#elle’s fics

[sourholland]

timeless; thomas shelby

This idea has been plaguing my mind for days, I cannot get it out of my head. I’m not sure if I will make any more parts of this, it all depends on how I feel about it and if it is well received. The timeline of this is skewed on purpose, it’s also heavily based on Tommy’s time fighting during the war. Timeless by Taylor Swift was a huge inspiration.

Both you and Tommy became unlikely friends during childhood, only for you to realize you had always loved him. Tommy finds himself seeing you in a different light, only war being able to separate the two of you. (3.5k)

Thomas Shelby was the first and only boy you had ever loved.

It was 1902, Tommy was twelve years old. He played with your older brother, they went out into the street with the Shelby brothers and few other boys from the neighborhood and kicked a ball around. You were eight, trailing your brother Joseph at every chance you had.

When you met Tommy, it was because you had chased after your brother one August afternoon with the intention to join their game of kickball. The moment you approached the large group of prepubescent boys, Joseph looked absolutely mortified. Even though he was older than some of the boys, at fourteen, he still followed all of Tommy’s orders. This, you didn’t understand.

“Go home,” he leaned down to your level in gritted teeth.

“I just want to play, just one game,” you pleaded with him. “Please, Joey.”

“No,” he barked. “Y/N, you gotta get out of here.”

Feeling you face heat up, you were near tears and embarrassed in front of all of the older boys. Joseph would not let up, angry at you for trying to play with him and his friends.

“What the fuck d’she want?” Arthur bellowed towards your brother.

Peering over at him, you could tell that he was not very patient and was even older than Joseph. After Arthur had yelled, you turned back to go home. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you shuffled back to where you lived and went inside to play alone.

“Fuckin’ asshole is what you are,” Tommy shook his head a bit. “Game’s not fuckin’ hard or anythin’, Joe. She could have played.”

That was all they ever said again on the matter, your brother never brought it up to you that night and you never spoke of it to him. It wasn’t until later on that month that anyone had approached you about what happened that day in Small Heath.

You were sent out to pick up your mother’s cigarettes, dragging your feet along the dirt path with the coin in your hand. Every Wednesday, you made the same trek. Tommy Shelby came up on your right side as you walked one day, you saw a screwdriver sticking out of his pocket and nearly shuttered. The kids around the neighborhood spoke of him in hushed whispers, calling him a gypsy and saying he and his brothers carried razor blades around with them.

“You’re Joe’s sister, aren’t you?” He asked, peering over at you. “Tried to join in on a game a while back?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “I’m Y/N.”

He hummed in response, kicking dirt with his shoe as you both walked. He was much taller than you, though he was still quite narrow and scrawny. Truthfully, there was no denying that you had a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on him.

“Where’re you headed?” He finally spoke up.

“Grabbing my mum’s cigarettes,” you told him with a sigh. “She sends me out every week to pick some up.”

At the time, you had no clue why Tommy had followed you all the way to the shop and then walked you home. He never gave you any inclination either. Then, he did the same the next week. He came outside when you passed his house and you walked together. This occurred every week after the first.

Of course, you assumed this meant he liked you and this caused you to revel in the attention just a little. Tommy would talk to you about school and horses mostly, he was kind to you.

About six months after you and Tommy had developed this weekly routine, you mentioned something to your brother about it and he teased you about having a crush on Tommy. Making the mistake of saying he must’ve liked you back if he continued to walk along with you, Joseph was quite cruel in return.

“He doesn’t do it because he likes to,” Joseph laughed. “Father started pestering me to walk with you when he found out you were being picked on in school, bothered and such by the boys around. I started to give Tommy a bit of my allowance to walk with you so dad would finally get off my fucking back.”

You no longer walked to the shops on Wednesdays.

Tommy waited for you the next week, but you never left out front and began past his house. The week after, he did the same and you still did not come.

“Y/N!” Your mother’s voice came up the staircase on Thursday morning. “Come to the door.”

Tommy stood there in the walkway to your home, talking with your mother about something as you came down the steps. She left you to walk outside together and down the stairs into the street.

“You’re not getting your mum’s cigarettes anymore?” He asked you suddenly.

“No, I am,” you told him. “Just don’t want to walk with you anymore.”

He seemed taken aback by this, not used to the idea of you sticking your nose up at him and looking the other way when he tried to talk to you. Tommy knew you were smitten with him, he didn’t mind it. He thought you were nice enough, he liked to walk with you every week. He just didn’t see you the same way that you saw him, you were too young and too curious about certain things.

“Why’s that?” He shot back a little annoyed.

“Joey told me that he’s been paying you to do it, to make sure nobody messes with me.”

“And?” Tommy asked. “Doesn’t really fuckin’ matter if you ask me, whether he’s payin’ me or not.”

This made you roll your eyes, shaking your head at him and leaning against the brick of one of the alleyways you walked down. Tommy was confused as to why this bothered you so much, truthfully it didn’t really matter about the money to him. It helped him to buy cigarettes, that was all. He didn’t mind walking along with you, though. He would’ve done it without the payout.

“It matters to me,” you told him. “I don’t need looking after or anything like that.”

Turning on your heel, you thought that you’d been able to get the last word. Little did you know, nobody but Tommy got the last word. He only realized you had decided to go out on Saturdays, rather than Wednesdays. He told Joseph that he wouldn’t be requiring payment anymore and you walked in silence for over a month before you spoke to him on your walks again.

His stubbornness irked you, leaving you infuriatingly mad at his inability to leave you alone. Your cheeks went hot when he came around, stomach in knots whenever he would say your name.

Over the years, you had tried to shake your feelings for Tommy. This was mostly due to the fact that you had grown attached in a way that allowed you to call him a friend. By the time you were eleven, Tommy had taught you how to ride his horse. He spent an entire summer working with you. He was fifteen and definitely had plenty of better things to do, but he spent hours upon hours in the grueling sun with you.

“Tommy,” you said, laying sprawled out on a patch of grass one afternoon when you were thirteen and he was seventeen. “D’you want to come ‘round to mine for supper tonight? Mum asked me to invite you over.”

The last bit was a lie, you truly just wanted Tommy to join you. He inhaled shortly before propping himself up on his hand and looking over at you.

“Can’t tonight, m’sorry,” he apologized to you.

“Why not?” You asked curiously, assuming he’d saying something about having to be with his brothers or Polly.

“I’ve actually asked a girl out,” he confessed to you. “I’m planning to take her out tonight.”

This was one of the few times Tommy discussed his love life with you. Your friendship mostly consisted of doing other things, less intrusive things. He still really saw you as a younger sister type of figure in a way. He thoroughly enjoyed your company, but there was no denying his attraction to the girls he saw in school.

Once, Tommy told you about Arthur bringing home a prostitute. He didn’t tell you why he did it, or what they did. Only laughed it off, unbeknownst to him that you really didn’t know what a prostitute was. Joseph had called them whores, but you lived a rather sheltered lifestyle and none of the older people around you ever spoke about such things in front of you.

Tommy took girls out, he’d had several girlfriends as you approached your later teenage years. Your friendship, however, never faltered. When you were seventeen years old, you remember going out riding with him and telling him how you wanted to make something of yourself beyond what Small Heath had to offer. Planning to become a schoolteacher, Tommy had always admired this about you.

“Don’t you want to be something other than all this?” You asked him, alluding to the fact that he was growing more and more responsible for the Peaky Blinders. “I mean, I just wondered if you ever had other dreams.”

“I’d like to work with horses,” he told you quietly, running his hands over the mare’s mane.

“Why don’t you?” You questioned him. “I know you feel some sense of responsibility over your family, I think it’s one of your best traits. Don’t you ever want to just—I don’t know, live a less tormenting life?”

Tommy played with the reins, looking at you and shrugging. This was all he’d ever known, and all he would ever know. There was no Birmingham without Tommy Shelby, you knew it as well as anyone. It still hurt, though. Knowing he was playing with fire every day, testing God, as your mother had called it.

Once Tommy had grown more involved in the gang, your parents no longer allowed him to come over to the house. They detested you seeing him at all, your brother most of all. He settled quickly, marrying a woman and starting a family.

Tommy realized he loved you when he was twenty two years old. He’d known you for ten years, having called you his best friend for a decade. You were eighteen years old and had just begun training to become a teacher, you were commuting frequently and saw Tommy less and less.

It was that Christmas when you’d introduced him to the man you had been courting, his name was Michael. When he shook the man’s hand, Tommy felt something inside of him shift. Suddenly, you were no longer that little girl with scuffed shoes and long pigtails. He saw a young woman with ambition and heart, but you were no longer holding out for Tommy like you had for nearly ten years.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Arthur came up and clapped Tommy on the back of the shoulder. “S’fucking Christmas and you’re really bringing my spirits down.”

Tommy said nothing, downing more whiskey as he watched Michael spin you around in a dance. You were in a fit of laughter, smiling at him adoringly.

“Be serious, brother,” Arthur sighed, drunk and wondering how Tommy could truly be as he was. “You can’t tell me that you’re sitting over here in the corner drinking away your sorrows because she’s brought along some bloke.”

“Fuck off, won’t you?” Tommy shot him a look.

“Unbelievable,” Arthur walked away laughing.

It was completely and utterly unbelievable, not only to Arthur, but to Tommy as well. He’d spent years with you, practically praying that you would find someone, anyone to avert your feelings too. As you grew older, you also were able to hide your feelings and emotions better in Tommy’s case.

He watched you the entire night, nodding a farewell when he noticed you trying to approach him. He had no intention of speaking to Michael again, for fear that he may be physically ill.

His hope that it was a passing courtship died with what looked to be your close friendship. The two of you hardly saw each other anymore, animosity forming between you after the night of the Christmas party.

Months later, Tommy found himself at your apartment door when Ada had told him that you mentioned thinking Michael was planning to propose. He left to see you after midnight, walking the entire distance to where you lived and putting himself at your front door well past one in the morning.

“Y/N,” he called out as he knocked. “It’s Tommy.”

Opening the door, you were only left in your nightdress. Your hair was down completely, something Tommy had not seen since you were some years younger. He could not help but to notice the sheer material of the fabric, the buds of your nipples showing through.

“Tommy?” You yawned. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you,” he told you.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

Ushering him in, you let him shut the door behind him and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Tommy felt himself growing hard, looking at you in such a state.

“Y/N, don’t marry him,” Tommy blurted out in almost a whisper.

“What?” You looked at him, shocked. “What did you say?”

“Don’t marry him, don’t marry Michael.”

There was a stillness to the room, a silence that made you almost sick. His face was somehow stoic, but pleading at the same time. His eyes bored into your own, as if they were making it impossible to get a word out.

“He is a good man, Tommy,” you said. “He wants to take care of me, to make me happy.”

“With plenty of money and security, with a practical occupation and a good legacy to leave your children?” Tommy asked, sarcasm incredibly evident.

“Yes, Tommy. Fuck, I mean is that what you want me to say? That he can give me a good life? Why should it matter if he’s got money?”

“It shouldn’t, not if you love him,” Tommy told you. “Do you?”

It felt as if you were eight years old again, confronting Tommy about why he was walking with you in the first place. He looked at you with such yearning, such longing. It was as if he was begging you not to say yes, pleading with you not to have already devoted your heart to this man.

There was only one truth of the matter. Thomas Shelby was the only man that you had ever loved.

“Tommy, I have only ever loved you since I was eight years old,” you whispered.

As if unable to hold back any longer, Tommy embraced you fully and brought you into his arms. He kissed you furiously, without any doubt or question that you were meant for him. He let his hands run up and down your back and pulled you into his body.

Before you gave into your urge to let him rip your sheer nightdress off of you, you pulled away with swollen lips and eyes full of desire. This was not right, not until you spoke to Michael. Regardless of how you felt for Tommy, you could not do this to Michael.

“Not yet,” you whispered. “I gave a man my word, I need to speak to him before I can go any further here.”

Tommy respected your choice, he knew you wouldn’t want disloyalty on your conscience. He just nodded his head and placed a hand on your cheek gently, it was in these moments that he forgot about everything else.

Michael didn’t take the news very well at all, his ego was bruised and he pleaded for you to reconsider. He told you how deeply he loved you and how you had led him on, making him believe that you two would have a life together. He was right, you had encouraged him in all of his dreams of your future and you had done it without ever considering how it may end. It was selfish.

It took you weeks before you agreed to see Tommy again after Michael had left you feeling so guilty. Nights of tireless sleep, you would look up at the sky and pray to god that you were making the right decisions.

Over a year into your training, you would soon be able to do what you’d always dreamt of. Dark times approached, though. There were ghosts of whispers at every street corner, they spoke of war so feverishly. It was as if death was due to knock at the doors of families, stripping women of their husbands and children of their fathers.

The thought of this had left Tommy quite stoic most of the time, he held a monotonous view on the entire matter. Every time you had brought it up to him, he told you how he would be expected to fight on behalf of his country if it came down to it.

And so he did, when it came down to it and Britain had joined the War—The Shelby brothers and hundreds of other men in Small Heath joined as well.

“Tommy,” I sniffled as I watched him from across his bedroom pack a small bag of things. “I need you to promise me that you’ll come home, that you won’t die out there. They’re saying things about trench warfare, it’s all really terrifying—”

Tommy crossed the room and took your face in his hands, kissing you hard on the lips, as if it was the last time he would ever do so. A piece of you wondered if he believed that he would die out there.

“Please come home,” you breathed.

“I will come home,” he kissed you again. “I promise you.”

You planned to hold him to this promise. Having waited ten years for Tommy Shelby, you would wait however long more so long as he would come home to you.

It took two months before his first letter would come after you watched him depart on that large ship. Long months of kneeling at the foot of your bed, begging god not to take Tommy. Everything that was being said about the war was absolutely tragic, soldiers being blown to pieces or rotting below the earth in the trenches.

My Dearest Y/N,

I wish I was able to write to you sooner, I cannot say where I am for the risk of interception. Just know that I have never been in such conditions in my life, I spend my days underground. I have taken the role of a tunneler. Trench warfare has not been good to any of us, I find myself fantasizing of the end of this long hell.

I stare at your picture every night before I shut my eyes, dreaming of what it would be like beside you. There is no greater sorrow to me than your absence from my life at this point in time. I can only hope that it will not be for long.

Not long ago, myself and a group of men were gassed. I watched a fellow soldier go blind for nearly three days before he finally came out of it, only with some permanent damage. There are times when I have thought to myself, ‘Perhaps if I was hit, it would not be so bad. Perhaps even death is better than fighting in this war’.

Then I think of you. I think of the promises I made to you before I left to fight in this god awful war. I cannot understand how men are expected to live like this, nor how we will continue on. I was up to my knees in water last week, the trenches dark and desolate as we waited for the storm to pass. There is so much waiting these days.

I look forward to your letter.

With all of my love,

Tommy Shelby

#elle’s fics #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagines #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

[unhingedthirst]

“It’s my thigh or nothing, I’m not helping you get off.” Possibly a julian×fem reader or cyrusxfem reader? (Maybe both if you're feeling extra saucy😅)

BET THIS IS SO HOT

MINORS DNI

Julian had it with you, it’s been all damn day with the teasing. He was over it. You were being such a brat and on top of it he was having the absolute worst day. Cory and Trevor had royally screwed up and set them way back in their operation. Than there was you who was supposed to be helping him pick up the pieces but you were sucking on a lollipop and giving fuck me eyes and slowly stroking his thigh. You couldn’t help it, you knew everything was gonna work out and he just looked so hot when he was angry. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter all day and now you needed him to fuck the shit out of you so you were pulling out all the stops. It’s not like you guys haven’t been having sex lately because you have but it’s been very hard to get any quality time with Julian lately. Both of you have been all in on the newest money making scheme; so long story short you were losing your mind. Little did you know so was he. You needed his large hands all over your body and his cock anywhere he’d let you have it. And you needed it soon or you were sure you were gonna spontaneously combust.

He pulls in to Sunnyvale and drags you into his trailer. You were ecstatic you were finally gonna get what you wanted all day. Julian had other plans, he knew what you were doing and he wasn’t gonna reward bad behavior. He sits on the couch without saying a word and starts reading while sipping his drink, you sink to your knees in front of him and try to unbuckle his belt, thinking you’ve figured out his game but he slaps your hands away “Why would i let you even look at my cock right now? You have been such a fucking tease all day.” He seethes pinching the bridge of his nose. You knew what that tone meant, you guys have been fucking longer than you’ve been dating so you knew that tone meant you were in trouble. You start to panic thinking that means you weren’t gonna get to cum at all tonight “Jules babe.. please honey I’m sorry” you say desperation lacing your voice “I’ll do anything.” you add and that was your demise. His blue eyes turned dark as he heard your voice get so small, it had been so confident and mocking all day and now he knew you were putty in his hands. He’d never take advantage of that though, he adored you more than anything in the world and both of you knew that. However you were also being a fucking nightmare today; a incredibly sexy one but a nightmare nonetheless. He took a second before he spoke motioning you to come sit on his lap, you comply confused.

He kisses you chastely and whispers against your lips “I’m not gonna make you cum. You don’t deserve that” with a smirk on his face as he strokes your cheek, before you could protest he shifts your hips so his strong muscular Jean clad thigh was slotted between your pretty little cunt. His blue eyes bore into yours and you wait for him to speak again, you go to touch him but he grabs both your wrists in his hand “you are gonna use my thigh to cum..gonna grind your pretty hips and be grateful that I’m letting you do this” he says and pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point behind your ear as he keeps a hold on your wrists. You whine in desperation and look at him “Julian please. Need your cock, nothing will ever be as good as you fucking me” you beg and while all of it was true you knew you saying that would get to him. His furrows his brow and shakes his head “that’s not gonna work this time. It’s my thigh or nothing. I’m not helping you get off.” He says his voice gravely with arousal and frustration. You nod and swallow, he allowed you to move for a moment to take off your pants and panties and the second the cold air touched hit your pussy it felt like all the nerves in your body lit up. You felt absolutely pathetic but it might be one of the hottest things your usually calm and collected boyfriend has made you do. You start grinding your hips again this thigh and you whimper. You kept your eyes glued to his stoic face as you grind your hips again; you felt each drag leave a delicious pain on your sensitive clit. As you kept your eyes locked with his your hips sped up and your noises got more desperate and wrecked sounding. The next thing you knew Julian was removing your t-shirt and ridding you of your bra. He started palming at your breasts and toying with your nipples, you let out a whimper and he can’t hold back anymore. “You are such a pretty pathetic little slut for me huh?” He taunts “tell me who got you this desperate. I wanna hear you” he growls as his hands roughly pinch your left nipple. Your hips Start to stutter and you could feel yourself dampening his lap “you babe. It’s always you. So fucking hot it’s not fair… I’m a desperate slut just for you”. You declare helplessly not even caring how you sounded you just needed him to make you cum. You knew you were mostly on your own though; he was generous to be even playing with your tits. You grind down harder and you could feel tears prick the corner of your eyes as you get closer. The heat in your belly building and then he speaks again his voice rough with arousal “that’s it. Get off on my thigh baby. That’s a good girl” the praise sends you to another plane. You grab onto his muscular arms as you build speed “this is so hot to watch beautiful. I can’t believe I do this to you.” He says in disbelief and you feel his arms go down to your hips and he helps them rock “Julian. Imma cum.. can I cum please?!” You practically cry out, the pleasure continuing to build as he forces your hips to move “will you be a good girl now?” He seethes but gently grabs your jaw; you nod desperation clear in your body and he just nods once simply. You take that as your green flag and a tear streams down your cheek as he holds you close as the pleasure coil in your tummy snaps and you cum with a strangled cry as stars fill your vision. You don’t know if you’ve ever cum so hard without penetration before; you come to with Julian gently moving you off his lap and stroking your hair “look at the wet spot you left. Jesus fucking Christ” he says in amazement and places a soft kiss on your lips. You still cum drunk just lean against him and clutch the fabric of his back t-shirt in your small fists “I need to rile you up like that more often” he sighs and he rubs his temples “what am I gonna do with you?” He sighs but a smile paints his lips. His erection very evident in his now wetter jeans “let me take care of that?” You Purr and he smirks as you sink back down on your knees “you’re insatiable” he moans as you palm him and unbuckle his belt.

“You love it.” You coo

“I do.” He nods and grabs your hair in a makeshift pony tail. You start to take him in your mouth so you almost miss him saying

“And I love you”

Should I still do the Cyrus version?

#trailer park boys #tpb #tpb julian #trailer park boys fanfiction #elle’s fics #forgive the errors! #i didn’t beta

[ellecdc]

Surprise! We're Making Love

6.8k words

this is my first real like... real smut fic? so do take that into consideration [and please be nice to me lol] but also feel free to send me a message if you have any feedback or pointers.

this is a fic based on this trope that was sent to me by @bobluvbot like a million weeks ago and became my hyper fixation for far too long. I finally decided to put it into words. thanks to @unstablereader for championing me as I wrote this and convincing me it was decent enough to post lol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

CW: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coming inside of someone, AFAB reader, reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, has hair long enough for Rem to feel it on his shoulders when you're straddling him, reader has hair texture that sticks to you when wet, mentions of smoking weed and being high, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of arranged marriages, use of mudblood and blood supremacy

Remus doesn’t know how exactly this thing started for him.

Perhaps it was the day after a full moon when he forgot to lock the door behind him to the Prefects Bathroom and you let yourself in, nearly fully stripped before you realised he was sitting in the steaming, bubbling pool-sized tub with a spliff hanging lazily from his mouth.

“Circe’s tits!” You screeched as you hastily pulled up your towel to keep your modesty. “You didn’t think to alert me to your presence, Lupin?” You sneered half-heartedly at him as you tried to regain your composure.

“Sorry.” Remus chuckled, voice gravelly from a mixture of last night’s howling and tonight’s smoking. “My brain is moving a little slowly right now.”

You looked between him and the spliff and sighed. “Think you’ll be much longer?” You asked him quietly, cautiously, reticently. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you look so dejected.

Slytherin princess; though you never really let that dictate how you treated people, just that it levelled you with a certain notoriety within the school. You were the only one who could talk sense into Barty Crouch Junior; Pandora Rosier’s biggest defender and advocate; Snape, Mulciber, and Avery’s biggest adversary; the one who encouraged Regulus Black to reach out to his estranged older brother; and the least likely to enact revenge on the Marauder’s for their pranks.

Though Remus had never shared more than a few words with you in passing, he knew a lot about you. In addition to the aforementioned qualities, you were a Pureblood, the eldest daughter and heiress to your family’s name and fortune, Prefect, received top marks in Charms and Transfiguration, and hated the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Knowing all of that made Remus rather rueful that he hadn’t spoken to you before now.

“Listen, this tub is nearly the size of an Olympic swimming pool.” Remus started, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. “It’s big.” He clarified. “I don’t mind...sharing if you wouldn’t be too uncomfortable; otherwise, I’ll pack up and leave it to you.”

He didn’t really want to leave; not whilst he was still nursing his post-moon hangover and the warm water was finally starting to relieve some of the tension in his bones. But you looked forlorn, and damn Remus and his bleeding heart, he’d give it up if you needed it.

“I don’t want to kick you out... you were here first.” You murmured, apparently weighing your options in your head.

“I will leave if you want, L/N, but I’m more than willing to share.”

You searched his eyes for what, Remus wasn’t sure, but you seemed to come to some decision. You threw your head back and let out a strangled groan which Remus was certain was more for dramatic effect than it was indicative of any real ire.

“Fine, turn around.”

Remus smirked at you and tried to ignore the protesting of his joints as he stood in the pool and turned to face the opposite wall, allowing you to drop the rest of your clothes and your towel and sink into the water.

“Okay...” You whispered quietly. “You can sit back down now; thank you.”

Perhaps it had begun then; he’d offered you a puff from his joint, causing you to move closer to him. He was a gentleman and avoided noticing the way your breasts sat high on your chest, buoyant in the bubbly and fragrant waters.

He ignored the feeling of your elbow brushing against his. He ignored the way your hair, damp from the steam and humidity, stuck against your skin. And he definitely ignored the way that as the weed started to affect you, you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

What he couldn’t ignore? When you asked him what you could do to help him.

“Help?” Remus asked you bemusedly, jostling his shoulder and forcing you to sit up and return his gaze.

“Yeah; you seem tense, stressed.”

Remus let out a confused chuckle from his nose. “That’s really not anything you need to worry about.”

You laughed back at him, nudging him with your elbow. “Lupin.” You chided. “You were willing to give up your private pool time, you’ve shared your weed with me, and you’ve let me intrude on your bath; let me worry about it.”

And he doesn’t know how you did it, he’s not even sure he remembers how the rest of the conversation went – one moment the two of you were sitting an entire swimming pool apart and pretending the other wasn’t there, and the next moment he was sitting on the edge of the pool with his hands tangled in your hair as you took him in your mouth.

“Christ, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He tried warning you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

Like the watery siren that you were, all you did was moan and take him deeper, and in another moment, he was spilling down your throat.

Remus was sure he looked absolutely wrecked; naked, soaking, exhausted, a few fresh wounds from last night, and his permanent eye bags a more dramatic purple today on account of his lack of sleep last night.

Not you though; somehow even though you’d just done all the work, you looked ethereal. Wet hair pooling in the water around you as you sunk into the suds up to your collarbones, your lips swollen and glistening from your fantastic work if you asked Remus, and eyes a mischievous magnet nearly luring Remus back into the pool completely against his will.

“Godric, you’re good at that.” He breathed embarrassingly. Thankfully, you only laughed at with him.

“I’m sure you meant that as a compliment, Lupin; but it sort of sounds like you’re calling me a whore.”

Remus cackled at that, thankful that his time in the water eased the soreness in his ribs before doing so.

“If you give me a few moments, I’ll return the favour dove.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You offered, moving back to the other side of the pool to retrieve the book you’d deserted in favour of pot, and then in favour of cock. “I’ll just take an I.O.U.”

Or maybe it started at the Ravenclaw afterparty following their win against Hufflepuff. You showed up with your friends fashionably late and clearly having pre-gamed to some extent if Barty’s uncoordinated movements were anything to go by.

He noticed you every once in a while, flitting around the party with various friends, dancing to various tunes, participating in various games over conversations; but something was different about you. You weren’t as...glowy.

Your smile never met your eyes, and your laughs weren’t carefree – not like they were in the tub. Not like they ought to be.

But hey, you helped him when he needed it, and he did technically owe you.

He brushed past you and gently pulled on your elbow as he continued moving. When you turned back to see what had happened, he nodded toward the exit.

He didn’t bother turning around to see if you were following him, he just carried on down the stairs of Ravenclaw tower before turning the corner to an empty corridor.

“Oi, Lupin; your legs are longer than mine. Slow down!” You called. 

He didn’t realise at that time how much it meant to him that you had followed; hindsight being 20/20, and all.

“Where are we going?” You queried as you caught up and walked in step with him.

“You’ll see.” He said simply, cutting across the hall and opening the door to an empty classroom.

“Going to teach me how to translate Ancient Runes, Lupin?” You joked, though your affect was clearly lacking.

“I’m going to help.” He responded simply, leaning backwards against the professor’s desk.

“Help?”

“Right.”

You smirked and raised a singular perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, looking him up and down with a suggestive glance.

“What exactly are you to help me with?”

“You seem worried, tense.” He repeated your exact words from the tub a little over a week ago.

You offered him a half smile that, once again, never met your eyes. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

He offered you a soft smile in return. “I do owe you, though.”

Remus doesn’t know what it was that convinced you to accept his offer. One moment he was leaning casually against the professor’s desk as you watched him warily from the door to the classroom, and the next moment he had you splayed out on the desk before him with the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist and his head between your legs.

Now, it’s important to note that Remus is a humble and modest person. In fact, he’s really quite self-conscious. He didn’t come from a notable family and compared to his friends he was basically a pauper, he was scarred and tall and lanky, and due to his lycanthropy, he avoided meaningful relationships; meaning that whilst his friends all enjoyed relationships and situationships, he stayed religiously single.

All that being said, there was something Remus knew to be true that he felt worth bragging about.

He was fucking good in bed.

So his ego was properly stroked when you threw your head back so hard that it made a painful whacking sound against the wood of the desk with just the first stripe of his tongue through your folds.

Like a man starved, he buried his face between your legs and hardly ever came back up for air. He pulled your hips flush to his chest with your legs thrown over his shoulders and his arms hugging your thighs that he used as earmuffs.

Remus could easily call this one of his new favourite places to be, especially with the sinful sounds escaping your mouth.

He used his thumb to tease your clit, thrusting his tongue in your hole a few times before bringing it back out to run through your lips.

“Oh, Merlin!” You cried, causing him to chuckle, which caused you to flinch slightly at the feeling of his cold breath against your cunt.

“Come now, L/N; you know that’s not my name.”

You let out another cry as he wasted no time diving back in, his nose rubbing at your clit as his tongue continued its assault.

Remus’ efforts were rewarded in the form of you cumming on his face and your body falling limp below him.

He allowed you to catch your breath as he fought to catch his own, ignoring his knees crying in protest from having spent the last however long supporting his weight on the hard stone floor.

“Oh gods.” You breathed finally, opening your eyes and stealing a shy glance at Remus, still stationed near your core.

He smiled wolfishly at you. “Better?”

You laughed; a real, hard laugh that had been missing from you all night. “Much.” You agreed readily, accepting his outstretched hand and sitting up on the edge of the desk and pushing your skirt back down to cover yourself. “Thank you, Lupin.”

Remus shrugged nonchalantly as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of his fingers, pushing open a window with a flick of his wand. “What are friends for?”

You snorted inelegantly; a far cry from the proper Pureblood heiress you’d been raised to be as you pulled your panties back on and took careful, albeit slightly wobbly, steps to join him at the window.

“Are we friends now?”

“Were we not friends before?” He countered, offering you a drag from his smoke that you easily accepted. He was sure his lips, tongue, and now the end of his cigarette still tasted like you.

“I didn’t think your kind was supposed to be friends with mine.” You offered, not looking at him as you passed the cigarette back.

“Blood status, really L/N?”

You scoffed derisively. “Please, Lupin. Give me some credit.”

It seemed to Remus that you looked almost hurt at his insinuation.

“I meant Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s.”

“Perhaps we can be the first.”

“Do many of your friends see you naked, Lupin?”

Remus grimaced at that. “Honestly? More than I’d like, yes.”

And there it was again, that uninhibited laugh. Remus felt vindicated in his task for this evening.

“Alright, friends then.” You agreed, reaching out for his cigarette and taking a long drag before returning it to him. “Let me know when you might need my help again, Lupin.”

“Likewise.”

And maybe it was the day that he had Avery pinned against the wall by the collar of his shirt for calling a first year Hufflepuff a Mudblood.

There was blood dripping from Remus’ nose onto the collar of his uniform shirt from an elbow to the face as he spat various threats promises of pain and maiming, when he felt a gentle hand on the small of his back.

Due to the tension radiating through Remus’ body considering how close it was to the moon, his first reaction was to throw an elbow behind him. He thanked every deity possible that you were shorter than him when you ducked expertly to dodge his assault.

“Let him go.” You said simply.

Remus felt his brows furrow as he let out a protesting grumble.

“McGonagall is coming.” You continued.

Remus looked from you back to Avery who was now smirking at him. If Remus left now, Avery would tell McGonagall what Remus did; if Remus stayed, he could tell McGonagall what Avery had said.

“He won’t say anything.” You argued - as if you had heard Remus’ internal conundrum - causing Avery’s face to fall and both boys to whip their heads to you.

“And why the bloody hell won’t I, L/N?” Avery spat.

Your eyes moved from Remus’ to Avery’s where they took on a horrifyingly cold quality, no doubt the result of your cold and indifferent parents raising you like a proper Pureblood heir.

“Because I know where you sleep.” You spat lowly.

Remus watched as Avery fought to remain defiant, but as he heard the sound of McGonagall’s footsteps approaching, let out a frustrated groan.

“Fine. Sod off.” He barked, pushing Remus away from him roughly and stalking off towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Remus angrily picked up his book bag and began stalking down the corridor in the opposite way.

His blood was boiling, the tension in his shoulders and neck was starting to give him a headache and every step he took aggravated the matter.

He turned hastily around a corner when the strap of his book bag was pulled off his shoulder.

“What?” He hissed when he turned to see you with the other end of his strap in your hand.

“This way.”

“L/N.”

“Lupin.” You countered severely, voice intoning no nonsense.

Remus allowed you to drag him by his bookbag like a dog down a seemingly abandoned corridor and into an empty classroom before you locked the doors and threw up a silencing charm.

“What are you doing?” He muttered admittedly far more petulantly than you presently deserved from him.

“Helping.” You answered simply as you began undoing your school tie.

“I’m fine.” He spat, plopping himself down roughly into a chair. 

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “And you wouldn’t have continued to punch the first arse you saw on your way back to Gryffindor, huh?” You asked as you started pulling off your top and exposing your lacy black bra. “And I may not be an expert, but you’re a long way from Gryffindor tower which means your chances of running into an arse were really rather high.”

Remus held his hands up to his face and pinches at his temples, trying to stave off the incoming migraine and the overwhelming urge to tell you to fuck off, which he knew he really didn’t want to do. 

Suddenly you were in nothing but your bra and panties, kneeling before him and fussing with his belt.

“This really isn’t necessary, L/N.” He offered without much fervour. 

“What are friends for?” You asked quietly as you pulled his belt from the loops of his trouser.

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked pointedly, pausing your movements and looking up at him. You were giving him a choice; an out. Did he want to blow off some steam, or did he want to spend the rest of his day pissed off and tense?

Did he want you to stop?

“No.” He admitted.

Your eyes softened, though everything else about your face remained impassive as you undid the button and zip to his trousers and began encouraging them down his legs.

He decided to give up on his temper tantrum and assist you in the unenviable task of disrobing him and pulled you up into his lap.

“I don’t need anything.” You squeaked as he had you straddle his lap, your hair falling over your shoulders and tickling his own from your place above him.

“I’m not going to get in a fight and be a selfish lover all in the same day, L/N.” He said in faux admonishment. “Friends look after each other, yeah?”

And he’s not sure what swayed you. One moment he had you perched precariously above him as he gently nipped at your neck, and the next moment he was brutally thrusting up into you with no lack of desperation. 

“Fuckin’ hells you feel amazing.” He grunted as you mewled above him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut causing Remus to worry momentarily.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly. You moaned in response and dropped your chin onto his shoulder.

“Hey, dove, you okay?” He asked again, pulling you from him and slowing his movements.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Lupin.” You barked before you pulled his face to yours by the ends of his hair for a searing kiss. 

He grinned somewhat maniacally into the kiss and lifted you from his lap as he stood with his cock still lodged deep within you and perched you on the edge of the desk.

“You’re a bossy girl, aren’t you?” He taunted, pushing roughly into you from this new angle and causing you to cry out. “You like telling men what to do, dove?”

You gasped as Remus found the magic little spot he’d been searching for and he doubled down in his thrusts with renewed vigour. 

“That’s okay.” He continued, brushing a strand of hair away from your face that had gotten stuck in some of your lipgloss. “I like being told what to do.”

“Please! Please, please please.” You whined, a pretty sheen of sweat dusted your skin and began to pool on the divot of your collarbone. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me.”

“Working on it.”

You were apparently coherent enough to laugh at that which was torture for Remus who was currently hanging on by a fucking thread as your giggles caused your cunt to clench torturously around his cock.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come on, cum for me, yeah? You’re close; I can tell. Cum for me.” He started chanting, moving his hand that was currently holding your knee up near his ribs to rub circles around your clit.

“Cum for me, L/N.”

“Oh fuck.” You shouted as your orgasm tore through you; Remus felt almost sick from the effort not to follow you over the edge immediately, wanting to help you ride out yours to fruition, but your walls pulsating around him left him very little control over the matter.

“Fuck.” Remus growled, and unfortunately that was the only warning you got before slammed into you once more, twice more, and was then spilling inside you causing your cunt to grow impossibly more wet and warm.

You let out a desperate breath and fell forward into Remus’ chest; he was ashamed to admit how much he relished in the intimacy - ignoring the very intimate act that had already taken place. 

“Fuck Lupin, you’re an animal.” You breathed out with a laugh.

Remus let out a surprised bark of laughter as he looked down at you.

“You have no idea.”

And if it wasn’t any of those, perhaps it was a few weeks later, when Remus saw a regal looking owl fly into the Great Hall over the Slytherin table, and with a grand war cry dropped an important looking letter in front of you, causing the rest of your table to fall silent. 

Remus watched as Regulus Black’s jaw tightened and Barty Crouch Junior’s spoon fell back into his porridge as they watched you open it.

Remus watched as all colour seemed to drain from your face and your jaw fell slack, though not open.

The rest of the Hall seemed completely unaware of the turmoil taking place over at the Slytherin table; everyone but Remus and, apparently, Sirius Black. 

“Shit.” Sirius whispered under his breath quietly, alerting neither Peter nor James who were currently in a heated debate about whether pumpkin pasties or sugar quills were the better treat from Honeydukes.

“What is it?” Remus asked him quietly. Sirius seemed nearly surprised that Remus had noticed, though schooled his expression quickly.

“Marriage announcement, she’s been betrothed.” He sneered the word, his nose actually wrinkling in disgust. “‘Sold off’ is a more appropriate term. It’s too bad, I quite liked her.”

Remus didn’t really like the feeling that settled in his stomach when he considered you being married off, but he didn’t have time to think on it too hard before he watched you storm over to Avery, Mulciber, and Snape before grabbing the former by the nape of his neck and slamming his head down into the table.

Remus was up and over to you in an instant with Sirius close behind, beaten only by Barty and Regulus who had the advantage of proximity.

“You miserable fucking wanker! You’ll fucking rot for this!” You screamed as Regulus fought and nearly lost in his battle of holding you back as Barty began sparring with your newfound enemy.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this Avery! You watch your fucking back!” You screeched. Regulus - for what reason, Remus couldn’t know - thought now a good moment to put you down, and as you launched yourself once again for what he was sure was Avery’s jugular, Remus threw you over his shoulder and took off out of the Great Hall.

“Put me down!” You shouted.

“No.” 

“Fuck off, Lupin.” You cried, grabbing at his jumper and slamming your fists into his lower back as he took the stairs two at a time. 

“You’re fine, L/N.”

You squealed and began kicking your legs out, causing him to use both arms to pin them to his torso.

“Stop it.”

“Put me down!”

“Stop it. Stop fighting me.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fine.” He said, though it felt anything but. But he knew, you weren’t really mad at him, you perhaps weren’t even really mad at Avery.

“I hate you.” You said quietly this time.

“That’s alright.”

You had given up on your fight by the time Remus got to his destination. He was sure his shoulder in your stomach was causing you issues and the blood had to have been rushing to your head, but you remained placid as he hoisted you back up right and set you down on the floor of the Astronomy tower. 

Your face was wet and your hair was a mess as you took gasping breaths. 

This was beyond Remus’ wheelhouse when it came to you; he was good for eating you out, blowing off some steam, quickies, and the odd toke or two, but this? This was beyond his area of expertise. 

He decided to sit down beside you - both your backs pressed against the cold stone of the castle in a way he was sure felt good against your skin that was sizzling and crackling with fury. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say, nothing that he could say, and nothing he’d really know to say at a moment like this. Perhaps he should have left you to your friends; to the Purebloods who got it. Though, Regulus seemed willing to let you help Barty kill Avery, so perhaps it was better that you were up here with him instead. 

That's what he’d tell himself for now.

It could have been minutes or even an hour before you finally took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Remus asked quietly.

“Stop me.”

“You stopped me first.”

You let that sit in the air as you looked out into the horizon. 

“What do you need, L/N? What… what can I do?” He begged desperately.

Remus was certain the entire school could hear the sound of his heart breaking at the devastated expression that graced your face when you turned to make eye contact with him; your eyes seemed to beg Remus for something but he couldn’t decipher what it was that you were asking of him.

“I want to…to forget.” You sobbed. “I want to not think, I want to turn it all off for a fucking, god’s damned minute. I want it all to stop.”

“Okay.” He offered readily.

“I want it to stop.”

“Okay.” He repeated, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m right here.” He encouraged you. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to forget.”

“Okay.” Remus said again, pulling at your hand and encouraging you into his lap. “I’m right here; take what you need.”

And Remus wasn’t sure what went through your mind as you searched between his hazel eyes. One moment you were carefully perched above him in his lap; tear tracks staining your cheeks and eyes full of sorrow. And in the next moment, your uniform skirt was hiked up and panties pulled to the side, and Remus’ belt was undone and his trousers were pulled low around his thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock like it was the solution to all of life's problems.

Remus wished it were true, he really did. But if all he could do at this moment was help you turn your brain off and forget the unpleasantness waiting for you back in the castle for just a little bit, then that’s what he would do. 

You had your face shoved into his neck and he was quite sure you were biting down on the junction between his shoulder and his neck - in an attempt to quell your moans, your crying, or just out of frustration, Remus didn’t know, and quite frankly he didn���t care either way. You grinded down onto him and he felt you applying pressure to your clit against his pelvic bone, prompting him to start rubbing it with his thumb. 

“You can let go, gorgeous. No one’s here.” He whispered.

You bit down harder in response and began riding him with an air of desperation. 

“I’m right here.”

And then he felt it. First, he felt your tears fall onto his shoulder, then he felt your teeth break his skin, and finally he felt your walls clench around him.

You stayed latched onto him; your arms around his waist, your hands clenched into the fabric of his jumper, your teeth on his skin and your cunt on his cock as he thrusted up into you and found his own release with very little effort on account of the aftershocks still shuddering through you. 

You sat like that for some time afterwards; the gentle breeze causing goosebumps to cover each of you as the sweat began to cool on your skin, and Remus rubbed circles into your bare thighs with his thumbs.

Unfortunately - for reasons Remus wasn’t willing to ponder on at present - you pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips to the place on Remus’ neck he was sure now adorned the shape of your teeth.

“Sorry.” You rasped, running a hand over the newest of many wounds now decorating his skin. He didn’t want you to be sorry, though, he thought perhaps this might be his favourite one; it wasn’t the result of some hideous monster who took out its rage on him, but instead marked a tender moment between him and his…friend. 

You pulled your wand to cast a healing charm over it when Remus grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t.”

Your reddened and swollen eyes looked at him inquisitively, causing Remus to flush in embarrassment.

“Leave it, I’ve already got so many; what’s one more?” He tried to joke, though he could tell as you looked back down at the bite mark, it fell flat. 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, and Remus shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

“Thank you.” You said quietly, looking into Remus’ eyes imploringly, as if trying to convey your gratitude through your very soul. “For stopping me.”

This moment suddenly felt too charged for Remus; it was different somehow, something had happened, though he wasn’t sure what.

Not then, at least.

“That’s what friends do.” He said noncommittally. “It was an I.O.U.”

He managed to force a small smile out of you for that, and he was grateful. 

So perhaps it was all of those together, in addition to the many blowjobs, many quickies, many quiet, loud, rough, or awkward fucks the two of you had in between.

But maybe…

Maybe it was the way your smile lit up the room when Barty or Pandora said something particularly outlandish or funny; your laughter echoing through the halls like an invitation to experience a secret joy that only you and your friends knew about.

Or maybe it was the way you seemed to be the only one who could weasel a smile, a laugh, or a fond eye roll out of the notoriously cold and apathetic Regulus.

Or maybe it was how a dimple in your left cheek only appeared when you were particularly proud of an achievement you made or a grade you received. 

Or maybe it was the kind way you sheltered the younger Slytherin’s from the brunt of the Marauder’s pranks without impeding their more good natured ones.

Or maybe it was the way you hexed McLaggen for hitting on Lily Evans, and then again for calling her a filthy Mudblood when she refused his advancements.

Or maybe it was the way that you could always tell when Remus was feeling sad or low and needed help, needed something, needed you.

And fuck.

He needed you.

Remus wasn’t exactly sure how this thing started for him.

One moment you were on your hands and knees in his bed and he was fucking into you from behind; his body curled around yours as he rubbed at your clit expertly to push you over that edge for the third time tonight. And the next moment you were spread out and pliant beneath him, head thrown back in ecstasy as he lazily pushed into you.

He didn’t often get moments like this; moments to just sit and admire you. 

This thing he had with you, it was delicate, precarious. It was precious. And he wasn’t going to go fucking it up by forcing it to be something it wasn’t.

You were friends.

You were friends who helped each other.

You were friends who have seen each other naked; who have tasted each other’s sweat, skin, flesh, blood, and cum. 

You were friends who have spent time with each other, on each other, and in each other.

You were friends.

That’s what you had agreed to, that was the arrangement, that was all this was supposed to be.

And then Remus’ stupid sodding heart had to go and fucking yearn for you.

It ached to sit beside you in the library without it being a precursor for one of you to be on your knees in the stacks moments later. 

It ached to ask you about your day for the sole purpose of getting to hear about it and not just as a means to help you take your mind off it by bending you over in an empty classroom. 

It ached to watch you, uninhibited throughout the day, without it causing grief, or angst, or hungry looks being exchanged. 

It ached to taste your lips without tasting the leftover sex from previous actions. 

It ached for you to climb into the shower with him after this, to throw on one of his ratty old band tees, and to stay.

It ached for you to stay.

He wanted you to stay.

But you guys were friends.

And that was enough, it had to be enough. He would make it be enough. 

So sue him; sue him for taking this extra moment to admire your form below him, when you were only his in this moment. Sue him for memorising the way your hair pooled around your head like a halo even after all the tugging and ruffling that it has been subjected to. Sue him for watching the way your breasts bounced with each gentle thrust of his hips, the way your ribs expanded and contracted with each breath, the way the two of you fit so perfectly together; your body accepting him with grace and ease as he slotted the two of you together over and over and over again.

He ached for you.

And damn him - damn him and his bleeding heart and this beautiful girl beneath him - he reached out to pull a strand of hair that laid plastered to the side of your sweaty face.

He didn’t just ache for you.

He yearned for you.

He loved you.

He was in love with you.

And Godric only knows how far gone he was or for how long now. But it didn’t matter; none of it mattered. All that mattered was this ethereal being that, for just this moment, was all his. 

He doesn’t know how long your eyes had been returning his gaze. He supposed it didn’t matter, because he knew; he knew it was written all over his face. 

He may as well have been flashing a neon sign on his forehead: “My name is Remus, and I’m wildly in love with you”. And if the sign hadn’t been enough, he was sure his actions were.

There was no longer any desperation in his actions; no destination in mind as he slowly pulled out of you and pushed back in again. His hands weren’t placed in precise locations to elicit a specific reaction of any sort, but rather roved languidly over your body in meticulous worship. 

And if that hadn’t been enough, he was sure that the way you were staring deep into his eyes, into his soul; you saw. You knew.

The jig was up.

He had been outed. 

Your eyes widened minutely and began to flit around Remus’ face as your grip on his arms stationed on either side of your body loosened. 

You knew.

Though it was all for naught at this point, Remus scrunched his eyes closed as if he could save any of his remaining dignity; not that there was much left.

This was it, it was all going to be over.

He lowered himself over your body and pressed his face into your neck, hiding like the coward he was as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

Gently, tentatively, he felt you press a cautious hand between his shoulder blades and another to the nape of his neck. 

Somehow, the tenderness in your touch hurt more. 

He came with a strangled cry, feeling humiliating tears fall from his eyes as he filled you up for what he was certain would be the last time.

He melted into your hold and cried silently into your shoulder, and you let him.

Your hand that was stationed between his shoulder blades never moved, but your hand in his hair kneaded gentle, soothing circles into his scalp.

He wanted you to stop; he wanted you to stop because this was all he really wanted... to be here, with you, like this.

He wanted the rough and the fun and the biting and the hair pulling, sure. But he wanted the gentle, the soft, the affection, and the innocent intimacy, too. 

That wasn’t fair though; it wasn’t fair to you. You never asked for it, and you never offered it.

You never asked for it.

You never offered it.

He decided that he’d been hiding in your neck for far longer than he had any right to, and slowly pulled his face away from its sanctuary. 

He looked up at you through his curls in shame to see you had tear tracks down your cheeks too.

What a fucking mess.

He was a fucking mess; and he’d dragged you down into it.

He slowly pulled out of you and summoned a tissue to clean up the cum leaking from your folds. You hissed at the sensation and he whispered an apology before pulling on a pair of pyjama pants and throwing you a t-shirt that he hoped to fucking God was clean, and sat on the edge of James’ bed; facing you, though his head was bowed in shame.

“I’m sorry.” He offered pathetically, knowing it was not even close to helpful in this situation.

“When…” You started, voice both gravely from the sex and tight with emotions as new tears fell. “When did this happen?”

He didn’t have an answer; he didn’t know. He couldn't say.

“When,” you tried again. “When did this change?”

Your face fell into your hands as you began to cry in earnest.

He wondered what part of this upset you the most; the loss of this friend that you had in him? The pressure to offer him more than you were willing to give? The feeling of guilt over not being able to return his feelings?

You didn’t seem to be waiting for an actual answer from him, but were rather voicing the thoughts running through your head as they came to you.

“I should go.” He whispered, even though this was his room, even though you were wearing his shirt.

“Don’t.” You demanded harshly, eyes blazing with a fire he never imagined ever being shot at him. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this; not after that.”

He nodded quickly, sitting back down on James’ bed as you wiped angrily at your face.

He wished you wouldn’t; he wished you’d be more gentle.

He didn’t get to wish things like that, though.

“When, when did this become love?” You asked in a mixture of shock and bemusement; the thought of an equation you couldn’t solve was clearly insulting to you. 

Remus shook his head in disgrace. “I’m sorry.” He offered weakly.

You scoffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Sorry for what, exactly? Making me fall in love with you? Making me fall in love with you and not telling me about it?”

“You... too?” He rasped, looking at you with a slack jaw.

“Fuck.” You seethed, standing up and beginning to pace the dorm room for a few moments as you seemed to think back on the entire duration of this situation.

“When!?” You demanded again after a few moments.

“I don’t know.” He admitted honestly, placatingly.

“Fuck.” You paused in place, bringing your hands to your mouth. Remus hated it, but you paused right in front of the hearth, causing your form to be illuminated by an ethereal glow. He thought you looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” He said, for daring to even think such a thing.

But, maybe…maybe if you loved him too, he could think such things?

“Fuck.” You said again, still staring unseeingly at the wall of his dorm as you stood in nothing but an oversized shirt in the middle of the room.

“What-” Remus started, taking a cautious step towards you as if you were a wild animal poised to run at any given moment. “What do you want, Y/N?”

Not one muscle in your body moved save for your eyes as they shot over to him.

“Anything.” He whispered.

I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want. Say it and I’m yours. I’m yours.

I’m already all yours.

“I need to pee.” You said plainly.

Remus’ chest deflated in relief that you weren’t asking him to obliviate this memory from your mind.

“And then…” You took a shuddering breath that made Remus want to fold you up and keep you safe in his breast pocket for the rest of his life. “And then I want to talk. About this, okay? Please?”

Remus nodded quickly, readily, so unbelievably willingly.

“Don’t leave, please. Please be here when I get back.” You whispered; eyes, voice, and body language far more vulnerable than he ever remembered seeing from you (and ever cared to see from you again).

“Always.”

And he kept that promise.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus x you #remus lupin fanfiction #remus x reader #the marauders #remus lupin smut #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #elle does smut? #elle does smut #smut #mdni #18+ content #fem!reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #ellecdc fics

[confused-pyramid]

Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #elle greenaway #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #jason gideon #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner series #criminal minds series #criminal minds season one #criminal minds fic #fic #criminal minds imagine #hotch fic #anchor series #anchor

[mystellenia]

ellie's reaction to small boobs ୨ৎ

summary: ellie can't take her eyes off of your tits. that's it.

content: answer to this req!! (and this one too; there were two reqs for this) established relationship, a little bit of sub!ellie kinda, also once again needy!ellie, thigh riding, nipple sucking, groping, basically it

notes: here's the big boob version!!HUZZAH I’M DONE I’M DONE I’M DONE YAYAYAYAY. I NORMALLY WOULDNT POST THIS LATE BC OF ALGO STUFF BUT I WANT THIS SHIT OUT OF MY DRAFTS YAYAYA

(wc 1.6k)

"do you want some of this?" you ask ellie from where you stood in the kitchen, a bowl of leftovers ready to be heated up in front of you on the counter. 

she shook her head and muttered a quiet "no, thank you" from her position on the couch, but tracked your movements as you turn to open the microwave. she was gnawing on her bottom lip, looking intensely at your exposed shoulders in the tank top you wore. 

ellie sat back and propped her bent leg on her knee, her phone forgotten on the couch cushion next to her and softly replaying the same video over and over as she hones her gaze in on you instead. you slouch into the fridge and wait for your food to finish, examining the skin of your hands.  

she watches as you scratch a spot behind your ear, but once you pull your hand back, her gaze remains on that spot, then moving up to your hair loosely tied in a knot at the base of your neck. she examines the curve of your ass in the pajama pants you had on, the bunched-up fabric of your tank top at your hips, and then your eyes when you turn around to stare at her after feeling the scrutiny of her gaze on your back. 

"ellie, why are you looking at me like i’m a turkey leg?" you poke, your lips curling with your attempt to hide your smile. 

she doesn't respond, just simply smiles, lazy and arrogant as she reaches for her phone and turns it off with the side button, standing up and beginning her path towards you. she saunters into the kitchen, approaching you and dropping her eyes to your torso. 

"hey, where'd you get this tank top?" she asks, thumbing at the hem at your hips with her brows tightly drawn together. 

"oh, i don't remember," you say, frowning as you try to recall where it was from. "maybe the mall? i think it was from the shop between..." 

you trail off as you realize she's not listening to a word you're saying, following where her eyes have settled onto your chest. then you catch on to her posture, her body language: bottle green eyes slightly unfocused in deep thought, the narrow part of her lips that she panted through, the apples of her cheeks slightly flushed. and she finds the strength to shake herself out of that hypnotizing haze to brew up a complete, cohesive thought. 

"take it off," she orders, her voice surprisingly clear when compared to how far away her gaze looked. 

ellie presses her lips to yours in a slow yet intensely passionate kiss, her cold hands winding around and under your tank top and pushing it up to your ribs. it's then that the microwave beeps—a shrill three beeps—a wailed reminder at your initial intent to eat.  

"your tank top," she purrs against your mouth as you grab onto her upper arms to ground yourself. "you should take it off, you know." her voice is hoarse with need, already pulling your top over your head after you wordlessly lifted your arms up. 

and immediately, the swift movement envelops your braless chest in a cold cloud, kissing your already hardened nipples. pushing your chest into ellie's to chase her warmth, you drop the tank top to your feet and wrap your arms around her waist. 

she clamps her hands on either side of your head to bring you back in for another kiss, taking her time with slowly moving her lips on yours. you taste her lip balm—a mild one, smelling of beeswax and honey—and pull back to take a breath. ellie's eyes drop to your tits, your pert nipples standing at attention. 

you'd never truly grasped the meaning behind the phrase 'a pair of eyes darkened a shade or two,' or how 'pupils dilated and took over the color of the iris'—not until now. now you saw it. you saw the way the sage and shamrock shades of ellie's eyes seemingly shrunk and were replaced by oak greens, emerald greens, and even flecks of black that you'd never noticed. and her pupils. you watched as they swelled up like the lens of a camera, finding the focal point of you.

her kisses suddenly grew hungry and hurried, her open-mouthed kisses seeming almost sloppy. she quickly reaches your sternum, sucking on the smooth skin and leaving a trail of saliva behind. 

her mouth finds your nipple, hand moving up to the other as she pulls it into her mouth. her fingers twist and pull at the hardened bud on one side while her tongue flicks over the other. your fingers thread into her hair, willing her to continue her slow but sure destruction of your resolve.  

she signals for you to lay down but seemingly remembers where you both stand in the kitchen. as if she can't not touch you for more than a second, she plants her hands on your waist and starts waddling you backwards towards the hallway with her lips still on yours. you trip and almost fall on a pair of ellie's shoes discarded in the middle of the hallway, and after playfully glaring at her, you lead her to the bedroom by your hand. 

ellie nudges you down to lay on the bed, then folds over you and climbs up to eye level. quickly distracted, her eyes fall to your painfully neglected tits, settling in between your thighs and licking that spot on your neck that makes you go cross-eyed. 

"ellie... please just—" you grab her hand and move it to your core yourself—"touch me already. god." 

not even in the headspace to tease you about your neediness, her mouth opens with her response.

"take off your pajama pants and sit up," she orders, rolling off of you and leaning her head back on the headboard, her sweat-clad legs spread wide. 

you do as she says, pushing the pants over your hips, kicking them to the floor, and then waiting for your next instruction. 

"come sit on my thigh." she pats your butt to get you to move closer to her, swinging your leg over hers with her hand. 

she plants her hands on your hips and pushes them firmly down. you hiss out at the contact of her sweatpants on your clit, swollen and ready for attention.  

"baby..." you trail off, your eyes drifting shut at the touch. 

her hands push on your back and guide you back and forth, and she bites back a smile at how you whine and clasp onto her other thigh for stability. 

she takes one of her hands from your back and moves it to your thigh, pawing and kneading at the skin and slowly moving closer to your cunt. her thumb finds your clit and she abruptly rubs at it to pull a reaction from you, her pussy clenching around nothing when you whimper and jump. 

"please, let me hear you. please," she begs, pulling the lip you had in between your teeth to try to muffle your sounds.

she stares up at you with stars in her eyes, admiring the mess that your hair was from you throwing your head around, the knot in between your eyebrows at the intensity of her movements, your perky tits jumping at the desperate grinding of your hips. 

her mouth nearly waters at that last one, though, so she latches her forearms under your armpits and grips your shoulders, pulling your tits to her mouth. she latches her lips onto one, and your body twitches with a shudder. at this rate, you weren't going to last much longer. ellie noticed, too, the way your legs started spasming, how your noises got louder and more frequent.  

she was addicted to you. and, god, your boobs. how perfectly you reacted when she gave them the smallest bit of attention and how needy it made you. the way your tits fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, every bit of the fat sitting in her hand. the thought made her hungrier. it made her more eager to please you. her lips sucked harder on your nipple, her free hand coming up to pinch and twist at the other. 

your noises alone, the knowledge that it's her making you feel like this, making you lose control, has her soaked in her boxers, the wet patch sticking to her inner thighs.

"fuck, you sound so good," she groans. "am i making you feel good?"  

you scoff at the question—just your moans alone could tell her how close you were, how good it felt. 

"i'm so close, fuck. you wanna make me cum, mama?" you tease, smirking at how her eyes flutter for a moment. 

she wordlessly obeys, now flicking her tongue over your pebbled nipple and roughly dragging you across the fabric on her thigh, humming contently at the way you've soaked the cloth through. 

your climax hits you like a train, your legs twitching and locking around ellie's thigh as you throw your head back with a sob. ellie keeps her tongue working, switching to the other side to not neglect it. once, your heart rate begins to return to normal, her persistent sucking and nipping becomes too much all at once. 

"ah, wait wait wait," you start, trying to push her head off, "please. it's too much." 

once she pulls back, her throat bobs with a thick swallow and she dumbly continues staring at your tits.  

"you're so stupid," you pant out, nudging her with your knee to grab her attention. 

she kisses you on the cheek, then on the nose, mumbling, "it's not my fault you make it so easy to get you fucked out from just your nipples." 

@abbysbug @picklesarenice69 @yourelliewillms @human-cacti @h-sayoko-shifts @boobdrug

YIPPEE I’M DONE. i actually think this took me two weeks which is so insane. i've not been in a smut mood i just wanna write fluff i’m in a fluffy feathery soft cutie pie little mood hhehehehehe so expect some fluff with perhaps maybe possibly a few smut fics dotted in between them

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

#mystellenia 𐑂°‧₊ #elle answers 𐑂°‧₊ #ellie #ellie tlou #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #tlou #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us x y/n #tlou x reader #the last of us x female reader

[ellestray]

elle's favorite fics f = fluff ; s = smut ; sg = suggestive ; a = angst last updated: june 6th, 2023

방찬 BANGCHAN

the wedding and the morning after — @astraystayyh (f)

you're how i pray — @inniejeonginnie (f ; sg)

five ways to say "i love you" — @caseiloveu (f)

sharing a bed with chan — @skzdarlings (f ; sg)

unexplored territory — @myjisung (f ; sg)

what’s yours is mine — @rachalixie (f)

bittersweet — @astraystayyh (f ; a)

vanilla — @astraystayyh (a ; f)

the space between us — @killedpink (f ; s)

drabble — @ppiri-bahng (sg)

drabble — @rachalixie (f)

민호 MINHO

a sun and a moon — @astraystayyh (f)

mémoire — @minhove (f)

창빈 CHANGBIN

#1 — @linorachas (f)

you've ruined me for anyone else — @jl-micasea-fics (f)

pink stains — @suengmi (f)

paris — @inniejeonginnie (f)

drunk in love — @soobnny (f)

sleepy bunny — @sweetracha (a? ; f)

drabble — @userjuyo (f)

comfort with changbin — @ipegchangbin (f)

현진 HYUNJIN

straddling hyunjin's lap, and hugging into him while he's drawing — @nightfics (f)

evermore — @staytheword (f ; a ; s)

butterfly boy — @skzonthebrain (f)

stay — @hwajin (f)

you'd be so nice to come home to — @bbujiikseu (f)

nakedness — @hwajin (sg ; f)

lovemaking — @hwajin (s ; f)

what loving him is like — @enchantedtomeethyun (f)

young and beautiful — @astraystayyh (f)

alone with you — @inniejeonginnie (f ; sg)

serenity — @astraystayyh (f)

apartment 3R — @fizzydrink698 (f)

drabble — @softstraykidshours (f)

a memory kept forever — @soobnny (f)

post-concert hyunjin — @rachalixie (f)

boy next door — @strayed-quokka (f ; s ; a)

지성 JISUNG

meet odd — @soobnny (f)

don't be a stranger (meet odd, pt.2) — @soobnny (f)

it's you?! — @caseiloveu (smau. a ; f)

i can’t sleep — @lee--felix (f)

date a skater — @fizzydrink698 (f)

almost love — @writerastray (f ; s)

11:07PM — @violixs (f)

i owe you a black eye (and two kisses) — @sourbinnie (a? ; f?)

bad boy!jisung — @ppiri-bahng (sg)

when with you — @sunboki (a)

i adore you — @yoongihan (f ; s)

no nut november — @gimmieurtmi (s)

필릭스 FELIX

caramel popcorn — @staytheword (s ; f)

scream! — @astraystayhh (f)

승민 SEUNGMIN

i can't stop (falling in love with you) — @wooahaes (f ; sg)

then fall. — @wooahaes (f)

정인 JEONGIN

to be updated !

OT8

kisses with skz — @aakomii (f ; sg)

not together but not friends — @luvyeni (f)

when you aren’t dating but aren’t just friends either — @cosmic-railwayxo (f, sg)

skz + ways they show “i love you” — @jeondesu (f)

the ways stray kids show their love and affection — @suengmi (f)

stray kids realising they fell in love with you — @suengmi (f)

spring — @hwajin (f)

sneaky love antics — @amelee23 (f)

small acts of intimacy — @userjuyo (hyung line. f)

how Stray Kids would cuddle (based off of tarot readings) — @violetmarkings (f)

sleeping on the couch after an argument — @maxidentscene (f ; a)

dating skz — @luvtak (f)

make me — @cosmic-railwayxo (sg)

how stray kids would fall for you — @mazeinthemiroh (f)

skz as types of couples — @hyunjinniesgirl (f)

stray kids calling you a pet name for the first time — @jnginlov (f)

boyfriend things skz does — @maxidentscene (f)

things that turn skz on — @lix-ables (s)

skz as boyfriends (nsfw ver.) — @lix-ables (s)

the morning after — @i4lixie (f ; s)

how they would say “i love you” for the first time — @astraystayyh (f)

the little things they do — @wishingyouback (f)

stray kids and 'i love you's left unspoken — @portalhan (f)

stray kids as boyfriend things — @yrhome (f)

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fics #skz fics #star kids recommendations #elle's favorites

[nothingtoseeherebyeexx]

mary, lily and narcissa as the iconic blondes from the early 00’s who didn’t get the wlw ending they deserved

i tried to make this as slay-girlie-serving-cunt as possible LMAO (i’ve now grown an attachment to hot pink)

(this is not marls erasure i promise i love her but i *had* to include cissa as regina)

#funny how both elle and regina had a scene wearing bunny costume #this kind of poster-y style is kinda fun #anyways #mary macdonald #lily evans #narcissa black #marylily #nobleflower #(because i need a mean girls fic w cissa as regina and alice as cady) #(in which they end up together tho) #marauders #marauders era #marauders era girls #marauders fanart #slay

[two-wizards-in-a-trench-coat]

#ell jee bee tea #makes me think of that “what are they proud of” sasuke fic #the summer hikaru died #also this is a horror manga

[ghostbsuter]

The reason Dani was a girl despite Danny being a boy is because Danny didn't exactly go after his own original.

That's right.

Because Wonder Woman is– well. A woman.

Danny isn't.

That's also partly the reason why Elle was hunted down by a very intrigued superheroine, not that Danny ever told her of his own origin, which he should have.

"You have my face." The golden lasso squeezes around her in warning, Diana's gaze unflinching as she studies the younger girl.

"Correction. I have the face of my original."

The lasso glows, supporting her words of truth. It has WW frown.

"Your? Then why..." She slowly cradles the child's head, turning her around and looking.

"I think—" Elle hesitates for a brief moment. "You might be his origin? I don't— know. I just found out."

Another glow and WW hums. "Perhaps."

A thought crosses her mind and she pulls back confused. "A He?"

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #fic prompt #writing prompt #dc x dp prompt #danny is diana's clone #and dani is danny's #danny didnt tell dani thi #but danny also only knoes of wonder woman #VLAD DIDNT KNOW #elle is actually a pretty close clone of diana if she wasnt formed after danny's image tho

[formosusiniquis]

any cosmo girl would have known

“Oh she did it for sure.”

“Steve!”

“Ten bucks, Bobert, don't give me that look last time we agreed double or nothing.”

“No,” Nancy insists. “This isn't Murder, She Wrote or Scooby-Doo or Columbo-”

“You saw who did it in Columbo at the beginning,” Eddie reminds.

“I know it's an awful show.”

Robin and Steve remain in sync enough to each get a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting on the coffee table to defend the only good cop show in existence.

“I'm only pointing out,” she rewinds the VHS taking it back the two or three minutes they'd talked over before stopping it completely, “that this is a movie, not a drama with a repeated format that Steve can pattern recognition into predicting.”

“You haven't seen it already, right?” Robin asks. “The one rule of Monthly Middle-Aged Movie Night is you have to pick a movie none of us have seen.”

“No, I haven't seen it already. If you'll all remember when I asked you each to go see it with me I got,” he points to each of them in turn. “‘Wouldn't you rather see Tomb Raider?’ from double VHS, prestige cinephile and ‘That's too much pink for me, baby, you know I have that intolerance, maybe Rob or Nance will go?’ from my emo-isn’t-a-phase husband. And ‘I'm a little busy with this new story, Steve,’ from Nancy, the only one of you with a real excuse.”

“Some feminist you are, Birdie.”

“I don't want to hear it from you. I watched two of the blandest men alive pursue Renee Zellweger while the screen writers tried to convince us she was homely because you ‘forgot’ you had band practice.”

“You said you liked it!”

“It grew on me, but sometimes you just want to see a woman in a tank top. And I won't be shamed by the same man who cried during Beauty and the Beast.”

“I went with my sweet baby Lucy Joan, you miserable hag,” Eddie says, “and they turned that hot werewolf into a boring looking man.”

“You weren't into that? Look at who-”

“Why am I getting made fun of? Can we finish the movie?”

“No, I'm not going to let this be another Sixth Sense situation,” Nancy says, holding the remote hostage, she knows no one will try to take it from her.

“Ugh don't even bring that up,” Eddie groans, “Dustin still mentions it in at least one letter a year.”

Nancy nods, prim and proper, “Exactly, so tell us right now why you think she did it, then we'll play it again.”

“Chutney, the daughter,” Steve corrects, “have you even been paying attention? Her hair's permed.”

“And press play,” Eddie shouts.

“No,” Robin smacks his hands as he makes his ballsy play to reach around her for the remote. “Show your work, Dingus, even I didn't follow that one.”

“I don't always like the movies everyone else picks but I at least watch them. Her hair is permed, she said she was in the shower. She would have had to have been washing her hair if she didn't hear the gunshot and she has a perm.”

“You can wash your hair with a perm,” Nancy points out.

“You would know.” Eddie snarks, fingering the ends of his own hair.

“You can't wash a fresh perm, you'll fuck up the ammonium thioglycolate. Then you're out forty bucks and you've got limp hair. She killed her dad and lied about being in the shower.”

“Press play,” Eddie decrees again, leaning in close to Steve's side to purr, “it's pretty sexy when you go all hair care detective.”

His hand starts to slip below the blanket. “This is how we ended up with Lucy in the first place,” Steve reminds him, just under the sounds of the courtroom drama picking back up. It doesn’t stop Eddie’s hand from wandering until the movie’s climax starts getting closer, and Eddie’s attention is captured just like Robin’s and Nancy’s.

“Unbelievable,” Robin says, when Elle cites the perm salt.

“Never again,” Nancy swears, when Chutney screams her confession.

“Lucy’s been asking for a brother or sister,” Eddie flirts, as Elle reveals that any good Cosmo girl could have solved it.

No more movies with mysteries or twist endings for a while, they all agree, Robin can’t afford to keep betting against Steve.

#steddie #established steddie #fruity four #my fic #steve harrington #platonic stobin #this is not a modern au these are some middle aged adults now #it is 2001 and my dudes have to carefully schedule their hangouts #anyway i think steve the hair harrington would also make the elle woods solve #theyre the same flavor of autistic if were dipping into some personal hcs but thats not important #what is important is steve has the oh he did it accidentally predicts the bad guy of every movie ever nd skill #love that for him #unimportant to the narrative but lucy is definitely the steddie bio kid this is a transmasc eddie fic secretly #so anyway enjoy this barely edited ficlet i churned out in an hour

[sourholland]

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → welcome to the first part of style!! if you guys enjoy this i can for sure come up with a more permanent updating schedule. like i said, i came up with this idea pretty suddenly. let me know to be added to the taglist, interaction is always encouraged if you like!!! it lets me know you guys want more parts

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol use, mention of injury, nsfw content - unprotected sex

word count → 4.1k

reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1

After a rigorous auditioning process with over a thousand girls trying to earn their spot on the Bengal’s Cheerleading Squad, only forty made the cut. Most returners, some new like yourself. You’d watched girls break bones, continuing to audition on them to have a shot on the squad. Many left in tears, cut and sent home with hardly any reason why.

There was a little bit of metaphorical survivor’s guilt after you’d made the team, knowing this wasn’t your dream like it was for some others. This was only a season or two commitment for you while you finished up your last year of college. Then you’d become a teacher, something you’d had a passion for over the years. Cheerleading was more so a hobby, you’d danced all of your life and had cheered in high school. This wasn’t going to be your livelihood, nor did it offer you the funds to live off of for more than a short while.

There were plenty of rules to follow, many of which had you questioning if this was truly what you wanted. The handbook they’d given you was thick, although some of the girls had told you that they’d lessened up on the requirements over the years after a lawsuit had been filed. In the end, it wasn’t so bad. Tedious, but still a very surreal experience.

From about April to the middle of July, it was practice twice a week from 7:30 at night to about 11. There was a separate facility used to work and condition through the colder months, just following the Super Bowl. Once pre-season truly began, the whole team moved practice facilities. This put you in the same place as the Bengals practiced, giving you more field time than gym time to get acclimated. It was different, especially due to the fact that players and cheerleaders were placed at an arms length most of the time.

The afternoon of the first practice at the new stadium, you’d all been given the talk. This was basically your coaches and executives way of saying that if anyone found out that anyone off the squad had anything more than a friendly, professional relationship with one of the players—they’d be either cut or sanctioned. It was bad for the image of the team, making it bad for those in charge.

It shouldn’t have been a problem.

That first night practice in August was tough, you were coming off of a sprained ankle and the heat was blistering even at 8 at night. Amanda, your head coach, sent you inside to grab some ice from the athletic trainer to bring back out to the field. There was a stigma around the coaching and treatment of NFL cheerleaders, but you’d mostly had a decent experience so far. Your coaches did care that you were healthy and equipped to cheer.

Adorned in a slightly baggy Bengals T-shirt and spandex, you walked through the empty halls of the mostly deserted facility. The players had just ended their practice about an hour earlier, you watched them all exit into the locker room. That meant that mostly everyone had called it a night, heading home. The cheerleaders stayed late because practice was meant to be after work or class, it wasn’t a full-time job.

The door to the athletic trainers office was slightly ajar, the light on. Pushing it open slightly, you stepped in with furrowed eyebrows and a curious look. On the large medical table, ice in hand, sat Joe Borrow still in his practice jersey and shorts. The office was empty besides him, trainer nowhere to be seen.

He was a good looking guy, you’d give him that. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6’4 or maybe it was the fact that he was really fucking good at his sport. He looked up at you and gave a friendly grin, laying the ice on his knee.

“Emily said she was heading home about a half hour ago, her kid was sick or something so she had to pick him up from the babysitter,” Joe told you politely. “I came in just as she was like walking out, she just told me to lock up the office when I was done.”

Someone was clearly a rambler.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I was just going to grab some ice.”

He nodded and went silent while you walked over to the ice maker, taking the plastic scooper and putting some of it into a plastic bag. He was still looking at you, making it obvious as you saw him from your peripheral. Twisting the bag, you felt slightly awkward just standing there in silence.

“I’m Joe,” he spoke again.

“Y/N,” you turned back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand towards you, smiling as you took it and shook it softly. When you broke from his grip, he remained looking at you. He was definitely one of those people who looked you right in the eyes through the entire conversation. You didn’t know if this made you particularly uncomfortable or slightly excited.

“You’re a cheerleader.”

“Was that a question?” You chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“No, no. I was kind of just thinking out loud.”

He was easily flustered, that much was obvious. He repositioned the bag of ice and looked back up at you with slightly pink cheeks. This made you want to crack a grin, feeling like you were talking to a boy for the first time ever or something.

“I should head back to practice,” you told him, watching him slowly nod in understanding.

“Yeah, of course,” Joe smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

Walking out of the athletic trainer’s office felt somewhat like developing a crush in sixth grade of sorts. With hot cheeks, you could not get him out of your head for the remainder of practice. Whether it was his stupid hair or his stupid shit-eating grin, or his stupidly toned body.

The drive home was only a twenty-five minute stretch of turning back the interaction in your mind over and over with Phoebe Bridgers playing lightly in the background. Pulling into your apartment complex garage was when you’d finally resorted to telling yourself to leave it be and take a cold shower. This boy was not worth thinking too hard about.

You turned the key over and cut the vehicle off, grabbing your phone and cheer bag to head to the elevator. The walk up was somewhat somber after a hard practice with a racing mind.

By the time you’d made it up to your front door, you glanced down at your phone to check the time. There were several unopened notifications, nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. One immediately stuck out to you, though.

joeyb_9 started following you.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, nearly dropping your keys as you unlocked the door.

There was a small part of you that was excited by this, he was one of the most sought after players in the NFL—who wouldn’t be a bit flattered? Only there was a small part of you that wondered why he was going out of his way to search up your instagram.

Setting your phone down, you resorted to making yourself a quick dinner. Watching your phone light up from where you stood across the kitchen making yourself a wrap was slightly unnerving.

Once you finally couldn’t resist any longer, you sauntered over to grab your phone off of the island. He’d sent you two DMs. One right after the other.

@joeyb_9: Hey

@joeyb_9: It’s Joe.

This boy was either extremely humble or just plain stupid. His ability to continue to tell you that it was Joe—like you wouldn’t know who Joe Burrow was.

@y/n.y/l/n: I’m aware

@y/n.y/l/n: Missing me already?

@joeyb_9: Maybe…

There was a slight pause in between his next message, you weren’t sure what to say to that. This was already pretty bizarre and very against the code of conduct you signed at the start of your cheer season.

@joeyb_9: Sorry if this is weird

@y/n.y/l/n: That you’re sliding into my dms lol?

@joeyb_9: Is that what this is??

@y/n.y/l/n: You use that on all the girls, Joe?

@joeyb_9: Would you believe me if I said no?

@y/n.y/l/n: Probably not lmfao

@joeyb_9: That’s fair, I probably wouldn’t either

This was the point in the conversation where you always wondered what to do. It also was pretty obvious that you were not the only girl Joe Burrow probably private messaged on instagram. He’d probably long forget about you by morning and the few hours of your stomach doing backflips at every message would cease.

@y/n.y/l/n: Alright, I’m headed to bed.

@y/n.y/l/n: Was nice meeting you earlier. Have a goodnight!

@joeyb_9: Goodnight, Y/N :)

The smiley face was only slightly scream inducing. He was a nice guy, but he was not just any guy. This was the type of guy that charms you straight into bed and is gone before you wake up. This was what you reminded yourself at least.

-

The next day was fairly simple, the thought of Joe escaping you almost entirely by lunch. Classes hadn’t yet begun, making it easy for you to go out with girlfriends and get your mind off of any failed talking stages or unattainable guys like Joe Burrow.

“He’s hot as fuck, though,” Lena said, eyes closed as she laid on a towel beside you.

It was a lake day, the heat beading down on the both of you as you felt the sun on your bikini clad skin. On your right and left was Lena and Sydney, both close friends from college. Lena had been your freshman year roommate.

“He is,” Sydney agreed. “Plus, I mean, you can’t say you didn’t think about it a little bit when you started cheering for the Bengals.”

“Okay, screw you!” You laughed. “It’s not some fucking erotica, I don’t cheer hoping to sleep with one of the players.”

“Kind of a turn on, though,” Lena hummed.

Once the three of you had made it onto Lena’s boyfriend’s party barge, you broke out the Mike’s Hard and Twisted Tea. This only led to endless giggling about Joe and pretty much any guy they’d heard you have spoken to since high school.

Living in Ohio had its faults, like the fact that there was no ocean. Lake days on the boat weren’t so bad, though. Sydney had a gift for taking hot pictures too. Her camera skills truly did capture your ass at its best, and your skin glowing.

“Post those,” Lena told you. “See if Mr. Joe Sheisty will like them.”

“He won’t,” you sighed. “He definitely was just fucking around last night.”

They both rolled their eyes and sat back as the boat bobbled a little. While the idea of entertaining Joe was slightly enticing, it was so against the rules and you really couldn’t afford to get kicked off the squad before the first actual game of the season.

The alcohol kind of skewed your judgement, though. Making it fairly easy for you to post the bikini pictures and keep refreshing the likes. You weren’t necessarily proud, but it was hard to resist the urge to match his energy of private messaging you.

A few hours after you made it home, the notification popped up on your screen. You were midway through stretching to work on your routine for your next practice.

joeyb_9 liked your post.

@joeyb_9: Would it be wrong to tell you how gorgeous you are?

This just about sent you over the edge. You’d thought your days of dms from Joe Burrow were done and the novelty would’ve worn off after he’d slept on it.

@y/n.y/l/n: Slightly wrong

@joeyb_9: Fine by me

Swiping out of the instagram app, you decided that you needed to continue your stretch and practice. There was a night practice tomorrow and you couldn’t afford to show up unprepared, this would only end in worse things than flirting with Joe.

Between ab exercises and strength training, you’d been able to glance down at your phone with no more texts received. Of course, you had left him on read. It was pretty obvious his intentions, though. At least it seemed it.

-

Practice was strenuous, it was only three nights of the weeks so the coaches made sure to push each girl to their limit each night. By the last thirty minutes of practice, your ankle was on fire.

They’d made you run through the stunting over and over again, launching you into the air and cradling you over and over again. The stadium lights were gleaming onto you, your face coated in a thin layer of perspiration.

Through your peripheral, you could see Joe leaning against the doorframe of the stadium support office. He was pretending to scroll through his phone, glancing up and watching every couple of seconds. The players had a practiced later tonight, but still had been done for over forty five minutes.

Every time they sent you up, you were reminded of your distractions. A coach would yell to point your toes, or smile bigger, or suck in harder. Physically, you were exhausted. Mentally, you had already checked out of practice completely.

“Did any of you see Joe?” Carolina asked in a hushed voice, picking up her things as practice ended, ready to head inside. “He was watching for like a half hour.”

“Really?” Johnna smirked. “Alright, which one of you is he sleeping with? I won’t tell, I just have to know,” she teased.

The girls continued to discuss it bashfully all the way inside. Joe was nowhere to be seen, making you wonder if he’d even been there to watch you at all. Truly, you were feeding your own delusions. There were so many girls on the team, he was bound to find interest in the group as a whole. That was sort of the whole appeal.

Just as you finished up showering in the locker room, you heard the ding of your phone. Another message from Joe.

@joeyb_9: Hey, I’m in the parking lot. Down for getting something to eat?

The overwhelming feeling of excitement and guilt passed over you. This was so against the rules, and this guy was such a player. It was not worth it, but a part of you didn’t care. You were only twenty one once, wasn’t this the kind of thing you did.

@y/n.y/l/n: Give me like 10 minutes

He liked the message, giving you some time to slip into the white dress you’d thrown in the bag. It was kind of wrinkled, the type of thing you’d put over a bikini leaving the beach. The true definition of a sundress. There were Birks at the bottom of your bag. The August heat was still very sticky and humid, even at almost midnight.

There wasn’t much else in your bag, you let your hair down from its claw clip and used the mascara in your bag to at least lift your lashes. Some Glossier cloud paint and brow gel and you were left with nothing else really. It wasn’t often you needed to do much to your face after practice. You mostly had the few things you did for morning practices before classes.

The walk out to his car was slightly dehumanizing, knowing how badly you were breaking the rules right now. He had turned his headlights off, inside dark and hard to see from an outside perspective. He’d messaged you that he was in a black Porsche, which was telling.

Once you opened the door and the small yellow light came on, you could see him in a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was familiarly slicked back, smirk on his face as he watched you step in.

“You’re going to bring me back to pick up my car, right?” You asked, knowing your car would reside in the parking lot until you came back.

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’ll bring you back to grab your car.”

The car smelled very fresh, you threw you cheer bag in his backseat. It laid next to his football bag, his practice jersey crumbled up and stuffed in carelessly.

He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the lot. It was a comfortable silence for about a minute before he began babbling about watching you practice. You’d never heard a boy so enthused to know about stunting and what it meant to be a flyer.

“What if they drop you, though?” He looked over at you. “Does that happen ever?”

“Well—yes. I kind of just have to get back up and try again or some other girl will take the flyer position. It’s not really something I can control.”

“That’s like crazy,” he mumbled, fully serious.

His radio hummed the sound of Pink Floyd, making you grin. He was a fan of older rock. That, you wouldn’t have guessed. Joe tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, smiling every time he saw you looking at him.

“Do you like Mcdonald’s?” He asked, ready to put his blinker on and pull into the drive thru.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”

He got up to the menu and glanced over it for a second, looking to you for what you wanted. As you told him, he laughed at you for not wanting a burger. This made you teasingly shove him in the arm.

“Welcome to Mcdonald’s. What can I get for you?”

“Alright,” Joe started. “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with onions, a large fry, and a large chocolate shake. Then can I get a ten piece chicken nugget and a large Dr. Pepper.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be it.”

Joe pulled up, still laughing about the fact that you went through a drive thru and got chicken nuggets on purpose. He slid his wallet out of his back pocket, giving you a funny look when you tried to hand him your card.

Pulling up to the first window, he gave the woman his debit card. You turned away from the window, making sure if she did recognize Joe, she would not be able to make out your face. While it was unlikely, it was just too risky. You did the same at the next window, Joe pulling the bag into the car and setting both drinks into the cup holder.

“Alright, I got a good spot to eat,” he said.

Cincinnati had plenty of spots you were unaware of, so when he continued to drive you out of the main part of the city, you were blissfully unaware of where you were. Either this was a ploy to murder you, or he just really liked surprises. After all, you were the one who got into his car.

Once he finally parked at the location, it was pushing one in the morning. It was a deserted lookout, a beautiful view of Cincinnati. The city looked lit up from this view, making your smile at that the gesture.

“The food might be slightly cold by now, but I really just wanted to bring you up here,” he said with a sigh as he sucked down the last of his milkshake.

“Here, have some,” you chuckled and handed him your soda.

The two of you ate, looking out at the city. The small talk was nice, he asked about cheerleading and you asked about football. Joe told you about his family and you asked about his hobbies. By the time you’d been sitting for a half hour, you were trying to throw french fries into his mouth without missing.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” you laughed nervously. “Why did you want me to come here with you, Joe? I mean, it’s all really nice and I’ve had a great time. Just why?”

He was silent for a moment, taking a sip from your soda. The question was kind of sudden, but you had to know. You’d only met a few days before, and this guy definitely had no trouble picking up women. So why you?

“Honestly, I just haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he chuckled. “As stupid as that sounds out loud. I knew you might not go for this, but I thought maybe it’d be worth asking you.”

Your stomach flipped, his hair falling slightly into his eyes. The swell of his arms underneath that white T-shirt. This guy was insanely good looking, and maybe he was just saying what you wanted to hear, but you did really want to hear it.

Now, it wasn’t necessarily a good idea to look at him the way you were. It was impossible not to, though. Like clockwork, he was leaning into you full force and you let your hands go to his hair. His lips were hard on yours, desperate and hot. It was one of those kisses that wasn’t gentle nor rough, but completely and incandescently full of desperation.

Letting your hands slide down his body, you pulled at the white shirt, letting him know it was okay to run his hands up and down your torso. There was a middle console between you, making it hard to truly do much.

“Backseat?” You pulled away.

“Are you sure?” He asked, breathing heavy with swollen lips.

You nodded, he got out of the driver side and threw both bags in the front. Slipping back from the passenger seat, he got in through the back door. Immediately you’d both found each other again, bodies on fire. He let you get on top, straddling his thighs and kissing his throat.

Soon his hands found your breasts, leaving you to let our breathy whimpers. His lips were soon on your neck, sucking hard enough that it might leave a mark. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, pulling his shirt off and letting him do the same with your dress.

Left in your underwear and bra, his fingers grazed overtop of the fabric. His name left your lips in pleas, making his erection grow increasingly more obvious. He was watching you rock back and forth on his fingers, the windows of the car steamy.

“Fuck me,” you breathed. “Please, Joe. Fuck me.”

He unclasped your bra, letting his lips trail from your pulse point at the throat down to your collarbone, then to the bud of your nipple. He played with the other with his fingers, leaving you a whimpering mess. He felt you grind on his clothed erection, sending him into a spiraling mess as he sucked harder and harder, fingers slipping underneath the fabric and inside of you.

Eventually, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you pulled at the waistband of his sweatpants and let him help you to pull them down his thighs. He wore white Calvin Kleins’s, cock very clearly erect and begging to be let out from the constriction.

He slipped his fingers out and took the hem of the underwear, tearing the fabric in half. This made you slap his arm, muttering something about how those were Aerie and expensive.

“I’ll get you another pair,” he kissed you again.

You sat up on top of him, aligning yourself and letting his length sink into you. There was sweat dripping off of both of you, burying your head into his neck.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

It was like nothing mattered except for this moment, you weren’t thinking about the consequences of your actions, or why it was wrong. He steadied your hips and held your jaw, looking you in the eyes at each thrust until you both came undone. Neither of you had regulated breathing, the whole car smelled like a mix of sex and his cologne.

“Fuck,” you sighed, head dropping onto his shoulder.

Slowly, you got off of his lap and let the realization of what you’d just done hit you. Here you were, in the back seat of Joe Burrow’s Porsche, having just had car sex. Now you had no underwear as well.

He pulled his underwear and sweatpants up, looking over at you and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. There was something funny about the entire situation, making you nearly bust into a fit of giggles.

“Are you laughing?” He teased.

“A little,” you laid your head against the seat.

He leaned forward and grabbed the Dr. Pepper from the middle console, taking a long sip and holding it out to you. You were pretty sure this wasn’t one of the five love languages, but it worked nonetheless.

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#joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series #joe burrow x yn #joe sheisty #joe burrow #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow blurbs #elle’s fics

[u3pxx]

[bad omens] angels (fallen or otherwise)

#good omens #den's bad omens #aziraphale #crowley #oh you bet im here for zira angst YOU BET #also read elle's fic for bad omens 'forget all your duties' on ao3 bc these doodles were partially inspired by that :^] #sunnysidedraws #sunnysidedoodles #described #id in alt text #sunnysideomens

[ellecdc]

Part two of feisty slytherin reader where it’s just the boys being like kinda in love with reader and everything you can pick how reader responds

this ended up taking me way longer to complete than I thought it would! it also ended up way longer than usual. here's the lead up to our infamous poly!marauders x feisty!slytherin reader!!! 🫶

poly!marauders x feisty, fem slytherin!reader CW: head injury - not graphic or detailed but mentions blood.

“Okay Moony, if you’re going to help us win over Y/N, you should know she does not like dramatic public displays of appreciation.” James said sagely as he walked into their shared dorm room.

Remus spared Sirius a confused look from his seat in the chair, but from the way James was currently rubbing his arm Sirius had a pretty good idea of what just took place.

“Yeah, erm, I don’t think you have to worry about that with me, bubs. Thanks for the heads up though.” Remus added bemusedly.

“Let me guess.” Sirius taunted, rolling over onto his stomach so that he faced James. “The charmed roses following her around the halls wasn’t a hit?”

“No, but she did...” He sulked, pulling his uniform shirt off to expose a small albeit quite red welt on his upper arm.

“Awe, poor Jamie. Come here bubs.” Remus cooed at him, opening his arms to invite the boy into his lap. 

James obliged all too willingly and snuggled up to the werewolf like he was a small toddler and not a giant beefy man-baby. 

“Don’t mollify him when he’s out here botching our grand plans to woo the girl of our dreams.” Sirius said, causing Remus to roll his eyes and James to scoff indignantly.

“Well at least I’m working on it! What are you doing to woo her?” James retaliated.

Sirius offered him a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’ve got a little trick up my sleeve.”

You had to get out of the castle. You could still feel everyone’s eyes on you, ogling you like you were some kind of freakshow. 

You don’t know what kind of game those Gryffindor’s were trying to play, but you were not about to be the butt of whatever sodding joke this was.

Roses, really? Charmed to follow you around the castle as Potter smirked from the sidelines. Did he have any idea how humiliating that was?

       So, yeah. You walloped him. In the arm. With your fist. Hard. But what else were you supposed to do!? You’d confronted him and demanded that he end the charm and all he said was ‘you look so cute when your nose scrunches up like that’.

He and Black have always been a bother – seemingly having taken some kind of interest in you for whatever reason. Lupin had always been more reasonable; one would think that he’d have evened those two out during their relationship, but apparently that was an impossible task. You supposed it was because he was all but one man.

But lately, even he was starting to stare at you a little too long, smile a little too softly, find too many excuses to be in your vicinity. It was infuriating.

So, you were outside.

It was nice outside. 

Well, it was nice enough outside. 

You packed yourself some snacks in your book bag, two blankets and an extra jumper to go sit by the Black Lake. You figured you should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet out here on your own.

You unfolded one of the blankets to lay onto the ground before sitting on it and then laid the second blanket over your lap. You could hear other students on the grounds in the distance and the soothing sound of the water lapping gently against the shore. 

As luck would have it, a certain dog with long-black hair would set out to disrupt that.

“What are you doing here?” You asked the dog as it approached you calmly. You wondered for a moment if you should be scared before it stopped at the edge of your blanket to sit and tilt its head at you, his tongue falling out of his mouth haphazardly. 

He didn’t look too scary, ignoring his size.

You craned your neck to look around, checking if perhaps he was here with someone, but it appeared that you were, in fact, alone on this side of the lake.

You felt something cold and wet nudge your pinkie, and you turned to see that the dog had laid down beside you with his head between his paws, nose next to your hand.

“If I pet you, are you going to bite me?” You asked him. He answered by nudging your hand again and offering it a little lick.

“You better not have fleas.” You muttered as you scratched behind the dog’s ears. You would have sworn he had furrowed his eyebrows at your comment if dogs could do such a thing. You noticed then that the dog had startling silver-blue eyes. 

“Where are your people?” You asked, glad no one was around to see you conversing with a dog. He answered you by rolling over for belly rubs.

You scoffed out a laugh but acquiesced. “Fine, you can stay. But I came out here for peace and quiet, ‘kay?”

The dog seemed fine with that plan and let you read through two chapters of your book, only interrupting every paragraph or so for more pets. Eventually however, it grew too cold, and you decided to pack up.

Confirming your suspicions, the dog began to follow you towards the castle. You pretended like you hadn’t noticed or perhaps just didn’t care until you were near the greenhouses.

“For future reference, Black,” you said, turning to the dog who seemed to pause mid-step as you considered him. “I really am more of a cat person.” You smirked, turning to walk back to the castle alone.

“Here, let me get that for you.” James said, opening the door for you rather chivalrously in Sirius’ opinion.

“I’m not a delicate flower, Potter, I can open a door.” You muttered angrily, storming past him into the classroom.

James deflated a little as he followed you in, but perked up when Remus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I thought that was very sweet of you, Jamie.” He placated.

James gave him a half smile in response. “Thanks Moons.”

“I mean, what are we supposed to do? What bird doesn’t like dogs!?” Sirius grumbled, opting to ignore James’ whining. 

“Don’t call her a bird, Sirius.” Remus chided.

“Probably didn’t help you’re a big ol’ mangy mutt.” James muttered petulantly.

“Oi!” Sirius called. “That’s not what you say when Padfoot snuggles you to sleep.” 

James had the good graces to turn a little red at that.

Their conversation was interrupted (quite rudely if you asked Sirius) by Professor McGonagall as she began the instructions for today’s Transfiguration lesson: turning buttons into butterflies. 

Sirius stole a concerned glance towards James to see Remus doing the same; they were horrified to see a mischievous look adorning their boyfriend’s face.

“Prongs...” Sirius warned, whilst Remus whispered a “remember what we talked about.”

But they both knew it was too late; there was no stopping him once James set his mind to something. 

Sirius is quite sure it was the fourth butterfly that did you in; you seemed to consider the first a fluke, the second was annoying, the third made you suspicious, but by the fourth you’d had enough.

With little to no warning you turned and lobbed a large hard-covered tome at the group.

“I don’t know which of you tossers are behind this, but it reeks of Potter. So help me gods I will gut you and string you up to the rafters from your intestines if you don’t leave me alone!” You screeched. 

“But how else will you know I’m crazy about you?” James pouted, causing you to groan exasperatedly.

“If you’re looking for some cutesy princess who will swoon at your sodding roses and butterflies, then you’ve got the wrong witch.” You spat.

Sirius smirked. “Oh, we have exactly the right witch.”

“I swear to Circe if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll sic Barty on you.” You threatened.

Sirius and James both scoffed whilst Remus smirked. 

“Please dollface, you insult me. I’m not afraid of Junior.” Sirius taunted.

You narrowed your eyes at him menacingly before realization dawned on you. “Fine.” You said simply, giving Sirius a distinct uneasy feeling. “Perhaps I’ll tell Regulus.”

Sirius slammed his fist on the table and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t.” He seethed.

You smirked deviously. “Just try me, Black.” You sneered in response. 

Did...did Sirius have a degradation kink?

Sirius was ashamed to admit that he had to take a very cold shower after that.

You had been sitting in the library trying to work on your Potions essay. You had felt fairly safe here seeing as the Gryffindor’s (at least the most problematic ones) had been sanctioned from using the library during quiet study hours on account of their typical foolishness.

Except one.

“Mind if I sit here?” Lupin’s lilting voice sounded from your right side before he sat down without waiting for your response. 

“Why bother asking if you were just going to sit anyways?” You grumbled. 

“Well, it was the polite thing to do.” He said, turning to face you. You held his gaze (his gaze, your glare) until he finally sighed. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

You considered him for a moment. You couldn’t deny he was the least buffoonish out of the so-called Marauders though you’re not sure that amounted to much.

But he was quieter, kinder, softer around the edges. And he had been far more polite to you than his boyfriends.

“Are you going to flirt with me?”

One of Remus’ eyebrows (the one with the scar running through it, you noticed) raised expectantly as he considered you.

“Let me rephrase that.” You barked quickly, realizing your mistake perhaps a touch too late. “You may sit here, but if you flirt with me, I will stab you with my quill.” You punctuated your threat by blotting his hand which rested on the table with ink from the tip of your quill.

Remus smiled at the sight before returning his amber coloured gaze to yours. “Fair enough. I promise to try to restrain myself, but perhaps you ought to hold onto this hand for me just in case I slip up.” And he – the absolute sodding bastard – slid his left hand comfortably into your right.

You’d never seen someone make a move so assertively and smoothly before. There was nothing to say that any of this even affected Remus as he immediately turned his attention to his book. Was it hot in here? Your hand felt sweaty. Your throat felt tight. Your mouth was dry. Why didn’t you think to bring a bottle of water?!

“Erm,” you started, having to pause to clear your throat. “Just how am I supposed to get my work done with your hand in mine, Lupin?”

You had tried to sound threatening, but based off Remus’ smirk, you’d only managed to goad him further.

“You’re left-handed. Figure it out.” 

These boys were going to be the death of you if you didn’t end up killing them first.

“You held her hand!?” James screeched in their dorm room that night whilst Remus smirked to himself. Sirius would make fun of James for his dramatics if he wasn’t just a pissed off about this.

“I’ve been working at this the longest out of either of you, and she lets you hold her hand?” He continued.

“She doesn’t like dogs,” Sirius grumbled, gesturing to himself, “she doesn’t like James. But the werewolf? Really. No offence Moons because I absolutely get the appeal.”

James snapped his fingers as he had a eureka moment. “I’ve got it! Remus; bite me!”

“James!” Remus scolded. 

“It’s not fair.” James muttered as he fell onto his bed in defeat. “I’d be so good to her.”

Any ire from Sirius and Remus drained at that as they both moved to join their boyfriend on his bed.

“We know, bubs.” Remus conceded. 

“We just...have to give her time. I’m sure she’ll come around, yeah? I mean, with Remus’ smooth moves, my undeniable charm, and your muscles? We’re unstoppable.” Sirius added, eliciting a smile from Remus and a gentle chuckle from James, though his usual light was diminished.

“We’ve just got to be patient, Jamie.” Remus concluded, causing James to groan.

“Patience.” He spat spitefully.

“A 'James ADHD Potter' special.” Sirius winked before kissing any further protests away from James’ lips.

“We’ve got Moony on our team now, bubs. We’re unstoppable.” He whispered, truly believing what he was saying.

If anyone could break through your hard candy-coating shell to reach the chocolate inside, it was certainly Remus Lupin.

You’d had the lovely idea of sitting outside on one of the few sunny days that Scotland got to see this time of year. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else had the same idea too.

A few Hufflepuffs were playing with a charmed muggle football, kicking it back and forth between the two of them and chasing after it when it opted to fuck off on its own. You didn’t understand the objective of the game, nor did you care to.

Remus and Peter Pettigrew sat on a bench not too far off playing a game of Wizarding Chess that, from where you were sitting, looked like Remus was winning.

You got so caught up in watching Lupin’s game with Pettigrew - in the way that the tendons in his wrist and hands flexed as he moved pieces across the board, and the way that his honey blonde curls fell in front of his eyes causing him to have to blow air upwards so he could see the board - that you noticed something flying at you far too late. 

“Look out!” One of the dumb Hufflepuff’s shouted far too late as their charmed football soared into the side of your head, knocking you clean over where your head cracked painfully against a root of the tree you were sitting under.

You scrunched your eyes tight and tried to will your heart to start beating again and your lungs to cooperate, every part of your body seeming to have tensed out of instinct to protect itself.

“L/N! L/N! Come on, dove, open your eyes.” You heard a voice above you.

Why was the voice so worried? How long were your eyes closed? A gentle hand grabbed your chin and wiggled your head back and forth, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Sod...off.” You gritted through your teeth.

The voice chuckled and wiggled your chin once more. “There she is. Open your eyes for me.”

You hated being told what to do but decided to comply anyways.

You probably should have kept your eyes close because the sight made you feel dizzy for a completely different reason.

Hovering above your frame was Remus Lupin; his knees on the ground beside your elbow, one hand gripping your chin and the other gently moving hair away from your face and head.

“Atta girl.” He said with a smile.

“Get away from me.” You grumbled as you moved to sit up. Though Lupin hissed in protest, he helped you sit up nonetheless. 

“Is...is she okay?” a timid voice spoke from somewhere behind Lupin’s shoulder causing his expression to darken considerably.

“You stupid wankers are so dead.” You spat as loudly as you could manage, though in your current state – that wasn’t very loud at all.

Your message was received loud and clear, however, as the two Hufflepuffs took off in fear.

“My sentiments exactly.” Lupin muttered as he turned back to you, jaw still tense.

You snorted indelicately as you brought a hand to your head. “Please, don’t tell me you actually care about me, Lupin.”

You hissed in pain as your hand came in contact with something warm and wet and slightly sticky. You pulled your hand back in front of you to inspect, only for Lupin to grab your hand rather harshly and wipe the blood away with a handkerchief.

“Is it so impossible to believe that we could actually care for you?” He muttered quietly, eyes focused on your hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. You watched as his curls bounced with each wipe of his hand against yours. You thought of his gentle hands brushing hair away from your wound moments before. You thought of him begging you to open your eyes. You thought of him being the first one at your side when you were hurt.

And you thought about Black finding ways to be with you even when you staunchly refused his company. You thought of him taking time out of his day to tell you how ‘smoking hot’ you looked that day, even though he said it every day before that, too.

And you thought about Potter who always held the door for you, saved you a seat even though you never accepted it, showered you in affection even though it was public and quite embarrassing. And you thought of the way he always had a smile to give you, even when you gave him no reason to smile at all. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine the three of them caring for anyone, quite frankly. Caring seemed to come second nature to those boys.

“No.” You admitted quietly. “It’s not impossible to believe that you could actually care. It’s just impossible to imagine why.”

He stopped rubbing at your hand and met your eye, seemingly contemplating what to say.

“Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey.” He opted for. “Pete, let the boys know where I’ve gone when they’re finished with practice?” Lupin called over his shoulder.

“I can walk myself, Lupin.” You grumbled as he helped you up by your elbow.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled back. “You’re not a delicate flower, we know.”

The two of you more or less muttered back and forth to each other the entire way to the infirmary, Lupin supporting more of your weight than he likely needed too but you didn’t feel the need (nor desire) to complain.

Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of looking after a first year Potions class who accidently set off an explosion of incorrectly brewed Cure for Boils which ultimately left each student (and Professor Slughorn) covered head to toe in painful boils.

“Mr. Lupin, if you could clean the wound for me. And Miss. L/N, drink the pain potion. Do not leave until I’ve had a chance to do a proper examination, okay?” She ordered as you positioned yourself more comfortably on the bed after she determined you weren’t about to die (or currently crying, as most of the first years were). 

You took the pain potion dutifully and placed it back on the table beside your bed before you startled at the sudden cold wet cloth on your head.

“You are not seriously doing this right now, are you?” You spat.

Remus’ eyebrows drew together as his hands continued on in their task. “You heard the matron; I’m supposed to clean it.”

“I can clean it myself, Lupin; I’ll conjure a mirror.” You argued, causing the scarred boy to scoff.

“I do what I’m told L/N, and quite frankly, the matron scares me more than you do.”

“I must be doing something wrong then.” You sighed, thinking you hadn’t said that loud enough to be heard, but a startled laugh escaped Lupin’s lips. 

“Why do you act so volatile?” He asked amusedly.

“It’s not an act.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, you call wrong, then, Lupin. I’m an arse and I find everyone exhausting. Deal with it.” You snarked sharply.

Lupin breathed a laugh through his nose. “Maybe we can find out what the hell your problem is over dinner sometime, then.”

Rotten bastard and his smooth talk...

“WHERE IS SHE!?” a voice echoed through the corridor just outside the entrance to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey needn’t even look up from the boil she was currently draining of puss to know who she was about to scold.

“Mr. Potter, I will have you banned from this infirmary so fast if you raise your voice above so much as a whisper, do not try me. That goes for you too, Mr. Black.” She barked; eyes still focused on the first year’s arm in front of her.

Sure enough, a mop of curly hair, impossibly more wild than usual due to the flight on his broom, poked around the privacy curtains a second before it was joined by a fuming looking Sirius Black.

Potter’s eyes flew to where Remus’ hands were positioned on your head and your stomach lurched at what looked like tears pooling in Potter’s eyes.

“Potter...please, erm, please don’t cry?” You asked awkwardly, leaning away from Remus’ touch as you suddenly became very uncomfortable with this amount of attention.

“She’s alright, Jamie.” Remus sighed, pulling you back over to him gently by the shoulder and continuing his prodding at your wound.

“Who did it?” Sirius spat, arms crossed defensively across his chest and jaw tight as he stared hard at the wound on your head. You were horrified to admit to yourself that he was hot. You’d never really seen it before, how all the girls in your year (and other years) fawned over the long-haired boy.

But he was currently standing in front of you still adorned in his quidditch gear, hair pulled back into a low bun - though he had many fly-aways on account of his recent time in the air - his cheeks still dusted pink from the assertion, and he was currently fuming on your behalf.

Yeah...he was hot. 

“Easy.” Remus warned.

“Answer me!” Sirius spat back.

“Pads. I mean it, leave it.” Remus said with finality.

Your eyes darted nervously between the two boys currently staring each other down, but Potter’s eyes were still steadfast on you.

“Let me, Rem.” He finally said gently – the most gently you’d ever heard from the rambunctious boy as he gently moved Remus aside and took over.

“I’m okay, you know.” You offered, not liking how worked up these boys were currently over you.

“I know.” He agreed. “I just hate to see you hurt.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why.” You pressed. James looked like you just asked him to calculate the distance between the galaxy of Andromeda and our solar system using the measurement of broomsticks.  

“I... I don’t want to see you hurt?”

“You want to see Snape hurt.” You countered, causing James’ face to harden.

“Snape’s a tosser.” He muttered darkly.

“I’m not any nicer than Snape.”

“See, Y/N. You’re so smart and lovely and perfect, but you are way off on that front.” James said through a laugh. “Snape is prejudiced, vindictive, and a racist blood supremist. You’re just combative.” He explained, punctuating the word combative with a gentle boop of your nose. 

You wanted to break his finger.

But that would be combative, and you would rather die than prove Potter right, so you opted to roll your eyes instead. 

“Did they even hang around to see if she fucking survived or did they just take off to avoid detention?” Sirius spat at Remus, not looking any calmer than he did when he arrived.

“They stayed.” You answered tiredly. “They took off afterwards, and not to avoid detention, but to avoid me.”

“And me.” Remus muttered quietly, looking dangerously close to going back out there to find them himself. 

“Did you threaten them?” Sirius asked severely, though you weren’t sure who exactly he had asked.

“Yes.” You and Lupin both answered exasperatedly. 

Sirius looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh. “Fine, but if I run into them, I’m hexing them into oblivion.”

“Not if I get to them first.” You growled.

Sirius’ face finally softened as he sat on the end of your bed and cautiously touched your ankle under the blankets.

“You sure you’re okay, Y/N?”

And you aren’t sure what did it. 

You weren’t sure if it was the softness you saw in Sirius that you were sure you could have never even imagined possible from a person, let alone someone related to the infamous Black family. Or if it was the eyebrows of Remus Lupin that were furrowed in concern as he dutifully watched his boyfriend finish plastering a bandage to your head, or if it was the unbelievable softness of James Potter’s touch – in complete contrast to his fast, rough, bouncing personality that you were usually subjected to.

But dammit, you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

You wiped it away quickly and nodded your head in yes.

You braced yourself for the teasing, the cooing, the dramatic displays of affection. But Sirius quickly stood and disappeared behind the curtains, James began pouring you a glass of water, and Remus reached into his bag for something.

Remus returned to you first, breaking off a square of chocolate for you. “It’ll help.”

You were too embarrassed to argue and took it, popping it into your mouth dutifully. 

“Here.” Sirius said as he appeared back at your bedside, handing you a vial. 

“What is it?” You asked, your voice taut with emotion.

Sirius’ eyes softened again as he offered you a sad smile. “Calming draught. You can’t have any more pain potion, but this might make you feel better.”

“And if not, maybe you can convince Moony to share more of his chocolate.” James commented with a soft smile.

You grimaced at the taste of the potion and chased it with the water James had poured for you.

“Thank you.” You admitted quietly, shame colouring your tone as you looked to your lap.

“None of that.” Remus said as he handed you another piece of chocolate.

You took it skeptically. “Why do they call you Moony?”

No one said anything for a moment, but you could tell that neither James nor Sirius were moving a muscle as they watched Remus who in turn watched you.

“Because of my lycanthropy.” He said plainly.

You looked at the various scars before you started to laugh. Sirius’ face drained of all colour while James visibly tensed.

“Of course you are. Remus Lupin. Named after a man raised by wolves and the lupus, or wolf constellation. Oh gods, it was predestined, clearly.”

“Are...are you laughing at me right now?” Remus asked incredulously.

“It’s a little funny...no?” You asked back.

He looked as if he were torn between laughing and crying. “I pour my heart out to you – my deepest darkest secret, and you laugh at me?” He asked again, some amusement colouring his features.

“I told you, I’m an arse.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Does it bother you?” Sirius asked cautiously from the end of your bed, face appearing impassive for all intents and purposes. 

“I don’t see why it should, it’s none of my business.”

“It could be.” Remus input.

“You don’t want me. I’m no good, Lupin.” You stressed, looking back down at your hands.

“Neither am I.” Sirius agreed.

“Me neither.” Remus added.

“I’m n-” James started.

“So what if the only one of us worthy of love and affection here is James?” Sirius said, cutting James off. “It’s not going to stop me from cherishing what I can get - deserved or not.”

You groaned and threw your head back onto the pillow, cringing at the effect the fast movement had on you and the pain that the movement elicited in your neck.

“Okay, what about this.” James conciliated. “You don’t have to agree to be with us, just give us a chance? The time of day? One Hogsmeade trip to let us fawn over you.”

You looked up at his deep brown eyes that felt so warm you wanted to make a home in them. Sirius, in all his bravado, looked pained as he waited for an answer, and Remus smiled encouragingly at you.

“Fine!” You acquiesced with a groan. “One Hogsmeade trip.”

Much to your chagrin, though not really at all, it ended up being way more than just one Hogsmeade trip.

Thank you to @unstablereader who gave us the library handholding prompt 🫶

#ask elle #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders x slytherin!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #slytherin!reader #ellecdc fics

[suntails]

blessed be the night

#my friend sent me the song 'hijo de la luna' and said it's silver-core and ive been looping it for 3 days. i um. im normal #its got this haunting energy to it thats so GOOD. the moon wants a kid and silver is that kid babey. reminds me of ell's fic hollow moon... #but yea SOLAR ECLIPSE PIECE BABEY!!!! the sun from his origins and the moon as his new home. freshly silver hair like the blocking moon #decided i wasnt gonna do lineart for this so instead i did the worlds cleanest sketch ever and u cant fuckign tell the difference. i #its giving me this strange dystopian vibe that im not like. im not MAD at it but it wasnt intentional? i dunno GHVJBDK art be weird sometim #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #silver vanrouge #ch 7 spoilers #book 7 spoilers #suntails #tumblr gets it first again YYYIPPEEEEEEEE

[mystellenia]

hello love!! hope you're doing well :)

can i request ellie x reader first time? not having found the right moment for a while, maybe reader bought lingerie for ellie? fluffy would be nice :)

first time with needy!ellie ୨ৎ

summary: you and ellie cuddle up on the couch for a night in but it escalates quickly to become your first time together. you're shocked when ellie says she has a surprise for you...

content: fingering (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), a little bit of loser!ellie being like sheepish with starting things, then quickly replaced by needy!ellie 🤤🤤 that's about it hehe

notes: like no plot, jumping STRAIGHT in 💕 eventual smut under the cut. sorry to the anon who requested this because it took so long to be able to update it since daddy tumblr decided to shadowban me. ALSO sorry because the request asked for ellie to be the one wearing the lingerie, but... i just can't imagine that and then write that when seattle and santa barbara ellie exist... i hope the change wasn't too bad <33

(wc 2.3k)

the windows rattled from consistent gusts of wind, chilling drafts seeping in through the edges. the weather had been particularly bad the past week, alternating between heavy downpour and whistling winds. with this, you and ellie mostly stayed in, cooped up in the comfort of fleece blankets and old cable reruns. 

the two of you now sat on the couch, your intertwined legs covered by the large throw blanket the two of you shared. ellie absentmindedly traced figure-eights on your upper thigh where her hand rested, her arm draped limply over your waist. you glance up to watch the colors of the tv dance across her face, painting multicolored hues on the freckled apples of her cheeks. reaching up, you delicately rake her hair back from her face, your hand trailing down to cup the back of her neck.  

at this, ellie rears her head back to catch your stare from where your cheek lay on her chest, your eyes flicking between both of hers. “hi,” she prompts with a curious tilt of her head, a lazy smile teasing her lips. 

you hum in response, your gaze tracing the freckles adorning the high points of her face, the caramel flecks arranged like a constellation—a constellation you’d recognize in the dark, like a fingerprint.  

ellie moves to grab your chin and press her lips to yours in a slow and simple kiss. after a moment, she pulls back to swipe her thumb over your cheek and drags her hand back to cradle your head.  

“you’re just so pretty,” she mumbles while looking at your lips, her eyes quickly flicking up and slightly widening in realization that she’d said that out loud. you smooth her hair back with both hands before interlinking your fingers behind her neck, and a rosy blush covers her cheeks at your silent stare. you pull her back in by her shoulders, feeling the heat radiating through the thin cotton of her long-sleeved henley. her tongue prods the seam of your lips in permission, which you readily grant as you give an open-mouthed kiss.  

in no time at all, the kiss grows rushed and desperate, your hands tangling in her hair and hers clawing at your shoulders. your hands begin their way down her back when she abruptly pulls away in what seems to be self-restraint, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she rests her forehead on yours. 

“hey, hey, i’m here,” you assure, easing her back to meet your eyes.  

“i’m sorry,” she starts, “i just… i…” she trails off as she finally looks into your eyes, brows drawn together tightly in almost pain. the vibrant green of her eyes had almost entirely vanished, replaced by the black of her blown pupils, her intentions now clearer than ever. 

it wasn't like you two hadn't kissed; of course you had. they'd even gotten heated like this very kiss, but ellie had never displayed such hunger in her eyes, such restraint.  

you guys didn't want to rush anything. after all, you had all the time in the world together, so why speed through things when you could take your time exploring each other? 

but now you were ready. you had been for a while, and you find the words leaving you before you even realize what it means. 

“yes,” you breathe out, eyes darting across her face in anticipation as you await her response. she begins to ask what you mean but is cut off by your hands on either side of her face pulling her into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing in a fervent dance, answering any unspoken questions.  

she deeply hums into the kiss, grabbing on to your wrists and easing you back to lay against the cloth cushions of the couch. fingers teasing the hem of your shirt, she swiftly pulls it over your head and discards it somewhere in the room, leaving you in your simple bralette as she returns to her brutal determination in dismantling you. 

you thumb the waistband of your sleep shorts, your fingers beginning to untie the bow securing them to your hips. ellie watches you shimmy your shorts down your legs slack-jawed, then pauses their journey down, blurting out, “wait, wait. i have something for you.” 

she darts off you and into your shared bedroom, beckoning you with a call of your name. you enter the room to a dark blue gift bag on the bed with a name written on it in gold script that you wouldn’t even try to pronounce. pushing the black tissue paper aside to peek in, your eye catches on the lacy strap of what seemed to be a bra, a shade of red so dark it looked black in the dimmed light of the bedroom. 

fidgeting with her hands, ellie finally addresses you. “it’ll look nice, i think. go try it on,” she instructed, her head nodding to the cracked bathroom door. 

you follow her instructions and head to the bathroom with the small gift bag in tow, the door shutting behind you with a click. you’re met with your reflection, eyes wide and mouth agape in desire. setting the bag on the counter, you begin to remove the tissue paper to reveal the set. with the better lighting of the bathroom, you begin to see the intricacy of the lace and stitching.  

pulling the bra out, you hold it up to your chest and examine it in the mirror. a wine-red bustier style bra greets you, with tulle panels along the sides and laces running down the back for corset-style tightening. setting the bra down, you reach for the matching panties of the same red color. along with them comes a garter belt embellished with silver decals, laced scalloping trimming the edges. 

after taking a moment to gather yourself, you begin to carefully slip on the pieces of the set, careful not to tear anything. you secure the bra and position the garter belt to sit snugly on your hips and smooth your hands down your body in satisfaction; it did look nice.  

you quickly wipe the giddy smile off your face at the thought of ellie’s reaction and fix your hair, finally turning to exit the bathroom. as the door slowly opens, you see ellie quickly standing up from the bed to meet you, her chest caving at her audible gasp as her gaze leisurely rakes down your figure. suddenly shy, you glance at your feet and trail your hands down your sides to dry them off.  

trying to calm the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, she shuts her mouth and begins her journey towards you, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “jesus,” she hisses, her hands landing on your lace clad hips and venturing to your lower back to pull you into a slow but sensual kiss, evoking a shudder to rake down your spine.  

she spins you around to walk you back to the bed, the blanket tickling the backs of your thighs as she folds over you. as she crawls over you, both of her legs tighten around one of your thighs as she nudges her knee into your core, pressing your damp underwear to your clit and making you moan into her mouth. her kisses move to your neck, and you cage her head in with your forearms, hugging her head and willing her to stay where she was. her hand moves to your left breast to experimentally swipe a thumb over your nipple, the friction from the lace making you arch your back into her hand to chase the sensation. 

ellie slowly but surely pulls back to give you a starved stare, her arousal visible in the flush of her cheeks and the huffs and puffs of her chest. your eyes meet hers as she gives you one loaded stare—a silent plead for permission to take things further. her cold palms slide from their previous position on your boobs down to your waist, then your hips as she pushes the hem of your underwear down just a hair. you place your hand over hers, agreeing with her unspoken words as you move her hand with hers to push your underwear down to your mid-thigh.  

her hand stutters on its way down your thigh, stopping your underwear on its journey off your body. she simply stares at you, at your glossy cunt and how swollen it is from neglect. her index finger trails through the crease of your thigh and hip, created by your bent and spread knees. 

you take over and completely remove your underwear and fling it to a corner of the room. ellie quickly pulls her tank top over her head, leaving her in just a sports bra and startling you in the process from the sudden movement. 

finally, her hand moves to your core while she swipes a thumb up your slit, eliciting a throaty moan from you. she begins circling your clit, her gaze locked on your face and feeding off of your little whines and cries. you fold over and yelp when she inserts her middle finger inside you, her thumb still expertly moving around your pulsing nub.  

her fingers still moving in tandem on you, she breathes, "god, you have no idea how pretty you look right now. my pretty, needy girl." you moan at her words, and she nods, as if approving of your reaction and asking for more. 

the finger moving inside you was just constantly hitting that soft, spongy spot that she found so effortlessly, and you desperately clawed at her wrist and pleaded, "waitwaitwait- el i’m- i’m gonna-" she kisses you to shut you up, but ultimately obliges as she slows her movements down to a stop. 

she brings her fingers up to look at the mess you've made of them, then moves them to your mouth before ordering, "clean 'em up, baby." 

you do just that, propping up on your elbows to take her fingers in your mouth and swirl your tongue around them, humming at the tangy taste. looking up through your lashes, you see her face and how her bottom lip is pulled into her mouth, how her eyes lazily focus on yours. 

she lays down beside you and pats her chest before saying, "come sit." 

"what?" you question. 

"come sit—like on my face," she clarifies. 

"oh, i- you don't have to do that." 

"i know that, i want to," she insists. "now come on." 

she grabs your waist to guide you up as you straddle her torso, the cloth of her sports bra deliciously tickling your glistening cunt. as you shimmy up, she locks her hands under and around your thighs, strapping you close to her mouth.  

her warm breath feathers across you, and you stifle a shudder at the sensation. you feel her nose touch your clit and you jump up, causing her to huff in frustration. 

"i swear, if you don't fucking—" she pulls you by your thighs to sit flush against her mouth, "—sit down." you harshly drop against her lips and she hums into your vulva, making you groan against the back of your hand. 

you nearly scream as she licks one flat stripe up your slit, then your hands shoot out to catch your weight as your body threatens to fold flat over when she starts making out with your cunt. kissing on you as she would do on your mouth. your knees lock around her head as you thread your fingers into her muddy hair, rocking into her sloppy kisses. 

the room now smelled of sex, your moans and cries dancing with the vulgar smacks of her tongue. she switches from sloppy kisses to calculated flicks, her tongue bringing you closer to the edge just so. 

the vibrations of her pleased moans on your clit make your legs twitch each time, and she speeds up her movements, moving down to begin fucking into you with her tongue. your body takes over as you rock into her mouth, riding the slow buildup of pleasure while rolling your hips for your clit to meet her nose with every back-and-forth.  

but when ellie sucks on your clit so hard it makes you see stars, your orgasm catches you by surprise and drowns you in an all-consuming wave of ecstasy, your vision blurred by unshed tears as you cry her name out. she doesn't stop, though—her tongue continues its violent assault, sliding through your folds with ease thanks to your endless supply of slick. 

once you come down from your high and your eyes focus once more, you see ellie's eyes, still closed, and her tongue peeking out as she cleans you up in long, flat strips. her hands guide you off her to lay on the bed next to her.  

perched up on her elbow, she looks down at you and chuckled at how you still struggled to catch your breath.  

"jesus, you taste good. i can't believe we went that long without doing anything," she announces, looking lovingly at how your hair splays around you in a halo. 

"yeah," you breathlessly respond, "that was... that- i was..." you resort to just shaking your head to convey your disbelief at her sheer skill. 

"did i fuck the words out of you?" she teases, earning an annoyed glare from you. "relax," she laughs, "i'm just playing. you don't have to answer, i already know i did," she mumbles. you would fight her on it but can't seem to find the energy to when she scoops you into her arms and kisses the crown of your head. 

ellie's "g'night, my love" is the last thing you hear before falling into a deep sleep, warm from her embrace. 

a/n: so glad to get this OUT OF MY FUCKING DRAFTS i got this req prob 19 years ago and i've just had the worst writers block. i hope u like it anon :)))

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

#mystellenia 𐑂°‧₊ #elle answers 𐑂°‧₊ #loser!ellie #needy!ellie #ellie #ellie tlou #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #abby #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby x you #abby x y/n #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson the last of us

[liesmyth]

Is it better if John erased their memories, or if they came back that way and he just decided not to fix them?

It's immensely better if he intentionally mindwiped them. TO ME.

I'm a John fan. I think he's a tremendous tragic antagonist, and that everything he does in the HtN backstory is relatable if not painful familiar. He was under immense pressure, trying to mitigate the literal end of the world, having his mind and his whole self changed in ways he had no frame of reference to understand. He went from being desperate and trying to do his best to being carried away by circumstances to going absolutely fucking insane. There are many ways to rationalise John's actions all the way to the end, which is what makes it such an effective corruption arc. If you want to engage in some blorbo apologism, there are plenty of excuses to be found.

There's absolutely no fucking way to excuse mind-wiping his friends. THAT is why it's so important to me that he did it deliberately, in cold blood, justifying it to himself as a way to take their burdens upon himself so they wouldn't have to feel guilty. He removed their agency. He didn't want any peers in the world he'd created. He could have acknowledged what had happened, for better or worse, and tried to make amends - but instead, he chose to remove their knowledge that something had even happened in the first place. It's the turning point! I need him to go into that with his eyes fully open. He's doing it on purpose! He weighed the pros and cons and prioritised his comfort over his friends' identities.

EYE believe that his story arc is infinitely more powerful if there's a point we can look at and say "here is when John's story went from things happening TO HIM to John doing terrible things". Especially in a backstory that's ultimately about divine corruption and losing touch with your humanity, I think that turning point needs to be something that has a personal value to him, something that can't be chalked up to "he was high on death" or "humanity was doomed" or even "he touched the soul of the earth and went insane."

I think it's important, thematically, that one of his first actions after acquiring godlike powers was to make sure that no one would be able to remember his human self and challenge him on equal footing, even if he's still internally lamenting his own loneliness and wishing things were different.

Obviously, this is all coming from a known John Girlie™ and Eldritch Alecto Enjoyer — I interpret John's ascension to quasi-divinity as something that was mostly imposed ON him and he couldn't control, which is why I need him to cross the moral event horizon outright with the mind violation of his inner circle. Someone who views John as more directly culpable in the end of the earth might feel less strongly about the importance of the mindwipe in his story arc than I do, but TO ME it's the culmination of the tragedy. You've become the inhuman horror, baby.

/post that inspired the question

#i'd totally read posts or fics where this happens differently but TO ME it's juicy if he does it outright :3 #i doubt we'll ever find out for sure bc i think we've seen ALL that we're going to ever get of the resurrection unless it's from alecto's d #so it's really all headcanons! but this is mine #ask #anonymous #elle tlt posting #ejg #tlt thoughts #SORRY I HAVE SOOO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS