t a clarification, it was a question.

“And yet,” she answered, “you’ve done more for the Bureau than most agents could hope to do in their whole career. This plan came from the director, Y/N. He wanted you to have it.”

Shaking your head, you handed the folder over to your husband so he could look through it. “I don’t… can I think about it?”

“He’ll want an answer soon but talk it over and give me a call when you’ve come to a decision,” she said, grabbing her things and making her way to the door. “And Y/N?”

You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, “Yeah, Andi?”

She smiled at you, a rare, real smile from her, “Make the right decision for you. You have a small army ready to support you through everything.”

Slowly, your gaze followed her out the door, waiting until you heard the latch of the door secure. Spencer handed the folder back to you, “What do you want to do?”

You flipped through the folder again, it was a lot of money, and there were a few different distribution options, but it was more than you felt you’d ever need. “I don’t really feel like I deserve this,” you whispered, reaching your hand up and rubbing the back of your neck. “The Bureau doesn’t offer early retirement like this, not without extenuating circumstances,” you continued.

“They did it with Hotch,” Spencer said, reading the file over your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over to look at him, “That was way different, Haley was murdered by a serial killer.”

Spencer sighed, “I think you’re selling yourself short, darling. The Program was trafficking almost 12,000 people across the country. That’s almost 70 percent of the yearly total trafficking victims. You took them down,” he told you earnestly.

Your shoulders slouched forward, “I didn’t do it alone, though.”

“Didn’t you, though? They sent you in with no communication device, no emergency signal, and information that wasn’t even true. Your unit told you Johnathan McCallister was the leader of the ring, but it ended up being a decorated agent and you’re the one who figured that out,” Spencer spoke emphatically. “You almost died in the process, and now there are thousands of victims who are going to go home – all thanks to you.”

Wiping at your eyes, you looked at your husband, “You’re biased.” That felt true, but Spencer was the person who knew you best in the world.

“What’s holding you back?” He murmured gently, sweeping strands of your hair behind your ears.

Smiling unsurely, you closed your eyes, “Fear of the future. In the past nine years, the longest I’ve ever been home was four weeks. I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head slowly, “it’s not my decision.” A diplomatic answer, you should’ve guessed.

“But what do you want me to do?” You pressed.

Sighing, you watched him weigh his options, “If my choices are you going back out into the field and getting hurt again, where maybe it doesn’t have this good of an outcome, or you, safe at home, where I get to see you more than approximately three months a year, then the choice is clear.”

When he laid it out for you like that, it was pretty clear. “Maybe I could finally see what all the BAU spouses are talking about. You know, how you’re never home,” you said. Some part of you always felt disconnected from the other BAU family members, Spencer wasn’t the one who was never home, you were.

Spencer laughed lightly, “We could celebrate your birthday together.” That was the one day you always missed. Almost six years together, and something always came up on your birthday.

“I’ve never had this before,” you whispered, there was still something about it that felt tentative, almost frail.

Smilingly softly, Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “Had what before?”

You beamed, “A future to plan.” Everything was always laid out for you, every day was spent waiting for the next directive, a new assignment. “I mean, not in nine years.”

There were always dreams, late-night murmurs with Spencer about a house with a yard and kids running around, but they were just dreams. The nights when you were able to sleep next to each other. “Do you have plans for us?”

Nodding rapidly, you answered, “Oh yeah, you and me, I’ve got big plans for us.”

next

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort

[angllicjk]

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Software Engineer! Jeon Jungkook X Famous Model! F Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.1K

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: No one thought Jungkook would show up to the company’s annual Christmas party with the fiancé they were sure he was lying about until he showed up with you wrapped around his arm. No one would believe the fact that he tied you down. The stunning well known model whose face is plastered all over billboards and ads around the city and across the world. After all, what are best friends for?. You’ve always had his back and imagining you were his for the night didn’t sound so bad, but him rethinking your friendship this night in particular had you in shambles.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: angst, fluff, abandonment issues, attachment issues, insecure jk, shitty coworkers, emotional constipation, hurt, comfort & making out.

To think he’s actually having a good time for once at the company’s annual Christmas party is beyond him. This year it was held in an extravagant hall in the heart of the city with a sparkly chandelier glinting overhead and decorated in so much holiday cheer it filled him with momentary excitement as well. Jungkook isn’t really one for celebrating holidays that often and if he could have skipped out this evening he would have done so in a heartbeat if it wasn’t mandatory. Although, having you here makes it all the more worth it and the reason why he wears the bright smile on his face. No one’s ever seen Jungkook smile that huge or stand out so lively before than his usual quiet self during work, staring at him like he had grown a second head. You’ll always be the reason why he smiles or the exciting sensation coursing through his veins whenever you're close as if he’s on cloud nine.

The looks on all of his coworkers' faces were priceless. They weren’t so subtle with it either. Of course no one believed him. No one would understand why someone like you was with someone such as himself. Two completely different people with completely different lifestyles and statuses. Even now, when he’s talking with his lead and cubicle neighbor, watching you dance in the center of the venue with the girls in his department. Upon first arriving through the double doors most of them rushed over asking for pictures and autographs from you. In awe at the sight of your beautiful self in person and not just in a magazine or on tv and billboards.

“There’s no way that’s all yours.” Matt can’t seem to take his eyes off of you and as much as it annoys Jungkook, he can’t blame him. You’re gorgeous, even more so when you’re just yourself and having a good time. He can’t help the way his eyes are glued to you as well. A smile spreading across his lips watching you have fun.

“I’m gonna be honest Jeon. I thought you were lying about the whole thing.” Stanley (his cubicle neighbor) perks up beside him, tearing his gaze from you to Jungkook.

“How did you two even meet?.” Matt suddenly asks in deep curiosity with a pinched brow. Looking as if he were solving the most complicated math equation from the top of his head.

For a moment, Jungkook is thrown off, but he shouldn’t have been so surprised that anyone would ask him that million dollar question. He still remembers the day so clearly and it always has him smiling in thought when he thinks back to it, chuckling to himself as he reminisces to that particular time in his life where everything changed so drastically.

Jungkook takes a swig of his sparkling champagne, needing the liquor courage before he begins the story of how you two met.

“Oh, uh, well, it was pretty complicated. I was on my way to campus and at a stoplight when I saw her, the only one still walking out onto the street.” He pauses briefly before he continues. Matt and Stanley listen intently to every word he speaks.

“She was talking on the phone so she wasn’t aware of the semi coming straight ahead. I didn’t want to be traumatized so I ran and tackled her out of the way onto the sidewalk.” Jungkook further explains, moving his hands about as he does so animatedly.

“Wow…you saved her life.” Matt’s eyes enlarge with surprise written all over his face. He couldn’t believe it. It sounded like something straight out of a classic rom-com or k-drama.

“Although she did get mad at me first for getting her expensive outfit dirty.” Jungkook chuckles with a shake of his head.

He remembers the pretty and stylish pink Channel plaid combo you wore. Of course, that’s all you were worried about at the moment. There were harsh dirt lines imprinted on the bottom of your skirt. It even made him wince at the sight of the ruined fabric.

“Oh my gosh!. It’s going to take me forever to get this stupid dirty stain out!. How could you!?.”

It confused the hell out of Jungkook and he was in disbelief at the words that fell out of your mouth, looking at you like you were out of your goddamn mind. Shouldn’t you be thankful for the fact that you’re still alive?.

“Are you serious?. I just saved your life!. You could be dead right now, like splattered on the ground, you know that!.”

“Wow, no wonder.” Matt says with a chuckle in amusement, bringing Jungkook back from his deep thoughts.

“She probably thinks she owes you, so she stuck with you after that incident.”

What Matt said had Jungkook frozen solid in place, his smile slipping from his lips. That single thought never once crossed his mind. Even a few days later after that incident when you stumbled upon him again and properly apologized. You bought him coffee and sat down with him at a cafe after his class.

Jungkook knew Matt was most likely trying to find something to make it make sense in his own envious head, however, his words ended up sticking to him.

He always was an over-thinker and Jungkook starts to wonder, falling miserably into the rabbit hole of doubt and questioning with a heavy heart.

+

The soft and sensual melody of a slow song starts, lights dimming and you turn in your heel finding Jungkook sitting at the reserved table in the corner alone seemingly in deep thought.

When you come near he only offers a small smile, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it only makes you wonder if something was wrong. But it’s his night and you don’t want to press the matter if it’s nothing to worry about. Instead, you want to ease those worries and dance with him like you’ve longed to all night.

“Dance with me?.” Your hand gently encases his bigger one, slightly tugging.

“You owe me, just this once.” You softly utter with a tiny giggle. A precious smile on your red lips.

He hesitates a moment, looking up at you and for a second you think he might not be up to it but Jungkook slowly gets up from his seat and lets you lead him to the dance floor where everyone else is coupled up.

Taking your palm as his hand holds your waist gently, you rest your arm over his shoulder and your eyes meet his. They glimmer prettily with something he’s never seen from you before. It makes his insides feel mushy and heart skip two beats.

You’re breathtakingly beautiful in your sparkly white designer dress and you’re in his arms where he always wants you to be.

Do you even want to be in his arms?.

Do you really want to be here with him?.

Those doubts come full force and it stings his chest, caving in with a weighted feeling.

You’re only here to be his fake fiancée just because his coworkers constantly teased him being late twenties and still alone, thinking he couldn’t pull someone. He only wanted to prove them wrong, even though it isn’t true and they weren’t far off about him having trouble in the love department. It’s pathetic really. Maybe you actually pitied him. Maybe you think he’s a loser too just like everyone in the office thinks so.

Jungkook’s not even sure if he were to properly ask you out, if you would agree. Would you?. He’s seen the handsome men you’ve modeled with in ads and photo shoots. He’s not as cool as they are and he surely doesn’t have the status to compete with them or keep up with you.

Compared to you and the kind of life you lead, he’s plain and boring. His life isn’t so interesting and it wasn’t even before you showed up. You’re the interesting one. The fun and outgoing one. The life of the party living a luxurious and fascinating life because of the stunning looks you were born with.

But they don’t know the real you he gets to see on a daily basis. When you hang out and spend the nights with him. You beside him on his couch in just a plain hoodie or t-shirt and comfortable bottoms, hair thrown in a messy bun or just down, letting your pretty locks flow. When you laugh real hard about something you show him that you thought was funny. He especially likes when you two just talk about anything and nothing at all. The intimacy and the comforting silence when no words need to be said as you sit or lay beside one another. It’s the simple things, the little things about you and with you that he loves. Jungkook loves you endlessly. Everything, all parts, the good and the bad.

As much as he loves you and thinks that he could be the one for you, Jungkook isn’t so sure that you’d give him a chance. You’re just friends, but sometimes he wonders why you are friends with him in the first place when you’re living in the fast lane and he’s not.

Maybe this was a bad idea. This sudden rude awakening is starting to eat him alive and he isn’t so sure how much longer he can endure it for.

+

You’ve never felt so content swaying in his arms and watching the man that makes you feel like the happiest gal in the world. More than walking into your closet mall does, more than your beloved diamond earrings you wear every single day because of how beautifully they sparkle and much more than when you’re strutting down the runway. You love it, of course you do, but you think you love Jeon Jungkook more.

He looks absolutely handsome tonight. His hair is slicked back; it surprised you when you watched him style it in his bathroom, because he hates gel with a passion. Cute doe-eyes glittering like a perfect midnight sky with pink kissable lips and he smells amazing. You like how he uses the cologne you bought him for his birthday months ago. He’s always so pretty to you and you used to wonder why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet when you met him with how undeniably sweet, smart and such a gentleman he is. In your eyes he’s husband material. A literal dream. A part of you always thought he was just waiting for the right person.

His sweet pecks on your cheeks and lips, holding you close by the waist snugly, calling you his all night so lovingly. You crave for more of it and you only yearn for it to be real.

You really didn’t care if news got out later that you are now supposedly engaged due to showing up here to be his fake fiancé. At least other suitors will back off now that you are ‘taken’. You’re only interested in Jungkook. He’s the only one you’ll ever want.

Jungkook tears his gaze away, looking elsewhere beside you. You notice the small frown on his face and it looks as if he’s struggling with something internally, jaw tensing. It leaves you slightly confused and your worries from a bit ago come back when you try to catch his eyes, brows furrowed.

“Is something wrong?.” You ask carefully and when you do he meets your gaze once again. Only this time his eyes are filled with something that causes a crack in your heart. You don’t like the doubt you see in them. The hurt he’s trying to hide.

What’s going on?.

“Why are you still friends with me?.” Jungkook suddenly asks, voice slightly wavering towards the end.

“What?.” It leaves you breathlessly and now you’re more confused as to why he’s suddenly asking that.

What sprung this on?.

“Why didn’t you just move on with your life after I saved you?. You didn’t have to come up to me again and talk to me.” He manages through the thick lump he swallows after, face contorted with desolation.

“What are you talking about?. Why are you asking me this now?.” You whisper, sliding your hand from around his shoulder to cradle the side of his face gently.

His larger one cups yours and removes your touch, placing your hand back down as he speaks deliberately with hostility, eyes scrutinizing your being.

“Did you pity me?. You don’t have to owe me anything, you know that. I’m not one of your charity cases.”

His words fill you with great betrayal and a quickening rage of your own that you momentarily try so hard to simmer down at a time and place like this. You’re at a loss for words. The sudden shift in atmosphere tensing between the two of you is like a thick blanket. His sudden shift in mood leaves a foul taste in your mouth and you really don’t want to get upset in front of everyone.

There’s already a few looks the both of you have drawn from the harsh whispers.

In an instant, you take his hand and lead him with you out of the venue into the empty hall, the clacking of your Dior heels tapping roughly against the marble pavement.

“Trouble in paradise.” Jungkook faintly hears Matt chuckle with two co-workers on the way out. It only fuels his irritation.

You pause and let go of his hand, facing him with a fire in your eyes he’s never witnessed before. You’re absolutely livid and for a moment he falters underneath your firm gaze.

“Are you fucking serious right now?. Why would you possibly think that?.” Your voice raises, filling the silence that lingers around you in the empty hall.

“Because no one ever fucking stays!. No one ever does, Y/N.” Jungkook raises his voice as well, almost a shout. Frustration laced in his deep tone of voice.

He pauses and swallows thickly, sighing as he throws his head down. A hand comes over his face in agitation before he meets your glossy eyes once again.

“They only take what they want before cutting ties. They always leave and never come back. Most of the time I don’t even know it or pick up on the signs. It just happens. Sometimes I think…I think that you migh-” His words get choked up towards the end and you don’t let him finish.

You don’t want to hear him say it.

“I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” You state with a sternness, taking a step forward and grabbing his hand to take gently into yours for comfort.

“I don’t want that but I just feel like I’m holding you back sometimes.” Jungkook sighs exasperatedly, hand tightening over yours. With eyes stinging red of tears that he’s trying so hard to hold back and it’s a pain to witness. It hurts your insides to hear what he’s probably been feeling for a while now.

The anger you felt prior is tamed with the need to comfort him. It’s what he needs right now the most.

“But you’re not.” You press immediately with a shake of your head.

He’s quiet for a moment, more calm than he was before and then he asks,

“Why didn’t you take that offer in Milan?. You could’ve had more opportunities. You would’ve been thriving but you're stuck here with me.”

“I told you why.” You say in a soft whisper.

He’s caught you off guard with the sudden question and you shrink a little, mindlessly fidgeting with his fingers in your palm below you.

Milan would’ve been great. You knew it but you couldn’t do it. You told him you declined the offer because you felt comfortable at the moment here in New York and it felt too fast to settle in a whole new place when you’ve gotten used to this city already within this past year. Most importantly with the amazing offers you’ve got here.

“I didn’t believe it. I still don’t.” Jungkook shakes his head, eyes never leaving you.

“Was it because you felt bad to leave me here all alone?. Or the fact that nothing was ever gonna change for me?. You could’ve left and just forgotten all about me.”

As soon as the words leave his lips your head snaps up to look at him and your brows pinch deeply in pure anguish once again.

“Is that what you fucking wanted to happen?. For me to just leave and never come back?. It just sounds to me like you really don’t want me in your life.” You say and Jungkook winces, immediately shaking his head at what you’re insinuating.

“That’s not-“

“Do you really think that I feel that way?. Gosh, you’re so- so fucking- ughhh!. Do you really think that you're so undeserving of anything and that unlikeable?.” You’re seething, eyes blown wide in disbelief but mostly outrage. Your hands raise only to drop back down with a huff, shaking as if you really want to either pull your own hair or choke him out.

“You know why-“ Jungkook tries but you’re not quite done with your passionate spiel.

“I know, but you’ve always assumed the worst in others and you never tried again. I know you’re co-workers are assholes, fuck them. But there’s so many other people who would like you. Not all of them are so terrible, I mean, you met me, you have me.”

Jungkook wants to believe that, but he isn’t so sure. He was always alone and growing up he didn’t have any friends around. Middle school was hell and when high school came he’d gotten used to the loneliness. People weren’t always so kind, so welcoming and he hadn’t expected anyone to be when it seemed he’d only be hurt by the people he lets in. It didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt.

His mother was all Jungkook had, but most of the time she’d just leave him be. Always so busy on her own, even when he’d need her the most. As a little boy it seemed they used to be much closer before his deadbeat of a father skipped out on them. Before his family ultimately broke apart. He doesn’t have many memories of the man and he doesn’t want them anyways. That mark of betrayal is deeply rooted and it’s a scar that will never heal.

Jungkook thought things would finally change meeting his first girlfriend towards the end of high school. Unfortunately, it only seemed to get worse. All she ever did was use him, humiliate him, make him so dependent on her that in those times when Jungkook really needed her, she wasn’t there for him at all. It only broke him. Left a complete mess out of him in heaps it was difficult to deal with. Another rough patch that hurt covering up new wounds and moving on from.

College was boring and with her out of his life, Jungkook was lonely once again and closed off like he was before. She made the pain worse and he didn’t know how to move on from it at first. Focusing on his studies and working hard at his internship in an office downtown was all Jungkook ever did. It paid off well and he has a good job doing something he’s passionate in. Yet, Jungkook was still terribly miserable alone. Something he’s always hated but had to live with. The lonely and gloomy world he was living in, he desperately tried to survive it day by day. Busying himself with school and work so he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts all of the time. It’s much worse at night when trying to get some sleep, he’d never been so restless before.

A bright beam of light is what you were coming into his life. His only hope shining through the dark clouds and lighting his whole world up. Breathing life into his lungs he nearly forgot what it was like. It scared him at first and he didn’t want to let you in, but Jungkook was a sucker for a gorgeous face and how sweet you actually were when getting to know the real you. You’re all he has now and because of his upbringing and deep scars of the past, Jungkook’s absolutely terrified that you’ll someday leave him too, but being the one to potentially drive you away hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.

There’s a sniffle and you're wiping the tears flowing down your pink cheeks. This hurts. To see you cry. To be the cause of that deep frown on your pretty face and those tears in your eyes.

“You just need to try, Jungkook. You’re a great guy, an amazing person. You’re so fucking smart, I’m always amazed when you talk your tech stuff. I love it. You’re so sweet, such a gentleman, they don’t make em’ like you anymore, it’s such a shame.”

His teeth nibble into his bottom lip so hard, trying not to break at your heartfelt words. The genuinity and sweetness seeping through the seams. He can feel it. He knows it. He’s not as strong as he is because tears eventually slip out from the corners of his eyes.

You pause with a deep sigh before speaking up once more, taking one step close to his side once again, but you don’t take his hand, you don’t come any closer. It feels as if you’ve put some invisible boundary and he so badly wants to reach out to you, to take your hands into his, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to.

“To answer your stupid ass questions from earlier, I stayed after that day because I liked what I saw and what I got to know the more I stuck around.” There’s a sternness to you, as if you’re chiding some kid who doesn’t know any better and the heated gaze you're giving him, he can’t handle it. Unable to look you in the eyes anymore because he recognizes the disappointment and sadness in them.

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever see that look from you and he hates himself for putting it there.

“I wanted you in my life. I felt like I needed you in it because life would be better and it is because I’m not as happy when I’m not around you, you know. You make me feel that way.” Momentarily, your deep gaze softens and the corners of your lips tug up into a smile. He feels like falling to his knees at the sight because he misses it. Feels as if it’s been forever since he’s last seen it.

“You make me feel that way too. You’re the only one.” Jungkook says in an abrupt manner and he wants to say more but he can’t. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make this all better. He fucked up and he hates himself for ever doubting you when all you’ve ever been is kind unlike anyone else in his life.

“Well, right now you make me feel like I’m such a shitty person for simply being friends with you. For wanting to be around you. I’m not like those other people. The fact that you’d think I don’t actually care about you hurts and it makes me feel like you don’t even trust me at all.”

It’s like a punch to the gut and it’s getting harder to breathe. You’re slipping right through his fingers and he knows it. Jungkook never meant to make you feel this way. In the heat of the moment, he let himself take it out on you, all his personal doubts, worries and insecurities.

“I do!.” He nearly shouts, reaching out to you but you push his touch away before he could grasp you with a step back.

“You really don’t if you assumed the worst in me, like you do with everyone else.” You fire back in a huff and glossy eyes.

“I-I didn’t mea-“ Jungkook shakes his head rapidly, and when you attempt to walk away from him, he grasps your wrist tightly.

He can’t stand to let you leave. Not now when he wants you, desperately needs you. You’re like his lifeline and he’s trying so hard to hold onto it.

“Wait!. Please don’t go.” He pleads, desperately so and gently tugging you back towards him.

“I’m- fuck! I’m so sorry. I just- you’re the only good thing I have. You’re all I want and I don’t want to lose you.” His arms wrap around you, holding you close against him as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each other and you melt in his strong hold, caressing the back of his head gently. It breaks you and more tears slip out of your eyes. You’ll always be weak for Jungkook. You could never truly part from him. Never deny the man anything he wants or so desires, even if it’ll cost you. In this case, your heart. Jungkook is already the keeper of such, so what’s more to lose anyways.

“You won’t.” You softly murmur into his ear.

“Then please don’t leave.” He squeezes you a bit tighter, not wanting to let you go just yet. All he wants is to bask in your comforting touch and sweet scent that always calms him.

“I just needed some fresh air to calm down, Jungkook.” You murmured softly and when he pulls apart from you, you see his red shimmering eyes in despair. It doesn’t do good to your already frail heart. Seeing him hurt and so defeated isn’t something you ever want to see again. He doesn’t deserve the heartache and pain he’s had to deal with for so long.

Jungkook clears his throat, licking his lips before attempting to speak up.

“I’m sorry I was being a fucking idiot and targeting you like that. It was just-… someone said something and I clearly didn’t take it well. I’m so sorry for doubting you and our friendship. It was so stupid.”

You already forgave him and you knew deep down he didn’t actually mean it. It only stemmed from his worries and insecurities. It only saddened you because he doesn’t deserve to feel that way and you hate how people of his past have shaped him into thinking that he isn’t good enough. It’s not his fault.

“Everything’s okay. It did hurt that you were thinking that way, but I do understand you. I’m always gonna be here Jungkook and I'm not going anywhere either, even if you try to convince me otherwise.” You cup his face gently, passion burning in your eyes when you look at him to make him understand how deeply rooted your words and feelings are for him.

“You always put up with me and my stupid, miserable and insecure shit. Don’t you ever get tired of me?.” He then says, shaking his head as he looks down at the marble flooring below him.

“It’s not stupid. I’ll never get tired of you Jungkook.”

You could never get tired of seeing his handsome face nor simply being around his comforting presence. He’s all you want and need and there’s nothing else in the world you could possibly want more. You love everything about him. The good and the bad.

“Also I’m sure your co-workers only give you a hard time because they're secretly jealous of you. You’re an amazing person and you have great potential underneath your boring old English teacher aesthetic, no offense. Because babe, it’d be you on every billboard in the city and not just me.” You say with a proud smile on your lips and he could only chuckle, shaking his head at your words.

“Look, you don’t need people like that in your life anyways. They suck and they don’t deserve to know Jeon Jungkook. The smart, sweet and undeniably handsome guy that I have the pleasure of knowing.” You take his chin between your fingers and place a sweet kiss upon his cheek. It stirs butterflies in his stomach and sends his heart racing. He knows you only give him cheek kisses in a platonic manner, but it always gets him and makes him fall more for you each time. It’s sweet and he absolutely loves you.

“I wish I knew you throughout my early days. Middle school, high school and even college. It was just so fucking hard until I met you.” Jungkook admits, gazing down at you so lovingly. His hand finds yours and squeezes it gently before bringing it up to his lips where he stamps his own sweet kiss to the back of your hand. It steals your breath and you melt at the heart fluttering gesture.

“What made you think that way?.” You ask out of curiosity. He’d never said anything like that before or shared those feelings with you. So for him to suddenly question you and your friendship with him was startling to say the least, because you only ever had good intentions with Jungkook. Since that first day you met and this is something you don’t ever want to mess up. He’ll always be important to you.

He seems hesitant at first, eyes drifting from yours but he complies soon after.

“I told them how we met and one of them said that was probably why you stayed with me, because you felt like you owed me your life.” A dry chuckle tumbles past his lips and he shakes his head at the silly thought.

What total assholes.

“I swear. I will punch the fuck out of everyone in that office.” You omit with a huff, anger filling you all over once again.

Jungkook laughs, squeezing your palm in his tightly so you don’t stray too far in your frustration.

“I’m serious. I would for you.” You jab a finger in his chest lightly, a steely look in your eyes as you peer up at him.

Chuckling, he pulls you along with him to the bench just a few feet away. He knows your feet probably hurt in your heels to be standing this long.

He lifts a hand to smooth the side of your hair, fingers trailing to cradle your face in admiration. It causes a heap of butterflies fluttering in your stomach and the gentleness of his touch warms you up inside and out. It’s so good. So sweet. You like how he always seems to handle you with such care. Like a delicate flower or a fine and expensive glass that’ll break at first touch.

You watch him thinking as he gazes back at you and you wonder just what it is but he doesn’t seem to mind sharing it with you once he speaks up.

“Why are you so good to me?. You’re so perfect, you know that?. So gorgeous and a literal sweetheart. You weren’t mean to me ever, not like those other girls before who thought they could boss me around.”

The last part in particular has a brow rising in deep wonder.

“Did you get bossed around by other girls?.” You ask.

A sheepish smile lines his lips and he averts his gaze elsewhere, seemingly embarrassed by the thought.

“Sort of.”

Of course that will not fly by you as you ask further in slight irritation at the thought of other girls thinking they could take advantage of this sweet man sitting so prettily beside you.

“Who were they?. What are their names?.”

It only causes him to laugh and you like hearing it. It’s contagious and bubbly, you only want to keep him smiling and laughing.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Y/N.” Jungkook’s eyes shine in pure bliss and he looks utterly content in the moment. As if he’s got everything he absolutely needs and nothing else matters.

For you, it’s the same feeling. Eyes matching his and you could only hope that he sees it in yours too. That deep down he actually knows just how deep it really runs for you. How much you care and love him.

“Well, where else would I possibly be?.” You let out a little chuckle.

There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Milan.” He then says only for you to roll your eyes with a deep sigh.

“I thought we dropped that.”

“Why did you really stay?.” Jungkook prods further and when you meet his eyes once again you know it’s all he desperately wants to know. It’s been eating him up for a while now and he always suspected that there was more to it.

A part of you wants to drift the conversation elsewhere, try to steer his mind away from it but it won’t do any good. You only want to be honest. He trusts you after all and you don’t know when you’ll ever have the courage to tell him how you really feel. So why not now?.

With a deep breath, you calm your nerves and scoot a bit closer to him, eyes never wavering from his pleading orbs that seem to falter a bit.

“I stayed because I couldn’t imagine being so far away from you. The thought of not seeing you everyday, hearing your voice, it hurt. I love you so much. I’m in love with you Jungkook and I always want to be beside you. You mean more to me than a passing opportunity. There'll be many more in the future. But there’s only one of you and I want you more.”

He lets out a deep breath of relief he had been holding, glossed over eyes shutting for a second as he laughs a bit in elation.

“Fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that, because I’m in love with you too, ever since the second day I saw you and we sat inside that cafe together. I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way.” Jungkook confesses, happy to finally get out what he’s been bottling up for a long while now.

You love him back. You’re in love with him as well and Jungkook feels over the moon. He never thought you’d feel the same way or hear it from your lips. It feels amazing. It feels like a dream but he hopes that it isn’t because it’s too sweet to wake up from right now.

He feels your hand slide over his, entangling them together in your lap.

“Obviously, you’re wrong. I knew you were it for me the day you saved me.” You admit with a sweet smile.

His brows pinch confusedly at that.

“But you yelled at me because you got your outfit ruined.”

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head, a grin spread wide upon your face as you begin to explain.

“Only because I was nervous as fuck and I probably looked like a mess in front of you. I needed to look my best. Also it was Chanel!.”

Jungkook cackles loudly, unable to hold it in.

“You’re so goddamn unbelievable.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You softly say, staring back at him with those pretty and alluring eyes of yours that has him doing exactly as you say, swallowing the lump in his throat along with his nerves.

He cups your jaw and brings you close till your lips latch onto one another. You feel soft and it’s gentle as he moves them slightly against yours. Your lips part and your tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. Jungkook groans and slips his tongue past your lips where they tangle together. It’s sensual and hot. Your taste is addictive. It’s all he ever wants to know. He pulls a moan from you as he suckles on your tongue and it gets heated very quickly. Both filled with a burning passion and desire to taste as much of each other as you could.

He pants heavily against you, chest heaving and your soft moans and sighs of pleasure only spur him on to pull more from you. At this rate none of you will ever pull apart nor be able to breathe again. As much as it pains him to, Jungkook parts from you, resting his forehead against yours. A breathy whimper escapes you at the loss of contact and the sound goes straight to his hardening cock beaneath his slacks. You stare intensely back at him, sultry eyes making him want to do even more to you.

It’s so needy and he’s never seen you like this before. He likes it. He smiles, still a bit out of breath.

“You taste better than I ever imagined.” Jungkook raspily whispers and you can feel his breath across your face. You already miss his touch, his lips, his taste.

With a teasing smile, you whisper back.

“You’ve imagined this before?.”

His grin widens and he laughs a little against you.

“Course I have, and more. You never leave my mind.”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself together. He makes you feel all sorts of things. Your stomach and lower half always tingling whenever he so much as looks at you or touches your skin.

“Good, because you never leave mine either.”

“Now I’ll make sure I stay there forever sweetheart.” Jungkook pulls his head off yours, pecking your cheek with a sweet kiss that melts your heart.

“Let’s go back inside and show everyone how in love we really are. Also you owe me another dance.” You stand up and take his hand in yours as he moves off the bench as well.

“Screw them. I want to go back home where it’s just the two of us. I’ll slow dance with you in the living room until the night ends. Would you like to?.” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side and he kisses you gently once more on the lips. You’re just so damn irresistible to not kiss and hold all the time.

The sound of that is sweet and you like that, wanting to be alone with him as well.

“I’d love that very much.”

After giving you his coat to shield you from the cold, Jungkook laces his fingers with yours, leading the both of you down the hall and out the front entrance of the building with a beaming smile on his face of pure happiness.

Before the night started Jungkook didn’t think it’d end this way, but he’s so glad it did, minus the part where he let his emotions and insecurities get the best of him. Your his and he’s yours now. There’s nothing more he’s ever wanted in his life.

It feels like everything will finally be alright. It feels like maybe for once he can actually be happy and Jungkook could only hope that it’s always Sunny and beaming bright in his world with you, that those dark clouds and gloomy skies never come again.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Love you all 🫶🏻

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