#and socialising is a two-way street

[beaft]

if i can be sappy on main for a moment:

last night i was having a bit of a brain spiral - "why are my social skills so bad, why can't i hold a conversation like a normal person", etc - so i reached out to a friend of mine to talk it through. and they told me, the first time i met you we were at a party where i didn't know anybody, and i was really anxious, and you made an effort to include me and make me feel part of things, and it turned a potentially unpleasant evening into a nice one.

and holy shit, this meant so much more to me than if they'd said "don't be silly, you're great at socialising!" (which would have sounded like a lie, whether they meant it as one or not). it made me feel instantly better because i had this sudden realisation of, hey, you know what, maybe it's not about being the most charming or funny person in the room. maybe everyone's secretly a little nervous and looking for reassurance. maybe it's not all about me.

#often i get so focused on how *i'm* coming across that i forget to think about how other people are feeling #and socialising is a two-way street #i can't improve my social skills just by wishing it #i'm always going to be a little awkward and bad at eye contact with a propensity for making jokes that don't land #but if i can be a warm/welcoming presence to others then maybe that's enough you know? #be shh now

[honeyboylovee]

endearing

Pairing: Idol!Mingyu x gn!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Genre: fluff, established relationship!AU, implied friends to lovers

Warnings: mentions of overthinking

A/N: Long time no see… I am finally done with my end semester exams and I can now post this one which has been in my drafts for agessss. But here you go besties, a cute and fluffy Mingyu blurb.

To say that there were a few instances where you were endeared by Mingyu would be an understatement.

Mingyu always had this effect on you. No matter what he’d be doing, you’d always find it cute and oh so lovely!

It started when you were still friends and you were at a party thrown by a mutual friend. Other than them, you only knew Mingyu at the party. And so you stayed next to him…You stayed from when you saw him at the makeshift bar sipping his drink, till the time he walked you to your car. He said it wasn’t safe to enter a parking lot alone, late at night.

That day, you drove home with a lingering feeling of guilt inside yourself. Sure, you liked Mingyu’s company but you didn’t want to hold him back from socialising just ‘cause you weren’t the best at talking to new people.

Months later, you shared this concern of yours to him. His reply was instant and short but it did wonders in calming you down.

‘That’s something I wanted to do for you, lovie. And if I’m doing it for you, it won’t hold me back.’

That’s when you realised that Mingyu always had a way with his words. And the way he would comfort you with just a few sentences was so endearing to you.

———————————————————————————

Another instance was on one of your initial dates. He suggested you both visit the street food market in your city.

While you stopped at various stalls to try the delicacies, you couldn’t resist looking at Mingyu’s face. He looked so content with all the dishes you both tried, the ones that you loved, and even the ones that you didn’t like so much.

‘Hmff! I don’t think I can eat anything more.’, he exclaimed as you relaxed on a bench. The cool breeze left behind a soothing effect on your face.

‘Oh…I thought we’d go have some ice cream at your favourite dessert store.’

‘Ofcourse we will.’, he said eagerly.

‘Didn’t you just say you won’t be eating anything else?’

‘Ice cream is always an exception, baby.’, he said immediately, winking at you.

You couldn’t argue with that.

That was when you realised…again. You found Mingyu’s habit of always being so content while eating so endearing. And maybe this is weird. But who are you kidding, you always think that he’s so adorable.

———————————————————————————

Your boyfriend had recently been to Italy with his group members. They had been ‘kidnapped’ by the staff of their own company along with Na PD. And while they were in Italy, your schedules didn’t match at all due to the different time zones.

And so you found a different way to stay in contact. Mingyu started sending voice notes summarising the occurrences of his entire day, to you. And while narrating these, he spoke oh so fast… He spoke as if he had a time limit to finish these voice messages. You’d always ask him to speak slowly in order for you to understand them.

And his response was, ‘This is how I always speak, isn’t it?…or maybe I got too excited’, he chucked and continued, ‘I’ll try to speak slowly next time, yeah? Don’t want you to miss on any of the details, lovie.’

So when you get a notification of the next voice message, you rush to listen to it. And you have two reasons to do so. One was obviously because you wanted to know about his day. And the second was to see whether he remembered his promise of speaking slowly.

After listening to the first few seconds, you were assured that he didn’t remember at all. And now you didn’t mind him speaking fast, maybe ‘cause you know that he speaks fast only when he’s very excited.

And you loved that. His habit of speaking fast when he was excited was endearing to you.

———————————————————————————

It was Sunday afternoon. You ordered burgers and fried chicken for lunch. The said lunch was done and the plates, washed. So Mingyu and you decided to watch a movie, the one that you had watched several times but never got bored of. It was your favourite ‘cause it had a happy ending(and because the male lead gave off strong Mingyu vibes). But you’d never tell him that.

You were sitting on the couch with your boyfriend’s head on your lap when you noticed that he was falling asleep.

‘Mingyu, you can go take a nap in the bedroom. That’ll be more comfortable, baby.’

‘Hmmm…no, let’s finish this movie.’

‘We know the ending, right. If you’re tired you should sleep for a while.’

‘I’m not tired, lovie. I get sleepy around you ‘cause I’m very comfortable with you.’, he said in a low voice, ‘You know, I read this somewhere that if you always feel sleepy around someone, that’s probably because you feel safe around them. And I realised that I’ve slept several times in your lap and while cuddling with you.’

You were speechless when he said that. Finally after a good minute of taking his words in, you couldn’t help but peck him on the forehead. That kiss was your response to his revelation. He simply took your hand in his and placed it on his cheek while he dozed off again.

His ability to say the most heartwarming things so casually was so endearing to you.

———————————————————————————

You were on a trip to the beach with Mingyu. Both of you loved the beach. It was your favourite place to go to even with a slight rise in the temperature. It was almost an hour later of being in the water and swimming when you caught sight of Mingyu standing at a distance where his feet would easily touch the land and he was facing the other side. You swam closer to him to see what he was up to. As you reached behind him, you could hear him chuckling softly. ‘What’re you laughing at?’, you asked him.

‘Oh baby, I’ll show you something, okay? Just do as I say.’

You nodded and looked up at him in anticipation after his instruction.

‘Okay, put your palms under the water and do a ‘thumbs up’ sign but only your thumbs should be seen outside the water.’

‘Umm, I don’t know what it’s gonna do, baby. I don’t get it.’, you said, confused.

‘Just do it for me, lovie.’

You did as he said, only keeping your thumbs out of the water. Looking at your thumbs that were now wrinkly from being in the water for too long, Mingyu burst into giggles. You watched him as he let out his cute, high-pitched giggles but you were still so confused. How was this funny to him?

Clearly he read the confused look on your face and spoke up, ‘I find silly things like this funny.’, as he continued to giggle while looking at your thumbs.

Maybe you’ll never understand the fun part in your wrinkly thumbs. And you don’t want to, as long as you can make Mingyu giggle. Even if it means doing several such silly tricks. Because Mingyu’s laughter was always so endearing.

#seventeen x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #idol mingyu x reader #seventeen imagines #mingyu imagines #fanfiction #seventeen fics #mingyu fics #fluff #seventeen #mingyu #kim mingyu

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pet Problems IV

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: The first two kittens go off to a new home

The drive to Eli's house was uncharacteristically quiet.

Usually, Alexia had the radio on or the aux cord but today it was completely silent. She took several steadying breaths as she pulled onto her mother's street.

She parked but didn't get out.

You reached over the gear shift and gently threaded your hand with hers, intertwining your fingers. "Are you okay, Ale?" You asked softly.

She glanced into the backseat, where the cat carrier was waiting.

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie." You squeezed her hand. "It's okay if you're not alright."

She didn't look at you, staring across the road at her mother's house. "They're very little. They could still get hurt."

"Your mother won't let them get hurt," You reminded her," They're more than old enough to leave - probably a little overdue to leave, actually."

"Kiara might miss them." Her argument sounded weak even in her own ears.

"Be honest, baby," You replied," You'll miss them...But it's okay. They're not too far away. I'm sure your mother would let us visit whenever we wanted."

Alexia pouted, blinking tears from her eyes before finally unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

It was a short walk from the car to Eli's house and soon, the doorbell was rung.

Eli, as always, welcomed the pair of you inside.

She hugged you both but it was clear that her attention was elsewhere when Alexia finally relinquished custody of the cat carrier.

It was placed on the floor of the living room, the front unzipped carefully.

A ginger and white mottled head popped out of the opening, followed immediately by another one.

"Oh, hello, babies," Eli cooed softly, reaching out a hand to gently stroke over one of the kittens' ears," Aren't you two all big and strong?"

The second kitten mewed its disapproval at not being touched, meandering closer and rubbing its cheek over Eli's arm.

"They've had all their shots," Alexia offered up weakly, very clearly not as put together as she wanted you to think she was," And they're very playful. Well socialised too."

"Ale," You said softly, reaching out to hold her waist," Eli knows. You told her on the phone yesterday."

Alexia nodded once as her throat bobbed.

She looked away, tears misting in her eyes.

"We should probably get going," You said after an hour or two of supervised kitten play," It's getting late and we've still got kittens at home to feed."

Eli nodded, scooping you up into a hug. "Thank you, chica," She said warmly," I'm sure I'll see you both back here soon." She gave you a pointed look as you both turned to look at Alexia, who had scooped the kittens into her arms and was whispering something to them - looking like she was about to burst into tears at any moment.

"Yeah," You said," I'm sure we'll be back too."

●～●～●～●～

Somehow, Alexia managed to not break down in the car. You knew it was coming though.

You knew it in the way that she drove - white knuckled clutch on the wheel.

You knew it in the way that she walked - the slight hesitation in her steps.

You knew it in the way that her hands shook so much that she dropped the keys and you had to unlock the front door.

As soon as she was in the safety of your home, she broke down in sobs, eyes red-rimmed and broken noises coming from her mouth.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Ale," You said, guiding her to the sofa and into your arms, lying back and softly shushing her.

She buried her head in your chest and openly sobbed.

Nala hopped up onto the sofa, squirming her way into Alexia's arms and licking her nose whenever Ale looked at her. Kiara, unbothered from where she sat across the room, mewed at you insistently until you invited her over - allowing the cat to sit on the armrest behind your head.

Marie joined the three of you as well - ever curious and happy to be involved. She curled up in the crook of Alexia's knees and began to kneed Ale's legs.

The other kittens tumbled around on the floor of the lounge - pouncing and playing with each other. You could see Alexia staring at them, biting her lip to stop herself from breaking down and sobbing again.

"It's alright, Ale," You repeated," Your Mama's gonna take care of those two. We can visit whenever you need. We can even take Marie to visit them, if you want."

Alexia wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, chin still wobbling as she looked up at you. "Promise?"

"I promise."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

[ravenna-reid]

Black Vixen & Ballet

Jason Todd x Ex-Ballerina Vigilante Reader

Another ballet show held in the heart of Gotham City. The opulent building was filled with the rich and conceited with their glistening jewels, glasses of alcohol and expensive clothing. You stood on the balcony that looked over the entrance and small bar that sat outside the theatre, silently judging and observing them all. Soon, all of the aristocrats that were here drinking and gossiping would file into the theatre and watch the Swan Lake, and pretend that they weren't some of the worst and most corrupt people in Gotham.

Hair cascading down your back and your fitted, satin dress the colour of the midnight sky trailing behind you, you simply held onto your untouched wine glass and watched. Someone's hand suddenly slipped between yours and your glass, smoothly taking it from your hold. Turning to see who was asking for your attention, you just managed to hide your surprised expression. That cologne, those eyes, you recognised it all instantly.

"Mm," He hummed, looking down at your nails as he took a sip from your glass. Claws is what the thugs on the streets were calling them, and it made you laugh. Black, slick and sharp, they were both pretty and lethal. Just like you. "I'd notice those nails anywhere."

His eyes flickered up to look at you, his dark raven hair hanging before them, still a little damp from his shower. He wore an impeccable suit, but it did little to hide how muscular he was.

"You're not still holding a grudge against me, are you?" You asked softly, a smirk on your lips as you took your glass back.

He cocked his head to the side, a disapproving glint passing through those ocean blue eyes.

"You scared me, what was I to do?" You reasoned, pretending to be upset and wearing your best, fake saddened expression. Jason moved behind you until he was at your other side, looking down at the bustling audience below.

"So is that what you do?" He began, "Hit first and ask questions later?"

"I guess I've been hanging around you for too long." You smiled, and he failed to suppress his own smile. Your eyes trailed down his tie to where his stomach was, and you could imagine the claw marks you had accidentally left behind.

"I did apologise." You replied, voice smooth like wine. It did something to Jason. Made him both love sick and feral. Weak at the knees and desperate.

Yes, you had apologised. You remembered that night and how he hesitantly closed the space between the both of you. How you had held your hand over the scratch marks to try and ease the pain. The look in his eyes and the thrumming in your chest. The cool breeze. The dark alley way with its broken streetlights. You had quietly explained to him what you were doing, and he gave you a curt warning to stay safe. Then he had pulled his hood back over his head and disappeared as quickly as he came.

Glasses clinking and fake laughter rippled through out the warmly lit room. He leant down on the railing and you couldn't help but take note of how close the two of you were. Just centimetres away from arms brushing against each other. So close yet so far away.

"Reminiscing?" He asked looking over at you, voice like whiskey on ice. You forgot that he knew you were once the foremost ballerina in Gotham. The night that changed it all being the night you performed as the Black Swan. Strong, elegant, skilled and striking. You were a dazzling star. Your hair was in a slicked back bun, make-up beautiful and fierce, adorned in black lace. He once mentioned how he had been there that night, much to your surprise, leaving out that he'd been forced to go by Bruce and Dick for socialising reasons. He thought you were the most stunning girl he'd seen, but soon realised you were too good for him.

You hummed in response, and he wondered how you went from an esteemed Ballerina to a feared Vigilante. From the Black Swan to being called the Black Vixen. You suddenly turned, leaning your back on the cool, gilded railing and turning to him. He watched as your silky hair moved against your shoulder. He swallowed hard, the intense fluttering continuing in his chest.

"If you're here for Dickinson..." you began, gliding closer towards him so no one else could hear you, "You better be smart about it. His thugs are everywhere."

His head instinctively moved closer to yours. How did you know about Dickinson? How did you know that was Jason's latest target? "What do you know?"

"Not enough." Your perfume flooded his senses, his eyes trailing from the end of your black dress back up to your eyes.

"You're here on a mission?"

Turning from him, you shrugged.

"Are you armed?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

Without meaning to, he grabbed hold of your arm. His grip gentle yet demanding. "Listen, you can't mess with these guys-"

You fiercely turned to face him again. "Don't you think I know that?"

You were both back in that alley way, looking at each other like you'd die for each other. So much longing. So much yearning.

"Jason!" Your eyes turned to another boy, hair dark and eyes bright like his, as he made his way over. Jason. It was nice to finally put a name to the face. The boy gave you a large smile before focusing on Jason with a sly smirk. "Well, who is this?"

Jason let go of your arm as he turned to his brother and cursed his timing under his breath. "She's a...a friend. She used to be a ballerina." Jason turned back to face you, but found an empty space instead.

"Huh," Dick chuckled. "Looks like she needed an excuse to quickly ditch you. Glad I could help her out." His laugh rang in Jason's ears, his arm falling around Jason's shoulders in a joking manner.

Jason shot his brother a cold look before searching the area for you. But you were no where to be found.

"Black Vixen...what are you up to?"

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood imagine #red hood x fem!reader #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson #nightwing

[vcnillazelda]

alarm

bradley bradshaw x reader

summary: you call bradley on a fateful night.

tags: established relationship, house burglars, protective! bradley, bradley’s such a good bf, he’s bf material, mild angst, happy ending

✞———————❖———————✞

you turn off the tv; bored of the news of two burglars terrorising the area. the chances of it happening to your street was one in a million. stretching, you make sure the front door is still unlocked so bradley wasn’t locked out for the night; he was out drinking with his friends. you know jake, bob and natasha were there, yet you weren’t too sure if mav and some others went too. it wouldn’t be surprising if bradley invited them, he liked socialising with his squadron outside of work.

walking through to the bedroom, you turn on your bedside lamp, settling down as your new puppy, arno, settles back down on his bed. he was a pup you and bradley adopted from the local shelter, hes a dachshund pup, and had a tiny wheelchair for his back legs. the second you saw him you begged bradley to get him. bradley agreed as long as he got to name him, which you agreed to; so he chose arno for its meaning, eagle. you should of known he would of chosen something to do with flight.

arno let’s out a soft snort, sleepy eyes staring at you as you smile. “c’mere, arnie.” you pat the side of the bed, watching the puppy get up, waddling over as his little wheelchair squeaks a little. you giggle, scratching behind the tiny dog’s ears. a noise interrupts, and you look over to the door. the front door closes and heavy footsteps wander through the house. you smile, assuming rooster was home and would come join you, then a second pair of footsteps grows closer as an unfamiliar voice mutters a few words. you panic, grabbing arno and your phone, hiding away in the closet. you curse yourself as you realise the lamp is still on and you probably couldn’t risk going back out in case the stranger came in. your hands tremble as you cradle arno close, who licks at your fingers and neck in an almost comforting way. with your other shaking hand, you call bradley, making sure your phones on silent.

-

bradley laughs, putting his nearly empty glass down. he hadn’t drank much, so he was definitely coherent as he listens to natasha’s story. his phone rings in his pocket, and he excuses himself from the table when he realises it’s you. his teammates smile at him understandingly, and he ignores jake’s little taunt stating “he’s in trouble” to the others. “baby? what’s wrong, it’s late.” bradley asks, making his way to the door so he could hear you better. he hears a soft hiccup and his worry increases. “baby? i can’t hear you, are you okay?” he asks again, and this time he presses a hand to his other ear as he walks outside. “bradley, are you home??” you ask, voice trembling. “no, baby i’m still at the bar. what’s wrong?” bradley glances back to his friends who are all chatting. “there’s people in the house, bradley i’m scared..!” you whisper yell, breaths hitching. “what?! are you hiding? are you safe? do they know you’re there?” he asks desperately, running back inside to grab his jacket. the group all glance up curiously. “just stay there, baby i’m coming okay?” he tells you, trying to reassure you as he hears you weep a little. “what’s wrong?” natasha asks, and bradley briefly pulls away. “emergency.” he states simply, not bothering to say goodbye properly as he runs from the bar.

bradley runs five blocks to get there, not bothering to hang up so you could probably hear him running, he’s out of breath and his chest burns. sure enough, the front doors open a crack and his stomach feels like lead. he hangs up, entering the home with confidence. he spots a silhouette in the hallway, shouting out to them. the intruder peers around the door, eyes wide with surprise. “get outta here!” bradley snaps, storming forward. the burglar dodges, running straight out the house with whatever he had grabbed. the second your scream meets his ears, bradley runs to the bedroom, bursting through the door. the second burglar is pulling you from the closet, and in the struggle you drop your phone. bradley catches a glance of an ongoing call with 911, and relaxes. he focuses on the stranger, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him away from you, shoving him to the floor. bradley, blinded with rage of the idea of the person hurting you, he lands punch after punch on the guy; who wails and tries to scramble away. the sound of you crying makes him stop, not to mention the guy had gone limp and he didn’t want to kill him.

“baby, c’mere, it’s okay.” he whispers, carefully wrapping his arms around you as you cradle arno close. “i’m here, baby girl.” bradley tells you, as you wrap an arm around him, still holding your puppy. pulling away suddenly, you grab your phone, standing carefully on shaky knees with bradley’s help. “i’m here..” you tell the operator, following your boyfriend out of the house. “everything’s fine. my boyfriend is here; i’m okay.” you state, sitting on the wall outside of your home; shivering a little in the cold air. bradley drapes his jacket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms as arno wiggles to get out of your grasp. you carefully put arno down on the wall, keeping a hand on his side so he didn’t wander nor fall. “they want to talk to you brad.” you mutter, offering your phone.

bradley nods, taking the phone. “hello?” he greets, and the operator immediately responds. “hello, sir. are you bradley?” she asks, and he nods a bit stupidly considering she couldn’t see him. “yeah, i’m bradley.” he replies, and he hears some typing. “can you confirm what happened tonight?” the operator asks, and he subconsciously wraps his arm around you when you rub at your watery eyes, rubbing your arm to soothe you. “yeah, of course. i was at the bar with some of my colleagues when i got a call about 10 to maybe 15 minutes ago from my girlfriend saying there were people inside our house, i came home and scared one off; the other is knocked out in our bedroom.” he explains, watching arno sniff around the edge of the wall. “how did you get home?” she asks, and he nods again. “i ran. it’s about five blocks from the bar. i didn’t drink much so it wasn’t too bad.” bradley recounts how many drinks he had, he only had a whiskey and coke and two shots.

you sniffle a little, leaning into bradley as he continues to answer the operator’s question. your body absorbs his warmth, yet you still shiver under his jacket. his arm tightens around your shoulders, squeezing you closer. sirens signal the police’s arrival, and he’s able to hang up now that the operator’s job was done. “c’mere, pumpkin i’ve got you. are you hurt?” bradley asks, cradling your tear-stained face. “no..” you mumble, cuddling into his chest. “i’m so glad you’re here.” you sniffle. bradley nods. “i’ll always be here for you, baby girl. always.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun fluff #top gun fic #top gun x you #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #rooster top gun #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #// 🍨 vcnillazelda #// 🍨 top gun: maverick

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 9 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - You and Spencer embark on a night on the town and things grow awkward fast when you met a handsome stranger. Spencer’s jealousy leaves him determined to show what he’s capable of. But even that doesn’t go quite to plan.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, smoking, making out, swearing, jealous Spencer, tears, mild argument, erectile issues, fingering, titty sucking, coming untouched, coming in pants, vomit, build up to dissociation.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 9 - A Cowboys Cowgirl

Spencer sat on the porch as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, jabbing his finger at the screen of his new phone. It had no buttons, just a large touchscreen. It unlocked by reading his face and didn’t have the same kind of tactile quality he was used to in a phone. 

Unfortunately, they simply didn’t make devices like his old one and he’d had to settle for this iPhone, for which he had no idea how to use. 

You’d somehow managed to sort it so it could keep the same number and magically transferred all of his existing contacts onto it. It all went over Spencer’s head and he stopped questioning it. 

Now he was attempting to send Garcia a text message after receiving one from her, positively disbelieving he had spoken to both Luke and Morgan but wouldn’t answer her calls. 

It took him nearly twenty minutes to write a reply, his fingers not dexterous enough to figure out the touch screen keyboard. As he finally corrected all of the spelling mistakes and hit send, he heard the door to your lodge open. 

He was hesitant to go along with you to the 11th Street Bar for multiple reasons. For starters, bars were not fun when sober, not that he’d ever particularly enjoyed them when he did drink either. Then there was the fact that in two years he’d never interacted with these people and according to you they already thought him rude. He didn’t like socialising, why could no one understand that? 

He pushed himself up from the chair, his knee aching slightly but the pain was lessening. You locked the door to the lodge before gliding down the stairs and down the path until you were closing in on him.

It was only when you were in front of him that he could fully appreciate you and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he took you in. You wore a floral, off the shoulder dress which stopped at your knees and showed more skin than he ever dreamed of seeing. Pairing it with your red riding boots and you looked almost like a local, the epitome of a cowgirl.

You also looked absolutely ravishing. Spencer’s raging heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to show you exactly how divine he thought you looked. But his slack jaw and wide eyes said enough and you blanched a little, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You scuffed your boot in the dirt. “Never seen a genu-wine cowgirl before?” You impersonated a southern drawl. 

“I…I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just…you look…jeez Y/N.” 

You giggled at his inability to form a coherent sentence. You had rendered him speechless. 

“Well you know, I want to fit in around these parts.” You swung your hips side to side, the dress billowing around you as you did so. “Don’t look so bad yourself, stud.” 

Spencer felt his cheeks flush red, the heat quickly spreading down his neck. He still wore his black jeans, the ones he’d noticed you checking him out in yesterday. He also dusted off an old button down from back in his BAU days, in a dark purple colour. 

He tucked it into his jeans and left the top few buttons undone. He spent a long time taming his hair and forewent a stetson once he was happy with how it looked. 

“Uh, thanks.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. 

“Gonna make being friends with you real hard if you keep looking at me like that.” You smirked at him, still impersonating that thick Texas twang. 

“Just get in the car, okay?” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your outfit made him quiver. 

You hid your amusement by turning towards the car, Spencer following behind. You paused at the driver’s door.

“Just gotta grab something from the trunk, jump in.” You called over the hood and Spencer nodded before cautiously sliding into the passenger’s seat. 

Once he closed his door you sidled around to the trunk and opened it. You glanced up through the car to make sure he wasn’t looking before you lifted the trunk lining.

Hidden away in the empty shell that had once held a spare tyre was a black duffle bag. You quickly unzipped, revealing the wads and wads of bills concealed inside. You grabbed a couple of twenties and folded them, stuffed them in the side of your left boot before zipping the bag and secreting it back away under the trunk lining. 

Soon you were hurrying around to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened. 

***

The discomfort distended to every single one of his nerve endings the moment the two of you stepped inside the 11th Street Bar. The place was packed and all eyes were instantly on you. 

As you sauntered inside you were met by wolf whistles and catcalls and it made Spencer feel incredibly protective of you even though it wasn’t his place. 

He watched their hungry gazes linger on your bare legs and bare shoulders and move onto your clothed breasts and backside. 

It made a pit form in his chest, more so when you sent smiles and winks across the room in various directions. 

He wanted to blanket you, both physically and metaphorically. He wanted those animals to stop staring at you this way. He wanted you to stop enjoying the attention so much. 

He followed you like a stray dog towards the bar, where you leaned on the counter, no doubt giving the balding bartender an eyeful of your cleavage.

“Well looky here, if it ain’t Miss Lizzie come back to join us.” The old man hissed as he spoke. “Lookin’ mighty fine tonight if I do say so too.” 

“What, this old thing?” You glanced down at your dress before waving a dismissive hand at him. 

Spencer felt more out of place than he ever had done in his life. This was quite honestly the last place he ever wanted to be. 

Sensing the presence hovering behind you, the bartenders gaze lifted over your head to where Spencer awkwardly stood.

“And if it isn’t Cosmo, gracing us with his presence.” The older man scoffed. “Nice of you to finally show your face round here.”

Spencer swallowed, chewing on his lip. 

“His names, Spencer and be nice.” You clucked. “Spencer, this is Cole.” 

“What can I get ya missy?” Cole ignored the introduction and looked back at you. “No more of my home brew I hope.” 

“Definitely not.” You shook your head. “I will take a shot of tequila and a beer though.” 

“What’ll you have, Cosmo?” His eyes shot back up to Spencer. 

“Uh, a ginger ale?” He posed it as a question. 

Cole pulled a face of disdain and shook his head. 

“Ain’t ever met a sober cowboy in all my life.” Cole muttered, turning away to get your drinks. 

You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. 

“I hate it here.” He whined. “Can’t we just go home and you can drink that bottle of scotch?” 

“I want to stay. I like it here. You can go if you want.” You shrugged, turning back to face the bar. 

Turning your back on him. You were turning your back on him.

“You think I’m going to leave you here with all these creeps staring at you?” He moved closer to you, his chest pressed into your back and he spoke against the shell of your ear. “There is not a man in this bar who doesn’t want to sleep with you.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed, not turning back to him. “Might just be some guys lucky night then.” 

Spencer felt the pit in his stomach grow larger, his heart practically falling into the open chasm. He put his hand on your shoulder again, skin against skin, and spun you slightly roughly back to look at him.

“Don’t make jokes like that.” He growled. 

“Who’s joking?” You shook him off with a frown of impatience. “Just because you don’t want to bed me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t, Cosmo.” 

Spencer’s mouth fell open, somewhat hurt at your crude summation of your fleeting relationship. Is that really what you thought? Did you really believe he didn’t want to? If only it were that simple.

He wished he didn’t want you so much. It would be far easier for him to not want you with a white hot desire. It had nothing to do with not wanting you, he just couldn’t have you. Not in that way. 

When he couldn’t form any words of response, you spoke again, folding your arms over your chest.

“We’re just friends, Spencer. You made that perfectly clear. So as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I want. You wanna hang around? Fine. You wanna go home? Also fine. But I’m staying.” You spat, once again turning your back on him as Cole brought your drinks back over. 

You were quick to down the tequila before thanking him with a flirtatious smile and paying him with a bill from inside your boot. You practically shoved Spencer’s ginger ale into his hand before brushing past him with your beer. 

Cole was looking at him, an odd expression on his features. Spencer felt uncomfortable under his gaze. 

“Girl’s a heartbreaker.” Cole shrugged after a while. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Careful how you tread there.” 

With those sage words, Cole was walking away to serve his next customer, leaving Spencer reeling. 

***

Two hours later Spencer had procured a table for himself but you wouldn’t stay still long enough to join him. The more tequila you drank, the more energy you seemed to have and you appeared to talk to everyone in the bar but him. 

He was still nursing the same ginger ale, feeling much like a spare part. He deliberately missed two calls from Luke, staring at the device as it rang in his hand. He’d hoped after they spoke yesterday Luke would stop with the incessant phone calls. Spencer had half a mind to block his number. He didn’t want it to come to that, but something had to give. 

He ignored his phone after a while and watched the way you worked the room. The whole bar was eating out of the palm of your hand, hanging off you every word. You were undeniably in your element. 

And it only went to further Spencer’s belief that the two of you were from completely different worlds. 

***

You lit a cigarette and meandered out the back of the bar for some fresh air, which you didn’t miss the irony of. The large rear garden of the 11th Street establishment was about five times the size of the inside, with a stage at one end and even an outside bar. 

You leaned up against the nearest wall, the tequila pulsing through your veins and offering you that blissful tipsy sensation. You sucked on the cigarette and observed the goings on around you. 

You’d managed to hide yourself in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for you in this little backwoods town. You’d taken all the necessary precautions, didn’t leave a paper trail. 

The car parked outside was the fourth you’d stolen on your journey. Take one, drive it for a distance, abandon it and then find another far enough away from the first they wouldn’t be tied together. 

You’d picked up this car just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. You’d broken into a junkyard for this particular vehicle as it was likely they may never notice it was missing. You changed the plates just in case. 

The money in the trunk had been procured from your mother’s safe which not even her scumbag second husband knew about. She’d kept the nest egg of cash ever since you were a little girl and only you knew the combination.

“It’s for a rainy day, Y/N. One day I won’t be around anymore and I want to make sure you have everything you could ever need.” 

It was as though she’d envisioned something bad happening to her. When she married the second time, he’d convinced her to put all of her savings into a bank account under his name effectively meaning you’d never see a dime. 

But he didn’t know about the safe. 

You’d taken a bunch of your late mother’s clothes too, brought a few more items with the cash, including the dress you wore now. Only ever cash, couldn’t leave a trail. 

Bandera might not have been your first choice of hideout but you couldn’t deny it had its perks, and you were certain no one would ever find you here. 

And if they did, you would simply run again. 

You took another drag on the cigarette as a tall, dark and handsome stranger headed your way. Although on closer inspection he wasn’t entirely a stranger to you. 

The man wore all blue denim, a large eagle on his belt buckle, bolo tie and black stetson. He was smiling at you as he approached. 

“Hey there little lady,” he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You work at Busbees? I think I saw you there yesterday.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Oh, you’re the big tipper.” He chuckled. “I never forget a big tipper. Or a pretty face.” 

“Elizabeth.” You held out your hand.

“Charmed,” he took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Grant.” 

Without warning he plucked your cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag on it. He sucked in the smoke and spoke again as he exhaled it.

“Things’ll kill ya.” He chuckled. 

“Live fast, die young.” You shrugged. 

“Leave a good lookin’ corpse?” He laughed too, a deep, vibrating sound.

“Certainly appealing.” You agreed.

He took another drag on the cigarette before placing it back between your lips. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he did so. It lingered there for a moment or two, while you took your own drag.

Removing it from your mouth, you held it between your fingers as you blew smoke over his head. You leaned further back against the wall, puffing your chest out. He took a step closer to you and you didn’t mind at all. 

You caught the scent of a musky cologne as he drew closer. 

“I don’t mean to forward ma’am but you are hotter than a firecracker that’s been lit at both ends.” His lip quipped into a smirk. 

You shuddered, the hunger in his eyes causing your legs to shake. You inhaled sharply as his hand came to rest on your cheek. 

“Imma kiss you now, if that’s okay with you, little lady?” 

You whimpered but couldn’t speak, so instead you nodded. Grant chuckled as he leaned in closer. His lips soon crashed against yours, his whole body pinning you to the wall. 

You dropped the forgotten cigarette on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you fiercely, deeply. Your legs trembled at the sensation. 

His hand that wasn’t on your face ran up your thigh and you moaned into his lips. And Spencer Reid was the furthest thing from your mind. 

***

Spencer finally decided he’d had enough when two old twins who called themselves Boone and Butch invited themselves to sit with him. They proceeded to mock him on everything from his clothes, his hair, his accent, even his ‘city boy good looks’. He’d eventually excused himself to go in search of you. 

The bar was small and it only took a few minutes to ascertain you weren’t inside. He pushed his way out the back door and breathed in the fresh air. It took only moments to find you, pressed up against a wall by another body who was kissing you with force.

One hand was on your thigh, beneath your dress and Spencer swore his blood froze in his veins. His brain must have short circuited because normally he wouldn’t have been so bold as to square up to a man of his size, but he found himself marching over and grabbing the large shoulder of the man kissing you and tugging him backwards.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer raised his voice, glaring at you and your kiss swollen lips. 

You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, chest heaving. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” You spat. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“Spencer?” The man spoke up, looking between you and him in heavy confusion. 

Spencer tensed, slowly turning back to face the man whose lips were equally as puffy as yours. He hadn’t recognised him by the back of his head and now he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“G-Grant?” Spencer croaked.

“You know each other?” You took a step away from the wall. “I didn’t think you had any friends around here?” 

“We’re not friends.” Grant spat, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “How do you know each other?”

“I asked first.” You cocked your head to the side. 

Spencer was unable to speak, paralysed by the unfortunate situation he had found himself in.

“He asked me on a date and stood me up.” Grant hissed. 

“Oh…oh.” You looked between both men. “Well this is sufficiently awkward. Looks like we have the same taste in men, Spence.” 

Spencer reddened, averting his gaze to the floor and wanting to crawl into a dark crevice somewhere and never come out. 

“Are you two…?” Grant frowned at the two of you. 

“Friends.” You finished for him. “Isn’t that right, Spencer. We’re just friends. Which is why you had no right to march over here and tear us apart.” 

“I really don’t want to be a part of this conversation.” Spencer mumbled to the floor.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you interfered. Why, Spencer? Why did you interrupt us?” You took a step closer to him. 

“Please,” he looked back at you, eyes full of torment. “Please can we not do this here.” 

“I ain’t looking to step on any toes, I didn’t realise y’all were-”

“Friends.” You barked, cutting Grant off. “We’re fucking friends.” 

Without warning you shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders, the sudden touch causing him to flinch. But you didn’t notice it because you were already storming away. Spencer huffed out a breath and dared to glance at Grant who was looking at him in something close to pity. 

“If I were you,” Grant clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, again causing him to recoil. “I’d go after her.”

“Duly noted.” Spencer groaned. “But can I just say…” he trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I should have apologised. I really am sorry for standing you up. I got here and I just couldn’t make it inside. I wanted to, I really did. But, uh, I’m honestly terrible at dating and I freaked myself out. I should have apologised, I wish I had. And I’m sorry.” 

Grant inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not expecting that from him. He let his arms fall to his sides and offered Spencer a melancholy smile.

“You hush your mouth, it's water under the bridge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Listen ‘ere Spencer. There ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit, you get me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Spencer shook his head.

Grant chortled deeply, slapping his palm on his knee while Spencer simply stared at him, brows pinched. 

“Layman's terms: there’s somebody out there for everyone. Don’t you go thinking there ain’t. Whatever it is you been through, ‘cos you have been through somethin’, don’t write yourself off. Go after your lady.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder again and Spencer winced. 

He wanted to argue with Grant but it was completely pointless. Instead he forced a smile and nodded before turning on his heels. 

He made it back out the front of the bar without incident and found you kicking around the dirt with the toe of your boot. 

“You don’t get to do this.” You spat, arms wrapped around your body like a shield. “If you want me you can have me. If you don’t let me go.” 

Spencer shuffled down the front steps, ambling towards you. 

“I really wish it were that simple.” He reached you and cupped your jaw in his good hand, leaning in and resting his forehead against yours. “I want you but I can’t give you everything, there’s a huge part of me I just can’t give you. And you deserve the whole world, Y/N. I want you to have it all. But selfishly I don’t want you to have that with another man.” 

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or do not deserve? Spencer, I didn’t want to kiss that guy. I did it because I wanted a rise out of you. I want you to want me.” You felt tears spring to your eyes. 

“Let me be clear here,” he moved his hand to your cheek. “I have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. This has nothing to do with that.”

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before.” You confessed. “And I barely know anything about you. I don’t care if you can’t tell me your life story, I don’t even care if you don’t want to have sex with me! I just want…I want someone to care.” 

A few tears escaped your eyes and Spencer brushed them away with his thumb. His breath was hot on your face and his forehead was a little sweaty against yours. 

“I do care,” he admitted. “Too much considering I barely know you either. I don’t want you making out with other guys. But it’s unfair of me to ask that of you.” 

“Spencer?” You whispered. 

“Yes, Y/N?” He replied in equally hushed tones. 

“Do you have any kind of proclivity towards me making out with you?” 

He hissed, his body quaking at the mere thought. 

“Right now?” He breathed. “I have an extreme proclivity towards it.” 

And then his lips were on yours, chapped and rough just as you remembered. His tongue was quickly plunging into your mouth and he held you so close as though afraid you would disappear. 

It grew exceptionally heated in a matter of seconds and you wanted to tear all of his clothes off right there in the middle of the street. He guided you back towards your car without breaking the kiss and soon you felt your back pressing against the side of the vehicle. 

When he did end the kiss, his pupils were blown out wide with lust. 

Not another word was shared between you. You handed him the keys silently and you both climbed into the car. In the passenger’s seat you had to clamp your thighs together as a heat spread through you. 

You hoped that by the time you made it back to the ranch he hadn’t let himself overthink this.

***

He tensed up when he invited you into his lodge, hands shaking as he opened the door and closed it behind him. His nerves were written all over his face. 

He slowly moved closer to you, once again cupping your cheek in his hand in such a delicate manner. 

“I want to make you feel good.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over your own. “The way you made me feel the other night.”

You whimpered at the thought, desperate for any kind of pleasure he wanted to bestow upon you. 

“P-please?” You whined as his hand slipped into your hair. 

“I just, uh…you don’t need…I don’t need you to, uh, return the favour? So don’t…” he trailed off, frowning at himself. 

Don’t touch me, you heard the underlying words.

“Okay.” You nodded. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Thank you. I think I just need to…test my boundaries if that makes sense?” He whispered before pressing his lips against you again. 

“Hmm,” you mumbled into his lips. “Boundaries. Sure.” 

He led you towards his bedroom blindly, holding out his casted arm so as not to bump into anything. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots. You did the same. 

He tore his lips away from yours and ran his fingers down the fabric of your dress before stopping at the hem. You nodded, giving him the green light to proceed.

You had to help him remove the garment as he only had the use of one hand. Together you got it over your head before tossing it on the floor. 

He made a whining sound between parted lips when he cast his eyes upon your body, clad only in a pair of lace panties. 

His jaw clenched and you noticed it. You smiled at him, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. You kissed him again and moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt but stopped before you could undo any of them. 

You weren’t sure if he meant he didn’t want you touching him at all and you didn’t want to risk this ending before it could begin so you moved your hands away. 

Spencer led you backwards again and then laid you gently on the bed. He stood over you for a moment, eyes wandering almost lazily up and down your torso. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat to stave off any fears, he started on his own buttons, again not the easiest feat with only one hand. Once undone he dropped the shirt to the floor leaving him in a t-shirt, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove that. 

The bandage still remained snug against his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee. His purple cast started at the crook of his arm, only allowing a sliver of left limb to be revealed to you. 

He did however pop the button on his jeans and shimmy them down his legs. You noticed a matching bandage on his thigh, you could only hazard a guess it was shielding wounds that were created by his own hand. 

You tried not to look too long and let your gaze flick to his tight fitting underwear. There was a slight tenting within, but it was apparent he hadn’t reached full tumescence, maybe not even half. 

His cheeks reddened as he noticed your slightly sad gaze on his crotch and he quickly climbed on top of you and stroked your cheek.

“It’s not you.” He insisted, kissing you again. “I swear to you, it isn’t you. It doesn’t always…do as it should.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you said nothing, opting to kiss him deeper instead. 

He was trying to view it like an experiment without sounding too clinical. He wanted to gauge his boundaries, figure out how far he could push himself without crumbling. And with any luck over time those frontiers might expand to cover more ground. 

His hand wandered your body in a vain attempt to recreate the pleasure you’d given him. His fingers brushed across your collarbones a few times before dipping between your breasts, across your sternum. 

He palmed the swell of your left breast, fingers swiping out to ghost over your hardened peek. You moaned into his lips, bucking your hips against him at the sensation. 

He did it again and elicited much the same reaction before doing the same to your other breast. You hummed into his mouth, writhing beneath him. 

His own hips rutted against your leg and he was certainly getting harder. He didn’t let himself focus on his own arousal though, this was all about you.

And who knows, if he managed to take this step he may be able to take others too. 

His fingers wisped down your torso, hand splaying out across the planes of your stomach. It travelled left towards your hip and his soft touch caused goosebumps to erupt beneath your flesh. 

The fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties, down towards your thigh. He could feel the heat emanating from between your legs and he had to pull back from your lips to let a feral moan escape him. 

He let his fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and you wriggled under him. 

“More.” You whined, the same way he had done to you. 

He kissed you again as he toyed with them, teasing you in a way that he could tell was driving you wild. 

He let his fingers dance between your legs, feeling the soaked material and moaning again. He couldn’t resist any longer, he was desperate to feel you. He also worried if he took too long he might change his mind entirely. 

He pushed the fabric aside and dared let his nimble fingers glide between your folds. He bucked against your leg and moaned into your mouth. He was fully erect now, you could feel it as he grinded against you. 

His lips had slipped from yours in lieu of sucking on your neck, teeth nibbling against your skin. The friction caused by his stubble tingled and stung in the most intoxicating way. 

His fingers brushed back and forth between your legs as though he wanted to collect every tiny drop of your arousal. 

You were whimpering, begging him for more without saying the word. And he must have read your mind because suddenly, with no warning, he plunged two fingers inside of you. 

You mewled at the welcome intrusion, back arching off of the bed and you swore you felt him smirk against your neck. 

His long, nimble digits thrust as deep as he could, until he was completely buried inside of you. He hissed against your neck, unable to remember the last time he’d been inside a woman like this. 

You clenched around his fingers, walls fluttering, tight and pulsing. It was such an unfamiliar yet conversant sensation. It caused a pinching in his stomach, a tightening in his chest. 

He remained still for several moments, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, adjusting the overwhelming feeling that flooded his entire body. 

It was new yet well remembered; he was both a novice and well versed in his craft. 

You wriggled beneath him as he was still for so long you worried he was going to freak himself out. He raised his head from your neck so he could look at you. 

His eyes were brimming with emotions, lips curled into the softest smile. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just a little overwhelmed by how amazing you feel.” 

You cupped his chin and brought him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and mumbling, “more, please?” 

Spencer sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you, driving impossibly deeper inside of you and brushing against your cervix. 

A wanton moaned travelled from your mouth to Spencer’s and your thighs clamped around his hand. 

He withdrew his digits enough so he could plunge back inside of you, gently at first but after a few thrusts he got a little rougher. But judging by the sounds you were making, he was doing something very right. 

He continued with this rhythm, curling his fingers each time he pushed back inside of you, and each time he brushed against you, you shuddered beneath him. 

He started scissoring his fingers, pushing his fingers against your walls and finding it dizzying how your body bent to his will. He was continuously rutting against you, the friction it caused was delirious. 

His lips roamed across your collarbones, travelling further south. When his lips wrapped around your nipple your back arched off of the bed again and you whined. 

He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen bud. He teased a third finger between your legs and your staggered breaths sounded out in delight. 

As he dove three fingers inside your weeping cunt at the same time his teeth grazed your nipple, you howled so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from the stables. 

Spencer smiled to himself around your hardened peak, slightly disbelieving he could make anyone feel this good. 

He pumped three fingers into you, once again feeling the way you stretched around him. It was a heady feeling, and caused his cock to leak with precum. 

The sounds of your arousal as he continued his thrusts filled the room as well as a string of moans from your lips. 

He moved his lips to your neglected nipple and offered it the same treatment as the first. 

Your thighs clamped hard around his hand and you could feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs. Spencer was relentless in his ministrations, pitching in and out of you, stretching you and curling his fingers, ensuring to hit your sweet spot over and over again. 

He was rocking on top of you, his hardened member grinding against your leg. You could feel the wet patch forming in the front of his boxers and feel your own stomach starting to coil. 

You cautiously cupped his jaw, extracting his lips from their venture. When he looked at you his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen. 

You drew him by the chin for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, teeth bumping together as tongues fought to explore each other's mouths. 

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, hoping that meant you were as close as he was. He continued to kiss you and plunge deeper, deeper, until you were trembling beneath him. 

“C-close…” you stuttered against his lips. “S-so close.” 

He moaned at the mere idea of making you come, increasing his speed with his thrusts, desperate to give you the pleasure you’d so easily given him. 

All at once the cords holding you both together snapped. With a final shuddering breath as you nibbled Spencer’s bottom lip, your walls tightened around his fingers as you gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name under your breath as you came undone. The sound of his name on your tongue and the feeling of you coming around his digits pushed him over the edge. 

Still rocking against you, he came with a stifled moan, burying his head into the crook of your neck and breathing frantically. 

He withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss of contact but you wrapped your arms around him all the same. 

Your hearts beat erratically against one another’s while you fought to catch your breaths.

All at once, Spencer came unravelled. With his eyes closed he could see them, hear them. 

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

He’d pushed too far. The boundaries he’d been trying to test were coming crumbling down around him. 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to…

Oh fuck.

“Fuck,” he suddenly pushed himself up and rolled off the bed, ignoring the twang in his knee as he got to his feet. “Gonna…fuck I’m so sorry.” 

You watched him run to the bathroom through bleary eyes. He slammed the door closed behind himself and seconds later the sound of vomit hitting porcelain filled your ears along with Spencer’s retches. 

You slowly pushed yourself up, the post orgasm haze still heavy and you blinked several times.

“Uh,” you croaked. “Are you okay?” 

You were met with another horrid gagging sound. 

“I’m so sorry.” His shaky voice followed through the door. “This isn’t…it’s not you.” 

“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” You stood up on trembling legs and found your dress on the floor before throwing it back on. 

“I swear it’s not…I’m so sorry. I pushed too far, I wasn’t ready.” He was sobbing, choking. 

You rolled your lip between your teeth as tears welled behind your own eyes.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should go.” You swallowed.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Inside the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl, Spencer heard your footsteps get further away and then he heard the door. 

Tears streamed down his face and the wet patch in his boxers made his stomach turn again. He retched once, twice and then narrowly managed to turn his head back over the toilet before he vomited again. 

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

“I’m not whole.” He sobbed into the toilet, emptying his entire stomach contents. “I’m never going to be whole again.” 

He wailed, crying until his eyes were sore and he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. He vomited until there was nothing left to come up. 

His whole body shook violently as he drew his legs to his body, ignoring the stickiness in his pants and the pain it caused his knee. He wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. 

The tears wouldn’t stop, they just kept coming. He snivelled and sobbed loudly and fitfully. His temples started to throb and a near blinding headache came out of nowhere. 

His vision grew hazier around the edges before it darkened. He’d been so focused on other variables he didn’t feel the rising anger in his chest. 

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. And it wasn’t at all a surprise when he awoke covered in blood once again. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[writinginthetwilight]

It started on the stairs. Part 2.

Eddie Munson x Awkward!Neighbour!Reader.

Chapter warnings: again not a lot, fluff, fem reader, awkwardness, social anxiety, readers a little bit of a mess. But aren't we all?

Author note: Thank you for all the love on the first part, there will be one more coming tomorrow or Christmas day.

Part 1 Part 3. Masterlist

You meet again two days later, leaving in your usual state of disarray for coffee with a friend whom you'd cancelled on one too many times. You tug the sundress down around you, two years old, a little snug and threadbear but all your other summer clothes needed to be washed so it would have to do.

He was walking in as you were walking out

His unruly hair was now tamed by a low bun, a makeshift motor head tank cut low under his arms, tattooed ribs exposed and headphones planted firmly over his ears.

It made your mouth run dry.

Singing softly to himself he hadn't looked at you yet, if you can just slip past without being noticed.

He glances up and there's a beat before recognition has him grinning at you all dimples and teeth and fuck, that smile.

He silently holds up the two bags you had given him now full of food as he nears you and you smile dopely at him giving him a double thumbs up as he passes, cringing as soon as he's gone.

You drown your sorrows in lattes and bagels as you retell the whole situation to your friend, she assures you it really didn't sound that bad. But the interaction still haunts you for the rest of the day and you fantasise that you'd said something quick and witty that made him blush, instead of acting like an enthusiastic parent on the sidelines at a little league game.

Why am I like this?

But as weeks went on it became almost routine, your schedules meaning you were both leaving or coming home at similar times a few days a week, and the conversations got easier as you picked up fragments of each other's lives.

He's from Indiana. Works as a mechanic. This is the first time he has left the state. He has appalling taste in breakfast cereal, but good taste in music. He throws his head back when he laughs. He has a really nice neck.

Then he just started calling on you on his way out. Just stood at your door in a faded black hoody, curls poking out under a beanie, looking ridiculously adorable, like it was nothing. He knew you were at work today so why not, around a week later he starts making coffee for you, just the way you'd mentioned you liked it the day before. So obviously you had started buying pastries from the bakery he told you about a few streets over.

You wake a little early those mornings, put a little extra effort into your morning routine than you usually would and find yourself, more than you would like to admit, ready early and waiting anxiously for him to arrive. Counting to five after he knocks before opening the door, in a lacklustre attempt to preserve some dignity.

But it was fun, and every time you squeezed your eyes shut when something came out wrong or laughed too hard at your own joke he would only look at you with those stupid big eyes and bump your shoulder or laugh harder. He made it feel okay and helped you settle back into the now instead of inside your head. All the way until you would part at the end of the street and off to your respective lives.

As leaves fall you relish in the change of season, the summer heat always meaning the obligation to be out and socialising was ever-present. But as the nights drew in it was your introverted time to shine, nestled down with multitudes of throws and knitwear, dove into books and hobbies that had been neglected and by Halloween, you had set up camp.

A near perfect yearly routine, which has you sitting in soft clothes, a bowl of Halloween candy in your lap and a joint freshly extinguished. Feeling every muscle in your body tense and relax as you stretch your sock clad feet up onto the coffee table and hum contently. Ready to fall asleep before you've even made it halfway through the stack of various horror movies you have accumulated over the years.

It was ambient and quiet the sound of the TV at a low murmur and the candles you'd lit flicker and dance over the walls as you watched the screen, mindlessly stuffing candy into you're mouth. You can see Micheal Myers hovering in the doorway behind Jamie Lee Curtis, the music reaching a crescendo when there's a quick knock at the door.

You almost throw the bowl of candy halfway across your apartment and sit bolt upright staring bewildered at it.

Picking up your snacks you wait for a moment before the knocking comes again and you slowly rise apprehensively walking towards it and looking through the spy hole.

Eddie stands shifting from foot to foot fiddling with his rings and your stomach almost falls out your ass. You spin, searching around for nothing in particular in a dazed panic before peering through and looking again to see him leaving.

You were swinging the door open before your mind could object

“Hey.” you try to act cool, casual and he turns eyeing you for a moment before a shit eating grin spreads on his face, arms crossing and eyes squinting.

“Do we get many trick-or-treaters?”

You look down at the bowl of candy and back at him.

“Occasionally.” You lie, a grand total of four people ever having knocked on your door and all were well past an appropriate age. “What do you need Eddie?

His face slackens, arms falling by his sides as you stare at him “Uh I.-”

Your eyes drift over his shoulder to your neighbour Sue in all her purple rinse glory shuffling down the hall and the realisation of the very distinct smell of weed that was likely drifting out your open door has you grabbing him by his arm.

“Want to come in?”

He laughs on a breath and it makes your heart stutter stopping just short of the threshold. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, no. I mean, yeah I'll come in”

You all but push him through following behind and quickly bolting the door. You lean against it for a moment and walk down the short entranceway to find him standing further into the living room.

Deep shadows and candlelight run over him and you can't help but stare. He looks like a dream you've tried to remember after waking. Like you'll blink and he'll be gone.

“Cosy," he nods, looking to you, face soft.

You look around broken from your revere at the sight of your cluttered home. “Yeah, sorry it's a bit of a mess.” you try and wander as inconspicuously as possible to the pile of clothes at the the entranceway to your bedroom, ugly off-white underwear still on the top from where you'd freed yourself of their constraints earlier.

He snorts "You should see mine.” he smiles as he eyes the knick-knacks and frames that line your shelves walking over to inspect them and you hurl the dirty clothes into your room.

He turns as the door clicks closed and there's a pause, your brains too locked in on how you even got yourself in this situation to come up with any words and on any other occasion you might have tried to tidy away and tone down the evidence of yourself that surrounds you but he's already here.

"Movie night?" He says pushing his hands into his pockets and pressing his lips into a thin smile.

“Yeah, kind of a tradition." He nods looking over at the TV still playing and the lack of conversation is making your brain itch.

"I'm sorry for like, making you come in and shoving you in the door, Sue was coming and well the smell.” your limbs are heavy as you gesture around, throat dry and you blink slowly at him. If you were more sober you'd maybe read the flicker of a look he gives you as disappointed but instead, you read it as confusion.

“Because I'm high.”

He laughs loudly at that, “No?” he says all faux shock and dramatics and you swat at him as you pad over to the couch and plop down, he remains standing and you look over at him as he chews his lip watching the screen.

“Horror fan?” You ask, holding up the empty VHS case and he smiles down at you.

"I'm somewhat of a connoisseur." he seats himself heavily down on the other end and makes grabby hands at your stack of movies, shuffling through your wares as he kicks off his shoes, socked feet joining yours on the coffee table, your face scrunches at the toe poking out.

This is possibly a mistake, a beautiful one, but a mistake nonetheless, because it's seemingly all you both needed to start dropping by each other's more often

Late night smokes, takeout and movie marathons.

Flirting that makes you hide your face and stares that hold a little too long.

Midnight talks about home.

#my writing #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x you #fluff #awkward reader

[youcancallmeelle]

We’ve got one thing in common, it’s this tongue of mine…

A prequel to She’s got a boyfriend anyway…

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Smoking of cigarettes, semi public sexual acts, oral sex (f&m receiving), blow job, mention of body hair & hair removal, cunnilingus (Joel is the king of eating pussy), nipple play (Joel likes boobs idk), mention of ovulation, sneaking around, mention of Ellie.

Summary: Joel seeks you out just like he’s always done and you’re thrilled, interrupted work break be damned. Or

Two clearly in love people fool around behind The Tipsy Bison.

AO3

Read below…

A Friday night is always particularly rowdy at The Tipsy Bison, with a larger crowd pouring in after working the stores on main street or serving dinner at the dining hall.

You’ve been on your feet for what feels like hours, making regular trips out into the seating area to collect empty glasses and bowls that house dried fruit and nuts, then washing and refilling those glasses and topping up the bar snacks.

Bar work is probably your least favourite on your work rotation, the only good thing is the socialising.

When Darius comes in to take over from Seth, the resident grump, he shoots you a sympathetic glance when he sees you standing against the wall, rubbing your lower back tiredly.

“Go for a break.” He orders, nodding towards the back doors.

“You sure you can manage for twenty minutes? It’s only gonna get busier.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Go on, Seth is an asshole for keeping you here while he probably took multiple breaks.” He shakes his head, it’s true, in the time you and Seth had both been on shift, he’d taken three smoke breaks. “Here, for your troubles.” Darius pulls the rolled cigarette he’d had resting behind his ear and holds it out for you.

“Thanks.” You beam, taking it. “See you soon.” You promise, hastily making your exit through the back and out the fire escape door.

The door swings open and shuts with a ear piercing wail, the hinges are desperate to be oiled and you expect you’ll end up doing it instead of Seth or Darius. It’s unsurprising that men are still useless even after the outbreak, if you want a job doing right then do it yourself.

You wander down the alley, kicking up gravel as you go before slinking around the back and reaching for the resident shared lighter on the top of the broken air conditioning unit on the outside of the building.

You spark up the lighter, encasing the point of the cigarette in your mouth and inhaling so it begins to burn evenly.

It’s heavenly, the way the tobacco settles within you and you take another deep drag, closing your eyes and listening to the evening chatter within the commune.

The sky is darkening to blended shades of vermillion and saffron, the last time you’d been outside today it was bright blue, a true testament to how long you’d been working your bar shift today.

As you stand there, enjoying your gifted cigarette and the peace and quiet, you hear something over the sound of Alice Cooper’s Poison playing from inside.

There’s the familiar set of footsteps that your ears pick up first, belonging to a man with a hard stature and heart of gold. Then a low whistle and the hairs on your arms stand on edge, your hand trembles just so, some ash falling to the dirt as arms encase you from behind and pull you back into a hard chest.

You sigh happily when you feel scruff drag along your cheek and a small peck at the corner of your lips, you tip your head back, peering up into a set of dark eyes laced with a depth of hunger and a border of infatuation.

“Hi there.” You murmur, twisting around in the biceps encasing you, conscious of the lit cigarette in your hand.

Joel looks down at you, massaging your hips with his big hands; the same hands that have held his daughters and cradled you close just the same.

Ruthless; that’s how people in Jackson described him when he arrived back the second time. A killing machine, a no good man, trouble. You’d scoffed and brushed everyone off, choosing to formulate your own opinion and boy, were those gossipers wrong. Of course, they only see what they want to see, that hard exterior and scar running across his nose.

“Hey.” He whispers back, leaning down for a soft kiss, one that speaks a thousand words he’d struggle to articulate any other way just yet. “Where’d you get that?” Joel asks, nodding to your cigarette.

“Darius.” You reply, taking a small drag then offering it to him to finish. He takes it, inhaling and emitting a neat line of smoke. You watch in fascination, rubbing your palms over the broad width of his chest, plucking the material of his t-shirt. It’s black, more faded to the scale of grey than being the darkest shade of ink. Still, he looks delectable.

He has such a beautiful mouth, the first thing that had drawn you to him, then it was his voice - the smooth texan drawl that you absorbed like a plant during photosynthesis.

“You been out here long?” He wonders, you shake your head. “I thought maybe you weren’t working tonight, couldn’t remember what shifts you said you had this week but I came back here to check anyway.” Joel tells you, taking the last drag of the cigarette and crushing the butt against the brick wall behind him, encasing you back into his arms.

“That old man brain of yours.” You tease, standing on your tip toes to hunt for his mouth, he makes a noise at your soft insult but coincidentally melts into you as you kiss him like you hadn’t just seen him the previous afternoon. “How was your shift?” You inquire when you pull back, he chases your lips.

“Fine.” He supplies back in his texan drawl, fingers winding in your hair to tug you back into gravitation.

Joel had been on a wall shift since late morning, you’d remembered that much.

“Are you not cold?” You press, feeling his bare forearms and noticing the chill that he tends to feel in his older age. It’s spring now and you’re perfectly content working in denim shorts and a t-shirt, the bar gets stifling the more bodies that pack in over the course of the evening and into the night.

“Ellie has my jacket, she wanted to wear it to school today, she’s still a little anxious to be without me.”

Your chest warms at the confession; you’ve always loved observing them together. Anyone can see their bond but you can see how deep it runs, they’re almost always together, wether that be huddled close in the dining hall with her sometimes seeking refuge perched on his knee when it gets too busy for her to deal with and he’ll whisper things to her that make her smile timidly and lean into him, stealing bites of the dinner he offers even though it exactly the same as what she’s had and chosen to leave.

You’ve seen him give her his scarf in the street when she’s looked panicked and white in the face amongst the snow during last winter, you’d watched as she inhaled his smell and then fallen into his chest, hugging him tightly around the waist until she seemed grounded enough to walk home with him, tucked beneath his arm like a little bird. There’s a story there, you can decipher that much; one forged by fear and survival. Your chest had hurt at the fearful look in her eyes when a flurry of snow had began to fall, making contact with her rounded cheeks and causing her to flinch, almost sucking the last of her life out of her youthful complexion.

He’s her safety blanket - her protector - and when he’s not available to be that as himself, his jacket is the next best thing.

“Ah.” You murmur, lips curling at the sweet revelation. “Did you give her those parsnip chips I made?” It was a friendly offering, something you do regularly for her wether it be with food or things you find on patrol.

She’s none the wiser to the relationship you and Joel now have that’s strictly past paired patrol partners.

“Yep.” He replies, skating his palms over every inch of your skin, looping them around your elbows to pull you in.

“Did she like them?” You press further, evading him.

“Loved ‘em.”

“And did you like them, cowboy?” You lean out of reach and he snarls playfully, trying to tug you back.

“Well, from the one she let me have… yeah, they seemed good.” You snort at Ellie’s behaviour, unable to even be shocked at her unwillingness to share good snacks with Joel, it’s hilarious for some reason. “Mmm, laugh it up, I want my own batch next time and then I’m going to hide them on the highest shelf where she can’t reach.”

You continue giggling and his shoulders shake too, he takes advantage of you being distracted to continue kissing you, you sigh into his mouth, giggles ceasing.

You kiss him heartily, scrubbing your fingers through the grey patches in his beard and over the definition of his jaw. He moans into your mouth quietly, fingers fidgeting to grasp onto you.

He pulls back, nudging his nose against yours as you all but pant against his chin in hot puffs to compose yourself.

This is all still fairly new, barely a couple of weeks old but you don’t see yourself growing bored and neither does Joel. You feed off the thrill, seeking solace in one another to fill that void that has been empty for too long. It’s not that you don’t want people to know because you’re both embarrassed but it’s nice to have a little secret that you can greedily hold the reins to, something that’s yours.

It had all been sudden, everything had come to a head in the early hours of a Tuesday morning on overnight patrol. You’d stationed up together in a broken down and abandoned truck just a couple of meters in the forest, talking and drinking alcohol laced tea in the truck bed as you watched dawn break. One thing had led to another and you’d had sex, it was short but one of the most intimate experiences of your life.

“Can I come over tonight for a little bit? My gremlin child is sleeping over at Tommy’s, he’s taking her fishing tomorrow, it’s a reward for not skipping any classes this week.”

In the last few weeks, Joel has come over for a few hours once darkness has descended over Jackson. You haven’t slept together at your place or even in a bed at all, you instead steal moments on watchtower shift together where you ride him on the creaky deck chair with your back to his chest or on one occasion he’s sought you out during a greenhouse shift and bent you over the potting table in the shed.

When he comes over, which is most nights before Ellie comes home for curfew, you lie together on your couch with you pillowed on top of him. You make out like teenagers and talk and tease, sharing snippets of your life. He’s so easy to talk to, he’s an interesting specimen, full of wisdom and anecdotes. He’s told you stories of his first daughter, you imagine her green eyes and pretty curls in whatever story he’s content to retell, tracing the cracked face of his watch.

He’s always back before Ellie, sometimes way earlier than he needs to be just on the off chance she might have had a bad day and comes in early. It’s happened before, he’d got home after her and found her in hysterics on the couch just before dinner and had to lie about his whereabouts while trying to comfort her over a rough shift at the stables when a metal gate had clanged shut and suddenly she was back in a cage somewhere in Colorado. The accusatory where were you? she’d hiccuped in the middle of a panic attack had fucked him up real good and he vowed to be more careful.

“You can.” You hum, fiddling with the notch of his belt, his stomach tenses at your teasing. “But this - “ You grab the heft of his cock through his jeans, he growls immediately. “This has to stay in your pants.” You say firmly, peering up through your lashes with a devilish smirk.

“Why’s that?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, the tips slipping beneath the frayed edge of your shorts.

“Because I’m ovulating.” You answer, you swear his eyes darken ever so slightly.

“Mm, is that why you smell so good?” He grumbles, burying his nose in your throat after forcing your head back by your hair, he inhales deeply like you’re the very best drug he’s ever had. He gulps you in, behind your ear, at your pulse point and the hinge of your clenching jaw.

“Jesus, Joel.” You huff when his tongue dips into the hollow of your throat and his perfect teeth clip the edge of your jaw. Your pussy clenches and your clit throbs, as if your hormones weren’t already crazy enough at this part in your cycle without him inhaling your pheromones like a mad man.

He nudges the neckline of your t-shirt down by the rip in the collar, nosing at your clavicle and sucking a small bruise there like he’s marking you as his own. It’s so possessive, your underwear grows even damper at the thought.

“You taste good.” He mumbles into your skin, licking over the bruise then his long fingers are going up your shirt, bunching it above your bra where he then begins to press wet kisses to the swell of each breast, cupping you roughly. A nipple peeks over the unlined cup and he takes it into his mouth, sucking and pulling off with a wet pop to bite it gently and pull it between his teeth. He’s really into your tits, that had been learnt very quickly.

“Oh my god…” You pant, eyes scrunched shut, head tilted towards the cloudy sky as you pray to whoever for the strength to not beg Joel to take you there and then, to fill you with his potent warmth and leave it dripping all day to dip a finger down and taste the combination of you both. “Ow!” You hiss when he bites your nipple harder than you’re used to, you pull a curl of his hair in retaliation.

“Oopsie.” He grins unapologetically.

Somehow you possess the strength to push him back against the wall roughly, he grunts when his back connects to the brick but then you’re on him hungrily, crowding him against the surface.

Your hormones fizzle over and before you can even comprehend where you are, you decide you need his dick in your mouth immediately or you’re gonna die.

Your fingers fight with his belt, undoing it with your nimble fingers and tugging it apart like you’re furious.

“What’re you doing, honey?” Joel voices, though he doesn’t stop you. He’s unsure if you’re suddenly throwing out all sense and wanting to take him inside you, there’s a part of him that’s hoping that’s the case but you’d both been fairly careful so far; he’d been pulling out at the last minute and covering your inner thighs or ass in his cum.

“Sucking your cock.” You retort without missing a beat, unsnapping his button and dragging his fly down.

“Ya don’t have to -“ He begins but you level him with a glare.

“I want to.” Your glare humbles him and he actually gulps. Well - he’s not going to argue with that.

You kiss his lips hard, biting his bottom one gently and tugging in a way that makes him expel all his oxygen out of his nose and then you’re shimmying down his body, lifting his t-shirt and pressing a series of kisses down his stomach, you let the your fingertips graze over the ragged scar next to his navel and then lick a horizontal line just above his pubic area as you tug his jeans and boxers down over his ass and bunch them at his thighs.

You glance to the side nervously, waiting to see if any noise is approaching but then tug his cock completely free.

He sees you lick your lips when his cock springs upwards, he’s hard as rock and blushed along the length, curved a little to the side, the head beading with pre cum that your tongue immediately darts out to lick from the slit.

“Fuck.” He chokes, leaning back against the wall and winding his fingers in your hair as you press a group of featherlight kisses up the length of him until your reach the crown and wiggle your tongue on the underside of it, skating around the rim of him.

Your mouth is heavenly, wet and inviting, your tongue soft on the underside of him where you trace a prominent vein.

You let your mouth gather saliva while you admire the patch or dark and coarse hair between his narrow hips, threaded with wiry strands of silver.

His mind turns to static when you take him deep, easily swallowing just over half his length.

“Just like that, baby doll.” He coaxes, you swallow around the length of him, pulling up to lavish his tip with attention with the point of your tongue. He groans, hips canting into you so you envelope him again in the wet heat of your mouth. “God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.” You alternate with taking him deep into your throat and using your hand to jack off what doesn’t fit, twisting your wrist and moving lower to suck and kiss his balls when your jaw begins to ache deliciously, he’s tugging at your hair, moving his hips to nudge that tiny bit deeper until your eyes water.

Joel thinks you look as pretty as a picture, there’s nothing sexier than a woman that is actively enjoying giving head rather than doing it because she thinks she has to, not that he’s ever made a woman do anything they didn’t want to before. Tess wasn’t that enthusiastic about giving head, happier to receive than reciprocate which didn’t bother him.

“You taste so good, Joel. I could suck your dick all day, so fucking good.” You confess, lips braced against his crown, kissing and nipping ever so gently, you trace his circumcision scar.

“Baby.” He whines, pushing against your closed lips until you open up to let him back in. Your cheeks hollow, sucking back and forth, popping at the tip and repeating.

He’s nestled in the back of your throat, balls gently being stroked between your feminine hands and his stamina wavers. You hum around him and he’s a goner, quickly pulling back as you feel his hairy thighs tense, dragging himself along your tongue one last time.

Joel takes himself in hand, stroking roughly like he does when he’s alone with just his mind to recount your previous encounters.

You stroke his thighs, watching eagerly. The tendons in his neck strain, his throat bobs as he swallows back his pleasure.

“Stick your tongue out.” He demands gruffly, working the length of himself and cupping his balls. You stick your tongue out, eyes glassy and lashes dewy. He manages three seconds before his abdomen contracts. “Jesus - fuck. I’m cummin’, baby. Oh shit, fuck- “ He stammers, eyes wanting to cinch shut but he needs to see you take his load. His dick throbs and kicks, his balls draw tight and his spine burns.

He cums in thick spurts, some landing on your tongue and a little hitting the corner of your mouth. Joel groans his way through it, the erotic sight of you humming happily as his head pulses on your tongue, his grip encouraging one last thick drop of semen to spurt out.

“Mmm.” You hum, closing your mouth to swallow his load and using your thumb to catch what missed your tongue, you suck the tip of your thumb to get the last drop and smile up at him like the little fucking vixen you are.

“That was amazing, you’re amazing.” He babbles, dragging you to your feet and engaging you in a deep kiss. Joel can taste the saltiness of himself on your tongue, he licks into your mouth with ferocity.

He pulls away to yank his boxers and jeans up, buckling his belt as you stand there trying to quell the ache in your loins as your cunt drips into the gusset of your underwear.

You’re so fucking horny, desperate for an orgasm or two.

When Joel has finished righting himself, he yanks you to him so fast that you wobble on your feet.

“What’s wrong, baby doll? Did ya really think I’d take mine and just be done?” Joel asks, unsnapping the button of your shorts and pulling them down to your thighs.

“No.” You lie, though you’re laced with relief when he crouches down and settles on his creaky knees. You see him wince a little but he says nothing, adjusting to a comfortable stance.

His head dips beneath the loose and fraying hem of your t-shirt, you giggle when his beard scrapes a particularly ticklish area and you feel him smile against your abdomen, kissing there after and descending lower to the waist of your Miami cut panties. He’s following a similar trail to what you did on him, he’s teasing you and riling you up.

His dexterous fingers hook into the sides of your panties, pulling them down but as they hit the centre of your thighs with the bunched denim of your mom shorts, he urges you around to face away from him.

He slaps your ass and you sink forward, barely able to catch yourself first.

You feel his hands spread you and you bend forward just so, arching your hips backwards and you heard him take a sharp intake of breath.

“Well, what do we have here?” He purrs, greedily taking in the sight of your bare pussy, freshly waxed and smooth, your arousal and natural fertile release coating your lips in a shiny slick.

“Waxed it.” You pant, fingers anchoring to the brick, the grains of mortar shedding beneath your nails.

“I can see that.” He hums, using his thumbs to part you, to expose your fluttering hole to his gaze. “Why?” He wonders, though he’s not complaining, it’s just that he doesn’t really have much of a preference for intimate hair but this is a nice surprise.

“Wanted to, I li- I like the feel of it.” You admit with a gulp when you feel his lips at the back of your thigh, right below the curve of your ass cheek, tongue darting out to trace a silvery stretch mark.

Every month, Martha - the owner of the apothecary - makes up a batch of natural and homemade sugar wax. Many of the ladies (and some gents) come in for a pot to wax whatever they want, you’re one of the few that keep this up, liking the normalcy of something as simple as having smooth legs and underarms but this time had decided to put yourself through the eye watering pain of waxing your vagina too, just as a little experiment you like to do every now and then but usually you shave instead when you can be bothered.

It was touch and go, at one point you thought you’d lost part of your labia but with some tears and a mostly steady hand, you’d managed to complete your task. Were you in a hurry to do it again? Absolutely fucking not but you were enjoying the results for now.

“Look how wet she is, is this all for me?” He goads, swiping his thumb through the centre of you and letting it dip into your hole for a second. “Yeah, this is all for me. This perfect cunt loves me.” Joel confirms, that cocky nature really coming out to play.

You’re definitely ovulating, he can tell by just looking at you. Your outer lips are puffy and you’re dripping into your underwear, sticky and clear, the viscosity thicker than when you cum.

He spreads your cheeks, leaving you vulnerable for a brief moment until he literally begins to lick at your asshole. This is the thing with Joel, the vulnerability. There are days where you chest cavity has been cracked open, the cage of your ribs pulled apart and your heart beats in tandem with his own, he offers his own vulnerability and you nurture it in the palms of your hands.

It’s a new sensation for you, nobody has ever done this before and it feels phenomenal. It’s unsurprising that Joel Miller is a dirty old man, you think to yourself, pushing back against his tongue. You’d been left dissatisfied with previous partners, unable to orgasm through oral sex most of the time, leaving you to tend to tourself at a later date.

You complain when his slick mouth leaves your puckered rim but the disappointment vanishes just as quick as it came, he begins to feast on your pussy, suckling your labia and moving to your hole, dipping his tongue inside and teasing your urethra too.

It’s hard to reach back and grab at his hair when he spreads you further, stretching you beyond your limit. You whimper and whine, desperate for more, for whatever he can offer.

Fearing that maybe you were correct and this was going to be a disappointment, in a moment of weakness and pure gluttony, you reach down between your legs to give your clit some attention where Joel can’t reach it from the positioning. You barely make contact before he sees what you’re doing and gives your ass a hard slap, you jump and your hand drops. He pulls back to twist you around until he’s eye level with your pubic mound and he positively glowers up at you, it’s such a fucking turn on that you feel no ounce of remorse whatsoever.

Daringly, you reach down again and he tracks your hand, you don’t even get to touch yourself this time before he knocks it away.

“Hands off.” Joel scowls, brown eyes flecked with hazel and gold. “I want to see that pretty little clit and I can’t if your fuckin’ hand is in my way.” He sounds so irritated that it’s comical. He scowls for a minute longer then gets his thumb involved with stimulating your clit and pushing upwards so that it’s bared beneath the hood, kissing it tenderly before flicking at it with his tongue.

Christ almighty - this dirty old geezer and his ability to eat pussy like he’s starving.

“Ah, ah.” You gasp at a particularly ferocious flicker of his tongue, your nerve endings alight. “There. Right there, that’s so good.” You sputter, clutching at his hair, so soft beneath your claws.

“I know where, you greedy fuckin’ girl.” He mumbles against you, clearly holding a grudge for your earlier interruption.

“Oh? So get back to work, Miller.” You order defiantly, he narrows his eyes and returns back to work, licking at your clit and kissing it. You feel the rising storm of your orgasm building by the second, Joel flattens his tongue and running it between the seam of your, scooping up the fertile sugary syrup of your arousal.

“Look at you, sweetheart. So fuckin’ wrecked already.” He goads, kneading your hips. He reaches up to grasp at your tits, squeezing firmly, he fondles them both and you observe the chocolate brown eyes looking back at you, watching every single reaction to his ministrations.

He goes back to your clit, it’s so hard and aroused now, pretty and pink just like the rest of your pussy. You writhe against the wall when he sucks, his tongue darting out to lick the very tip of you and that’s game over.

“God, Joel.“ You moan, strands of greying hair clutched between tour fingers, pulling rougher than you intended. “I’m cumming.” You whine, head thrown back and pussy grinding into his lower face. Your clit pulses between his lips, he moans too when he feels you soak his facial hair, making a mess of him just like he’d wanted you too.

It’s filthy, the way your hips gyrate through your orgasm and the way his tongue scrubs your pulsing nerve. You wish you were full of him right now, soaking that thick cock of his. Your hormones are going haywire, screaming at you to let him fuck you with brute force and cum inside you, filling your womb and planting a seed within your empty uterus.

You’re being exceptionally loud, you know that. You have to bite the side of your hand, yet it’s not enough to muffle you. The volume in which you’ve reached the highest point of rapture sure to be heard from anyone passing by, you hope that the volume within The Tipsy Bison is enough to cover your tracks and pray that Darius won’t come looking for you.

It’s as though you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs to compensate for what you lost keening, you suck in mouthful after mouthful of air and your body calms, the fire that had ignited slowly descends into burning embers until it’s nothing but petite plumes of smoke and tendrils of ashen air.

“Fuuuck.” You gasp, feeling gentle kisses being placed on the inside of your trembling thighs and you chance a look down after brushing the hair from your eyes. Joel looks back at you, pleased and aroused all over again, his dick a considerable lump in his jeans.

Refractory time who?

“I forgot how much I enjoyed doing that.” He confesses against your thigh breathlessly, lips and beard slick with you, with nectar like droplets clinging to his moustache.

“Mm.” You squeak, chest heaving and knees shakily supporting you.

“Was that okay for you?” He presses, rubbing your thighs, mouthing at them where his beard has left you scarlet and raw. You nod vigorously, just about able to find your voice.

“It was fucking incredible, Joel.” You reply, still a little breathless. He smiles and kisses your inner thigh once more before hoisting himself up stiffly with a pained groan. You drag up your underwear, jolting when your clit rubs against the material. Your shorts are also pulled back up and fastened, you breathe in deeply before reaching out for Joel’s face.

You capture his scruffy cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, practically licking yourself out of his moustache. He groans and squeezes your waist, you reluctantly pull back to peer at him, savouring a glance at his gorgeous face.

“I guess you gotta go back to work.” He remarks sullenly, you nod.

“You gonna come in and have a drink? We have beer tonight.” You tell him.

“Not tonight.” He shakes his head, your shoulders slump in disappointment. “Don’t think I’d be able to watch you all night and not be able to get my hands on you.” He brushes a strand of hair from your face, stroking your cheekbone.

“Okay.” You huff.

“Don’t be mad at me, angel. My old ticker can’t take it.” He remarks playfully.

“Not mad.” You deny. “Just like having you around.”

“Yeah, me too.” He sighs.

“But I’ll see you at mine later.” You whisper, rubbing your nose against his.

“That you will, sweetheart.”

“Promise?” You pout.

“On my life.” He promises, kissing you softly.

He watches you retreat down the alley with the essence of you still on his tongue and listens as the door closes with a screech, smiling to himself like a clown in love.

You return back to work with flushed cheeks and a thrumming heart, counting down the hours, eager to be back with him once again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller #the last of us fic

[bts-0t-7]

Slithered | JJK | Chapter 1

Pair: Mafia Jungkook x F Reader 

Summary: Jungkook was wandering the streets in the middle of the night and coincidentally passed the little flower shop you work at. Due to your odd working hours, you don’t have much socialising on a daily basis much less customers. So just imagine your shock when a handsome man, clad in all black, entered your shop in the ungodly hours of the night. Never would you have thought that the polar opposite of the worlds would collide and cause such a trouble. 

Genre: Fluff, mafia au, soft reader 

Chapter Warnings: mild violence, mildly creepy JK watching reader close up shop (if anybody does this irl, please smack the living shit out of them. Stay safe!), rape (I won’t go much into detail of this during the scene but it is implied. Do not be insensitive on this topic. For those who are sensitive on this, please do not continue reading)

A/N: Bold is for flashback.

WC: 2579

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Jungkook didn’t know how he ended up in an alley that sells flowers in the dead of the night and neither did he know why he was here. He was taking a stroll in, spending some time to himself when he smelt the citrus scents of the flowers, following them to where it currently led him. Most of the flower shops in this area are closed for the night or temporarily not receiving walk-in customers. 

However, there are some shops where they are open and busy. There may be no customers in the shop but orders seem to be piling on the desks where the arrangements are made. Jungkook spotted a swift-moving medium, constantly running from place to place in the shop. He stopped right outside it. The interior was made in a way where the arrangements of flowers made the whole shop seem like a home. 

A home full of plants.

But even from outside, Jungkook could clearly see the neat arrangements and lining of the labels. You, on the other hand, were running around the shop, trying to get the necessary flowers and stocks to make the last arrangement before the driver arrived and collected them. This project was big on money and your boss would be furious if you were to ‘fuck it up for him’.

Jungkook entered the shop, doorbell chiming as he pushed open the door. Your head whipped up from your working station, instantly greeting him at the front door. 

“Hello! Welcome to Fior Arrangements!” You chirped. It may be two in the morning but you worked the night shift while your other colleagues work the morning and evening shifts. Most of them did not want to work night shifts so you took on the initiative. 

Not that you minded. 

You never had much of a social life due to your personality and you had always been quite a night owl. Most of the time, there were fewer people at night, which means that packaging orders would be easier than in the daytime. 

“Hello.” The young man bowed. 

“What brings you here?” You asked, honestly curious as to why a man wearing a full suit with a coat over, would come in the middle of the night. Anybody could see that he was stocked.  His boots were, his hair slicked back, and the material of his clothes looked soft to the touch. “Any flowers in mind? 

He shook his head. 

“Well, every flower has a meaning.” You pointed to the labels on the walls. These are the names and meanings of the flowers. Feel free to look around and call me if you need help!” 

Jungkook nodded at you. 

As he walked around, reading the labels, he spied a few blurry-looking men walking into the shop. Instinctively, his hand shot to the gun hidden under the lapels of his jacket only for you to cheerily greet them. It shot a pang of jealousy through him.

Why was he jealous? He just met you!

Jungkook silently shook his head to clear his thoughts. With half his attention to his surroundings, he overheard the conversation between you and the men. You seemed to know them very well, conversations easily flowing between you. 

“Yep! There are more at the back. You know where that is.” You laughed and Jungkook’s heart felt like it stopped. And started. And stopped and started again. It was so pure and melodious that he would do anything to keep you laughing like that. 

“How are your kids, Peng?” 

“Not too bad. Just refusing to study as usual.” The guy in the black shirt and oversized jeans told you. 

“I mean… It’s kids these days. Plus, I’m sure when we were at their age we didn’t want to study either.” You snickered. 

Peng laughed. “True, true. Very true.”

The four men spotted Jungkook walking towards the cashier as you signed the papers and stamped them. Handing them the customer copy, you waved them goodbye and finally headed over to Jungkook. 

“Hiya, need help?”

Jungkook nodded. 

“Well, what is the occasion?” You asked. 

Jungkook didn’t come here for a specific reason. In fact, he didn’t even come up with a reason. So he just shrugged and answered, “Just wanted something calming in the house. It’s far too empty.”

That could by far be the worst lie he ever came up with. 

But all you did was nod and head over to the pails of flowers, picking up stock after stock. You then carefully cut off some of the stems and plucked some leaves, arranging them in a glass bottle. Your body covered most of the work at times and Jungkook stayed at where he stood. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise for himself. 

You didn’t take long, expert hands moving nimbly to arrange the flowers prettily. You turned over to him with the glass bottle in front of you, walking over to give it to him. 

“How’s it?” Jungkook could see that you were nervous. The little ticks of indication like the furrows of your brows and wringing of your fingers behind your back. 

“Do you always do this for customers?” Jungkook gently smelt the flowers. Lavender was the most prominent scent. 

His favourite and you didn’t even need to ask. The scents weren’t strong and it did was already doing wonders to calm him. 

You looked back at him, humming and shaking your head. “Just you and a few other more privileged customers. Seems like you’re one of them on the list now.”

Your eyes sparkled as you turned to him. Perhaps you knew the brands he wore or perhaps you guessed that he was more than rich. But as he brought out his card to pay, you declined him. 

“No need. You looked like you needed this. So it’s on the house.” Your smile was blinding and at that moment, Jungkook knew that he would have you even if it took years and years. He would protect you. 

You were closing up that day. Usually, the shop is 24 hours and the next colleague of yours who would be doing the morning shift would be the one to clean up the place. However, it was a public holiday and the flower shop was closed. Your boss had given all employees two days’ break so after your shift, you had to tidy up and ensure that all the flowers are placed in their exact locations a the back of the store so that they do not wilt by the time the shop re-opens. 

Honestly, you couldn’t be happier. While your job was fairly simple and relaxed, going without a day’s break even on the weekends can truly drain your energy. You don’t have much time to yourself and it can affect you when you are overloaded with your senses. 

Turning off the lights, you shut the door and lock it, the door code being with an indication that it has been locked. Scanning your surroundings and patting yourself down, you hummed, glad that you did not forget anything. 

As you started to walk back home, you felt an eerie feeling in your gut. One that warns you that something is most certainly not right. The hair on your neck started to stand as you got goosebumps, making a sharp 180-degree turn to walk back to the store. You were instinctively aware that there were more than three pairs of footsteps following you. And every time you sped up or slowed down, they would keep the same pace.

So you did the next best thing your overdriven brain thought. 

You ran. 

Jungkook was driving his car up the little hill to visit the flower store. He wasn’t sure if you were still on shift then. He knew from silently watching you the past few days that your shift ends at five in the morning. And currently, the time was 5.30 am. 

The road got too narrow for Jungkook to continue driving up so he threw his car into parking mode and left. 

He was only going to take a while. 

But as he got out of the car, he sensed that something was wrong. The air did not feel right and as much as he wished that his sensitivity would not follow him when he was off work, life has its way of throwing stones at him. 

A shrill scream broke him out of his trance. If it was anybody else’s scream he probably would have just continued with his plans and walked up the the store. But he recognised the voice - the sound. 

Yours. 

Your scream - filled with terror and pain. 

Without thinking, Jungkook ran towards the approximated direction where he had heard you. Your second scream for help was abruptly cut off making him pump his legs and arms faster. He didn’t want to think of all the horrid things that you might be going through right now. He needed to get to you. 

Jungkook came to a stop the moment he saw you, held by your throat, against the wall. Your hair and clothes were in a mess, eyes bloodshot, and valuables strewn everywhere. But the most avergrating thing was the six males standing there, choking you as tears streamed down your cheeks, laughing. 

Blood rushed to his head. 

How dare they. 

How dare they touch you. 

Jungkook didn’t care for consequences as he pounced on the men. 

You tried to run but they were too fast and too silent for you. You were pinned against the wall and stripped down against your own will. 

“Now pretty lady, how about I do the talking and you do the answering?” 

You didn’t want to but all you could do was struggle and struggle as they manhandled your body, stripping you bare of your own dignity. You cried and struggled as they took their turns, your body betraying you.

“Hey now, why are you crying, pretty?” They laughed, gagging you. “You’re enjoying it, see?”

Tears streamed down your face. You weren’t. You weren’t. 

And yet, you knew that nobody was going to come help you. To come stop these men from doing more than they already did. You were so close - so close - to resigning to your fate when you were suddenly dropped to the ground. 

Too tired to keep your eyes fully open, you watched through hooded lids as a mass of black pounded onto the males. You should’ve been scared - you should’ve cowered back, pleading with him to not come for you as well - but you didn’t. 

Especially as that mass of black picked you up into his arms, snarling and hissing words that seemed incoherent to you, you felt safe. Perhaps it was the adrenaline doing the job but you curled yourself deeper into him. His hands were gentle, unlike the ones that handled you earlier. These hands were calloused - probably seeing worse days as they skimmed over your naked body - but they were respectful. They did not venture where the rest did and you found yourself wrapped up in a jacket before being lifted up once again. 

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, your head rolled to the side as you blacked out. 

Jungkook has seen many things in his short life. Twenty-six years and he has seen death one too many times.  But nothing has scared him more than seeing you black out and going limp in his arms. Pressing two fingers on your neck, Jungkook confirmed that you were still breathing. In shock you most certainly were but now Jungkook needed to bring you home and he did not know your address. So the next best thing was to bring you to his home. 

As Jungkook’s black Mercedes Benz GT63S pulled up to the front lawn, he hurried out, passing the car keys to the butler and carrying you into the house. 

In the midst of the whole case, it completely slipped his mind to inform his family that he was bringing somebody home. All he had done was hurriedly call the group’s private doctor, not caring what the guy was up to. 

“Kook, what the hell! You can’t just bring a random person home like this!”

“Oh shit -”

“Fuck that girl is naked!”

“Jeon Jungkook, what the shit is wrong with you?”

“Did you fuck a girl out?”

“JUNGKOOK!”

Jungkook couldn’t be bothered. He’ll explain later. Right now, he needed the doctor to check you over and ensure that other than the physical and psychological trauma you’re going to have once you wake up, you were fine otherwise. 

“A little bit of a bump on the back of her head, scratch marks and bruises. That’s about all.” The doctor placed some pills on Jungkook’s bedside table. “I suggest you give these to her, twice a day after meals. Antibiotics. You can give her paracetamol if needed. Ensure that she is kept hydrated.”

Jungkook thanked the doctor and leaned over to cover you with the sheets when the doctor stopped him. “It would be best to clean her up first.”

With that, the doctor left, leaving the six men standing at the threshold of his bedroom door. They watched as he got a few clothes, cleaning you up, making sure to use soft cloths so that you would not wake from the oversensitivity. Only after Jungkook deemed you clean enough did he take out his silk pyjamas and tug them over you. 

The boys had silently excused themselves, only leaving Jimin as he helped Jungkook dress and tuck you into bed. Closing the curtains, he turned off the lights, leaving the moonlight on so that the room would not be encased in total darkness with the possibility of scaring you if you woke up without him there. 

Jungkook knew that the topic at hand would not be easy to talk about and he most certainly knows that he was in the wrong as well. Well, a little bit in the wrong. 

He would never apologise for bringing a person in need home, much less you. So as Jimin and he entered the living room, the boys were all seated, faces holding stoic glares. 

“Jungkook -” Hobi hyung started. 

“She works at the flower shop. She was the one I told you about - the reason why my room has a glass of flowers.”

“Still, you cannot just bang her up and -”

“She was raped.”

The silence in the room was pregnant and suddenly everybody’s breathing sounded too loud. 

“I parked the car in the middle of the hill as it was getting too narrow for me to pass through. I couldn’t get there fast enough. By the time I reached, she was already taken.” Jungkook harshly rubbed his face with his hands. He wished that he could’ve been there earlier - faster. If only work hadn’t kept him up, the whole situation wouldn’t even have happened. 

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, patting him gently. “Don’t beat yourself over it, Kook. It was good that you made it there.”

“But I couldn’t stop her from -” His throat choked up. He just couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. 

“Some things are inevitable.” He looked up from his crouched position to look at Namjoon Hyung. “What matters is that you got there.”

Jungkook nodded. 

“I think today was more than enough of a fulfilling night. Let’s go to bed.” Seokjin Hyung called out and grunts of agreement were heard as everybody got to their feet. 

#jungkook #btsjk #jk #bts #btsfanfiction #btsff #fluff #love #femalereader #non-idol au #alternate universe #mafia #mafiajungkook #violence #flowers #flowershop #oneshots #two shots #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #ot7bts #ot7

[gregorovitch-adler]

Whisper

John arranged the furniture of the sitting room a bit. He drew both of their armchairs to a corner, and Sherlock opened the fridge to make sure they were stocked.

It was Christmas, and they both had decorated the tree a day before.

They were expecting guests in the evening.

Just when John sat down on the sofa for a moment, the door of their flat barged open.

"Hoo hoo! Come on in, everyone!"

Mrs Hudson had entered the flat and had stepped aside to let Harry and Molly in.

John had invited Harry to their flat this time, instead of going to her place alone, like he usually did.

Another tall, blonde woman - about Harry's height - stepped in and was looking at her expectantly. Probably waiting for Harry to introduce her to everyone.

Harry's girlfriend, John deduced immediately. Three years of relationship with Sherlock had started to rub off on him.

"John," Harry began, looking at both him and Sherlock simultaneously. "This is my girlfriend, Denise."

Denise nodded at John with a polite smile. She was pretty. Harry had told him about her over texts, and the two of them must have been together for almost six months or so, but John had never seen her photos.

"Hello!" Molly said to everyone in the room, but particularly to Harry and Denise as she took off her coat and walked towards the fireplace.

Harry led Denise to the sofa and they sat down together. Close and comfortable. "Merry Christmas!" Denise greeted, looking at Molly.

Everyone exchanged the usual Christmas greetings with each other and the atmosphere had become cosy after a while.

Sherlock was not rolling his eyes at the general socialisation. Surprising. His gaze was just fixed on the fireplace with his face pensive.

John glanced at Harry and Denise once more and smiled.

John walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out some nice alcohol that he and Sherlock had bought together.

Sherlock had come to the kitchen too. He was taking out the glasses and anything else they all might need from the topmost cabinet.

Sherlock smirked at John with a teasing look in his eyes.

John knew this was another opportunity for his short-height jokes and scoffed. He lightly punched Sherlock's arm and made his way back to the sitting room, breathing deeply with some strange nervousness.

As John placed the bottles on the coffee table, the door of the flat opened again and Lestrade came in.

John exchanged a smile with him and they shook hands as everyone shared the Christmas greetings with him too.

"I was stuck with some paper work in the Yard. I didn't mean to be this late," he said. John waved it off.

Greg walked over to the other corner of the sitting room where Molly was standing. They were so close that their arms were touching.

John turned around to look at Sherlock - who was placing the glasses and other things on the table - with his eyebrows raised.

Sherlock looked up at John and nodded, to acknowledge that whatever he was thinking at the moment was right.

After a few minutes, everyone was helping themselves with the drinks.

Mrs Hudson walked across the room to approach Sherlock and John, who were standing in a corner now, mostly quiet and holding hands.

"Were you two able to manage the dinner?" she asked in a low voice. "Or I can bring something from my flat."

John smiled at the concerned tone and shook his head as he took a sip from his beer bottle.

"We picked something from a shop down the street for everyone. You can stop being nosy tonight," said Sherlock, and John could not help but snort.

Mrs Hudson clapped her hand on his shoulder and walked off with a smile.

"Why don't you play the violin?" John had interlocked his left arm with Sherlock's.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he thought about something. He turned to look at John and nodded. "All right. I'm bored already. Can't wait for the flat to be empty."

"We invited them," said John and chuckled. "Plus you're brilliant at it. Well, you're brilliant at everything you do, but-"

"Yeah, okay," Sherlock cut him off and cleared his throat. John could not possibly get enough of the sight of a flustered Sherlock. He smiled to himself as Sherlock freed his arm and went to the bedroom to get his violin.

John reached for his jeans pocket and felt for a small cubical box, which was still safe.

He and Sherlock had been flatmates for ages, and after a lot of tumbling here and there, they were finally able to have a relationship together.

Three years of being together as a couple was more than enough for John to decide that it was time they made it something permanent.

A week ago, John had gone to a jewelry shop to buy an engagement ring for Sherlock. It was a platinum band and it looked beautiful. Perfect for Sherlock. He had decided to propose to him on Christmas at that time.

Now, John swallowed a bit and his hand jerked with nervousness. John had wanted to propose on a special day, but he had not wanted to do it in front of everyone. This was private, and besides he wouldn't want Sherlock to feel pressured over anything.

He knew this evening was the perfect time, but he was now looking for the right moment to make it discreet and subtle.

John took a deep breath as he gazed fondly at Sherlock emerging from the bedroom, with the violin case in his hand.

"Ooh, look at you! What are you going to play for us, then?" asked Mrs Hudson, making everyone else fall silent and turn to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock took out his violin and bow and walked over to the sitting room window. His preferred spot to play, with or without people listening to him.

Without a word, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to play. He'd started with a carol. Everyone smiled and began to hum with him.

Sherlock always looked gorgeous - even in an old T-shirt and worn out pyjamas.

But watching him play the violin - it was something else. The moonlight from outside hit his face, illuminated it, and once again, John wondered if this was a dream.

Three years of being together and John still could not believe his luck.

John's lips spread slowly to form a smile on his face, his heart swelling up with love.

After a while, that carol was over and everyone in the room clapped with appreciation.

Sherlock turned a bit and looked directly at John for a moment. Facing the window again, he began to play another tune.

John realised it was a Bach's piece. His favourite one, as he had told Sherlock a long time ago. They were not even a couple back then.

John's heart filled up with warmth as he found himself walking across the room to approach Sherlock. Physically drawn to him, as usual.

That was when John knew that it was the right moment.

John stood beside Sherlock, patiently waiting for the violin piece to finish.

Everything was beautiful that night: the night sky as John watched from the window, the Bach's piece that Sherlock was playing, Sherlock himself, and just everything else.

When that piece came to an end, everyone was clapping and cheering for Sherlock again.

Sherlock finally faced everyone in the room and bowed before keeping his violin back in the case.

Within a few moments, people had begun chatting among themselves, and that was it. It was now or never, John thought.

John took out the box from his pocket and made sure nobody looked at him.

Sherlock was on his way to the bedroom. John reached out to him and caught his wrist in his hand, making Sherlock stop in his tracks.

He turned to face John. "What is it?"

John slipped the small box in his hand, away from everyone's eyes.

Sherlock looked down and his jaw dropped a little. He let out a small gasp before checking that no one was paying attention to them.

John grabbed his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "I'd like to marry you. If that's okay."

Sherlock blinked rapidly at first and nodded. John had never seen him nod so eagerly at anything before.

John's face would have split in half with the way he was smiling.

They exchanged a look and wordlessly decided it would be better if they went out for a short walk.

John went to Mrs Hudson, who was talking to Molly at the moment.

"Mrs Hudson, we're going out for a while. We'll be back shortly. Could you please..."

Mrs Hudson must have sensed the urgency, so she held up her hand and waved him off with a nod.

She took John aside, away from everyone's earshot. "I saw the ring, you know," she whispered with a smile.

John flushed up and began to stutter. "I - I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Promise. But I need to go!"

She laughed and let go of his arm before going to Molly again to continue with the chatting.

*

They were out of the flat and climbing down the stairs now, without looking at each other.

Sherlock held the door open for John and they were out in the street.

Finding an obscure alley, John pulled Sherlock by his hand and backed him against the wall.

Sherlock pulled John close by a fistful of his jumper and now they were kissing.

John placed a hand on his waist and grabbed at Sherlock's curls to feel their softness. Sherlock's arms were wrapped tightly around John's back as their lips connected again magnetically.

John poured all his feelings - love, care, devotion, everything - into his kisses and Sherlock was kissing him back with equal passion.

They pulled away after some time to catch their breath.

Sherlock pulled out the box again and put on the engagement ring in front of John. It fitted like a glove. Beautiful.

Sherlock looked up at John again with his striking eyes. "Yes, I'd like that too. Obviously."

John pulled him close and they kissed again.

A moment later, John pulled away finally. "Let's go back," he said and held Sherlock's hand in his own.

"Do we have to?" Sherlock's nose was scrunched.

John laughed. "Yes, we do."

So, Sherlock and John walked back to the flat again, hand in hand, looking forward to the rest of their life.

***

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompt: Whisper by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @lookingforlifeoutthere @missdeliadili @calaisreno @kettykika78 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @totallysilvergirl @curlyjohnlock

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes/john watson #sherlock x john #30 days of sherlock september 2023 #prompt: whisper #fluff #proposal #christmas theme #implied lestrolly #ficlet #new ficlet #fic writing #sherlockian #sherlock headcanon

[theherdofturtles]

@hwsevents I have created more silly things

America with ADHD creature face and England with TBH creature face

Alfred:

-discovers a new hobby every month -has 2 finished projects, has 200 works in progress -the house is organised by the ungodly Hope-I-Remember-Where-I-Put-That-Last system -invites random people off the city street to his birthday party -acts before thinking, always. There is no such thing as a plan. "I'm going to throw stuff at this obstacle to see what sticks!" -doesn't give anyone else a turn to speak, doesn't notice anyone else is trying to speak -in two days he built a functioning tank from wreckage scraps. It will take him six months to write an email to his boss.

Arthur: -has not changed his 2 hobbies in 200 years -minimal socialising ; ideal enjoyable company is wordless and involves tea time -there is a very specific way everything ought to be done. Tried to make it standard across the world so everything would have consistent borders and rules. "What do you mean they didn't work for you? They work perfectly for me." -lines from memorised poetry and speeches will show up remixed in his daily conversations. -"Did I say something rude? Ah...." do I backtrack or double down? Why was that rude? I hope they do not hate me more than usual now.

#aph england #aph america #hetalia headcanon #tbh creature #adhd creature #autistic england

[orcasoul]

Priceless Part 2

Summary: Takes place after Grogu leaves with Luke to train as a Padawan. The Razor Crest wasn't destroyed. Reader is/was Grogu's nanny. Din and reader are in love, although neither one has confessed their feelings at first. When Din leaves to track a bounty she stays at an Inn because the ship is too quiet without Grogu. She is abducted by slavers and of course our hero Din saves the day and makes them pay!

Warnings: Swearing, angst, graphic description of violence and torture, no use of your Y/N.

Italics indicate inward thinking.

It's been three days since you and Din parted ways. True to his word he checked in with you every morning and night. He always asked if you were comfortable and you always asked how the hunt was going. The conversations always ended in heartfelt declarations of love and longing for each other. You hated saying goodbye every time. Even though you were both on the same planet it felt as though you were on opposite sides of the galaxy, a multitude of vastness between you. You kept yourself busy during those three days, exploring the town and the outskirts during the days and relaxing at a local cantina in the evenings. Often your mind would drift to thoughts of Grogu, but being surrounded by distractions helped to stop the sadness from consuming you to the point of tears. Sitting at your table close to the bar, you lazily sip your glass of Paonga Fresca, soaking up the atmosphere of the increasingly lively venue. Friday night must be the night to socialise, you observed.

The music from the band is definitely more lively tonight, making it easy for everyone to indulge in a night of carousing. You get the bar droids' attention to bring you another drink. After setting your glass down, the droid turns to leave. You watch it walk away and your eyes happen to fall on a Devaronian who is watching you intently. Coming to think of it, you've seen this guy here for the past two nights. Feeling a pang of discomfort from the blatant stare you avert your gaze and casually look around the room. After a few moments you glance back to where he was sitting to find the seat empty. You exhale in relief. The last thing you want is any trouble. Still feeling a bit uneasy, you quickly down the rest of your drink, put on your jacket and decide to call it a night. The suns have almost set as you emerge onto the street. The cooler evening air gives you as sense of invigoration as it kisses your skin. It's mostly quiet out here apart from the odd patrons arriving and leaving. You head off in the direction of your accommodation but are stopped as an old man shuffles towards you.

"Excuse me miss," the aged and small framed man began, "Please, would you mind helping me with these bags?" You look at the bags he roughly dumped in front of his feet, raising a sceptical eyebrow at him as he straightened up with a groan. "I wouldn't usually bother anyone but these bags are so heavy and my prosthetic..." he raises his trouser leg to show you his metal limb, "has been giving me grief all day. I don't live far, just a 10 minute walk in that direction." He points behind you, to the right. Initially you felt nervous of this mans' intentions but seeing his prosthetic leg and how he is struggling was enough to reassure you that he genuinely needs assistance, and how could you say no to someone in obvious need. "Yeah, sure," you reply, grabbing most of the bags while he picks up the last one. "Thank you, my dear. You're very kind," The old man smiled appreciatively. You follow him for several minutes before he turns to an alleyway. You immediately feel a sense of foreboding, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright as goosebumps assault your skin. You begin to slow your pace as the man turns back to face you.

"It's just through here." He points to the alleyway. "I'm afraid my job doesn't allow me the privilege of living in the nicer parts of town," he says with a small smile. You instantly feel guilty for judging the only area this gentle old soul can afford. You nod and swallow the jittery feeling bubbling in your tummy. He's just a little old man, you try to reason your anxiety away. He couldn't hurt me even if he wanted to. You cautiously follow him into the alley, eager to dump the bags at his door and get the hell out of there. The alley snakes off to the right and you follow, only to be met with a dead end. Fear floods your senses, rooting your feet to the spot as you see a group of men waiting in the dim light. The old man drops his bag along with his exhausted pretence. "Good work," one of the gang members addressed the old man as he threw a small pouch at his chest. "Now get out of here." He quickly rushed past you with his head down. "What the?...." You began as you watched him slink away. With increasing alarm you turn back to the gang, pulse and heart racing.

"I think you've got the wrong person," you gulped while reaching for your blaster. "I don't think so," a voice from the shadows replied while the two other men, one human, one Trandoshan raised their own blasters in warning. Slowly you bring your hands up in surrender. The owner of the voice emerges from the shadows causing your eyes to grow wide in fear as you recognise him as the Devaronian from the cantina. "See, we've been watching you for a few days and we know you're not from around here and that you're alone," his repulsive smile makes your skin crawl. "What do you want with me?" You try to sound composed, to hide the fact that your stomach is now in knots. Keeping your chin held high, you challenge his gaze with your own as his guys move behind you, one on your left and the other on your right. "Profits," he smirked. "We're businessmen and you're very valuable." You turn to run but are restrained by strong arms, holding you in a vice like grip. You shriek as you feel a sharp pinch in your neck and slowly the world turns hazy, muffled and then black.

*****

This hunt had felt like the longest ever to Din. True he's been away longer in the past but everyday away from you leaves a longing deep within his soul. He sits by a fire, watching as the orange flames dance with fluidity, like they have a mind of their own. It's strangely calming and his thoughts gravitate to you. He temporarily loses himself in thoughts of kissing you, running his un-gloved hands over your bare skin, the noises you would make as he.... He's abruptly pulled from his musings as the bounty, a klatooinian, shuffles uncomfortably on the other side of the fire, hands and feet bound and mouth gagged. The sooner this is over, the better. This time tomorrow you'll both be together and can finally have that much anticipated talk. He feels so ready to give you his all. As usual the time came to check in for the night. He always felt unsettled until he heard your voice. Hearing you means you are safe. "Cyare, it's Din. Can you hear me?" ....... silence ....... "Cyare, come in." More silence.

Dins chest begins to constrict as worry starts to consume him. You've always answered straight away. Maybe she's just a bit preoccupied. Don't jump to conclusions, he tires telling his racing mind. He'll try again in ten minutes. Those ten minutes became the longest ten minutes of his life. The longer the silence went on, the more he began to panic, his palms becoming sweaty under his gloves and his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't help but imagine the worst case scenario. What if she's injured and alone? What if she's in danger? He tries again, this time with more urgency in his voice. "Cyar'ika, are you there? If you are, Please answer me!" No relpy, no sound at all except the crackling flames and his own blood thrumming in his ears. "I'm really starting to worry now." His voice and hands begin to tremble. "Are you there? Please, come in!"

*****

Your head hurts so bad, the thumping in your temples and ringing in your ears making it almost impossible to focus. You roll onto your side with a groan. Your entire body feels as heavy as a Mudhorn. "Din?" you mumble in your groggy, hazy state. His voice sounds muffled and distant in your ringing ears. As your senses return you realise his voice is frantic. It takes all of your strength to sit up, nausea seizing your stomach at the momentum. Through squinty eyes you look at your surroundings, trying to piece together the events that led to you being in a.... cage?! Shit! A cage! In a cold and dim cave, illuminated only by torchlight. Dread and shock overwhelm you as you remember the men from earlier, the smirk, the grip and the pain. Your whole body begins to shake, breaths coming fast and shallow. The panic is all consuming, pulling you down into the depths of despair.

You reach to your hip but your blaster is gone. Shit, they've taken it. You're suddenly aware that you heard Dins voice only moments ago. The com! They've obviously missed it, being hidden under your jacket sleeve. A spark of hope ignites inside as you bring your wrist to your mouth. "Din?! Din, come in! I need help, Din?!" "I'm here. What's wrong? Are you okay?!" Din's voice is music to your ears, even if it is currently tremulous. "No I.... I don't know where I am. I'm in a cave, somewhere, and they're.... they're going to sell me! Din, I'm scared!" Din's worst fear has come true. You're in trouble. You need his help and he isn't there. Anger and fear swarm his being in equal measure. His ribs feel like a punching bag for his heart, his adrenaline already coursing through his veins, readying his body to become a powerful and deadly weapon. He's going to find you and he's going to kill every one of those fuckers who dared to lay a finger on you.

Hearing the fear in your voice makes Din realise just how completely useless he is right now. You never should have been in a position like this in the first place. In this moment he knows he has failed you. He manages to gather himself before his mind can spiral any further. Now is not the time to fall apart. Not when your life now depends on him. "Tell me everything that happened. Where you were last, who you met, what they look like, anything you can think of." You tell him the name of the cantina, the Devaronian watching you, who turned out to be the same guy who kidnapped you. The others he had with him and the little old man and his trick to get you alone. You break into tears at the end of your panicked ramblings. "I'm so sorry. I was so stupid to trust him." "I need you to listen to me, cyar'ika." Din's calm, collected voice brought you back to the present moment.

"I'm coming for you. I will find you, I promise. I need you to be strong like I know you are, okay?" "Okay," you sniffle through your tears. "Hurry, please. I love-" "Hey!" Your heart jumps out of your chest as a booming voice echos through the cave. A large Bothan angrily fumbles with his keys to unlock unlock the cage door and storms towards you. Din can only listen as your scream fills the com. "Give me that you little bitch!" A sickening thud and a groan from you sends Din into a primal rage, his vision turning red. "Don't fucking touch her!" he roars as the com crackles and falls silent. Din can't breathe, can't think about anything other than getting to you ASAP. He hastily grabs his Amban Sniper Rifle and satchel ready to make off in the direction of the town when his attention is suddenly caught by the bounty, shuffling and groaning at him.

Dank Farrick, the bounty, he curses inwardly. He rushed over to the him, grabbing his arms and legs roughly, removing the restraints. The bounty pulled the gag down, staring at Din goggled eyed, unsure of what to make of his unexpected freedom. "Go!" Din ordered. The Klatooinian awkwardly got to his feet, taking small steps backwards, while keeping his wide eyes on Din's visor. "I said go!" Din raged at him. The stunned bounty nodded, "Thank you." After a several steps he stops and turns to Din. "I hope you find her," he offers sympathetically before running off into the night.

*****

Your scalp feels like it's on fire as you are violently dragged by your hair into a large chamber. You desperately grip onto your hair, pulling it back towards you in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Relief blesses your nerves as the Bothan releases his brutal grip. However the relief doesn't last long. He drags you by your bound wrists over to a pillar. Your eyes widen as you see the chains hanging from it. You instinctively fight back, digging your feet into the ground, using them to push your body backwards to avoid what's coming. But the Bothan is much bigger and stronger than you and easily manages to shackle your wrists to the pillar. A Nautolan walks around the pillar, looking down his nose at you. "Thank you, Baze," he says to the Bothan. "You can go." "Yes, sir," he replys respectfully. This guy must be the boss, you conclude as you size him up. You inwardly scoff as he stands tall, basking in his own airs and graces. "Who did you contact?" he asks in a low voice.

You glare at him while pulling on the chains, hoping to the maker that there's a weak link somewhere. "Who did you contact?" he asks again, nostrils flaring in anger. You hear Din's voice echo in your head, I need you to be strong like I know you are. And you will be, no matter how hopeless things seem. You're not going to make it easy for this piece of Bantha shit. You answer his question with a defiant lift of your chin, holding your head high. He huffs and lowers his head while shaking it in mock disappointment. He brings his hardened gaze up to meet your eyes. His black, soulless eyes make you shudder. "Guess we'll have to do this the hard way," He growled as he headed over to a large cabinet against the wall of the chamber. He opened the door and your heart lurched, horror pulsing through you as you watch him bring out a brutal looking Cat O Nine Tails whip. "It would be better if you'd just cooperate," he warned as he stood behind you. "Fine," he sighed after a bout of silence, "Have it your way."

You gasp as he rips the back of your jacket and shirt open, exposing your bare back. Every muscle in your body seizes, knuckles white as you grip onto the chain, panicked breaths escalating as you brace yourself for the impending impact. Swish! Crack!!! An anguished scream tore through your rib-cage as savagely as the whip tore through your soft flesh. "Who did you contact?" He demanded through clenched teeth, bringing the whip down again, striking the already mutilated tissue on your back. You scream again, knees buckling as you slump against the pillar. A hot sticky wetness runs down your lower back, soaking into your trousers. A sob escapes your raw throat as you whimper, "Please...." "Tell me who you contacted and this will all end," he responded callously. The pain is unfathomable. An insatiable entity invading your body, intent on wreaking as much torment as possible. Every nerve feels like it's on fire, your breaths coming out shallow and laboured.

"I'm losing patience, you stupid girl," he fumed as he lifted the whip and struck another agonising blow, then another and another and another. The intense ringing in your ears stifles the sounds of your excruciating screams. You're not sure how much more of this you can withstand. Exhaustion seeks to claim you, to take you away from this nightmare but you're afraid to let yourself slip away for fear you'll never wake again. A Part of you feels ready to crack, ready to tell him what he wants to know if only to stop this torment. But you will not betray Din. If they know he's coming he'll lose the element of surprise and be in danger. You'd die before you let that happen! Swish! Crack! Scream!! Swish! Crack! Scream!! Swish!.... "Sir." The whip stops as the Bothan enters the room. "An urgent matter requires your attention." The Nautolan huffs in annoyance. "Take her back to the cage. I'll deal with her later," he seeths, throwing the whip on the ground before storming out of the room.

The Bothan unlocks the shackles and you fall to the floor, panting and shaking. Your strength has long since vanished along with your sense of your surroundings. Pain is all you feel and think and know. Large, rough hands grip your shoulders causing you to scream in pain once again at the raw burn spreading over your back as you are thrown over his shoulder. You hear the creak of the cage door before you are thrown face down onto the dusty floor. The Bothan kneels down, hovering over your head. "It doesn't matter who you called," he sneered, pulling your head up, his rancid breath making you gag, "No one will ever find you." He throws your head back to the ground. Sparkling dots burst before your eyes at the impact, then the door clicks locked. This time you have no choice but to give in to the exhaustion.

*****

The cantina is bustling with jovial laughter, cheerful conversations being drowned out by the lively music from a local band. Everyone seems to be having a good time. Everyone, that is, except for a lone Beskar clad man sitting in a darkened corner, meticulously observing the entire room. Din headed immediately for the cantina the moment he arrived in town. It took him an entire day to get here. An entire day when maker knows what could have happened to you. He refuses to dwell on that thought, instead keeping his mind on the here and now. And now he waits. He's been watching every person who has come and gone, so far finding no one fitting the descriptions of your abductors. The hours have dragged on and Din grows more and more impatient. There's only two hours left until closing time and Din's hope of finding those scumbags is dwindling. Anxiety slowly creeps into his chest, his hands balling into fists on the table. He's usually a patient hunter, spending days tracking and laying in wait for his target.

But time is not a luxury he can afford right now. Not when you are depending on him. Just as he can feel his last remaining ounce of patience ebbing away his eyes lock onto a Devaronian as he takes a seat at the side of the bar. This Devaronian fits the description you gave Din perfectly. Din's pulse quickens as his anticipation builds. The man stares across the bar. Din follows his line of sight where it lands on a lone woman. She's oblivious to the guys' steely glare as she's nose deep in a data pad. That's got to be him! Din holds back on the unquenchable desire to launch himself into the Devaronian, to beat him until he tells him what he needs to know. But he has to be smart about this. Any wrong move could jeopardise his chance of finding you. Din's eyes never leave him the whole time he's there. When the Devaronian leaves, Din silently stalks out behind him, keeping enough distance to remain inconspicuous.

He follows him across the street, slipping into the shadows. All the while the guy is oblivious to the bounty hunters advance. He stops to talk to an old man. Din recognises him as the little old man you'd described. He can't hear them through their hushed tones so he enhances the sound in his helmet. "There's a human woman alone, around 30, Red and gold dress, black hair, pulled up in a braided ponytail. You know what to do." Bingo! He's found the bastards, which means he's one step closer to bringing you home. He remains in the shadows while the men part ways. The old man walks to the other side of the street with his bags, putting them down once he rounds a darkened corner. He stays there, peeking around the corner every few minute, watching and waiting for his unsuspecting victim. And Din watches him. Anger and disgust builds inside him with every passing minute.

How many innocent people have fallen victim to these kriffin monsters?! After half an hour the woman emerges through the entrance door and begins to walk down the street. Adrenaline spikes through Din's veins. This is the moment he's been waiting for! He watches as the old man lifts his bags and theatrically staggers towards the approaching woman. Din scoffs as he hears the same pleading words and sees the prosthetic leg trick you'd told him about, being used on this poor woman. Din follows them quietly, every bit the predator stalking his prey. As they turn down a dark alley, he climbs up onto the roof of the building on the corner. The buildings are all so close together he can jump from roof to roof, trailing them from above. He's acutely aware of the the bright moonlight reflecting off his Beskar, so he stays low as he follows, silently and swiftly keeping pace with his target.

Just as you'd told him they came to a dead end where three men (the Devaronian, the Trandoshan and a Human) waited. The Trandoshan tossed a pouch at the old man and told him to leave. Din could easily hear the panic in the woman's voice through his helmet as the men surrounded her. He's going to end this now! He fires a single shot, hitting the old man in the back as he scurried down the alley. One piece of shit down. The men and woman turn their attention to where Din drops down from the rooftop with the smooth precision of a Lothcat. Before the men can react Din takes out the Human and Trandoshan behind the woman with perfectly aimed headshots, while she screamed and ducked, hands covering her head. The Devaronian draws his blaster after his initial confusion at what is happening.

Din shoots it out of his hand while striding angrily towards him. The Devaronian turns to run but falls face down onto the sandy ground as Din fires his whipcord around his legs. After fully restraining the unconscious assailant Din turns to the petrified woman, now sitting fully on the ground, shaking in terror. "Run, now," he gently tells her. Her panic seems to slightly subside when it becomes clear he means her no harm. "Th... thank you!" Her voice trembles as she rises to her feet, fleeing down the alleyway. Din feels a sense of satisfaction, knowing he just saved her from a horrific fate. He now brings his attention back to his captive. He stands and drags him all the way back to the Razor Crest where he can interrogate him any way he sees fit.

part 3

#din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #pedro pascal #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction

[divinekangaroo]

WIP: a honeymoon fic teaser for @deliciousnutcomputer for such patience :)

tommy x lizzie; drinking/inebriation, friction, very unreliable (drunk) narrator XD

(it might not seem it but this one will have the most terribly sweet ending i can possibly imagine)

Day 1:

5:00 PM: Arrive at Victoria Embankment in London to board the Orient Express. 6:00 PM: Departure from London towards Dover. Enjoy dinner in the dining car. Socialise in the lounge and bar cars.  Live music and conversation. Admire the passing countryside and towns as the train continues its journey. During the evening, compartments will be prepared for sleeping with the seating converted into luxury beds.

*

‘There’s fingerprints.’

Lizzie looked up from her plate. Quail at perfect moistness, green peppercorn. Some kind of broccoli sliced into the thinnest of curls, transparent as if green glass, or a museum’s pressed dissection of a small tree. Never particularly been intrigued by the idea of matching wine to meal, one of those things the upper classes pretended was real but wasn’t just to create another barrier, Lizzie learned otherwise: something about the way the white wine, selected for her meal especially, that made everything taste so much better. Hadn’t been the first sip, but layered, as if taste was something that could build over time, acquired, and she was in the thick of complementary layered bliss on her tongue right now. 

The green-eyed sommelier explained it to her with a masculine grace and an attention she’d felt warmly gratified by, as he’d seemed to recognise instantly Tommy wouldn’t pay attention, and instead poured his French-accented charm onto her instead. She’d listened, rapt, and drank everything he gave her.

As if giving a toast, Tommy raised his tumbler to the burnished chandeliers that gave the dining car such atmosphere, frowning.

‘See?  Fingerprints.’

‘Are they your fingerprints?’

‘Course they’re not mine. Look, there’s specks of dirt in this glass.’

‘Tommy.’

Now he was sniffing the contents. ‘Is this scotch? Taste it for me. They’ve given me scotch. In someone else’s fucking unwashed glass.’

‘Can you please get your glass out of my face—’

‘Where’s this bar car? I’m not taking this.’

How was she supposed to know if he didn’t? ‘Given there’s only two directions you could possibly go, I’m sure you’ll find it.’

Tommy gave her an unreadable look, untucked his chair, and stalked out the back end of the dining car, holding the glass out as if it was some dripping bloody organ. Then he hit his shoulder on the doorframe as he passed and paused to glare at it.  

Lizzie looked at her plate to avoid seeing if he'd start a fight with mostly inanimate architecture. She ate another careful mouthful of quail with a slice of broccoli folded onto the gold fork by way of the gold knife. There were still three forks and three knives on the table next to her plate, and three spoons in different sizes arranged at the top of the gold-rimmed plate. She assumed one set had been for the prawn thing in the glasses Tommy waved away before the waiters could approach their table, which she forgave because a disgust for shellfish couldn’t be argued with; another for the soup course he’d looked at and sent back without checking with her, which she didn’t forgive when she’d not even the chance to see what it was. But she wasn’t sure about the final cutlery set because it wasn’t meant for dessert, was it?  

She'd lost her taste for sweet things, anyway. Now she would never know.

Five minutes later, Tommy crossed through again to exit to the front of the car, still holding the offending glass, giving her a passing frown.

Lizzie looked at his plate, steak with the slightest blush of pink at the centre; she could tell because he’d sliced it thin as the broccoli, precisely, end to end, complaining it wasn’t cooked through, didn’t they know uncooked meat gave people worms or worse, he’d had better from a gutted squirrel at a fucking street stall grilled over charcoal on a stick. He’d pushed all the potatoes off the plate in the process of his slicing, exactly like Charlie at his petulant worst, staining the tablecloth.  

Having drained her glass of impeccably selected white wine staring at his plate, Lizzie waved the waiter over to fill her up again. The couple at the table next to her looked at her, not exactly aghast, but politely puzzled. Possibly you weren’t supposed to click repeatedly at a waiter like that in first class. Possibly you weren’t supposed to even call them. Maybe it was all done through some strange set of social signals no one was allowed to explain, because you had to be born into it. 

No one seemed to stare at Tommy like that no matter what he did, though, so men must have a free pass. Either that or he’d found a better book of etiquette than she ever had and not deigned to share.

‘You might as well leave the bottle. Are you allowed to do that?’

‘Of course, madam.’

‘Ta. Thank you, I mean. Thank you.’

‘At your service, madam.’ From the cow-eyes, he looked like he wanted to kiss the back of her hand. Surely that wasn’t reasonable? Lizzie looked away, slightly disturbed, and the couple at the table across offered her near-identical conciliatory smiles, sweetly, which made her realise they weren’t a couple but rather brother and sister, and that was perhaps an invitation to participate in some of that much lauded social conversation listed on their itinerary.

In the corner of the car, on a small elevated triangular stage, a trio of young violinists set up quietly. Two women with hair piled high in identical crowns-of-braids and one man, dark skinned.  At some unseen cue, they all began to play, ethereal and compelling. Lizzie thought distantly of Charlie’s practice, wondered if he’d keep his attention on it long enough to become this good.  Violins were amazing instruments. Having mostly filled her days and a good few nights of marriage so far with various entertainments now available to her, including orchestral performances, Lizzie had decided violins might be her favourite. Not just because of Charlie, but because even his faltering practice made the instrument sound almost human in some way, even if with him it was more crying than singing. Now, in the hands of masters, the instruments pulled her into another place where baby new potatoes weren’t rocking gently on the tablecloth with the motion of the train.

Frisson, that’s what it was. Lifting her from the mundanity of having endured without comment the now hours-long litany of Mr Thomas Shelby’s complaints of raw steak and dirty glasses and the station queues and the traffic on the way in and how could she forget her fucking passport all while pretending he hadn’t forgotten his and the stupid imperfect and fundamentally flawed itinerary the latest useless office lackey put together for this whole affair, the crammed luggage and the lack of information on the weather that would be awaiting them so they couldn’t even pack clothes properly as if he'd ever wear anything other than a bloody three-piece in public and the time this would take away from important business and she’d better be happy and why France, Lizzie, why fucking France, when he’d been the one who picked it—

Nothing was left in the bottle. Lizzie realised it was late enough the car was nearly empty, offending plate and potatoes cleared, and she was almost liquid in her chair, suddenly conscious of how she must look. Eyes half-lidded, face soft, listening and looking, free hand curled at her chest as if wounded, and a total degradation of posture.

The young violinist caught Lizzie’s eye and winked at her, inclined his head so briefly towards the rear end of the car. A lifted eyebrow, in enquiry and offering. He put an extra little effort into his bow arm, the tilt of his chin, and held her eye in a particularly meaningful way.

‘Do you want to fuck me,’ Lizzie asked the empty chair opposite her, jarring and vicious and in her poshest attempt at the King’s English.

The chair didn’t answer.

Then she went to find the bar car or her bed, whatever showed up first in the grand linear journey that was navigating a train where apparently everyone except for her husband actually did, in fact, want to fuck her, blaming her sway and the nearly-rolled ankle along the way on the motion of the carriage.

[affectionatecorpse]

Hi, I'm new to clownblr! I've had my clowns for about 6 years, although I did grow up with my mother's jester, so I'm not unfamiliar to the species. My current troupe consists of two acrobats, a party, two porcelains and a box, who I've all rescued and who are perfectly friendly and easy enough to take care of!

However, recently someone reached out to me asking if I could take a stilt/scare off their hands because he proved to be too much for them to handle. I told myself no more clowns but I was kept awake at night feeling bad for the poor thing and fearing he would just be dumped into a shelter or on the streets, so against my better judgement, I agreed.

Now I'm not very experienced with either of these breeds, so I did a ton of research, but even then he definitely is giving me a run for my money! He gets along with the rest of the troupe okay, thank stars, although the porcelains are a little nervous, and the party keeps trying to brighten him up with ribbons and scarves, which he doesn't seem to like.

He won't eat certain meats, I've noticed. I've tried him on pork, beef, venison, but he won't touch it! He only really touches white meat like chicken, but he's a big clown so that much chicken gets quite expensive. Is this normal? Is there something wrong with the red meat I bought or does he just have a preference?

He also seems to have conflicting instincts, where sometimes he wants to be scary and will jump around, but sometimes his stilt instincts will make him want to be friendly and to socialise. But this is a problem when most people he wants to interact with are ones he's scared before. What can I do to help him get his needs met in a way that's healthy for everyone?

Thanks in advance!

#clowncore #clownblr #clown husbandry #unreality

[lattesqueeze]

For the Pinterest prompts!! Can we get ambient, any ship??

My love! Hello! Yes! Of course you can!

Please accept a little peek into a sweet Sebchal moment. For when you wake up 💛💛💛

Sebastian is different, now he’s retired from racing. He’s softened, mellowed. Hell, enough of his old friends have teased that it’s just age. 

He sits, now, in an overstuffed armchair before a slightly sticky table. It’s dark outside, the cobbled streets flooded with the warm amber glow of the streetlights. Soft but persistent rain patters against the full-length window, and the glass steams up with opaque mist. The coffee shop is quiet enough, a soft babble filling the open space. 

The late hour and the cosy ambience of the cafe lends itself to introspection. Indeed, the removal of stress from his life had allowed Sebastian to relax into himself somewhat. Having been so young when he entered the cut-throat, hyper-competitive bubble of Formula One, he had sometimes felt he had missed out on some of the finer points of socialisation, leaning instead into the ‘win at all costs’ mindset he became known for in his younger years. 

It’s nice, now, to wake up when he chooses, and to run for the feeling of freedom it provides, rather than to break his own personal cardiovascular health records. 

Yes, it’s true that Sebastian’s retirement has seen him become calmer. However, it’s not so much the slower pace of life that has lulled him. It’s definitely more thanks to the sunshine-soft influence of the one he loves. Time is finally on their side, and at last it feels like they have all the time in the world.

There’s a gentle tinkle as the door opens. A slim brunet man makes his way straight to the counter, and orders in a hushed tone that Sebastian can’t quite hear. It doesn’t matter - he always gets it right anyway. He’s wearing a black hoodie over faded jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses. He looks so soft, and Sebastian envisions him curled into his lap on his sofa. 

Charles has been away, racing, and they haven’t seen each other for some time, and phone calls just aren’t the same. Sebastian doesn’t let his mind wander further, waiting for Charles to take the lead with what he wants. 

They never say it in as many words, but it’s there. Sebastian is the first to tell Charles he’s done a good job. Charles always orders Sebastian’s tea with honey in it, just how he likes it. They text each other first when they reach their respective destinations. They know they love each other. And everyone else who cares to know also knows. They don’t have to keep secrets any more.

Charles slides into the armchair opposite Sebastian, placing two steaming mugs on the table. 

“You’re here.” He says with a shy smile. 

“Aren’t I always?”

#when i'm home i will link back to the original post #i just can't FIND IT #thank you for asking i love you #i also love anything ambient #as you know well #i'm unsure what this is but i pray you like it a little bit #cha writes #answered

[missoneminute]

Have never understood totally what happens in that "Carlos lies blinded..." post. The "there's no lock on the door" part confuses me - where exactly is P at that moment? And "what I saw in London?" - why wouldn't they be in London? But maybe I am mad to look for a simple story!

Hello! It's funny because @suchasinistergame and I were just discussing the 'two minutes away' thing yesterday. So in this story, he is at home in the Albion Rooms, where he and Carl both lived at that time.

There's several things that point to that, such as the reference to 'Arcadia's favourite bathroom' and the infamous staircase, which Peter hears Carl's lady friend fall down ('the bard's bird'). Regarding the two minutes away, it's hard to know if he's just poetically discussing that they are right next to each other in the home (their rooms were adjoined) or, if he's referring to another place he could be, or if he’s referring to Carl being two minutes away somewhere down the street at that point in the story (which is the most likely scenario). That remains a mystery. But the larger point is that he's at home, because Carl is nearby, and he wants to be close to him and know what he's up to. What he 'saw in London' likely referred to a gig, and seeing Carl perform during one of their shows. The whole entry is written in Peter's typically confusing and verbose way which often includes hyperbole and poetic license. But in general, he's woken up to find Carl in bed at home in their flat, sprawled out and seemingly asleep, (alternatively, he could be imagining what Carl looks like in his room at that moment) and he makes some really romantic comments about that, before retelling his night. During that night, Peter is hanging out with a girl on his own, while Carl is being a man about town with a whole group of friends. They run into each other during the night at locations they frequently socialise at. Peter feels dejected and appears to be pining over Carl, goes home with the girl, they bathe together and lay by the fire, before they go to bed. He's woken early in the morning by the girl Carl has come home with falling down the stairs. He finishes the post by telling Carl he has been obsessing about him, gets a little angry at him over the Libertines' future, then says he loves him. It's a spectacular artefact because it depicts such open obsessiveness and pining in that relationship. It's one of those fandom, "WE GET THIS FOR FREE?? moments, haha. x

#asks