#friends to lovers i guess?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

didhewinkback · 11 days

Text

thirty, flirty and thriving

a something old blurb for the birthday boy. 2 and a half months late but who's counting

word count: essentially 3k, warnings: none

---

He can feel tears prick his eyes the second they all start in on the song. All of his favorite people in one place, just for him, gathered around the cake you’re holding up. Suppose he’s someone who cries at birthdays now.

He’s just…bloody overwhelmed. Perhaps it’s all the tequila flowing through his veins but it feels like more than that. Thinking about how you somehow managed to surprise him with all these people to celebrate his birthday, that his friends - some of whom he hasn’t spoken to in ages, ranging from the lads from school to the friends he made in LA when he was 22 - all made the trek to London to be with him tonight. How he’s often the youngest in his group of friends and how it feels like just yesterday that meant being 19 in a group of 30 year olds and now it's being 30 in a group of friends on the other side of 40.

He’s fucking thirty.

It should send him into a spiral about where the time has gone and how it went by so bloody quick but right now, he’s just grateful for where it’s landed him. Right here. Surrounded by his favorite people on the planet, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the woman he’s going to marry, his best friend in the entire world. Ten years ago, he was getting monstrously drunk at a club with Grimmy and their mates, feeling both on top of the world and more alone than ever in ways only an incredibly famous 20 year old can. But here and now, he feels settled. He feels good. Like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes but also like he’s just getting started.

“....happppy birthday to yOouUuUou” everyone sings, all eyes on him as they wait for him to blow out the candles. He places his palm to his chest, trying to lock eyes with as many people as humanly possible, trying to say thank you with a look, doesn’t want to do a speech, not now. He just loves these people, he loves this life, he loves his birthday and –

He feels an elbow in his side and looks over at you, your face aglow from the absurd amount of candles you’ve squeezed onto the cake - he’s 30, not 87, thanks - your eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Cake’s fucking heavy, mate” you say and he throws his head back in laughter, smacking a kiss to your head before looking back out at the party.

“Sorry - know the wax ‘s getting everywhere, but just wanted to say -” he says, taking a deep breath, vision blurring a bit. “‘M so lucky and feel so grateful to you all for being here. Thank you’s never going to be enough. But you’ve all made me into the man I am today ‘nd I wouldn’t be me without you. So thank you and I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath, squeezing you close and making a wish, wishing for every birthday to feel just like this, for the ability to make everyone in this room feel like they’re making him feel now as he blows all the candles out in one swoop. The party erupts in cheers and whoops and he barely has time to press another kiss to your cheek before he’s pulled back into the fray, bombarded with an endless stream of hugs, kisses, people rubbing his head and pressing glasses of tequila into his hand. He just feels like he could burst, is the thing. A room full of people who know him and love him and don’t want or need anything from him, just want to celebrate him for who he is. They’ve turned the music back on and he sways his hips and stomps his feet as he knocks back another glass, letting the beats wash over him as he gets lost in the crowd of friends.

It’s later, he’s tucked in a booth with the lads as he takes in the room around him, though it’s spinning a bit more than it was before. Tom’s got his arm around him and is telling the 18th embarrassing anecdote of the night, trying in vain to bury the fact that just moments ago he got a bit teary when he spoke about the first time they met. And that’s when he sees you across the way, laughing about something with Johnny. His eyes trace the line of your neck as you tilt your head back, the curve of your jaw, and then, as if you can sense him, your eyes lock with his.

It never gets old, this. It feels like electric currents are buzzing through his system when you smile at him, that just for him smile, as he tilts his head towards the doors leading out back, once, twice, three times, topping it off with a dramatic roll of his neck until you’re smirking, already making your way up to stand. He taps Tom on the thigh before sliding out of the booth and making his way over to where you’re waiting by the doors, instantly wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as the two of you duck outside.

It’s cold, but the heaters and fire pits around the patio help and he wraps himself around your back, matching you step for step as you head over to the corner railings, away from any prying eyes. You lean against the railing, looking up at the night sky, what you can make of it from the city lights. He wraps his arms tighter around you, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Y’ cold?” he asks and you’re shaking your head but he feels you shiver against him and that’s all the answer he needs, already pulling his suit jacket off despite your protests, and holding it out for you to put it on. “C’mon, ‘s my birthday wish.”

You shake your head and snort, sliding your arms into the jacket and turning around, wrapping your arms around his waist as you smile up at him. He shuffles you a bit closer to the heater, pressing a kiss to your cheek, brushing his knuckle along your jaw.

“Good birthday?” you ask softly and he’s already nodding, can’t believe you’re even asking.

“The best,” he says, “Can’t believe you did all this.”

“You really had no idea?”

“Surprised the shit out of me.” he says. “Y’ always get stressed when we’re running late for dinner so that’s the only reason I thought y’ were being jumpy.”

“Oiii–” you say, slapping him lightly as you laugh. “Not my fault you took ages to get ready. Man’s early for everything but the second you tell him what time to meet at a restaurant, he moves in bloody slo mo.”

“Heeey.” he whines, but there’s no heat behind it, pulling you closer and laughing when you do.

He can hear the party raging on from out here and he still just can’t wrap his mind around it. That he’s 30. That he’s gotten to live the life he has over the last ten years and he has all those people in there to thank. He’s bowled over, the love in that room radiating through his every pore. Not sure he ever knew he could be this loved.

He can feel your eyes on him and knows you’re letting him gather his thoughts, content to just stand there and patiently wait until he’s ready. Letting him do what he needs to do. Never pushing, or prying. Just knowing him. And loving him. And there’s just something about that, isn’t there?

“‘M just like…” he starts to say, stopping himself when he feels emotion clog his throat. “I cried 10 times already. Bloody Cal is here.”

“Easiest party planning of my life,” you say back softly, tightening your arms around him. “Everyone said yes immediately, they were so excited to celebrate you. Everyone in there really, really loves you.”

His breath gets caught in his throat at that, blinking back the tears that seem to permanently reside in his eyes tonight. He rests his hand along the side of your face, dragging his thumb along your jaw. Not sure what he did to get nights like this, to get you looking at him like that. He’s so, so lucky.

“I really, really love you.” you say softly and he just - he can’t explain the noise that escapes him as he crashes his lips against yours, tightening his grip on your jaw as he kisses you the way he’s been thinking about all night. You sigh against his lips as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, lips not daring to leave yours for a second, kissing you over and over again.

He could stand here forever, kissing you like this, but he has to breathe, eventually. He pulls back slowly, kissing along your jaw, cheek, temple before burying his head into your neck. You slide your arms up his back, hugging him around the neck and pulling him close, your hand coming up to rest at the nape of his neck, scratching at the short hairs there. You just stand there for a minute, wrapped up in each other and this may just be his favorite part of the night. There’s something about knowing he’ll always have this. Your arms to fall into. And that’s the greatest birthday present a lad could ask for.

“Thank you so much for all this,” he mumbles into your ear. “Best birthday ever. Proper birthday.”

His heart skips a beat when he hears your delighted laugh, pulling back to get a glimpse of your face, the way your eyes are glowing as they stare back at him.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” you say with a laugh. “You were pissed and burning your mouth on a cheese toastie almost a decade ago when you said that.”

“Mmm, a cheese toastie,” he says, giggling at your eye roll. “Course I remember it. Think it every year. ‘S not a proper birthday unless you’re there. I love you so, so much.”

“Thanks for being born,” you say softly, leaning into his touch. “Greatest thing to ever happen to me. You.”

“Baby - ” he breathes out, but can feel emotion clogging his throat again, trying in vain to blink away the tears your words made spring to his eyes. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hand shaking not just from the cold. A lifetime of knowing you and you still make him weak at the knees.

“Y’ make every day feel like my birthday, y’ know that?” he says softly, feeling like he’s found the right words for the first time tonight. “This party ‘nd this night is incredible. But nothing - nothing - compares to getting to go home with you every night. Greatest gift I ever got.”

He can see the words hit you, the deep breath you take as your eyes rake over his features, smile twitching at your lips as you look at him with such love in your eyes he feels his heart skip a beat. You’re looking at him like you always look at him, really, really seeing him with nothing but utter love in your eyes. God. There aren’t words for that, are there?

You pull him in, kissing him hard, like you’re trying to pour every ounce of love from your mouth to his and he’s more than happy to drink it up. Drink you up. Drink you in. His favorite taste, his favorite mouth, his favorite person on his favorite day.

His hands squeeze you tighter, living for the way you lean into his touch as it rakes down your back, settling on your bum. He could lose himself in this, in you. But you both seem to become aware of your environment at the same time, deep kisses slowing into gentle pecks before you drag your lips up his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you pull him close, hugging him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist as he sinks into your hold. He nuzzles his head into your neck, breathing you in, as he slowly sways the two of you, the party mere background noise to the sounds of your steady breathing, the feel of your hands carding through his short hair.

It’s a while before he moves, slowly, begrudgingly, pressing a kiss to your neck and tightening his arms around you before mumbling, “I’ve got a crazy idea,” into your skin.

He lifts his head to look at your face, can see your eyes twinkling, already bracing yourself for what he’s about to say, already in on the joke. It’s a bit he’s been doing every few weeks at this point, ever since you set the date.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” you ask, unable to stop the smile growing on your face as you slide your arms down his shoulders, resting your hands on his biceps.

“Was thinking - since y’ did such a good job planning this party… what do y’ say we throw another one? Like, end of June maybe? Right after your birthday?” he says, pretending to actually mull over those dates, trying to remain deadly serious while your lips twitch into a smile.

“Hmm. I think I could be down for that.”

“Yeah? Same guest list, bit more of your friends. Some family maybe. Could do it in Italy, near the house.” he says, trying to keep up the bit but the reality of what he’s saying is catching up to him, the familiar tears making an appearance again as he chokes out his next words. “Y’ could wear white.”

“And you could wear a suit.” you say softly, eyes never wavering from his. “Maybe get a new ring.”

“Yeah. You’d like that?” he asks, bringing his hand up to your face when you nod. “You wanna marry me, baby?”

“I really, really do.” you say, the look in your eyes making his heart beat out of his chest.

“Four months,” he says quietly, almost in disbelief of his luck, his life. “You’re gonna be my wife in four months.”

He can’t tell who moves in first after that, both of you clutching on for dear life as you just about snog the living daylights out of each other. He’s never wanted to ditch a party more in his life. Just wants you, your bedroom, and several hours to even begin to express all he’s feeling right now, all he wants. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you.

You softly moan into his mouth and he just about loses his mind, thinking about he’ll have a lifetime of getting that sound out of you, just for him. He pulls you impossibly closer as he drags his tongue over yours, keeping your jaw in a tight grip. He could die here, actually. He’d die a happy man, being slowly taken apart by your mouth.

“Oiii!!!” Johnny’s voice through the open door has the two of you springing apart in shock, though he doesn’t let you get far, burying his head in your neck as he moves his hand off your jaw to flip Johnny off.

“If you’re both done rubbing against each other out here –”

“Oh grow up, Johnny!” you shout at the same time Harry lets out a “You wish!” that has you smacking him against the head as he laughs.

“The Holmes Chapel lot did promise Hometown Hero over there a birthday shot.” he slurs and Harry begrudgingly pulls away from you to twist towards the doors, pulling your back into his chest as you both face Johnny, his hands resting on your shoulders. “And we’ve been waiting bloody ages –”

“So bloody dramatic,” you huff and Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“We’ll be right in,” he says watching as Johnny rolls his eyes, holding up a hand to indicate “you’ve got one minute”, as he turns back inside and closes the door behind him.

“Suppose we better go in,” you say, turning to look at him over your shoulder and he all but swells with pride at the look of you, the swollen lips and slightly messy hair. He tilts your chin a bit more towards him and kisses you once more, squeezing your shoulder before taking a step back. You shrug out of his jacket despite his groan, handing it back to him as you bring your hands up to attempt to smooth down your hair.

“Let’s go, old man.” you say and he squawks, sliding the jacket back on before giving you a cheeky smack on your bum, which you try in vain to dodge before reaching for his hand, interlacing your fingers and heading back into the fray.

The night spirals from there in the best possible way and while he may not remember every conversation he had, every song he danced to, every shot he took, he’ll always remember the way that room made him feel, the love radiating towards him, overwhelming him, inspiring him, fortifying him. He’ll always remember the feeling of your hand in his, the way your body felt against his own, and later, the taste of you on his tongue. Feeling like he could do anything with you by his side, your love making him feel like the greatest version of himself. Like the best is still yet to come, if that's even possible.

Proper birthday.

---

a/n: the way i literally had 3/4 of this written on february 1st and then could not get myself to finish it. but here we areeeee baby. hope people are still interested. i really like it and couldnt let it go. let me know what u think love u mean it

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles birthday #friends to lovers #hbd 2.5 months late i guess #sorry to all the angels in my inbox who requested a lot of other things and definitely not this #ur girl couldnt give this one up #lmk what you think plssss oh pls

137 notes · View notes

mcspicey · 9 months

Text

Teehee

#^ it's a song about someone asking their lover if they would still love them till their hair turns gray #fanart #homestuck #arasol #aradia megido #sollux captor #these r for a friend also can you guys guess who is it #i liked the aradia on the last one but couldnt bother drawing sollux gotbless

472 notes · View notes

milla984 · 11 months

Text

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions.

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.”

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back.

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant.

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack.

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome.

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words.

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume.

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble.

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment.

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you.

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper.

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task.

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted.

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it.

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close.

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom.

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin.

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive.

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before.

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication.

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots.

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him.

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off.

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement.

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!”

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…”

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded.

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected.

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor.

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls.

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

925 notes · View notes

cometblaster2070 · 3 days

Text

i've spoken before on raven and darling and how they're such good foils to each other, but i really, really just want to emphasize this scene right here because it makes me LOSE it.

(also please don't mind maddie and her expressions)

i personally love the way darling looks at raven in the first panel, because you can see her confusion there. everyone knows that apple and raven are best friends forever despite all their differences, and everyone knows just how much apple and raven care for each other, and how they would do anything for each other.

but i really love how this is framed because you can see darling looking at the way raven looks at apple; with so much longing, with so much sorrow, so much hurt, and so much love, and you can just see it click for her in the next panel.

the way she's questioning it at first, the way she's thinking for a second that that is not the way you would look at someone who's 'just a friend'.

and then the resignation and the sadness in the next moment, where i think darling realizes 'oh, we're both in the same boat; we're both in love with apple white'.

and i love that look of mixed pity and camaraderie; that look that shows that darling knows what raven's going through and what she's feeling (even if raven herself may not understand it right now) because she's also in love with apple.

of course there's just plain sadness because she feels bad for raven, whose best friend is currently in her magical coma, and it makes sense why she would sympathize with raven for that.

but i personally like to see it in the light that darling's heart is torn realizing that they're both stuck here, next to the girl they love, a love that will probably remain unrequited because (at this point yk) daring's supposed to be apple's prince, and apple herself will never know about how they feel, and apple will never return either of their feelings.

to cut it short, it's darling looking at raven looking at apple and thinking "oh my god i thought i was the only gay bitch in love with apple white".

71 notes · View notes

fyepertine · 19 days

Text

Demon at the Temple

#dol #degrees of lewdity #artists on tumblr #dol comics #dol fanart #dol sydney #sydney the fallen #dol pc #mallory the rapier #eyyyy it’s sudden shift in genre time #basically in mallory’s story sydney had met him once before in a dream #in the dream he was in his demonic harpy transformation and he was holding The Spear #and burning a building I guess #I know I know romantic am I right #so when sydney met mallory for the first time (as human) sydney had been scared #but then they became friends #and then as they became lovers and sydney became corrupt #mallory went to the island to get the spear #and came back turned into a demon #but ya know sydney isn’t scared this time because he knew mallory now #the dream was still a psychological horror though #(all of this plotting is only because it took me a long time to get sydney to love my pc in-game LMAO)

77 notes · View notes

goldfishontheceiling · 18 days

Text

guys wake up new nowen AU just dropped /hj

doordash AU

picture this:

march 25th. Owen and his girlfriend Izzy decide to order some good old doordash because why not, and the dasher rings the doorbell, drops off the food, and is about to get into the car when-

GASP

IS THAT NOAH?! OWEN'S CHILDHOOD FRIEND WHO MOVED AWAY!? AT HIS DOORSTEP?!

(ramshackle pilot refrence teehee, GO WATCH IT ITS ON YOUTUBE I LOVE IT)

anyway, Eva grabs the food, Owen stops the dasher/Noah from leaving and asks if it's really him, Noah says some sarcastic remark about how "no, i'm just a stranger with the exact same name, exact same hair, and exact same childhood best friend from 10 years ago," they reunite. but now Noah has to go do another order, so they exchange numbers and Izzy makes a group chat titled "team e-scope."

(nobody questions the group chat name because it's Izzy, she winks at the 4th wall /j)

and all the sudden, Owen starts ordering doordash more, and keeps asking for a certain employee. at this point Owen knows Noah's schedule better then Noah does because he wants to see his little buddy!

but what's this? this is a nowen AU? so why are Owen and Izzy still together?

WELL NOT ANYMORE *hits ozzy with the break up beam*

and during that period of time, between Izzy breaking up with him and his desire to be closer with his childhood best friend, Owen develops a litttttle crush. just a little.

and at the same time, Noah realizes just how much he loves Owen. his smile, his warmth, both physical and personality, the way his touch was slowly helping Noah out of the cold touch starved house he locked himself in. and the more he thinks about it, the emptier his apartment feels.

and Noah develops a littttttle crush. just a little.

they're both scared to love again. Owen doesn't want to build walls, but the other part of him wants that extra protection, even if the construction hurts more then not having them does. Noah doesn't want Owen to put walls up, because he knows from experience (how's Emma doing now?) it's not worth it. he doesn't want to lose him the same way he almost lost himself (does Owen wonder if Izzy's moved on by now the same way Noah wondered?)

but it's okay, because they're working on taking walls down together, one brick at a time.

but right now it's march 25th, so Owen's just going to plan another doordash order. he just reunited with his Noah! surely he works tomorrow too, right?

54 notes · View notes

thecruellestmonth · 1 year

Text

Jason's feelings about Sheila Haywood

Batman #427 (1988)

"God, it must have been hard for you."

"...I'll save you... Mom..."

Batman: Gotham Knights #44 (2003)

"...I love..."

Batman #428 (1988)

"He threw... himself... in front... of me... in front of me... He took... the main brunt... of the blast... Such a... good boy... Must have... really... loved his... mother..."

Deadman: Dead Again #2 (2001)

JASON: "It's weird--she betrayed me to the Joker. Got us both blown up--but I'm not mad at her. It wasn't really her fault--her whole life was screwed up. Things just... happened. [...] You gotta tell me--is she going to make it?"

DEADMAN: "She's fading pretty fast, kid--"

JASON: "No, I mean-- her soul. What's going to happen to her... afterward?"

DEADMAN: "That's not for me to decide."

SHEILA: "Jason tried to rescue me... We almost... made it... So close... He turned out to be such a good kid..."

JASON: "Thanks, Mom..."

Batman Annual 25 (2006)

He remembered most of what happened. The search for his mother. Her betrayal. Joker. And his own murder.

Task Force Z #8 (2022)

"I died trying to save someone I cared about."

#Sheila Haywood #Jason Todd #Batman comics #Red Hood #Task Force Z #Jason Todd meta #Boston Brand #Deadman #Batman panels #Judd Winick #Matthew Rosenberg #panels #Batman Gotham Knights #Steve Vance #RECAP: Jason fully acknowledges that Sheila betrayed him and yet doesn't direct his rage toward her.#I guess it's fine if you want to make Jason call Sheila a 'bitch' and spit on her memory in your own fan fiction. You do you.#But Jason Todd is a bad victim. His trauma is wrong. His coping is wrong. He loves people he shouldn't.#He responds to what has caused him pain--and not what others believe *should* have caused him pain.#He doesn't follow a textbook or what others judge *should* be the correct and proper and convenient response to trauma and injustice.#Jason is used to taking care of his parents. He is used to his parents failing him. Catherine and Willis and Sheila.#But not Bruce. Bruce promised him better. And Jason is so deeply humiliated for letting himself believe that promise with all his heart.#And perhaps... though she didn't want to... Sheila stayed with Jason at the end. And that was a promise that Bruce didn't keep.#long post #longpost #long #thecruellestmonth #Also I see Batman 428 as evidence that Sheila isn't Jason's birth mother because she refers to Jason's mother in the third person.#My theory is she was the back alley doctor who delivered him. Willis was her associate or friend or former lover.#Boston 'Number One Jason Todd Stan' Brand #Deadman Dead Again

481 notes · View notes

stevebabey · 1 year

Note

CONGRATULATIONS RUBY!!! You're one of my favorite authors so I trust that you'll make something amazing out of this request (if you like it and feel like writing it, no pressure)

❤️‍🔥 with “Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”

just a little steve hand appreciation blurb (bonus points if you include comparing hands with him!!!)

M!!!! AHHH THANK U ANGEL!! im literally so :')) rn u are so very talented so it really means the world for me to hear u like what i write!! your bonus point suggestion like shaped this whole blurb im so glad u included it & omg its the first to break 1k+ words. i went for mutual pining besties bcos i've only written established relationship so far ! enjoy my dear!!! <3

You can’t believe you’re listening to advice from a 14-year old.

It feels like a new low. The idea that you can’t figure out the flirting thing on your own combined with the fact it’s your kid friend Dustin who seems to have a mountain-load of advice makes you feel— well, less than stellar.

But times are tough. And shit, it’s not actually bad advice.

Besides, despite Steve being your best friend, you’ll admit Dustin and him are close as well. Close enough that you made Dustin swear not to rat out your feelings to Steve at the first opportune moment.

He’d scoffed, then very reluctantly agreed. Seemed miffed you wouldn’t let him play matchmaker. Then set to work formulating a perfect plan on how you were to woo Steve — though he insisted you really didn’t need to because Steve was already well and truly obsessed with you.

“Honest!” He had said, eyes bright, and with that familiar cocky smile like he knew more than you. Which, in this case, might be true.

“Steve’s crazy for you, I can tell. He once gave this whole talk about,” Dustin waved his hands around. “Electricity. It’s a whole thing with him. Just trust me, you guys have it.”

Which leads to the here and now. You’re in the passenger seat of Steve’s beemer, the drive-in screen glowing ahead of you, just out the windshield. It’s night time, the dark lit up by dozens of shiny neon signs dotted about around the drive-in keeping you cozy in the car.

There’s an advertisement for Scoops Ahoy! ice-cream, all red, white, and blue, nautical symbols in every corner on a board to your right; a crimson and mustard coloured hot-dog stand with bright lit bulbs around it and a comically large weiner atop it. Beside it is a less glammed up, but nevertheless, trusty popcorn stand.

One of the buckets from there sits between you two, balanced between the seats. Steve seems to be unaware of your inner turmoil, his interest in the film properly piqued as you debate internally on Dustin’s advice. The film is miles away to you, worrying your bottom lip as you reconsider Dustin’s words.

“Just, like... find a way to touch his hand. No, wait- compare hand sizes! That’s like the oldest flirt in the book.” He’d nodded with enough fervor you nearly didn’t question him. Nearly.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you’d asked. “And where did you hear that?”

“Suze.” He’d said plainly. “And Suzie said she heard it from the girls at one of her camps. And it worked on me, so it’ll work on Steve. He’s simple!”

So, how do you go about this? You’re not sure there’s a natural way to ask to compare hand sizes. This feels like a flirt you’d do if he was just a handsome stranger at a party and you had a couple tequila shots on your side for encouragement. Leaned against a wall, sultry giggles and seductive touches; that seems more fitted for the flirt you’re about to try.

But you’re Steve’s best friend, not a stranger, and there’s certainly no liquid courage in your veins. No party. Just you, armed with more butterflies in your stomach than you can count and the advice of a 14-year old. God, you’re screwed.

You steel yourself and steal a glance at Steve. He’s in that grey shirt you like, long sleeved with just two buttons up the top. Both of them are undone.

You feel a bit peaky at how it makes you flush, seeing a flash of his chest. Briefly, you wonder if he’s worn the shirt because he knows it’s one of your favourites. The thought provides no relief to your nerves.

You fix your eyes forward and miss the way Steve glances to check on you, a smile toying at his lips.

Coincidentally, when he reaches for the popcorn, so are you — and your hands brush in the middle, burning hot, and you startle at the touch. Steve’s already apologising, pulling his hand but in a moment, you see it clearly there; your segue.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” You comment, with a quiet chuckle to seem casual, shifting yourself to face him better. Your stomach turns over with nerves and you have to force yourself to meet his eye.

You raise your hand a bit, palm facing him. “See?”

Steve’s pauses, only for a moment, but it’s enough to send your heart rocketing. Just as you’re about to retract your hand and hope to hide your crumpled pride, embarrassment stinging at your chest, Steve grins.

He chuckles and twists in his seat to face you, unfurling his hand and extending it out towards your own.

He wavers, hesitating just short of pressing his hand against yours and when your eyes dart up to his face, your stomach tightens up a bit more at what you find. Nervous, you think giddily, he’s nervous.

In another second the expression is gone and he presses his hand flush against yours.

“I think you might have the world’s smallest hands,” He jokes, curling his fingers over the top of yours just to prove the point. He’s wrong but compared to his large hands, you can see why it certainly might seem that way.

“I think you just have huge hands, Harrington,” You remark, enjoying the feeling of his hand against yours far too much.

The butterflies in your stomach have evolved into something bigger — some sort of lovebird that pecks at your heart and leaves it bleeding in your chest. The beat of its wings gets louder every second Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he leans in closer.

“Nope, it’s your hands, 100 percent.” He nods along, lips quirked into an amused smile. The film continues unnoticed, just flashes of light that illuminate the side of his face. Subconsciously, you lean closer into his space, nearly close enough that you could lean over and lay one of him. If you wanted.

Steve continues with a tease, “I’m serious! Nobody in the world has hands this small.”

“Nobody in the world has hands this soft.” You counter with a grin. It’s true, Steve’s hands aren’t at all like how you’d expected; instead of calloused and rough, they’re supple and soft. Like a lover, not a fighter.

It takes a moment to realise your slip. Your heart stutters and Steve’s eyes turn a little wide. His cheeks flush and the only comfort is the obvious delight on his features, even as he blushes pink. His eyes dart to your lips. You hold your breath.

“Yeah?” He asks and licks his lips. “I- I’ve, uh, heard— well, some would say the same about my lips.”

It’s not nearly as smooth as you’ve seen him be, words a bit fumbled. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, gathers his courage, then keeps going. His voice is quiet, eyes watching you closely. “Softest... yeah, softest in the world s’what they’ve said...”

If by some terrible tragedy you’ve misread this and he’s not asking for a kiss, you’ll happily let the ground swallow you up after this. But with the nervous gleam in his eye, his pink lips, and hand against yours, you think you like your odds.

You close your eyes, lean in, and think of luck.

And even if it was just a line, you have to agree; these are the softest lips you’ve ever kissed, and maybe in the entire world.

join the celebration <3!

#this was so fuckin scrumptious to write...#m im not joking trying to make it include comparing hand sizes helped SO MUCH #MWAH MWAH HOPE U LOVE IT!!!#ruby writes steve #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #stevie blurb!#ruby's very own tour of hawkins #mmm who coulda guessed that the friends to lovers piece has been one of my faves to write #IT JUST HITS SO HARD I LOVE IT !!! SO MUCH !!

448 notes · View notes

kaiandels · 9 months

Text

Two Hearts: Ellie Williams x Reader

🐚

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

warnings: use of 🌿, flirty tension, use of y/n and l/n, the in denial-kept feelings of the reader and Ellie, mild swearing, And that’s it! Not that much intimacy displayed yet!

p.s: Hey! So i’m planning to make this in to a series. ‘Cause i’m very indulged in these types of tropes so.. yeah! I am very fond of writing now, idk why.. 🥹

It was a Thursday afternoon, you had just gone off to hang out in a cute café with Dina and Jesse for the mean time as your best friend, Ellie. Was out on a date.

Ellie Williams. Ellie Williams was your bestfriend ever since kindergarten. You met her by coincidentally matching her outfit in a get-together party in the school you both used to attend to. As kids, you and Ellie weren’t really considered as the “girly” type. So they say. But eventually, the one who grew out of that style was… well? You.

Ellie on the other hand, was much more comfortable in baggy hoodies and skin-tight jeans. Or in whatever she had in her closet. You? You grew up to love dresses and short skirts or those tight dresses that Ellie seemed to love on you for some reason. Everytime that you would wear one, for instance, a date. She would always say nonchalantly “You should wear that again when we go out soon.” Which have always seemed to leave you in a confused manner.

“Hey Babe, where’s Ellie?” Dina asked giving you a bright smile as you sat down across from her and Jesse, gripping the strap of your white shoulder bag. “Oh, she’s out on a date. She told me she’ll be home by 7.” You said shooting her a bright smile back. It stayed silent for a moment as you noticed that Jesse shot Dina a glare and then looked back at you. “Anddd.. you okay with that?” Jesse asked raising his eyebrows. He seemed to grow of suspicion. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Dina smirked at your remark as she shot Jesse a glance. “Right… Jesse, why wouldn’t she be?” Dina gave Jesse a nudge expecting him to speak for her.

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably because you both are always all over eachother. Every single time we hang out it looks like you are both literally about to make out.”

“Why would you think that?”

✧*̥˚ Why they think that *̥˚✧

“Ellie!” You laughed as Ellie nuzzles her head in to your chest, tickling you to the core. “Say it again. I DARE YOU L/N!” Giggles fill the room as you both start nuzzling on eachother while Dina and Jesse sat right next to the both of you. “Babe! Stop!” You screamed as she starts kissing your cheeks and then pausing to breathe.

Dina and Jesse looked at eachother and then looked back to the both of you, seeing that you both were looking at eachother’s eyes…rather…intensely. “You look so pretty” you said gazing in to Ellie’s eyes while cupping her cheeks.

“You’re prettier than any girl i’ve ever met, Y/N”

✧*̥˚ *̥˚✧

“Right, our bad. Why would we think that.” Jesse said in more of a ‘what the fuck is wrong with these lesbians’ manner. “Uh huh” you said raising your eyebrows rather snapping out of the conversation as you hear your phone ring. “It’s Ellie” you said giving more opportunities to make Dina and Jesse shoot glares at eachother. You were really clueless. But then again, so was Ellie.

“Hey babe.” Ellie said in more of a faded tone as you can tell that she’s outside because of the cars passing by and also by the noisy chatters from each and every individual crossing the street. “Hey, how was the date?” You asked smiling while looking at Dina and Jesse. “It was terrible. God. i’ll tell you allll about it when I get home, yeah?” She said with a huff clearly getting exhausted from walking around. “Okay, please be careful. Keep your phone close. Bye!” You both ended the call and continued to enjoy the company of your two lovely friends. “Anyway, enough about Ellie. How are you and Xavier?” Dina asked raising her hand at the same time to start ordering coffees as she mentioned to you that she was feeling out of the blue and needed something to snap her back in to reality.

Chris Xavier. Your “beloved” boyfriend. You two started going out in the 2nd year of highschool, you both were considered as the couple who gets everyone practically jealous because they do not know if they wanna be you, or be Xavier. Which always made you feel as if the situation was “cliché”. It was almost as if you were written in to a book or written in to a script of a movie. Although, you always shook that feeling off because whether you liked it or not… you loved your boyfriend. But unfortunately, Ellie does not. She has always described him as a “fuckin’ himbo” and with a hint of “Pretty-boy-dumbass. Why does he have to part his hair that way anyway? What’s the logic?” Yeah, basically she hated him. She has always told you that he was “toxic” and “not good enough for you” but you can’t seem to get your head wrapped around the fact that he indeed was.

“It’s… not going well. Unfortunately.” You laughed nervously while scratching the back of your head. You were honestly embarassed because of how much you had to tell them stories of how insensitive he was at times and how he always invites random girls at your apartment claiming that “it’s fine!” “They are just his close friends!”

“What? He still brings those bimbos over?” Dina asked sarcastically as Jesse slapped her arm. “What? It’s true! Haven’t you been listening to her stories?” Jesse folded his lips in to a thin line and took a deep breath. “I know babe, he’s an asshole. But let’s listen first, okay?”

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

After a few sips of coffee and quite the chitchat, you have gotten home. You slipped off your shoes giving a big pleasant sigh as the shoes were basically chopping your foot off. You walked in to the living room, seeing Ellie in her usual position. Hand behind her head, manspreading, and smoking weed. “Come on babe, you know I don’t like the smell.” You sighed plopping yourself down next to her. “I’m sorry, I need it. Anyway, how was your day Babe?” Ellie asked leaning her head on to the couch then facing you as she takes a drag of that rolled crap. “Jesse and Dina were fun to hang out with as always. Anyway, the elephant in the room…. the date- how was it?” You asked mimicking her actions, looking back at her. “She was… really weird? She told me that I kept talking about you? And she was like ‘if you’re inlove with your bestfriend please don’t bother me blabla’ and shit? Like? Why would she even say that… huh.” Ellie smirked laughing as she took a long drag of again… the garbage-smelled-rolled-crap.

“Huh? The similar situation kind of happened with Jesse and Dina. They told me that if I was okay with you dating other girls, like why wouldn’t I be? Right?”

“Totally. Man, I don’t know what’s wrong with them. But hey, how are you and Christian?”

You laughed as you shook your head. “Okay, first of all, it’s just Chris. And why is everyone asking that question a lot recently?” You sighed and eventually answered Ellie’s question. “We’re doing horrible. As usual. Nothing’s new… i’m basically immune.” You laughed bitterly as Ellie passed the weed to you. “Smoke. I swear you’ll feel better.” You nod and took the weed away from her fingertips and taking a long drag yourself. “He’s still bringing random girls over and probably getting intimate with them as we speak.” Ellie scoffed and looked over to you. “Leave him.” you looked up at her and smiled. “Soon. i’m just waiting for someone.” Ellie raised her eyebrows and laughed. “You know, if I was a man and ESPECIALLY your boyfriend? I would never do that to you.” your eyes widened at the comment and Ellie seemed taken aback by her own remark. “Oh shit- I’m sorry if that made you-“

“I know you would never do that to me.” You interrupted, placing a hand on her cheek followed by soft caressing. “And who says you have to be a man to do that?” you both stay put. Not saying a word to eachother. The only thing that could be possibly heard from the both of you is the blinking of you and Ellie’s eyes, staring right in to eachother’s souls. No one muttering a word. Ellie placed her hands on your cheek mimicking you as she started to slowly caress them aswell. Your breath hitched as your eyes followed down to her eyes, to her nose, and then finally to her lips. And then finally, you were able to form a sentence. A fucking dumb one, in fact.

“You’re such a good friend.”

“Yea- yeah… totally.”

fucking dumbass.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #dina tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #the last of us #jesse tlou #in denial #wlw #lesbian #lgbt #childhood best friends to lovers #i guess #dina woodward #female reader #ellie williams x you #tlou #tlou2

184 notes · View notes

muffinlance · 6 months

Text

I would just like to take a moment to thank everyone who made Li's Friends... #72 in LGBTQ+ Travel Books.

#a Zukka win by any other name would smell as sweet? I guess?#is that how this works #is that how any of this works #Li's Friends #we were like 3 in Regional Travel Guides for awhile too #not technically incorrect!#the buddy fic/coloring book of our dreams #AFtLBA (Assigned Friends-to-Lovers By Amazon)#in other news we've raised about another $300 for wildlife charity this year so Go Team!#oh yeah I should promote this ahead of the holidays again shouldn't I #brb gotta find the usual reblog chain

74 notes · View notes

waystarresourceco · 7 months

Text

So I love stories and headcanons where Kenstewy are functionally like off-on exes or friends with benefits but does anyone ever think about them as an almost? As the possibility of something that could never happen but that can’t be let go of either? Just picture it.

Picture an 18-year-old Stewy realizing that the most Kendall Roy could ever really offer anyone was an almost. Realizing that whatever Logan wants will always come first. That the smiles he and Kendall share, the intimacy formed through years of coming to know each other’s deep downs, can never overcome the pull of a future Stewy isn’t even sure Kendall really wants. And it’s not that anything changes. It’s not a realization that reshapes Stewy’s world. But it is one that reshapes his expectations. Because now he knows there’s only so much of Kendall available that isn’t already claimed. That those hasty teenage hand jobs given while high off their asses can’t survive outside the confines of a baked-out car or the bathroom at a party. To ask for anything more would be setting himself up for disappointment. So he doesn’t. He lets the idea of them go. He lets them stay an almost.

And looking back on it, Stewy thinks maybe Kendall was his first love. His first real love. The kind that sticks to your soul and leaves fingerprints across whatever good thing tries to follow. The kind that refuses to leave. Because Kendall can never let him go and Stewy can never walk away, even when he knows he should. Even when he knows Logan will always be the ghost standing between them and anything real.

Instead, he finds a compromise. He decides not to put Kendall first. He can’t bring himself not to take Kendall’s call, but he won’t rearrange his life either. Not if he can help it. Because he knows exactly how it will go. He knows the most Kendall can ever give back is almost.

#some days you just get overtaken by kenstewy thoughts #thank you for enduring my silly angst version of childhood friends to almost-lovers #i miss them #kenstewy #kendall roy #stewy hosseini #hbo succession #succession #my writing i guess?

82 notes · View notes

jibberjibbsart · 7 months

Text

Wait I want to rewrite Sage’s backstory already.

It all starts with Sage’s mother Ana Tavreen.

The Tavreens were struggling nobles from the city of Waterdeep and were deeply indebted to the Graye family. To free themselves of their debt, the Tavreens promised their eldest daughter to the Graye’s eldest son, Octavian. Ana wanted to refuse the marriage, she wanted to marry for love, but she also wanted to help her family. She agreed and entered the loveless marriage.

Years go by and Ana is unable to conceive an heir. It is no secret that Octavian has taken many lovers during their marriage and she fears he is seeking an heir elsewhere. Conveniently she meets him.

He says the right things, it’s as if she has known him for years. She falls in love quickly. He tells her he can solve her problems, he can give her everything she desires. She agrees, and signs her soul away.

She becomes pregnant, and her mysterious suitor disappears. She tells Octavian they will finally have an heir, she saved her family.

Until the baby is born with blue skin, horns, a tail, and obsidian eyes. A tiefling.

The man Ana laid with was a Cambion, a half devil half mortal being. Normally they can’t reproduce with humans, but a human with tiefling ancestry can potentially produce a child. Ana’s family has infernal blood. Octavian was furious, but they had no other option. Clearly something was incompatible with them and they couldn’t have a child.

Using his connections, Octavian had a wizard create a glamour charmed amulet to disguise Sage. While they wore the amulet they would appear human. Because of the risks of the glamour fading and others discovering Sage’s true identity, they restricted Sage’s access to the rest of the world. They were to be homeschooled by a private tutor, they weren’t permitted to have friends, and they were only allowed brief appearances at parties. Octavian made excuses saying Sage was sickly and needed bed rest.

Sage’s mother loved them. She told them stories of faraway places and daring adventurers. Ana longed for Sage to live a normal life.

When Sage was 13, Ana gave birth to a baby girl named Juniper. She was human. Octavian called her perfect.

Sage snuck out of the house while everyone was celebrating the birth of Juniper. Sage ran until they reached the pier. Tears poured down their face and they couldn’t stop from crying out. Their mother would be busy with the baby now. Their father never looked at them. They would be alone. They looked at the glamour charm around their neck and almost ripped it off, but their hand stilled. They couldn’t risk exposing themself and ruining their family’s reputation. They turned around and planned to return before anyone noticed they were missing until a voice called out. A boy, a few years older than Sage, asked if they were okay. In his hands was a small ball of light, he was a magic user. Sage quickly stuffed their glamour charm in their shirt as they walked over to him. The light reflected in his soft brown eyes, Sage blushed. He asked if they knew any magic, and if they wanted to learn.

Months turned into years and Sage continued to sneak out to meet the boy by the docks. It turned out that Sage was quite proficient at channeling the weave. Sage still hadn’t revealed their true identity to their friend, but they wanted to. They had developed feelings for him and they wanted to be honest with him.

One night he told Sage he had something to tell them. He was leaving Waterdeep and going to a school to deepen his understanding of magic. He took Sage’s hand and told them to join him. Sage had told him how strict their parents were, but he insisted they would understand. Before Sage left to go home, the boy kissed their cheek and wished them good luck. Sage decided to tell him their secret tomorrow. Tomorrow would be different.

Sage’s father was furious. He couldn’t believe Sage would risk their family’s reputation for learning silly parlor tricks. He locked them in their room and forbade them from using any more magic. He especially didn’t want them sneaking out anymore so he assigned a butler to watch over their door.

Once the seasons changed, Sage knew their friend had left Waterdeep long ago. They never got to say goodbye. They never told him their true identity.

On Juniper’s 5th birthday they had a big celebration. It was a stormy night and Sage was permitted to mingle (it would’ve been odd not to have the eldest Graye child celebrate their younger sibling’s fifth birthday after all). Sage was glued to the walls the entire evening, only their mother gave them any company.

It was towards the end of the night when guests were thanking Ana and Octavian for the invitation when Sage overheard it. A woman around their mother’s age talking to their father. She mentioned her son, and his name was all too familiar. It was their friend from the docks. This was his mother! Sage perked up and approached the woman, Sage’s father was furious they interrupted the conversation. Sage asked her how their friend was doing and his mother realized who they were.

“It was a shame that you weren’t able to attend with him, he didn’t say why but he seemed real torn up about it.”

Something in Sage snapped, their heart hurt. They couldn’t stop themselves from crying. Their father grabbed their arm and demanded they pull themself together but Sage couldn’t hear him. Energy crackled around them, it was as if the weave itself was reacting to Sage’s emotions. They tore their arm away from their father and a jolt of electricity burst from them. Sage’s amulet shattered from the sudden release of energy and the glamour faded, their form shimmered and their horns and tail materialized. Soft gasps were heard around the parlor as Octavian held his arm, smoking from the lightning. He demanded they leave, and Sage’s mother begged them to stay. Sage ran off into the stormy night, away from Waterdeep, never to return.

Years later after being kidnapped by mind flayers and infected with a tadpole, Sage pulls a quick witted wizard out of a magical stone. A wizard that hails from Waterdeep, and has suspiciously familiar brown eyes.

#let’s play guess who sage’s biological dad is!#also yes Gale is Sage’s childhood friend #I just think childhood friends to lovers is sweet #tav #tav x gale #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate oc #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur’s gate #Sage tavreen #OC #dnd

91 notes · View notes

chaostheoryy · 2 years

Text

Duly Noted (A College AU)

[Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: As a studious undergrad on track for graduating with stellar marks, missing class because of the flu was by far the worst way to start your week. Fortunately for you, there’s one bright-eyed classmate who cares about you more than his reputation as a C-minus college athlete.

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Well, since my inbox has been dry as the Sahara, I decided to come up with an idea of my own. So, without further ado, here’s the college AU Rooster fic that no one asked for! (No beta, per usual. We out here raw dogging these mistakes.)

Where are you?

Still in bed…

You’re playing hooky without me???

I’m not playing hooky! I’m sick!

You okay?

Yeah I’m alright. Got the flu I think.

Need me to get you anything? I can bring you medicine or snacks after class.

Nah, I’m good. Thank you though!

If you change your mind, lemme know.

Bradley frowned. As benign as the flu was, the thought of you being ill left a bad taste in his mouth. He knew fully well just how much that course meant to you and your degree. While he spent every class lounging in his chair and letting his mind wander to God knows what, you would bury your nose in your notebook or laptop and take notes on everything the professor said as if your life depended on it. He could only imagine just how disappointed you were missing out on a whole lecture’s worth of information.

Dammit…

As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew right away what had to be done.

“Hey, ’Tasha,” he whispered. “Natasha.”

The dark haired woman one row in front of him turned. Eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a sharp line of irritation, her gaze made daggers feel blunt.

“The hell do you want, Bradshaw?”

“You got a pen I can borrow?”

The question took her by complete surprise. Her brow raised, the scowl on her face melting into an amused smirk.

“You’re joking.”

Bob Floyd, her glasses-wearing friend and study partner, was drawn to her disbelief. “What is it?”

“Jockstrap over here is actually going to take notes.”

Bob glanced between her and Bradley. It took him a second to process what was happening but as soon as it hit him, he cracked a massive grin that rivaled Natasha’s.

Bradley rolled his eyes. “Alright, don’t make a big deal of it. You gonna lend me a pen or not?”

“Y’know, part of me wants to say no,” Natasha mused, “But watching you exercise those dusty ol’ brain cells is honestly a rare treat.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She reached into her bag and grabbed an extra pen which she tossed back to him. “Give that back to me after class or I’m gonna beat your ass.”

Bringing two fingers to his temple, he gave a little salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unable to hide smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

For the first time that semester, Bradley Bradshaw’s untouched notebook was stained with ink.

* * * * *

You had fallen back asleep within minutes of his last text. The previous night had been an absolute nightmare. Violent chills had racked your body and made it impossible to get comfortable. Combining the shivers with the upset stomach and stuffy nose, you were miserable. Any rest you could get throughout the day was God-sent.

Your early morning nap lasted a good two hours. It was the most sound, dreamless sleep you’d had in the past week and, if it weren’t for the fact that Bradley called you just after 10am, you probably would have slept three times as long.

“Hello?” You answered groggily.

On the other end of the line, Bradley hissed. “Shit. Did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got all day to sleep. What’s up?”

“I don’t wanna make you get out of bed but I kinda need you to open the door.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Well, I know you said you didn’t need anything but I stopped at the store for stuff anyway. Can you come let me in? I would have one of your roommates open the door but I guess they’re both in class or something.”

You blinked. He was outside of your apartment.

“Yeah, hang on. I’ll be right down.”

Despite the protests of your body, you hurried out of bed. You ditched the sweat-soaked pajama shirt in the laundry basket and threw on a clean tee before stepping out of your room into the main hallway. A short walk to the front door and you pried it open to find Bradley standing on your welcome mat with paper bags of groceries nestled in both arms. He perked up the second he laid eyes on you.

“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile.

“Hey. Come on in.”

You stepped back to let him inside, closing the door behind him as he headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time he’d come over and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As one of your closest friends and long-time classmate—it was honestly crazy to think you’d been in classes together as far back as the 7th grade—the two of you spent more time together than apart. Neither of you would have had it any other way.

“I’d give you a hug,” you said as he started unpacking the grocery bags, “But I don’t want to get you sick too.”

He chuckled. “I think I could take the hit.��

“Just ‘cause you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

You spotted a bottle of Gatorade on the counter where he’d unloaded stacks of soup cans and Tylenol. Taking the bottle, you slunk over to the couch where you could watch from a safe distance. The last thing you wanted was to share your germs with one of the school’s star baseball players. As much shit as Jake Seresin gave you and Bradley, something told you that the dickwad would be all the more annoying if he found out you were the one to force Bradley onto the bench for a week.

“How was Simpson’s class this morning?”

“Oh, thrilling as always,” he replied caustically.

“Bob answer every question?”

“You know it.”

You laughed. “Figures. At least we know that means somebody besides me knows their shit. I’ll have to get his notes later so I can catch up.”

“No need. I got you covered.”

Bradley paused his kitchen organization and dug in the backpack he’d discarded on the dining room table. Grinning proudly, he pulled out his notebook. Yes. His notebook—the one and only busted red spiral notebook with a sticker of a goose in aviators slapped on the bottom right corner of its cover.

“Wait. Don’t tell me…You actually took notes for me?”

“Sure did!”

He strolled over and dropped the notebook in your lap before collapsing on the cozy little armchair across from you. The look on his face as he watched you go through his notes was priceless. With big eyes and a triumphant smile, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a golden retriever waiting for his owner to give him a treat. And boy did he deserve one.

The thoroughness of his notes left you stunned. With six pages of organized, neatly scripted notes, it was by far the most effort you’d ever seen him put into classwork.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you said, “You really went all out on this didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “If I wanted any shot at making something up to your standards, I kinda had to. Plus, Bob and Natasha were eyeing me the entire lecture. I think I finally get what peer pressure’s like now.”

A dull ache echoed in the back of your head as a reminder of your crappy night’s sleep and irritating affliction. You should’ve gone back to bed but you couldn’t pry your eyes from Bradley’s notebook. It meant the world to you that he’d done that. To think that he’d actually put that much effort into notes taken on your behalf when he wouldn’t even have bothered to jot down a single bullet point for himself.

You flipped through the pages again, unable to hold back an awestruck sigh. “God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

The statement was out of your mouth and lingering in the air long before your brain processed the consequences. What on God’s green Earth compelled you to say that? Were you high on over the counter flu meds? Or had the fever actually fried your brain?

You wanted to take it back. Especially when you dared to glance up and found Bradley gaping at you.

Oh, for the love of God, you thought as fresh, non-fever related color rushed to your cheeks. Of all the ways to confess, this is the one you go with?

In all honesty, you should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time.

He’d been your best friend for the better part of a decade. Inseparable from the moment you met. Every big life event from birthdays to buying your first car, he was the first one to celebrate with you. Hell, the guy passed up a full ride to play baseball at the University of Florida just so he could go to the same school as you.

Slowly but surely, as the years rolled on and childhood faded into the past, the friendship that you treasured became the key to your happiness. The goofy, thrill-seeking kid you’d come to adore and trust with your entire being grew into a selfless gentleman. Though he never lost that edge that separated him from perfectionists and academics, he’d clearly come into his own. It would have been impossible for you not to fall for him.

“Did you just say you wanna kiss me?”

Bradley’s voice reeled you back in from the sea of your internal torment. He didn’t sound angry or even disgusted by the notion. In fact, he almost sounded delighted—a theory that was backed the moment you looked over and saw a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and, despite the outcry from every defense mechanism tucked away in your subconscious, you forced yourself to reply. “I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice registering just above a whisper.

“Good.”

Your brow furrowed at his reply. You wanted to ask what he meant, to see if your confession was something the foundations of your friendship could withstand. But he was on his feet and crossing the distance between his chair and the couch before a question was even formulated in your mind.

“Bradley, hold on. I don’t wanna get you si—“

The protest died on your tongue. Warm, gentle hands cupped your jaw as his lips met yours. It was a sweet kiss. There was no hurry, no hesitation. Just the taste of a decade’s worth of fondness and pent up intimacy. Between the soothing caress of his fingertips at the nape of your neck and the bristle of his mustache just above your upper lip, you swore his kiss was better than heaven itself.

His hands kept their post along your jaw when he pulled back to look at you. The smile on his face was unbearably reverent. Anything softer than that look in his eyes and you would have suffocated.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” You asked.

“How long have we been friends?”

Both of you chuckled. Turns out you weren’t the only one who’d gradually fallen over the years.

“Well, thank you,” you said.

“For what?”

You patted the notebook still sitting in your lap. “For thinking of me this morning. And for not flipping out when I said I wanted to kiss you.”

“This may come as a surprise,” he said with a lopsided smirk, “But I think about you a lot.”

Your brow cocked. “Oh, really?”

While it was clear from his tone that he meant it in an innocent, heartfelt manner, you couldn’t help but toy with the more explicit connotation of his words. And let’s be honest, you were guilty of having thoughts that strayed a little too far off the path of purity.

“Hey!” Bradley’s hands fell from your neck and one of his palms playfully shoved you back against the couch by the forehead. “Settle down. You’re supposed to be sick, not horny.”

You reached out to smack his thigh. “And you’re not supposed to be kissing people when they’re sick, dumbass. Jake’s gonna kill me if you end up missing a single practice.”

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll just OD on Emergen-C when I get home.”

He ignored your childish pout and plopped down on the couch next to you. Rather than drape his arm over the back of your seat like he normally did, he hooked it around your shoulders and pulled you into the warmth of his embrace. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck where the scent of his cologne lulled you into dream-like contentment. You’d always thought he smelled good but nuzzling into him like that made it hard to overlook just how right it felt to be engulfed in his presence.

“You need anything?” He asked after a long moment of agreeable silence. “I can make you some soup if you want. I also got some mac n’ cheese if you’re feeling up to it. I don’t know how bitchy your stomach is acting right now.”

“Bradley?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up and let me fall asleep on you.”

A delightful, weightless sensation twisted in your stomach when you felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. Now there was a feeling you never realized you wanted.

“Alright. You sleep. We’ll get you to eat something when you wake up,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You hummed your approval and closed your eyes. All of your senses zeroed in on him. The way he smelled of cedarwood and ocean breezes, the way his chest rose and fell beneath you with each breath, the way his thumb absentmindedly stroked your shoulder. All of it was new and exciting. And yet, at the same time, it was as if you’d been indulging in the gifts of his adoration your entire life.

In a stark contrast to the evening prior, you fell asleep in record time.

#Ah yes a shameless Friends to Lovers trope story #Do people even write AU reader inserts?#Well I do I guess #Until I get prompts and story ideas we're just gonna have to take whatever my goofy little brain comes up with #Bradley Bradshaw X Reader #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw X Reader #Rooster X Reader #Reader Insert #Top Gun Reader Insert #Top Gun Imagines #GN!Reader #My fic #Top Gun: Maverick Fic #Miles Teller X Reader

591 notes · View notes