#like I get and I appreciate that she’s trying to do. something. in theory at least. she avoids the subject when I bring it up and all but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

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wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

#f1 #leclsrc2000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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disneyprincemuke · 4 months

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the best of (instagram) * bother figures

they always somehow manage the ruin the pictures she looks good in

pairings: max verstappen x fem!driver, lando norris x reader, alex albon x fem!driver

notes: LMFAO guySSSS I TOOK SOOOO LONG TO GET PICS FOR THIS IF U DONT LIKE THIS IM GOING TO RETIRE AND U WONT GET ANY LOGAN AND MICK STUFF

(series masterlist) | (📂 smau specials)

rockysroads

👤 tagged lily zneimer

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 67,929 others

kidy/n you might look at me and think you’re going crazy or something like that

view all 2,797 comments…

user1 rocky being a fnaf fan was NOT on my bingo card

rockysroads yeah i just love josh hutcherson a lot too :/

user2 no cause WHO are you leaning on in that picture

oscarpiastri interesting choice of pictures

user3 so ur telling me u know something

user4 is that u?? or…

user5 is that logan

user6 if i speak.

user7 secret boyfriend??

maxverstappen1 who did u crop out wtf

rockysroads none of ur business

maxverstappen1 excuuuuuse me for being curious

user8 wow even being wdc doesnt exempt u from y/n’s disrespect

rockysroads so true like he’s not special just bc he’s a 2 time wdc

logansargeant did u crop me out

user9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH LOGAN

user10 STAND UR GROUND LFG

user11 am i crazy or is y/n soft launching u

user12 i might have to check myself into the mental hospital after this one i fear

rockysroads yo shut up

rockysroads posted on their story!

user13 who is this man

user14 r u softlaunching 💀

rockysroads what does that mean

user15 is that loGAN’S WATCH

user16 whats this softlaunch

rockysroads

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 67,898 others

rockysroads ive looked SO good lately ugh

view all 5,987 comments…

user17 WHY IS SHE ALWAYS CUTTING SOMEONE OUT OF THE PICTURE DO U HAVE A BF

user18 blink twice if youve got a bf…?

user19 why he hold u like that

user20 my working theory is that she’s out and about on dates and these are all different guys

landonorris

liked by rockysroads, oscarpiastri and 68,376 others

landonorris guys it wasnt a soft launch it was just me :/

view all 10,478 comments…

user21 oh. i see.

user22 not on my bingo card but ok

rockysroads why would u do this

landonorris to ruin ur life idk

user23 HELP WHY DID SHE CUT U GUYS OUT FROM THE PICTURE??

rockysroads they were ruining the picture :/

user24 IMF UVKINNNNN HOWLINGGGG

user25 if this one is u, who r the other guys in the photos???

rockysroads sighpie okay i'll expose myself then

rockysroads

👤 tagged alex_albon

liked by oscarpiastri, sebastianvettel and 45,693 others

rockysroads please stop speculating it's literally just alex :/ they just keep ruining my pictures with their boyness

view all 4,123 comments...

user26 why do you keep messing with us is this funny to you

rockysroads little bit actually

user27 honesty is the best policy ig?

rockysroads u get it fr user27

alex_albon i'll try not to be offended

rockysroads i appreciate that

maxverstappen1

👤 tagged rockysroads

liked by kellypiquet, rockysroads and 104,303 others

maxverstappen1 here's to the best addition the grid's ever seen

view all 50,498 others...

user28 no wtf she's the worst

kidy/n boy if u dont shut up

user29 wow guys its time to go to clown school i think

user30 real. i just know she's tired of us being delusional

rockysroads it's ok same haha

user31 i'm so tired of hER GAMES

user32 like i cant do this anymore

rockysroads u ALWAYS ruin my pictures

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts

#alex albon x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader

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fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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strawberrystepmom · 7 months

Text

pairing: werewolf!kakashi hatake x f!reader

word count: 5.2k

about: your boyfriend leaves you alone for one week every month and you can never seem to put your finger on why. convinced he’s cheating, you book a romantic getaway to pin him down and figure him out. while preparing to leave, you instead discover the hairy secret he has been keeping from you all this time.

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw knotting, cw mating, cw breeding kink. miscommunication with resolution, established relationship, piv sex, vaginal fingering, reader has breasts and is referred to as pretty and mate multiple times, reader has pubic hair, few mentions of birth control (reader is on it but method is not specified), sloppy and messy sex (saliva is mentioned but there is no specific instance of spitting)

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! ngl i had the most fun writing this one out of the whole group this far and i hope that it shows and you enjoy reading it! thanks for the support the last four weeks and i'm so glad we are getting into the thick of the good stuff now. ♡

“Don’t be ridiculous, he absolutely adores you.”

Despite the consistent reassurance of your best friend, you aren’t certain that your boyfriend Kakashi does adore you.

It’s not that he isn’t wonderful because he is. Supportive, serious without being a bore, and surprisingly humble - these are all things it takes no effort for you to feel and say about him. Despite this, you can’t shake the nagging distrust you’ve felt since he told you he’s going on his once a month week long business trip. Unfortunately, this time it coincides with a romantic getaway you tried to book for the two of you as a surprise. Despite days of trying to convince yourself that it’s nothing and you have nothing to worry about with his cyclical departures, you have a really bad feeling.

“I can’t explain it but my intuition is going crazy. It feels like he’s lying to me.”

Your mind has played through all of the reasonable possibilities for his departure and is now filtering through the unreasonable ones. The “he has a family he’s hiding from me” paranoia pings between your ears like a racing pinball and your friend can tell, her face set in a displeased frown. She has been placating you for the past five months, politely shoving you in the direction of speaking your mind to the man, but she knows you’re uncomfortable with the idea.

She reaches across the small table the two of you sit at, dotted with discarded napkins and cups full of rapidly melting ice, and grabs your hands between hers. You appreciate the gesture and squeeze her fingers with your thumbs, smiling softly.

“You already know my advice because I’ve given it freely. What you do next is completely up to you.”

Nodding, you know she’s right. She has told you to confront him, to snoop, to follow him and these all sound like wonderful ways to handle the issue in theory. In practice, though? That’s a different story.

Dropping her hands and picking your phone up from the table, you sigh and open the little green bubble that is the messages app. Kakashi’s thread is at the top of your list and you open it, smiling looking at his sweet wishes of a good evening with your friend.

Hope you’re having fun. See you soon. 😊

“I booked that cabin before he told me he was leaving, do you think I should still tell him about it?”

Your friend nods firmly, sticking to her earlier advice.

“Yes, you should have told him as soon as you planned the getaway but maybe he can arrange something with work if he knows. It’s still a week out.”

Sighing, you nod in agreement and tap out a message in response to your boyfriend, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

I know this is kind of off the cuff and you already told me you’re going to be gone but I booked a cabin for all of next week for the two of us. If you can’t make it, I understand. Romantic surprises are so hard sometimes!

The message whooshes and shows as sent, the blue text bubble sitting as heavy as the anxiety in your stomach. It’s long winded and something you probably should have said in person rather than via text but considering how nauseous you already feel anticipating his answer, you think this may have been for the best. You lock your phone and place it back down, not wanting to stare at the screen any longer, and the waitress comes to drop off your check.

Just as you reach for the little black tray with your receipt, your phone pings and your eyebrows raise. You smile at the waitress as you slide your card onto the tray and send her off, picking up your phone as soon as it’s not rude to do so.

You are so thoughtful. Don’t worry about not saying something sooner, I will see what I can figure out. Thank you for doing something so sweet.

Maybe your mind really has been playing tricks on you. It’s hard to hide your grin as you pass the phone across the table and your friend smiles as she reads as well, holding her hands out and tilting her head.

“See? Good communication is key.”

You know she’s right.

Across town, though, Kakashi paces the floor of his bedroom wondering how the fuck he is going to make this work.

How he ended up landing someone like you is still beyond his rational understanding. You are too good to be true and booking a surprise romantic getaway, in any other situation, would be a gift. A luxury, even. Time spent with you, secluded, watching the autumn leaves fall? He couldn’t dream of anything more but next week simply does not work for him.

Pressing the screen of his phone wildly, he swipes through apps until he finds his moon phase tracker, popping open the calendar to see when exactly the full moon falls. He’ll get more details from you later but if you booked it from Monday to Sunday, he may be able to pull off leaving early but staying for most of the time. The full moon falls on Friday and realistically if he spent the week with you up until Thursday, he may be able to pull it off.

Sighing, he slumps down on the edge of his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. The luck he has had over the last few months hiding his secret from you has been nothing short of fortuitous and he’s glad for your trust in him even though it eats him up to lie about his whereabouts for a week every single month.

Putting you at risk is the last thing the man would ever want to do so he’s already taking a huge chance trying to make this week work knowing that his hormones are stronger in certain months rather than others. He has felt overcome by his instincts this entire month, it’s the reason he has buried himself in busy work rather than spending his free time with you, but he knows that if he hangs you out to dry this week it could result in him losing you.

That’s simply not an option he’s willing to entertain so he will figure it out despite how it makes his gut twist and his mind race.

Swiping off of the moon cycle app, he opens his messages and the cursor blinks at him tauntingly while he considers what to say.

I can come along Monday through Thursday if that’s alright with you?

Tapping the little blue arrow that sends the message off to you, he feels a weight on his shoulders that he can’t quite name. It’s sadness because he knows eventually he’ll have to tell you the truth about himself or let you go but selfishly, he wants to put it off for as long as he possibly can.

Something about you makes him believe that those old stories his dad told him growing up about their kind having fated mates may have been true. His mother was his father’s mate, she knew of his secret and kept it until the day she died, and despite this harsh world, Kakashi has always kept the smallest kindling of hope that it could be true.

Then he met you and his body all but told him it was, the ruts coming more consistently and stronger, lasting for longer than they ever have. What started as one day a month he had to hide away to keep from exposing himself became two days, and then three, and then an entire week having to seclude himself from you to keep from giving into his more base urges.

Another sigh leaves the man and he taps his feet against the floor beneath them impatiently, clutching his phone in his palm. Three pings in succession make him lift it to his face, squinting slightly thanks to the brightness of the screen, but he smiles reading your words.

Omg yay!!!

I’m glad to get you for even that long

Thank you for making it work for me

It’ll be a risk but he’s willing to take it to see your pretty smile and to spend time cozied up reading and watching your silly shows and enjoying each other.

It’ll all be worth it as long as he can keep control.

The days leading up to the trip pass uneventfully for you but Kakashi feels differently with each hour that passes, especially today.

He’s hot. Cloyingly and overwhelmingly, to the point he has to lay on his couch in nothing but boxers and an old tank top dug out of the back of his dresser drawer to try and cool down. Sweat glistens across his skin and his very bones ache, all of the blood in his body running to his cock and making it impossible for him to think.

When you arrive at his apartment to spend the night in order to make leaving in the morning simpler, you’re shocked to see him lying on the couch with one hand down his boxers halfheartedly playing with his hard cock with one arm thrown over his eyes. His cheeks are pink and he’s panting, only glancing up briefly when the door opens and shuts. He scrambles to sit up but you can tell he’s struggling, his abs tensing with every breath he takes.

“Oh babe, are you alright?”

Dropping your bags at the front door, you rush to his side and kneel on the ground next to where he is strewn across the sofa. You press the back of your hand to his clammy cheek and coo, your other hand tangling in his unruly hair and combing it away from his forehead. He doesn’t uncover his eyes but his breathing is so heavy you worry something is seriously wrong with him.

“Kakashi, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to urgent care?”

He shakes his head and groans, chest still heaving and you notice the tip of his cock peeking above the waistband of his boxers. It looks the same as you remember it in every way except for the color - so red, as if it’s blushing to be spotted and leaking a pool of sticky pre-cum onto the barely exposed skin his tank top isn’t covering. You know the two of you have been too busy the last several days to spend much quality time together and sex hasn’t been possible but you’ve never seen someone so horny they’re actually ill because all current signs point to that being the exact issue.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Embarrassment keeps him from opening up. Kakashi is ashamed of who he is, a beast more than a man, and he’s even more ashamed that he has no way of keeping the secret from you any longer. This rut is too strong and he needs you to leave lest his instincts take over his logic. Pulling his arm from over his eyes, he tries to sit up and you assist him to the best of your ability, his cock throbbing through the thin fabric of his boxers and catching your eye despite your attempts to focus on his handsome face. His stormcloud colored eyes have never looked more tumultuous than they do right now and you reach out to cup his face, only for him to gently grasp your wrist and pull you away.

“Don’t touch me.”

The look on your face, brows pinched and mouth agape, reminds him that he’s a monster and not a man and he should have never brought you into his life. The only thing he can do is hurt you. His grip on your wrist is gentle and he loosens it further but you capture his hand in your own, eyes brimming with tears of frustration.

“Please tell me what’s happening,” your voice cracks as you speak and you feel warm tears spill down your face, irritated by your own ability to hold it together, but your worst fears are coming true in front of you. Something is off about your boyfriend, you were right, and now he’s denying your touch when he clearly needs it. “I just want to know the truth.”

The truth would be a heavy burden for both of you and the last thing he wants to do is force you to carry it with him despite the pleading look in your eyes and your quivering bottom lip.

“What are you hiding from me?”

Your voice cracks again and his heart breaks all over, gray eyes trained on your face despite his disgust with himself. Despite the tears and the way they blur your vision, you scan his face and drink in every feature because despite how you feel right now, you love this man. You were hoping to tell him so this week, tucked away in the idyllic countryside, and now you feel the dream slipping away from you.

“Are you married? Do you have another life?”

Desperation for the truth makes your hands shake and he shakes his head, blowing a breath out of his lips. He continues to feel so hot it’s painful, like he’s burning alive, and he is resisting inhaling and choosing to breathe through his mouth instead to keep from catching your scent that is gradually replacing all of the fresh air in the apartment.

Allowing you to hold his hand, he sits forward and looks you in the eyes. If his gut feeling is real, if what he believes about you is true, then he needs to be honest. If you are his mate then you’ll understand. His voice shakes when he speaks and you scoot forward on your knees, closing the distance between your bodies as much as possible, still kneeling on the floor next to him.

“I think I should be offended that you’d even think that about me.”

Despite yourself, you laugh and he hides a smile of his own, eyes darting away from you. He pulls you up to your feet and scoots over on the couch, hissing as you occupy his space even further. You are affecting him more strongly than you ever have and his self control thins with every moment that passes.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what else to think. The weeks away, the secrecy, all of it…my mind has filled in the blanks I don’t understand.”

Kakashi nods. He understands, he truly does, knowing that his behavior has been less than exemplary while he has tried to keep his secret from you, but he wants to right his wrong while his mind is still clear. His cock throbs angrily, still pressing against the bottom of his stomach even while he sits, and he knows it’s now or never.

“This is going to sound ridiculous but I’m not what you think I am.”

Tilting your head to the side, you look over your handsome boyfriend and wonder what he could mean. Is he lying about his job or where he’s from? He can tell you aren’t following so he looks away from you and tries again, spitting out the words he himself has tried to run from his entire life.

“I’m only half a man, the other half of me is something else entirely.”

Again, you look lost and he grasps your hands in his own hot ones and chuckles, letting his eyes shut.

“Werewolf. I’m a werewolf.”

He opens his eyes at the sound of your surprised laughter and he’s met with the smile he has found himself falling more in love with every single day, your nose scrunching the way he finds utterly adorable.

“Kakashi…” you start but he squeezes your hands and shoots you a look so earnest you feel guilty for ever questioning him. His cheeks have turned from pink to flaming red, the same color as the engorged tip that is still peeking out over the top of his boxers. Your jaw drops and he groans, eyes falling to your lips.

“What is happening right now is called a rut and unbonded men like me go through them occasionally.” You nod, understandingly. You are always unfailingly kind and patient to him, more so than he deserves for lying to you all these months. He takes your silence as permission to keep speaking and you remove your hand from his to push his sweat slicked hair off of his forehead, noticing the way his nostrils flare with your touch. “Mine have been happening more frequently than that, though, because of you.”

He expects to have lost you again and to see confusion on your face when his eyes flit up to look at you but instead he sees a sweet, almost nervous, half smile. You don’t know what he means or how you could possibly be affecting his rut but the insinuation that you have this strong of an impact on him is flattering to say the least.

Arousing too, you think while pressing your thighs together. Your focus shifts from the heat in your own core to Kakashi and you lean your head on his shoulder.

“How can I help you through this?”

Your boyfriend is far from shocked that this is your next question for him but he’s grateful, shaking his head and gazing at you nervously from the corner of his eye. You have been surprisingly okay with everything so far, or at least it seems like it, but he worries how you’ll react if he tells you everything.

“Well, ruts are usually resolved by…well, for lack of a better word, mating.” Nodding, you keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “It’s not just, you know, having sex like we usually do. It’s more than that.”

You shift where you sit and he watches you intently, gasping when you move to straddle him and sit on top of his thighs. His bulge presses against your core and you hum, still combing your fingers through his hair. Those instincts he was dreading continue to work at him, his mind all but overwhelmed with the sight and scent of you, and his mouth fills with saliva.

“I can handle a few days of fucking if that’s what will make you feel better,” you smile and press a kiss to his forehead, his hands finding their way to your hips and holding them tightly. His grip is harsher than he has ever touched you but it doesn’t hurt, it’s simply anchoring you in place. “But if that’s not all, I will do anything you need.”

He chuckles lowly, the sound sexy and ringing in your ears, and you instinctively grind down on his lap to relieve the tension of your own arousal. It doesn’t take much to turn you on, not when it comes to him, but the mystery of what you have to look forward to makes your head swim.

“I, uh…well, I’d need to knot you.”

Your eyebrows raise and your eyes glisten with mischief watching him search for the right thing to say.

“What does that entail?”

Again he sighs, cock throbbing painfully, and you press your lips to his forehead again. He holds you in place to keep your hips from grinding or bumping against him. His mind is growing fuzzier with each passing second and he doesn’t need the encouragement of your luscious hips to turn him into something he can’t explain away with a conversation. He’s teetering on the edge of it anyway.

“You’re familiar with my dick, of course, but when I’m rutting it’s different. It’s…” He trails off again and you reach down between your bodies, snapping the elastic waistband of his boxers. You smirk, the little temptress that you are, and he groans in defeat.

“Show me.”

Despite his brain telling him not to, he nods, happy to bend to your whims as long as you’re okay with what you see. He shifts where he sits, keeping you anchored to his lap with one hand and he uses the other to pull his boxers down around his thighs. You gasp when you notice the thickened base, larger than you’ve ever seen it and swollen.

“This is your knot?”

He nods, eyes fixed on your face as you inspect the newest part of his anatomy, to you anyway, and he’s relieved to see nothing but curiosity on your face. Your hand drifts back between your bodies and you squeeze the base of him, his knot almost too large for your hand to wrap around, and his hips buck into the touch. He pants, chest heaving with each breath, but you keep your grip intact.

“So let me make sure I have this right,” you start and he nods to indicate that he’s listening despite the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling at your touch, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “You need to knot your mate to get through this and feel better?”

He nods again, happy that he doesn’t have to explain the gory details and that you were able to fill in the blanks on your own.

“Do you know who your mate is? Is it someone I need to go find for you?”

Shaking his head, his brows furrow.

“You are my mate. That’s the only explanation why my body is reacting like this to everything about you.”

His voice sounds strained, struggling to hold onto his humanity with each passing second. You mercifully let go of his knot, the relief on his face disappearing when you do, and you lean forward, just inches from his lips.

“Then fuck your mate and feel better, baby.”

Sealing your offer by pressing your lips against his, you’re shocked to find that they’re as hot as his hands, his body, his cheeks, but they feel like home to you and the sloppy sound of your tongues running against one another in open mouthed kisses fill your ears. His grip on your hip tightens and he does his best to remain gentle as he slides you off of his lap and places you on your back on the sofa below you. He pauses for a moment to glance over your face, to be absolutely certain that you still want this, and you smile at him.

Reaching for the button of your jeans, he helps you slide them off and tosses them across the room, your panties coming off with them and the rest of your clothes in short order. He wants to shred them, to see the pieces fall and flutter away from your beautiful body, but he holds himself back.

This is just the beginning of his rut, after all, and the two of you are bound to have a very interesting week ahead of you so he savors this moment, the first that he can be who he really is in front of someone he loves.

It’s freeing and terrifying but his cock is throbbing so painfully he can’t focus on anything else.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

You nod when he slots himself between your spread legs, his boxers and tank top gone. Your cunt pulses at the sight of him, walls clenching almost painfully around nothing as you look at the size of his knot and wonder how you’re meant to fit it inside of you, but he quiets your wandering mind by leaning down and pressing his chest to yours, kissing you sloppily.

“God I love you,” he mutters and you hum in agreement.

His mouth is wetter than it ever has been, a side effect of his current state, and saliva drips down both of your chins and drips into the valley between your breasts. You moan into his mouth and your hips cant and grind against his erection that slips into the cleft between your pussy lips and he feels himself slipping further and further into the basest of his needs, the warm slick seeping from your cunt a nectar he can no longer resist.

Kakashi’s fingers slide down your body, dragging through the pool of saliva between your breasts, down your torso, across your belly button, and finally down to your aching pussy. He makes himself useful quickly, one of his long digits replacing his cock and running through your soaked folds. You whine, hips bucking, and he increases the pressure of his finger as he slides it over your slippery clit.

“My pretty little mate is so eager for me, huh?”

Nodding dumbly, you spread your legs further hoping he’ll take the hint to get moving to where you need him the most. Your eyes dart from his face to where his finger slowly slides inside of you, warmth accommodating the digit with ease thanks to how soaked you are, and sweet relief washes over you. Tipping your head back, you softly moan beneath him while he works you open for him - he’ll need all the help he can get if you’re going to take his knot, and a second finger joins the first while his thumb massages your clit just the way you like.

“Oh baby, you feel so good.”

You nod and hum, hips grinding into every thrust of his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your own sloppy pussy making your breaths stutter. Who would have guessed you’d be so into finding out your boyfriend’s not so little secret?

His fingers continue to spread you open, shifting and grinding against the spot deep inside he knows drives you wild, and you know you’re about to cum for the first time tonight when his thumb grinds small circles directly into your sensitive clit. Your back arches off of the couch and you clench around his fingers, mumbling his name. His lips find yours, chests still pressed together, and you whimper into his mouth while your legs shake.

Withdrawing his fingers from inside of you, he holds them up and spreads them apart, breaking away from your lips long enough to let you look at the slick that webs between them when he does. You gasp, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and he smirks.

“Think you’re wet enough for me now. Gonna stuff you full of me, is that what you want?”

Nodding, you shiver, catching a glimpse of the hunger in his eyes. He’s the same man you love and have known for all this time but there’s a hunger you can’t wait to sate dancing in his eyes. Your cunt clenches again, finally ready for more after your orgasm, and he reaches between your bodies to position himself at your entrance.

The first inch isn’t anything you aren’t used to but you still gasp as he slides himself inside of you, your nails digging into his shoulder while his blunt head prods at your eager cunt, slipping inside with ease. He sinks deeper and deeper and you gasp breathlessly when he stops just short of the inflamed knot at the base of his cock.

“Can’t go all the way in, not yet,” he explains, grinding his hips and guiding them to make sure the head of his cock brushes against the same spot his fingers were just working. You are breathless, wordless, and completely overwhelmed, deciding to let him have his way with you however he needs. His hands travel the expanse of your waist, settling on either side of it, thumbs brushing the underside of each of your breasts that bounce slightly with each movement he makes.

He isn’t satisfied keeping his hands at your waist, though, and one travels back down your stomach and rests in the hair covering your mound. He loves the feeling of the hair between his fingers and he stretches his hand so that his thumb brushes against your clit, maintaining steady pressure on the bud while he grinds and thrusts in and out of you.

“Baby,” you coo from beneath him and he smirks, leaning forward enough to fold your legs up against your sides. Your thighs are pressed against your torso and your knees rest by your ears, the shift in position making you groan, shocked at how deep he is despite the whole of him not even being inside of you. “Need it all, Kakashi, please.”

How can he deny you when you ask so sweetly and he’s so close to cumming himself?

Shifting his own position so that he is practically mounting you, the front of his thighs pressed to the backs of yours. It feels like you can hardly breathe with how he has you folded but you don’t mind, succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure of the additional inches of him slowly sinking inside of you.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nod, licking your lips, and he continues to push what remains of his cock inside of you. His hips grind and shift and you do your best to lift your own to meet him but he stills you with the hand spread over your pelvis, pressing directly on your clit while you stretch to accommodate his knot that slowly slips inside of you.

The stretch is delicious and your lashes flutter against your cheek, eyes rolling back into your skull. He thrusts shallowly, not wanting to release his knot from your warmth, but he gives in quickly and withdraws his knot. You gasp at the loss of the fullness but he’s quick to rectify his wrong, slipping his knot back into you in a quick motion that leaves you breathless.

“Full,” you spit out with a nod and he chuckles, dipping his head to kiss you again.

“Not as full as I’d like you to be but soon.”

You giggle and kiss him back, his grunts and pants against your lips making you whimper. He’s so sexy and you’re so full of him, your head spinning when his grunts increase in a way you know means that he’s close. His cock spasms inside of you and his thumb doubles down on its ceaseless pace on your clit, his knot swelling as he groans and fills you with his release. His knot remains swollen and keeps his cock in place, the warmth of his spend filling your pussy.

Reaching for his face, you grab both of his cheeks and kiss him, his thumb still rubbing idle circles on your clit until your hips jerk and the sensation becomes too much.

“I love you,” you return his earlier sentiment with a smile against his mouth. He smiles and kisses you back, the two of you afraid to part and technically unable with his engorged knot still inside of you.

“We have to stay like this for a little while,” he explains and you nod, eyes glossy and body limp. “Instincts say I have to make it take even if we both know it won’t.”

Smiling, you keep your grip on his face and kiss him again.

“Do you feel better?”

He nods, sighing contentedly.

“For now but we have a long week ahead of us and the full moon is on Friday.”

Dots connect in your head and you giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist while he gradually shifts and rests his head on your chest.

“Good thing we’ll be all alone in the woods then, huh?”

Kakashi chuckles and nods, kissing you between your breasts.

“My thoughts exactly.”

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #thot-o-ween 2023 #monster mash 2023 #kendall writes #cw knotting #cw mating

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fourmoony · 4 months

Note

Hi oh my gosh I love literally everything you write. And you're doing poly!marauders. So excited.

Would you be willing to do something like reader doesn't have a great self-esteem so she never thought she'd find someone who'd love her just the way she is but then she found them. and is just super in love and incredibly happy?

could be nsfw too if you want.

thankyou!

you are so kind, thank you so much, angel! thanks for requesting, hope you like it :) p.s. this is my first time writing poly!marauders so be gentle pls <3

poly!marauders x f!reader | 1.2k words | masterlist

cw - implied self esteem issues

You feel content in your little bubble.

The kitchen is warm and filled with love and laughter and bodies and the conversation flows freely. It's comfortable and cosy and Remus is making soup so really, your day couldn't get any better.

James is cutting vegetables under Remus' watchful gaze and Sirius is practically hanging over Remus' shoulder, as excited as you about the pot of soup on the stove. You're content to just watch them, let them just be from your place on the counter beside the stove. Remus had chastised you'd burn the side of your leg, James had made an ill timed joke about getting to kiss it better, and said burn was yet to occur. So you sit. You watch. You smile to yourself because you're happy.

It's a daily struggle to remind yourself that you're worthy of being included in this little bubble, that the boys want you here as much as you want to be here. Some days it feels impossible, some days you feel like an intruder, like a burden they're too nice to get rid of. Then Sirius does something so stupidly Sirius and Remus will lean over, kiss the shell of your ear and thank you for being the only sane person in the house. And James asks if he can sit with you while you shower. It's not about sex. Not always, at least. James just likes to listen to your day and tell you about his without the constant buzz of conversation around him, sitting on the toilet with fogged up glasses and a smile on his face. He joins you on the bad days, helps you forget. It's peaceful, and it's your ritual.

They do everything they can to remind you, every day, that they want you there, that they love you as you love them. It's a nice feeling, to be wanted, to be loved, to be understood and appreciated. It's an even lovelier feeling to be a part of someone's routine. The showers with James, pestering Remus while he cooks dinner, reading to Sirius until he falls asleep, sprawled out across the three of you on the couch, his breaths heavy and your hand in his hair. It's a nice life you have. That counts for a lot, even on the days you don't feel worthy.

Today isn't necessarily one of those days, but it's there on your face. That 'outsider looking in' type of mood you get when you think about it for too long. You've discovered you're allowed to feel both content and undeserving at the same time - or, at the very least, that it's possible. You often wonder why Remus, Sirius, and James chose you. It's not a secret, you've asked many times and received many answers, varying in seriousness to Sirius' absurd "we tossed a coin.", to which Remus chastised him relentlessly.

You'd laughed, and that was all Sirius had needed.

Now, you're watching the three of them with the same awe you always do, and Sirius seems to catch it in the split second his eyes leave the pot of soup on the stove. He's on you in a second, not a far walk considering you're sitting so close to the gas stove that you're surprised Remus' theory of your burnt thigh hasn't come true. Sirius' eyebrows furrow in that concerned sort of way they often do when he's trying to read one of the three of you, his hands gentle as they come into contact with the pudge of your hips.

"Spill," He tilts his head, lips downturned at the corners and it makes your heart ache.

They've always urged you to be open, to share your concerns and tell them what, exactly is going on in that 'big beautiful brain of yours', as James calls it. But the look of knowing, of concern, on Sirius' face hurts. You hate that after all this time you still feel this way sometimes. Even on the good days, you catch yourself asking what you did to deserve your boys.

"Hm?" You hum, hands lifting to hold the sides of your boyfriend's face in hopes of distracting him altogether.

His hair is tied back, but you curl an index finger around a strand of stark black hair thats fallen into his face and Sirius smiles, soft and lovely, "You've got that," He waves his hand in front of your face with wiggled fingers and you laugh, "look."

"What look?" You ask, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his lips.

Now Remus, if you had tried a move like that, would tsk, tell you to spill before he rewards you, and it's why you know it'll work when you try it with Sirius. He always gives you whatever you like. His lips return the favour, hands pulling you forward a little on the counter. It's a nice kiss, a sweet kiss, until James scoffs and declares Sirius is easily manipulated.

"Am not." He grumbles, shooting your two boyfriends a dirty look.

Remus rolls his eyes into the soup, sets the lid on it to simmer at the same time James drops the knife and starts putting the vegetables into a bowl.

"C'mon, Dove, what's up?" Remus asks, hip balanced against the stove, turned to face you.

He's in his comfies, the first of the four of you to arrive home from work, earlier, and he looks so soft and warm. You know he won't give in to whatever interrogation Sirius has unknowingly started so you heave a sigh and slump back against the wall cabinets.

"Sirius is being dramatic. The 'look' I had was contentedness with a little bit of 'what on earth did I do to deserve these men?'."

Remus' lips turn up at the corners and he crowds your space, pushing an annoyed Sirius to the side for the moment, "You didn't have to do a thing. We love you as is."

You hum, delighted with the appraisal, a bashful smile coming across your lips. Remus kisses it, quick and sweet, and returns to his soup. Sirius sticks his tongue out at the side of Remus' head and you laugh. James passes the vegetables off to Remus because Sirius is not to be trusted with the good kitchen knives after the Christmas Eve in A&E incident last year, and comes up behind Sirius, arms wrapped around his waist, head firmly on his chin.

You know James' back is probably breaking at the angle, but Sirius would simply be offended for the rest of the night if James used his head instead of his shoulder. He's in denial about his height, you suppose.

"It's more like what on earth we did to deserve you. I've no idea how you put up with those two." James gives you a knowing smile as he speaks.

You both wait for Sirius' outrage and Remus' offended scoff. Both come. They team up on the other side of the kitchen, Sirius hovering over Remus and likely causing more of an annoyance. James uses it as an opportunity to get you closer to him, whisk you off to the couch in the living room now his sous chef duties are complete.

You set up the usual dinner time sitcom and pause it, relaxing into your boyfriend and talking about anything and everything until Remus calls that the soup is ready.

In the kitchen as James and Sirius fight over who should get the first bowl, Sirius because he waited so patiently, or James because he actually helped, Remus slides you your own bowl with a lovely big smile reserved just for you, and you couldn't imagine yourself anywhere else in the world.

#marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders #poly!marauders fluff #james potter #james potter fic #sirius black #sirius black fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #marauders era #marauders fluff #marauders fic #fluff #love #fourmoonys asks

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alucarddear · 7 months

Note

Position anon again, would you please write a NSFW alphabet for Alucard? Pretty please? 🥺

Alucard N S F W Alphabet*

I'm personally offended that I haven't done this for Lulu before. Anyway, rather than just spelling out his name, I'll give you the entire alphabet. Heh. This is LONG! Your thoughts and keyboard smashes are welcome. 🤭

P.S. I go explicit and specific; read at your own risk. I also tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, so this is [Alucard x You]. However, I did have a little self-indulgent fun with W: wild card, the only section with an obvious she/her indication. Just so you know!

A: Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Aftercare is not optional to this dhampir. It's a must. It doesn't matter if you had a quick romp or a long night, he'd still take the time to treat you right, especially if he'd been rather rough with you.

Forehead kisses, soft caresses, helping clean you up—you name it and he's got it covered. It's all about making sure you feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.

Alucard is not one to just up and leave or make you feel used. In fact, it's noticeable how much more he dotes on you after actually using you up good and fucking you raw into next week. 😏

B: Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Your neck. Let's not even pretend that Alucard doesn't gravitate towards it. As you ride him, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and nips and pecks at your throat. There's a part of him that wants to sink his fangs into you then and there and another that wants nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings against your skin as you throw your head back in bliss.

Alucard likes his hands—the way they're so large against yours; how perfectly your hands feel in his own. He likes his hands gripping your thighs or hips, his hand coming down to slap your ass, his hands caressing every inch of you. The way his hand closes around your wrist, encircling it completely as if it was made to do nothing but. The way he pushes you down with his hand on the small of your back as he prepares to take you from behind. Most of all, all of the things his hands can do to make you cum.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

Alucard's desire to spill his seed inside you is next to nothing sometimes. If you'd let him, he'd bury himself balls-deep and cum inside you each and every time.

He loves to make you cum, loves the way you sound—the hitching of your breath, your begging, the way you can barely keep yourself from shaking as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of you. He loves to praise you for it. "God, you're fucking beautiful," is something you hear often. It just never gets old.

D: Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Alucard loves when you allow him to bend you over whichever way he pleases. Loves how tiny and pliable you look underneath him, adjusting and propping your arms and legs as he sees fit. Just the sight of you like that, it's enough to push him over the edge.

So, you know he draws you—you are his muse after all. You've seen his sketches. But not the ones of your beautiful, naked body. Not even the tasteful pieces he draws as you sleep. Not the ones where, try as he might, he just can't replicate how utterly divine you look when he fucks you. He's a talented artist, but nothing tops the real thing.

E: Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Is he very experienced? No. Does he know what he's doing? Hell yes. His mother was a doctor and his father is a man of science. He lives in a castle full of resources. He has deep knowledge of biology—he's got the theory down pat. Sure, he fumbled a little the first few times, but he quickly learnt how you like to be pleased.

Besides, being a dhampir, Alucard is in tune with your body's responses to his ministrations. When you're intimate, he can practically feel your heart racing, dear. He knows when you're close, can tell when he's hitting it good, need I say more?

F: Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mastery. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor to support you sitting on top of him with your legs bent on either side of him, your feet flat on the bed. This position allows you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss. It lets you start off slow, very intimate—with you grinding against and riding him. Once you're a little tired (or he starts growing impatient), he simply grips your hips and pounds up into you until you're a screaming wreck. His grip on your hips and his feet securely planted on the floor allows him to rut into you fast. And the view? Fucking fantastic. He loves watching you come undone like this, seeing you throw your head back and expose your throat to him. Yes.

For a quick romp, you can't go wrong with doggy style. When you're in his study and you both get a little too distracted? He’ll bend you over his desk and have his way with you.

G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, he's very serious about giving both of you a good time, alright. He might do something that makes you giggle, sure, but for the most part it's probably accidental and not his intention. Sex with Alucard can be intimate and sweet or downright animals humping in the undergrowth (👀), no in between. He's not here for the shits and giggles, darling.

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It does match. Maybe not all the time completely bare, but he keeps himself neat and tidy. Do you see his luxurious hair? He takes care of himself down there too.

I: Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alucard loves to see you and hear you. He's considerate and goes out of his way to find what works for you. So much so he probably has ruined you for anyone else. You'll never find a more receptive lover; it’s time to accept that.

When you make sweet love, he whispers sweet nothings against your skin. He peppers kisses all over you and makes you feel like the most gorgeous being on the planet. He's not afraid to voice his thoughts out loud too, praising you and urging you on.

J: Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You remember those naughty sketches of you? Yep. He has used them a couple times while you were away. You're in his thoughts whenever he touches himself.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging. He not-so-secretly loves it when you beg. How are you to know how much more you can take? He'll just have to show you.

When you moan his name as you grip the sheets and quake beneath him? Yeah. He loves it, especially when you can barely even make out the words for “Adrian, please, please, please.”

When you take control and ride him like your life depends on it, it does something to his brain. You on top, taking control and looking absolutely beautiful as you do so... he could cum just from the thought of it.

There is a part of him that likes the thought of cumming deep inside you and breeding you. Maybe it's that loneliness that sometimes nags at him, maybe he yearns for a family, but he can't lie this feels utterly divine.

L: Location (favourite places to do the do)

The bed is cliche, but it works and is comfortable. Your kitchen counter, desk, against the wall or a tree, table, or out at some secluded clearing by the lake... Alucard is truly not that picky, as long as you're not out in the public for other eyes to see and you’re both comfortable.

M: Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your reactions and enthusiasm. Knowing you're into it just as much as he is.

When you sashay towards him, crooking your finger at him to beckon him closer? He's right there with you in a heartbeat.

When you wear his shirt and it swallows your smaller frame? It turns him on more than he lets on.

When you moan his name and gasp and writhe in pleasure. When you beg for him to take you harder, faster, and deeper. It just about short-circuits his brain.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any form of bondage or restrictions to his movement. It brings up unnecessary trauma and makes him feel that he's not in control or safe. He is mostly a switch, sure, letting you take control and dominate too, but tying him up is just a no-go for him.

He won't transform into a wolf. It's practically bestiality, which he's not down for.

Somnophilia or any other act where consent can be dubious. He's just big on consent and trust, for obvious reasons.

O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves having absolute control over your pleasure, knowing it's him coaxing the sighs and moans and screams out of you. He enjoys how easily he can make you cum and drive you mad.

That said, he also loves watching you pleasure him, taking as much of his hard length as you can, especially whenever you greedily swallow his load.

P: Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends. Sex can be whatever it needs to be in the moment. While he loves nothing more than to take his time and make sweet love to you, he also loves ravaging you and leaving you utterly spent. It's satisfying either way.

The usual case is he begins slowly and sensually, but by the end of it (and sometimes without warning), he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.

Q: Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn't above having a quickie if that is all time permits, but he would really much rather have his way with you properly!

R: Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Given that he's a dhampir, he knows exactly how to go unseen or unnoticed. It's likely his risk assessment is much more honed. You might think you're being risky, but he is well aware of the chances of you getting caught in the act.

As for experimenting—other than his hard reservations (the ones listed in N), he is game to experiment and try different things you may be curious about as long as you both feel safe and comfortable about them.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a dhampir... need I say more? The chances of you exhausting him first is little. Sorry to burst your bubble. 😆 He's got stamina for days, honey.

T: Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Alucard is not above using toys to pleasure you. But what can a toy do that he can't do better? Hah. Chances are he will attempt to learn how it pleases you and try to replicate that with his own cock, mouth, and hands.

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be such a little tease. You know the way he banters. That snark and sass can sometimes make their way inside the bedroom too.

"What was that, darling?" he'd ask, as if his amazing sense of hearing wasn't enough to register your begging as he edges you for the nth time. "Tsk. Patience, my love..." he would even dare chide you!

Alucard also loves to glide his fangs over your skin, just enough to leave a faint mark but not enough to draw blood.

V: Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not shy to let you know he’s having a good time, but he’s also not overly loud. He gasps, moans, and curses, a tight-lipped “Fuck!” slipping out once in a while.

W: Wild card (a random headcanon)

He loves to praise you. His way of talking dirty is to let you know how good you feel around him. How ethereal you are, how perfect for him, how you taste so sweet.

He encourages you as he pushes you over the limit. “Yes, yes, darling, you can take it. Cum for me,” he would say. He’d place a kiss on your open mouth as you convulse around him as he rips yet another orgasm out of you. “My sweet darling,” he would groan, wiping the sweat off your brow. “How perfect you are. Good girl.” And just like that, he’s about to do it all over again. RIP. 😫

X: X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s active and it shows. He’s well built without being overly bulky. It suits him—muscular/toned yet elegant and lean.

He’s packing a just-about-above average penis, but nothing you cannot handle. The man’s over six foot, it just fits.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Alucard is the type to yearn and pine, so set the volume level up cause he cannot get enough of you. Enough said.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes you drift off to sleep together, but you usually fall asleep first.

He’s a night owl. He’d take you in his arms and stroke your hair as you sleep, admiring the way you glow under the moonlight, and wonder how he got so lucky to have found you. 🤍🌙

#if you disagree just scroll and let us have fun lmao #I’m not about to have another discourse on this #alucard #castlevania #alucarddear headcanons #adrian tepes #alucard fahrenheit tepes #Alucard x reader

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pupcuck · 1 month

Text

ASKING FOR IT !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, smut, cheating (not on reader), ooc leon sorry, he’s mean, negging, misogyny, reference to past rape/non-con, unresolved trauma, suicidal thoughts duhhh, he calls reader ugly a lot, leon subs for his gf but doms reader, non-con to consensual sex, manipulation, some .. uh waterboarding? he dunks your head in water, opioid addiction but it’s minor LMFAOO

note. haii… um feedback whether it’s good or bad appreciated really forced myself to write this so im like ack. hating everything i write but! ignore typos :3 it’s not as fleshed out as i wanted .. soooo it reads pretty jolty but yah 😭 and the smut is like not. IDK I’m ugh not into it just couldn’t bring myself to extend stuff that I really wanted to develop n he’s ooc. BUT!! again ignore typos or I’ll cry n feedback/constructive criticism appreciated <3

Leon has a girlfriend. He can never hold down a girl, his ability to scare women away is preternatural, so it’s a big deal. And she’s fucking hot. Not like model hot, but pornstar hot. She’s got tits so firm they might as well be bulletproof. Bottle blonde with eyes that swallow up her whole face. Her stomach doesn’t crease when she sits. It’s the type of beauty that takes its form in slashes of red lace and nylon. Not many women are out of his league, but she is.

They have hot sex like attractive people tend to do, and it goes something along the lines of this.

He goes:

Is that dick good, baby? You like it? Right there, baby?

And she goes:

Fuck, yes, baby! Harder, deeper— Oh, right there!

And then she doesn’t cum.

So there’s that, but he’s working on it.

Leon doesn’t take well to tips on how to fuck. Reading advice columns in the Men’s Health magazine leaves a funny taste in his mouth. It might be the blood from the castrated image of his masculinity. Who knows.

He struggles with that sort of thing. A nice face does nothing for a man who doesn’t actually like anything about himself. Leon’s still that wimpy self-hating loser he was all those years ago. In all fairness to God, there are a few added tweaks here and there. Some bug fixes. Now he’s drunk and shallow too! Misanthropic when he’s at his very best.

As a kid, mom told Leon to be a nice boy so he was a nice boy. Not because he was ever a particularly nice boy, but for her sake. So instead of acting out he would go and crush ants beneath his thumb in the front yard because there is this mean part of Leon that splinters inside of him like cooked bones.

Life to Leon is being fucked into apologising for being alive so it’s no wonder he’s still harbouring the insecurities of a boy he isn't.

When he was eighteen it was by ugly old men who abhorred him for being the embodiment of whatever it was they were hiding from their wives. His legs looked nice thrown over a pair of big shoulders. They were so thin back then, model-type shit. All of those men mildly resembled his dad, but that’s something he wouldn’t quite like to crack down on yet. Leon’s being open enough as it is.

When he was twenty-one it was his headache of a first girlfriend. It was the bullet wound in his shoulder. When he was twenty-two it was being passed around boot camp like a dirty needle. When he was twenty-seven it was Luis who was nothing and everything in between. It was a picture book princess like Ashley. The scar on his shoulder. Stigmata. Glory Be. Whatever.

(And Jack, it was always Jack. Pale all over like a healed scar.)

What Leon is trying to get across, he’s not quite sure. Maybe that he's nice in theory and the reality is he’s a self-confessed charlatan of niceness. Or that he can’t fuck. He can’t fuck because he is deeply traumatised. Yeah. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to say. It’s an excuse, sure, doesn’t make it the truth though. Leon can’t fuck ‘cause he’s useless at most things that don’t include guns. He can’t fuck ‘cause he was unattractive as a teenager and that solidified the way he feels about himself now.

Leon’s got one thing going for him - he fingers her pussy till his fingers prune. Eats her out till he gets lockjaw.

“Oh, you’re so good at that,” she says, kissing his slicked-up lips.

Then her eyes flit to his hard dick and she gives him that strange half-smile. One that seems to say: Not with that. His dick. Obviously.

His shit is big enough, it’s long enough— It’s enough. And it’s pretty. Could put a bow on to make it real cute. Could manufacture a dildo inspired by it. So Leon cannot for the life of him wrap his head around her problem. It’s not his dicks fault her pussy is fucking broken. Her broken pussy doesn’t get to make his dick sad. Doesn’t get to lay devastating blows on his gone-with-the-wind ego.

Another thing is, her sister is an ugly bitch. That upsets Leon and his dick in tow. You’re a student, taking a break for some reason Leon has not bothered to fathom. He couldn’t care less. Go do it someplace else. In this house, you’re nothing more than a cockblock. Leon could forgive you for being a cockblock if you weren’t ugly. Or vice versa.

It would be okay if Leon wasn’t stuck at home with you for hours at a time. Work fucked up his back, so he’s staying here in his girlfriend’s apartment eating her food, running her taps, fucking her badly and shitting on her sister.

You’re sat on the other end of the table with a soggy bowl of cereal while he nurses a juice box like a real man. What do ugly little things like you think about anyway?

When Leon was ugly he thought about forcing his dick into the cute girl next door between his more regular thoughts of what to eat for dinner and whether he stocked up on toilet paper or not.

When he was ugly, his day was made simply by a pretty girl looking in his general direction. So Leon makes sure to look in yours. Y’know, to fuel your perverted wet dreams. Your rape fantasies. What freaks think about when they’re near hot guys. Well, it’s strange actually. You tend to totally ignore him. When the two of you make brief eye contact, you don’t flounder or duck or bow your head like you’re shy— You just move on with your life. That bothers him. Leon’s hot now. He’s not the type of man you just brush over like that. He’s the type you gawk at in broad daylight, he’s the sort of guy you see in soft porn magazines.

“Good morning,” his girlfriend greets, “have a good sleep, sweetie?” She bumps your hip when you stand up to hug her.

She’s wearing stockings today. Oh, he loves stockings. He loves pencil skirts. He loves— He loves office wear. He wants to be put over her lap and spanked raw perhaps.

“Yeah, it’d be nice if your boyfriend stopped moaning like a girl though.” It’s said into her ear, but Leon hears it.

“I’m going now, honey,” his girlfriend tells him.

Like a good boy, Leon stands to bid her goodbye. Her blouse is sheer, shows off her black bra and he eyes it with distaste.

“What’s wrong, Leon?”

He doesn’t speak. Just glares at her perfect set of tits like a baby weaned off milk.

“I can’t take them off,” she snorts.

Leon wishes she could. Hang ‘em up in the closet and pop them back on when it’s time to play. Tits are for the bedroom. Otherwise, they’re too much of a distraction. Instead, he settles on slipping his hand up her skirt to check if she’s wearing panties. (There’s no panty line showing through her pencil skirt and that’s always a bad sign.) She shoos him away.

So Leon leans in for a kiss, and she says, “Nuh-uh, honey, you’ll ruin my makeup.” Then she gives in ‘cause Leon can be kinda cute when he tries hard enough. “Just one, okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon nods. Her kisses are analgesic. Which is unfortunate considering he has an opioid addiction. Almost an addiction.

“One,” she counts, Leon kisses her again, “two, three, four.”

She’s teasing him now.

“Okay, well, keep an eye on her, Leon.”

“I’m not twelve,” you say, exiting the kitchen to spare yourself the sight of him groping your older sister.

Yeah, and Leon’s not a bang nanny.

He wipes the red from his lips, takes his juice box from the table where you’re no longer and decides jerking off in the shower will make him feel better. Leon does. He finishes. Watches his seed wash down the drain and wonders if that was wasteful. A short intermission is taken, then he jerks off in front of her full-body mirror. His biceps flex and his abs tighten, and he looks fucking good.

Why isn’t she cumming? What’s wrong with her? Is she getting too old? Is menopause hitting already? She’s only thirty-something. It can’t be that, and she asked Leon to pick up tampons last week— Unless they were for you.

Nobody in this house tells Leon anything. Another shower is what he needs. No, he needs a smoke. Leon doesn’t smoke. He does the next best thing, rests idly against the railings of her balcony, observing the ballet of D.C. life. Man, he could throw himself over right now. Splat against the asphalt and that would be it. It’d all be over. Hauling his weight over would be no problem. Catastrophizing to pass the time. Men used to do this for a living in Ancient Greece. What happened to philosophising? Leon could be a philosopher, all they did was spout nonsense and he is good at that. Not at fucking, however.

Beer. Yeah. Beer. That’s what he needs. Leon ransacks the fridge to no avail. Health-conscious living is the reason for misery, he believes. See, very insightful, modern-day Socrates right here. Lean proteins, vegan substitutes, low-fat yoghurt— It’s so girly it makes him sick.

“She’s still on a health kick,” you say from behind him, “I thought it was a New Years thing, but she’s still, like, super into it.”

Why are you talking to him? Leon blinks at you owlishly. “Right,” he says.

You give him a funny look, turning back to the counter to use the coffee machine. Don’t you want him? You’re not shy. Why aren’t you shy? Shouldn’t you be shy? Ugly Leon was mute around girls whether they were short, fat, ugly or pretty. Shit, he is clucking for a beer.

“There's Chardonnay under the sink.” Well, that’s unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t- I don’t drink that.” He would like to finish his sentence off with ‘girly shit’ but you seem like the type to find that offensive.

“Figured.” The coffee machine whirs. A lobotomised silence ensues. “Good talk.”

You’re so ugly you’re asking for it. Perfect subject for the ‘I can’t make my girlfriend cum, is her pussy broken?’ experiment. Ugly girls don’t count as a fuck, right? Not when they’re sent to the very back of your mind after said fuck. He wonders how many girls counted the uglier him as an official lay.

You’re on your tummy reading a book. The Beautiful and Damned. Leon had no idea they wrote a book about him. The door creaking exposes his creeping against his will.

“Do you need something?” you ask without batting an eye.

The swell of your ass is nice. “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Rolling over and sitting up to face him, you tilt your head to the side. “Go on.”

“I want to have sex with you.” Woah. Okay. That’s a genie he can’t put back in the bottle. Fuck, why does he do this stupid shit? Leon should just kill himself. All roads lead to suicide. Every sign points towards suicide and he is still holding on for dear life.

Think about Sherry. Sherry won’t care, kids hit sixteen and don’t give a fuck about much, he reasons with the voice in his head. How about Claire? Oh, she’ll think good fucking riddance. Redfield? No way. You are truly out of options, Kennedy.

“I’m sorry?”

Oh, god no, Leon’s the one that should be sorry. “You heard me.” The apology comes out incredibly wrong. “I’m helping you out.”

“Helping me out with what? I’m sorry, Leon, I didn’t… I didn’t think I— I don’t know what made you think I wanted this from you, but I don’t like you—“

You don’t like him? Why not? He’d like a list of reasons with a page-long explanation. What’s not to like? The hair. It’s the hair. Blond is too girly. That’s what it is.

“—I mean, you’re with my sister, did you really think I would say yes? I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused, where is this coming from? Gosh, I really… I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m helping you out,” Leon repeats, using his hands to gesture at your face, at your body. “No one else is gonna do it.” This apology has gone way out of bounds. A simple sorry would have sufficed.

“What..?” Something doleful crosses your face, then it twists unpleasantly. “You think I want to have sex with you… ‘cause I’m not cute? Like, you think I’m…”

Ugly, yes. He does. Only a little. Can you turn over? He wants to make you cum. “You’re a virgin, yeah?”

“Oh my god, there’s, like, something wrong with you!” You stand to your full height in a pitiful attempt to appear frightening. That face is enough to scare a man away already. “Get out— And I am so telling her when she gets back home, I told her I didn’t like you, I told her and now you just-“

Leon grabs you by the jaw, squeezes you so tight it clicks. “Okay, sweetheart, here’s how this is going to go,” he starts, taking both your wrists in a single hand, “we’re going to start over, and you’re going to be a good little girl and apologise to me like you really mean it.”

“Apologise for what?” It comes out muffled through your forced pout so he chooses to ignore you.

“I don’t know what you fuckin’ said.” Leon should just end it here, he should let go of you and check into the nearest asylum. He’s hot. Leon is box blond. He’s tall enough to dwarf most girls. His face is nice. His body is nicer. So he doesn’t know what his problem is. Once pinned down, you shrink away from him, expression so sour your skin looks ready to melt off your skull.

And then he fucks you till you stop screaming. He leaves you in a withered heap, heads back to his room to take a well-deserved nap, hides his face in the pillows. They smell like her. He should think about killing himself some more. That gun looks awfully shiny. Nth time could be the charm.

She gets home in the evening, drops her bag on the floor to alert him of her entrance.

“I missed you.” Leon noses at her neck.

“You were sleeping.” She ruffles his hair like he’s a child.

“I still missed you.”

“Even when you’re sleeping?”

In the least creepy way possible, he wants to wear her skin as a suit, and she thinks his body doesn’t yearn for her at every sleeping second?

“The most when I’m sleeping, have bad dreams without you,” Leon mumbles groggily.

“How cute,” she muses, “good day?”

“Great day.” Leon nods. “Real productive.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you get up to?” A singular red nail strokes along his spine.

“Thought about you,” he answers, leaving out the part where he spent half of his time jerking off. Oh, and the part where he fucked her sister into submission. He raped you. He did. Leon doesn’t like that word. Far too harsh.

“Now, don’t push it, mister.” When she smiles there’s a lack of wrinkles— Not even smile lines, it’s artificial almost.

Leon’s good at pushing buttons. He should get paid for it. “It’s true, if you said jump I’d ask how high.”

“You’re so funny, Leon.” She kisses his head and laughs all prim and proper.

“Serious, babe, I’m super partial to jumping,” he says to hear her laugh again. He’s more partial to suicide. It’s great. A one-way ticket off of God’s green inferno. Who would he even be without suicide ideation?

“Alright, but I’d like you all in one piece.” She kisses his cheek. “No jumping, okay, honey?” She kisses his neck and his collarbones and his Adam’s apple and he’s unable to breathe.

“Okay,” Leon says. He gets it now. She’s mommying him. Maybe this is what Leon needs. To play house. A daddy to fuck his throat and a mommy to sit on his dick and tell him that he’s a good boy and he’s needed and he won’t have to think if he has a mommy and daddy to do that for him.

Can he backtrack on the rape thing? Trust Leon to take a good thing and ruin it in the worst way possible. If he kissed you he could’ve wormed his way out of it. Told her it was the medication he’s on, that he had a mental breakdown, a midlife crisis.

At dinner, your silence slips under the radar like cumstains on motel bedsheets. You pick at your food, and when Leon’s knee brushes yours under the table, you excuse yourself. Sometimes he thinks that he is a bad person, this can be backed up by many things. Violating you might outweigh saving the world.

In bed, he thinks about changing, about calling his therapist in the morning, he might take a leap off that balcony, cleaning up his act sounds terribly hard. Leon does this all with his head tucked into the hollow of his girlfriend’s neck. The thinking has killed his boner and now he can’t get it up. So he pretends to fall asleep. It’s an unconvincing performance ‘cause the moment she swipes a hand over his ass he lets out a disgruntled noise. Leon clenches so quickly his stomach caves in.

“You don’t like that, honey?”

He shakes his head, overgrown bangs falling in his eyes. Leon has a nice ass. It’s no wonder she wants to touch it, leg presses have done him wonders, but still, it’s off-limits. She can’t sweet talk her way into this anytime soon.

“Why, Leon?” She’s cupping his ass like he’s a girl. Leon’s not a girl. “You’d look so cute.”

“No,” he whines, and it sounds kind of sexy. He gets it. He can see the appeal.

“I think you just need some encouragement, baby.” She’s taking him apart like a gun. Folding him like laundry. Milks his prostate so well he sleeps like a baby. Not even a shadow of an orgasm to be seen from her side.

She leaves early the next morning and he’s left alone to ruminate. What he finds out today is that you’re pretty diligent at sucking dick when forced.

Leon thinks he would like to break you in a way that only he can fix.

He pushes your head down on his dick till your lips are stretched so far they split at the corners, you gag wetly each time the fat tip knocks the back of your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin.

“Aww, look at you,” Leon coos, “little girl taking big things.”

Fat tears well in your eyes, a faint tremor betrays your effort to hold them back, a single blink and they roll down your cheeks like dewdrops. It might be the dick lodged in your throat, pulsing under your tongue— Yeah, no, it’s his dick in your mouth. That’s why you're upset. No other reason for it. Leon finds you a little ungrateful. A lot of women would pay for this, to drain his balls. Hell, your sister loves to do it.

“One at a time, sweetheart,” he says as he guides you to his balls, “can’t have you choking, can we?” You look up at him blankly. Leon thought he was funny and that’s all that matters. “Go on, spit on ‘em, get me nice and wet.” The drool pooling beneath your tongue drizzles his balls in clear strings, his drippy tip bumps the bridge of your nose, rests comfy on your brow ridge.

You’re struggling real bad. He’ll take it as a compliment. The thing is, you refuse to just lick them, pulling off each ball with a wet pop! and a dry cough. Leon starts to zone out so he shoves you off and quite pathetically, you fall flat on your back.

“You didn’t shave,” Leon notes in distaste, he was going to do you a favour too.

“No— Not for you.” You squirm like a fish on the docks when he hovers over you.

“Not for me, right.”

“Anyone but you.”

“You're not gonna do it for anyone, sweetheart, know why?” Leon clicks his tongue when you dodge his kiss, twisting your neck to keep a distance.

“Why?”

“No one else wants you,” he states, “you’re lucky that I want you.”

“Well, that’s not true.” You’re stubborn amongst all your other undesirable traits.

Leon scoffs. “What, so you ever had a boyfriend?” He runs his index finger along your slit. Bone dry. Serious? He assumes you’re still sore from yesterday.

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t get mad at me, honey, I’m just helping you out.” Leon spits on your pussy, then on his thick cock for good measure, jerks his shaft and presses a thumb to his tip to guide it into you. Your lips fold inwards around him as he breaches your tiny hole. There’s too much resistance for it to be a smooth sailing journey, and you’re new to cock, cunt pushing him out as your body tenses. “I’m being nice to you, so you should say thank you.”

“Oh, god,” you mutter, brows knit in what might be pain or pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re calling me now?” The look you give him is priceless, small hands settling on his chest as you push at him weakly. “No, baby, you don’t get to do that.” Leon bottoms out, he rolls his hips forward to grind the head of his dick into your cervix, the fleshly opening moulds to his tip and you cry out. He can never tell if you’re enjoying it.

Leon sticks his fingers in your mouth to coat them in spit, you retch and he rubs figure eights on your clit, only then does your cunt loosen up its hold on him. It’s a quick process, the quicker he rubs you raw, the wetter you get, biting down on your tongue to keep quiet, but low groans slip past your cracked lips.

“Oh, there we go, baby, that’s it,” Leon coos, his cock slicked up by your wet pussy, sliding in and out with ease. His hips snap forward, forcing himself deeper into your messy little pussy, so wet you’re dripping down his balls, wetness stuck to your inner thighs.

“Fuck— I can’t, I can’t do it, ‘s too big,” you whimper, a hand slipping between your bodies to lay on your stomach. What you don’t understand is that he is big, yeah, but your pussy just needs to be broken in. Like a new pair of shoes.

“You’re doing it, baby,” Leon says, ‘cause you are doing it. You’re taking it. Body going rigid with each brutal thrust into your sopping wet hole. Whether you can take it or not isn’t for you to decide anyway. “I’m going to stuff your little pussy full,” he tells you.

“No,” you choke out, scratching at his chest, nails too blunt to do any sort of damage. Thank fuck. His girlfriend would go nuts.

It’s a satisfying victory, he covers your mouth to concentrate all his energy into this creampie, fills you to the brim, seed thick enough to stick to your insides. The original aim of his ‘experiment’ is forgotten, Leon doesn’t care if you cum or cry or pass out on his dick.

“I’m tellin’ her when she comes home.” Your threat is weak. He feared the consequences of yesterday, but you said nothing.

“You’re not telling her, you like me too much,” Leon decides, “I know you do, baby.”

“I don’t like you at all.” Your bottom lip trembles, fists balled up by your sides. The contempt only turns him on.

“No, but I think you know I’m right, don’t you?” No one else wants you, and you know that. Leon knows you know that. He’s the only one that is ever going to fuck you.

“Right about what? You’re a fucking psycho— I could get you locked up, I should get you locked up.”

“You should, so what're you waiting for?” If you did report him, Leon would just kill himself, going to prison sounds like a bore. “I think, sweetheart, that secretly, you really like it when I rape you.”

And your silence proves him right.

That report never comes. Duh. You love his dick. You like being roughed up. You know you’re deserving of it. Jesus Christ, Leon needs to call his shrink. Honestly, being around you is hard. It’s like his guilty conscience has developed a human body, shambling around the apartment in the shape of a malformed ghost girl, reminding him of the shit he’s said and done to you. You’re spinning in his necrosed brain like one of those music box ballerinas.

“Leon, be a doll and do me up,” his girlfriend is facing away from him, the smooth skin of her back and shoulders bared to him.

Leon only hears the ‘do me’ part, kissing the nape of her neck, reaching round to grab at her fat tits. “I love you…”

“I love you too, baby, but what do you think you’re doing?”

Leon makes a motion with his fingers, she sees it in the mirror.

“What is that, sign language?”

“No, I want to finger you.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, baby, but it’s not the time for that. I asked you to zip me up, Leon.” He zips her up while wondering how she can be so unaffected by him being so stupid.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” You knock on the door, you keep hiding your face from him today. His girlfriend said it’s ‘cause you have makeup on. Apparently that changes things. It’s sort of cute. Like, are you shy? You should be shy.

“Oh, no one likes cliffhangers, honey,” she says, forcing you to swap out some open-toe sandals for a pair of her heels. “Okay, Leon, I’ve left your dinner in the fridge, yes?”

Yes, mommy. “Yeah, babe.”

“And there’s snacks in the cupboard now, oh, and don’t use the tap water, it tastes strange so I stocked up— Leon, will you stop doing that with your jaw?”

Sorry, mommy. “Sorry, babe.”

“He’s totally fucking gurning,” you inform her in a way that screams playground snitch. He’ll choke you out for that.

“Gurning, what’s that?” His girlfriend asks cluelessly. This bitch is in her early thirties, Leon has no idea why she acts fifty. Whatever, it’s hot, he gets a girl with all the traits of an older lady without the sagging.

“Like, y’know, ‘cause he’s on meds.” What a little shit. Is this you getting back at him? Some petty fucking act of revenge? Getting his medication taken away from him by his health freak girlfriend?

“Medication? I didn’t know about this, Leon.” She looks at him like he’s killed her mother. Or raped her sister. If only she knew.

“Yeah, for my back, my back hurts, babe— Th-That’s why I’m on leave. My back hurts.” What a compelling act. Totally not a dude that’s two minutes away from injecting black tar heroin.

“Who prescribed them, a doctor or a vet?” You cock your head to the side. Fine. You fucking got him.

“Same thing.” Leon shrugs.

She makes him empty the bedside desk of pills. “Leon, good boys don’t do this. We don’t take drugs in this household, let me take them off your hands.”

“They’re- Babe, they’re not drugs, they’re for my back— I hurt my back.” Granted, his back stopped aching a few days back, he’s just taking advantage of the break. Also, he’s not a child.

“Your back, honey, I know it hurts.” She waves him off. “We can fix it, huh? I can book you in for acupuncture or cupping— Oh, what about a chiropractor?”

“Fine,” Leon says, voice cracking, watching in devastation as she takes his pills in a black garbage bag.

“Bye, Leon, see you later, honey.” She blows him a kiss and he catches it. He has to catch it.

“Yeah, bye, Leon!” You wave at him, looking happier than you have in days.

The door opens an hour later and Leon takes his hand out of his pants. You stand in front of him with red eyes and messy makeup. Leon, being the gentleman he is, takes you into his arms and rubs your back to soothe you as he tells you, more than a little cruel, I fucking told you so.

At least now you know that some guys aren’t as nice as Leon. Some men will spit in your face without considering how tight your pussy is, they won’t even think about how good your tits look in that push-up bra. See? That’s what the real world is like.

The bath fills as he bends you over the sofa. You’re prettier from behind, dress hiked up, soaked panties around your ankles. His hand smooths down the front of your stomach to cup your puffy cunt, prodding at your swollen clit. You shaved. Funny. Thought you were going to get a dick that wasn’t his.

Leon kneels, he spreads your ass cheeks to lick into your pussy from behind, tongue lapping up the beads of arousal that dribble down the seam of your cunt like sticky honey. He laps at your hole and you arch your back to push into him, his tongue fucking your pussy so well, sloppy sounds fill his ears.

“Been wanting to do this,” Leon says into your cunt, tongue making its way back up the centrefold of your fat pussy, he blows spit bubbles on your clit and then he nips at it until you cry out, startled by the jolt of pain. His dick kicks in his sweats. You taste good to make up for that face of yours.

You cream in his mouth so sweetly, toes curling against the wooden floor. Leon wipes his mouth on his forearm, then he wraps it around your neck, pulling your body flush to his. In his chest, his heart flutters when you press a delicate kiss to his bicep. He feels it and you can’t unfeel that.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” you get out through shaky moans as he sandwiches his shaft between your chubby pussy lips, bumping the tip into your clit as his hips move back and forth. “I’m sorry… Didn’t know-“

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses behind your ear. “It’s alright ‘cause you know now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, tilting your head so it rests on his broad chest, he gives your pout some wet kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm, baby?” Leon nudges you with his nose.

Your idea of cleaning up might be far from what Leon’s is. He doesn’t think you were expecting something so extreme. But it’s for thinking you’re worth something— For thinking that anyone else would do as little as touch you. It’s to wash off that pitiful attempt at makeup.

He bends you in half over the tub. Your tits hang low enough to be squashed against the edge painfully as Leon dunks your head into lukewarm water. Holy shit. Tomorrow will be the day he overdoses. Why is he doing this?

A strangled noise passes your lips as he lets up, and you re-emerge, Leon wipes a hand over your face to rid you of the streaky mascara and sticky gloss.

“There we go, sweetheart, nice and clean.” He presses the tip into your leaking cunt, it catches on your hole, and you flail, water spilling over the edge, surface tension broken as it ripples.

Honest to god, Leon hasn’t fucked a pussy tighter than yours, and when he holds you beneath the surface? Man, you might deglove his dick. He works his cock into you, and when he’s balls deep in your sloppy cunt, Leon allows you to lift your head to which you pant and gasp and cough. All the shit a drowning person does when they’re tossed a lifesaver.

Your body sags, hanging limp with only Leon to hold you up as he roughly fucks in and out of your poor hole, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“I love you, Leon,” you tell him, rubbing at your stinging nose with your fist, pussy tightening when he pinches your throbbing clit.

“Aw, do you, baby? You love me?” Leon laughs, the mean smile on his face hidden in your shoulder, “That’s so cute.” He rocks back and forth, shallow thrusts that are more for him than they are for you, rabbiting his dick into your squelching pussy until his balls pulse and his shaft twitches inside of you. “Real— Real fuckin’ cute,” he grits out as he buries himself to the hilt, shooting his load in your willing little pussy.

“I think so,” you whimper, thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach snaps and you coat his cock in your slick. Hey, his dick isn't a problem then.

Leon thinks about calling his shrink. The bad shit he does won’t fix itself like he wants. “Clean up,” he tells you, looking at the wet ground. The soaked rug. Your face.

“What… Leon, where are you going?” You use your palms to mop the excess water from your face. “Seriously, Leon? I just… I told you that…”

He has things to do - Leon’s going to call his shrink and very promptly throw himself over the balcony when she doesn’t answer his call.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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bokettochild · 22 days

Text

So much for sleep! I sort of had a feeling we'd get an update soon, but I wasn't expecting to see the notif right as I was putting things away for the night and lying down! JoJo, our goddess, I swear she never sleeps!

Anyways! I have THOUGHTS!

First of all, I'm glad we get to find out about the letters' contents! Four's age is showing with him complaining about having chores when he gets home, and Twilight really just is a kid in his twenties wanting to enjoy shopping at a discount, huh? Contrast that to Warriors being the mature financier of their recent inn stay (and nobody believing him despite some of them being right there to see it) and I suppose it really shows us who's where in the age line up, huh?

This does too, btw

JoJo really said "let them be children!" and allowed this trio of terrors to start climbing crap like gremlins

and then get scolded by the mature adult of the group

Honestly, Warriors really is stepping into the shoes of a leader in this group, more so, i dare say, than we've actually seen Time do! No dissing on Time here, but Warriors is the one giving plans, guidence, and settling major issues, it's just that Time has the age and big voice so everyone's looking at him. i feel like that might change in future though, since our Old Man has made his priorities clear recently (his kid comes before the mission)

Speaking of Time, I see those Shade references, Twilight!

He is basically handing the old man ammunition to use against him in the future (now imagining Shade quoting him on purpose when the time comes)

That said, there's a tension here I wasn't expecting, but it makes sense! time is worried for his kid, and seeing the natural inclinations of a hero in someone he cares about... he's getting a taste of what it is to be in the shoes of all those he loves: watching the hero suffer and hurt because of duty, devotion and his own choices. I feel like this is building up to something. Maybe Time is going to try and "save" some of these boys from the fate of their legacy? protect them from being a hero so they can be people? Is that what's going to send him to the fate of becoming Shade?

Anyways, that's it for theories so far. I have a few things I wanted to love on before I end this though!

They are horse girls your honor! (althoughl Wars, hunny, that ain't how you lead a horse, especially not one that big and clearly excited!)

Twilight being confused that a "lady" is waiting on him (we all now a tiny part of him was hoping for Midna)

Four being the emotionally competent hero who knows when to push and make sure everyone's okay (FOUR IS BALANCE PERSONIFIED, FIGHT ME!!!)

he's also adorable (did I mention he's really just a kid?)

and lastly! obligatory Legend appreciation!

my guy is so pretty <3 T-T

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu four #lu wild #lu time #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu sky #linked universe update

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mxmmyprentiss · 2 months

Text

your ivy grows

Summary: It’s unfair, Emily thought. Emily loves you and you’re in love with JJ. And to make it even more complicated: JJ loves Will but she lives in your bed some nights and leaves you the next morning. Genre: Angst (with happy ending) Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader ; Jennifer Jareau x reader Warnings: none Word count: 6.6K

A/N: 2 fics in 2 days because my brain is trying to avoid other feelings. Also, this does not follow any canon timeline in the show. All likes, shares and comments are very much encouraged and appreciated. Thank you! Enjoy!

AO3

It all starts when you join the BAU.

You walk past the glass doors and immediately feel eyes on you. Of course, you’re a new face. They have never seen you before. You are instantly intimidated by the suits and the files on the desk and the dark brown eyes staring at you.

“Hello,” A tall raven-haired woman approaches you. The one with dark brown eyes. “Do you need help with something?”

You bow your head a little as a sign of respect. “Hi, I’m here for the unit chief? Agent Aaron Hotchner?”

“Oh, sure. Let me show you to his office. You must be the transferee from the Hostage Rescue Team.” Emily offers her hand for a handshake. “I’m SSA Emily Prentiss.”

You shake her hand firmly and smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“You too.”

When Emily leaves you at Hotch’s office, something in her ribcage hurts and her stomach suddenly feels weird. And when you mouthed a thank you and flashed her a smile that reached your eyes, Emily thought her heart might drop to the floor.

After a short talk with the unit chief, Hotch introduces you to the team. You meet all of them - Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia.

“Where’s JJ?” Hotch asks.

“I’m here, I’m here,” A blonde blue-eyed woman approaches the team. She’s carrying tons of files in her arms. “Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau, communications liaison. Everybody calls me JJ.”

And the way your eyes twinkle as you and JJ shake hands doesn’t get past Emily’s scrutinizing eyes.

Emily has yet to know why but her rib cage might explode because of how fast her heart goes.

---

Your adjustment with the team isn’t easy at all. They have known each other for years and you’re the newcomer after all. But all of them have been kind and welcoming to you so far.

You are partnered with Emily and Derek most of the time. You spend a lot of time sitting at the back of the SUV and listening to them talk about their theories regarding the UnSub, which you have been fond of because you learn a lot from their insights.

Emily has always been considerate of you though. She always asks your opinions which you assume she does so you won’t feel left out or unheard.

“You can always speak your mind, Y/N. You’ll never know what might help our case.” Emily says to you, tapping your shoulder.

“I will try. Thank you, Emily.”

Emily has never loved her name until you said it and Emily knew she’s a goner.

---

It is the first time you accepted an invitation for drinks from your colleagues. It’s not the first time they asked though. If you’re not wrong, this would be the third.

Spencer was the first person who invited you but you politely turned down the invitation due to your throbbing migraine at that time.

The second time, it was Emily. She told you the team is gathering for dinner and drinks at Rossi's and everyone would love it if you would come. But you feel something’s off. You didn’t deserve to dance with their victory just yet. You haven’t earned it yet. So, you told Emily you can’t make it because you’re meeting your parents that night and you haven’t seen them in a while, which is technically true. (Hint: Your parents died when you were sixteen.)

Tonight though, the third time, JJ approaches you. Her smile is so radiant that the sun would be so jealous.

JJ sits on your desk. “So … we’re betting who could make you say yes to drinks with the team.” JJ speaks faintly, but still just loud enough for the people on the next desks to hear. “I need the cash.”

You snort. “What’s in it for me?” You ask boldly.

Derek wolf-whistles. Spencer watches the scene unravel. And Emily tries to hide a glare by playing minesweeper on her computer.

“Pasta, wine and my eternal gratitude and friendship.” JJ folds her arms. “So, what do you say? We’ll split the cash?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Deal.” You shake JJ’s hand.

Groans are heard and JJ does a mini dance while collecting 20s from her friends. You catch Emily’s quick stare. She’s probably pissed at you for losing the bet.

---

Since that night at Rossi’s, you and JJ start spending more time together, both in the field and at the office. It’s not your fault though. It’s just something that happens. After all, Hotch declares who goes with who.

During your work travels, JJ always chooses you to bunk with her at the hotels you stay at while the others mix and match with their own roommates. Nobody else complains and so you don’t either. You like spending time with her and it’s not so bad when you hear her sleeping soundly at nights that leave you awake.

You and the team are in New Orleans for a case. New Orleans PD has requested the FBI’s help about a series of murders involving several - twelve, so far - white redhead women.

There’s something reserved about JJ’s smile when she approaches a certain policeman you don’t recognize. He introduces himself as William LaMontagne Jr. and you catch the way JJ’s shoulder brush against his multiple times when he discusses the case.

“He and JJ had a thing,” Emily tells you as you both proceed to the crime scene. “On and off, I guess.”

“Oh.” You frown. You don’t know why Emily is telling you this. Maybe you should try being more subtle.

Emily wishes she didn’t tell you this instead because the frown on your face has been more frequent as the days of this unsolved case pass.

---

JJ invites you to a pub near the hotel. The BAU and New Orleans PD just caught the serial killer this morning and somehow, everything feels right again in the city. You happily accept her invitation and put on your coat, walking past the rooms of your colleagues who must already be asleep.

JJ links your arms together the whole time of the walk to the pub. The only time she lets go of you was when you saw a familiar face waiting for her at the counter.

Will.

JJ kisses him on the cheek and he holds her wrist when she places a hand on his chest.

You want to vomit. Must be the acid. But you haven’t had drinks yet?

You go back to your hotel alone that night. JJ and Will dropped you off at the lobby, claiming they will just take a walk around and he promises to bring her back early tomorrow for your flight.

So now, you’re in the hotel lobby watching people pass by.

“Y/N?” Emily calls you. She’s still wearing her clothes from this morning and from the looks of it, she hasn’t slept yet either. Emily sits next to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Just … thinking.” Emily glances at the way you’re clicking your thumb and middle finger. “I’m okay. I just can’t sleep yet.”

“Does JJ know you’re here?”

“She’s with Will.” You respond impassively.

Ah.

Now, Emily knows why you’re here.

“Do you play scrabble?” Emily asks.

“Yeah.”

“I have one in my room.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

It’s the first time today that Emily saw you smile without restraint.

---

“So, where are you staying now?” Spencer asks JJ one afternoon in the bullpen.

“Well, that I’m still trying to figure out.” JJ sighs. “I might stay here for the meantime.”

“Here at the office? How are you going to sleep?”

“You can stay at my place.” You offer out of nowhere causing your friends to look at you. “I mean, if you’d like. I have a spare room.”

JJ’s eyes light up. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’ll help you pack. Whatever you need.”

It happens frequently now - Emily’s heart sinking to her stomach when she thinks about you with someone other than her. She might need to puke later.

Her jaw tightens as she rewrites a finished report. To hell with this paragraph and typo and this ugly font.

---

The plan is for JJ to stay for three months at your place while her apartment is being renovated. You and the team help her move to your spare room.

You prepare dinner for them and your new roommate. Everyone is taking a look around your place and luckily, you cleaned up yesterday so the house isn’t at all a mess.

Emily joins you and JJ in the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“You can set the table.” You suggest.

“Sure.” Emily washes her hands in the sink. “Where are your plates?”

“The plates are on the drawer beside the fridge, spoon and fork on the next drawer to the left, glasses are next to the water dispenser.” JJ replies.

“You already know your way around here.” Emily states the obvious, trying to mask the pang of jealousy.

“I already slept here a couple of times before.” JJ admits and Emily wants to combust.

“I should have already charged her by the hour for rent.” You joke but Emily doesn’t laugh. She proceeds with setting the table instead.

It takes every ounce of self-control Emily has not to break the plates.

---

You and JJ quickly adapt to living with one another (not together, you cautiously remind yourself). JJ wakes up early and makes coffee. She doesn’t make breakfast though. Caffeine is all she needs in the morning. You, on the other hand, like to cook a little something to start your day.

Since JJ stayed in your apartment, the two of you always arrived at the bureau together. It’s no surprise to the team really. But since you and JJ established that routine, Emily hasn’t smiled much at your arrival to the office like she used to do.

You kind of miss it - being welcomed by a warm smile knowing the day you’re all about to have.

---

“Y/N,” You hear JJ’s voice in the dark. “Y/N.”

Your eyes flutter open and see JJ sitting on the edge of your bed. Even in the dim light, the bags under her eyes are noticeable and her cheeks are flushed.

You sit up. “What’s wrong, JJ?”

“Can I … can I stay with you? Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Of course, this would be crossing the very thin line of boundaries you have left with her. If she sleeps beside you, she will be near you and if she’s near you, your thoughts will be filled with more of her and that’s … well, that’s just wrong - harboring thoughts about your friend.

But you are yet to learn to say no to Jennifer Jareau.

So you let her crawl to your bed and slip under the covers. You turn your back on her and face the lamp on the bedside table, praying to a God you don’t believe in to let you sleep without JJ running through your mind.

You wake up to an empty space beside you the next morning.

---

The wall comes crashing down when the thin fine line becomes a teeny tiny dot.

It has become a habit now - JJ crawling to your mattress when she’s sad and scared. You don’t get much sleep from that point forward because you feel her snuggling towards you while she’s asleep and the tiny noises she makes rewires your brain. Only for you to wake up early in the morning with a fixed set of pillows and JJ’s scent on the empty side of the bed where she used to lie.

This leads to you having additional caffeine intake every day.

“That’s your fourth cup today. Are you okay?” Emily asks you in the break room.

You massage the back of your neck. “I’m okay, Em. Just haven’t been sleeping very much lately.”

“JJ snores loud?” Emily jokes but the sharp pain in the pit of her stomach says otherwise.

“She doesn't snore.” You say.

And the pain in Emily’s stomach surges into something else entirely. Because how do you know? You have separate rooms. Your rooms are on the opposite sides of your apartment. You don’t sleep next to each other.

Unless …

“You two sleep together?” The crack in Emily’s voice is enough to make you stifle a giggle.

“Not in that way.”

Emily is tempted to ask in what way do you want to sleep with JJ. She’s also tempted to chug a hot freshly brewed cup of coffee to stop herself from further talking about this. She doesn’t need to know. She doesn’t want to know.

“She and Will are fighting a lot lately. She sleeps next to me when she’s sad, which is every night now I guess.”

Emily’s head is spinning and her ears are ringing and maybe her eyes are bleeding? She’s not sure. But it feels a little bit like that.

You watch Emily gulp her scalding hot coffee then spray it to the nearest sink. You rub her back gently, worried she might have burned her tongue.

---

Your apartment feels empty.

JJ flies back and forth to New Orleans during the weekends and weekends are the only days you can stay at your apartment for longer than a night’s sleep.

It’s too quiet now that JJ isn’t around. Your Law and Order marathon is left on its last episode that you two watched. You have no energy to continue it now.

You lie down on the couch and scroll through your phone. The online scrabble app that Emily installed catches your eye and you open it. Emily is online and you invite her to play. It lasted for almost a whole day before Emily calls you up and invites you to dinner at her place.

You accept.

You show up to Emily’s door 30 minutes later, bringing your promised take-out foods. Emily welcomes you into her home. A black cat purrs on your leg.

“Hi, buddy!” You excitedly pet the cat’s head. “Who are you?”

“That’s Sergio. He’s the boss around here.” Emily chuckles.

“Emily Prentiss, how come I didn’t know you’re a cat person?”

She smirks. “I’ll tell Hotch you need to be re-evaluated.”

You roll your eyes. You pick Sergio up and he doesn’t fight. He settles on your shoulder and purrs. “He’s so cute!”

“And expensive to have around.”

“I want a cat.” You blurt out. “I realize I want a cat.”

“You sure? You can’t take him though.” You and Emily share a laugh.

“Not this guy.” You squeeze-hug Sergio and he meows. “He will miss you.”

“Your apartment getting lonely?” Emily senses.

You nod. “JJ hasn’t been around much. I know she’s not going to be around forever, too.” You swallow, glancing to the floor where Sergio just jumped. “She and Will are working things out, I think. She’s flying out to New Orleans every other weekend.”

“JJ must like him a lot then.” Emily watches your lips purse.

“JJ loves him.” You correct her. And in a way, remind yourself of the fact.

Emily’s eyes dart towards your fingers involuntarily clicking. She observes you a lot of times and she knows your little tics by now.

“Let’s eat, Y/N.” Emily ushers you to her living room where the food is already prepared and the TV is already being set up. “What do you want to watch?”

“I want some light comedy if you don’t mind.”

“Modern Family?”

“How do you know?”

Emily recalls the Claire Dunphy Defense Squad button pin on your shoulder bag when you first attend the team gathering at Rossi’s. “Lucky guess.”

It’s halfway through the sitcom’s season when you fall asleep. Emily gazes at your head bobbing up and down as you try to keep yourself awake and failing. She gently cups your cheek and rests your head on her shoulder. Emily thinks you’re waking up when your body moves but you just shift in a more comfortable position which ends up lying your head on her lap and hogging the blanket you’re supposed to share.

Emily lovingly gazes at you, fixing your hair that falls out of place as you sleep.

Emily wishes this moment will stay forever.

You. Her.

Emily never felt more at peace.

---

“I have news.” JJ announces one morning in the kitchen. You are cooking breakfast for yourself and she’s brewing coffee for both of you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good or bad?”

“I’m not really sure.”

You scrunch your nose. “I’m not a fan of news like that.”

JJ beams. “I’m pregnant!”

And your world stops.

Gravity is pulling you to the ground. Your feet feel heavy.

You almost burn the egg.

“Y/N?”

A tear falls on the pan. Additional salt, I guess.

You turn off the stove and approach JJ with open arms. “I’m so happy for you.” You hug her tightly. “This is good, JJ.”

“It is.” She hugs you back. You don’t let her go for a while until you can control your tears from dropping. “Thank you.”

You blink rapidly, pursed your lips then smile widely. “Congratulations, Jennifer.”

“I have to tell the team.”

“Of course.”

JJ looks so happy and she’s in a glow you have never seen before. You wonder if it’s the pregnancy or the fact that she’s in love.

Regardless, you’re happy she’s happy.

Even if the weird tightening in your chest says otherwise.

---

JJ announces her pregnancy to the BAU 3 days after she told you. Everyone is excited and happy for her. Hugs are happening left and right from the team.

But Emily is looking at you.

And from the corner of your eye, you see her too.

Suddenly, air is not enough. You excuse yourself from the celebration for a minute. You’re suffocating and you need to breathe.

“I knew you’d be here.” Emily’s voice startles you.

You’re sitting in a block on the rooftop. You don’t respond to her and instead, you light a cigarette from your pocket.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

You frown. “Just when I feel like it.”

“You can talk to me, Y/N.”

“She told me 3 days ago, if you’re wondering why I wasn’t surprised.”

“How do you feel?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

“Because …” Emily pauses. Overwhelming number of scenarios running through her head in a second. “Because you’re my friend.”

You blow smoke into the wind. Emily smells it.

“That’s what I seem to be to everyone. Just a friend.” You say bitterly. “I mean, I’m not really surprised. I’m basically disposable.”

Emily wants to storm to JJ’s office and she doesn’t care what the hell she’s doing in there, she wants to slap JJ hard; put all the pain you’re going through - because of her - in one hard strike. Sure, JJ is still one of her closest friends and she loves her to death but God -

It’s unfair.

Emily loves you.

If you were ever caught in a crossfire, Emily would come running to protect you in a heartbeat, no questions asked and all orders and protocols be damned. She will gladly take all the bullets for you until she loses her own heartbeat.

Emily loves you.

If anyone ever spoke of you wrong, Emily will be there to defend you with all her might. She will flip tables and look them in the eye and tell them how you're the kindest, most genuine, charming person she’s ever met and they’re lucky to even breathe the same air that you breathe.

Emily loves you.

If you were crying and out of breath, she would drop everything and give you the air she breathes if it means you will be okay.

It’s unfair, Emily thought.

Emily loves you and you’re in love with JJ.

And to make it even more complicated: JJ loves Will but she lives in your bed some nights and leaves you the next morning.

Emily loves you.

And not just as a friend. Because friends don’t treat friends this way.

Emily wants to tell you how she desperately wants to hold your hand especially when it’s cold so she could warm them up, to kiss your lips every time you bite them and every time you don’t, to hold you close when you need to be held, to arrange your hair when it’s turned into a mess.

But the anger and dejection bubbling in her chest take over instead when she hears how you describe yourself.

“How dare you.” Emily speaks in a monotone voice.

“What?” Your head turns to her, confused.

“How dare you call yourself disposable when all I ever wanted was you!” You are both caught off guard by her sudden outburst. All caution is gone now and Emily takes a deep breath in before continuing in a calmer but more desperate tone, “I see you, Y/N. I see you.”

“Em …”

“I see your fingers click when you’re uncomfortable. I see you watch sitcoms on your phone during breaks and once while Hotch was giving the team another talk. I see you care for others. You gave Garcia a unicorn mug just because it reminded you of her. You bring Morgan homemade lasagna when he told us he misses his mother’s cooking. You bought Reid the book he couldn’t find at the bookstore. You drink Rossi’s wine even when you hate it so he wouldn’t feel bad for offering. You fix Hotch’s ties when it’s messed up. For fuck’s sake, you always give me the last piece of pizza every damn time even when you’re still hungry! I see you talk to the victims’ families with so much love, care, and regret that you couldn’t prevent the crimes. I see your nose scrunch when you smell Morgan’s overwhelming perfume in the car. I see you grinding your teeth when you’re in deep thought.” Emily sighs, running out of breath. “The point is: I see you, Y/N.”

“Em …”

“It’s not your fault you don’t see me that way.” Emily walks out and closes the door behind her.

You hear the strain in her voice over and over in your head and it almost makes you want to jump over the ledge.

---

The past few days have been awkward to say the least.

Emily is clearly avoiding you. She gets coffee a little later than she used to just so you won’t meet at the break room. She sits far away from you during the briefings. When you were lying on the couch in the jet, she moved to the other end so you would be out of her sight. She doesn’t look you in the eye when you have to talk about the cases.

And truthfully, it hurts.

---

You walk into the bullpen and slouch in your chair. Spencer greets you and tells you about the book he’s reading and a fun fact about its author. You smile in acknowledgement but don’t say anything else.

Your eyes scan the room to look for the woman who sits on the desk in front of you.

“Emily’s in Boston for a conference.” Morgan says when he notices your eyes wandering the bullpen. “She might be gone for a few days.”

“Okay.” You lean back on your chair and open the reports you've been working on since yesterday.

It’s quiet, you realize, when Emily’s not around.

She’s the only one who frequently talks to you even when you’re both busy. She brings you coffee twice a day - one in the morning and one before going home - and she knows just how you like it with two teaspoons of sugar and three teaspoons of cream, not milk. She sends you online game invitations through your personal email so you can play them on your computers when Hotch isn’t looking. She sends you playlists based on your mood after each case.

You let out a deep sigh you have been holding back.

It’s awfully quiet when Emily is not around.

---

JJ moves out of your apartment. Derek and Spencer help her and Will with moving and driving to their new place. Will has relocated to be with JJ. Even from afar, you can sense that they’re happy about starting their family and being with each other.

You are happy for her. JJ deserves the whole world and Will gave it to her.

When they leave, you don’t waste time sitting around. You change your bedsheets and pillowcases and throw them in the washer. You vacuum the bedroom, then the living room and the room JJ stayed in. You wash all the dishes and rearrange everything in the drawers and cabinets. You throw all the leftover food from the fridge. You deep cleaned your entire home.

And it feels good.

You feel an overwhelming liberty when you finally sink in your bed, hugging your pillow, and it no longer smells like JJ.

---

Emily comes back from Boston a week later. It felt like months for you though.

You spot her sitting on Spencer’s desk beside Derek. She’s giving out souvenirs she got from her trip and they laugh about something Spencer said.

As you come near to your desk, Emily hasn’t glanced at you, not even once.

You settle down on your chair and it’s Derek who spins your chair around to face them.

“Emily’s got something for you.” He passes you a couple of button pins and a dark green mug with BOSTON printed on it.

“Thanks.” You say.

“Tell her, not me.” He stands up and squeezes Spencer’s shoulders. “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

“Where?” Although confused, Spencer still follows him.

That leaves you and Emily just a desk away from each other.

“How’s Boston?” You finally ask. You couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Uh, the conference?”

“Boston was humid. The conference was boring.” Emily answers. You see her pick her nails and your hand hovers her hand. She instantly stops. “You’ve been busy?”

You shake your head. “It’s honestly refreshing to not have a case for a while. It’s better than finding dead bodies for breakfast.”

“It is.” Emily agrees.

Then, it gets quiet again. Emily is refusing to look you in the eye while you are hopelessly trying to get her to.

You can’t do this anymore.

You can’t stand having Emily so close and tiptoeing around the thing you need to talk to her about.

“I bought scrabble.” You blurt out. You don’t know why you said that.

Emily raises an eyebrow. “You bought scrabble?”

“Y - yeah. I did.”

“Okay …”

“Do you want to play?” Emily stares at you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just … I’m inviting you. If you’re not busy and have nothing to do, that is. I - I -”

“Y/N, breathe.” Emily chuckles. “Are you inviting me over?”

You exhale loudly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” You puff out your chest to gain some resolve. “Do you want to come over tonight? Uh, 8pm?”

You finally meet her eye to eye. Dark brown orbs meeting yours. You’re instantly weak at how soft and gentle she’s looking at you.

“I’d love that.” Emily replies.

---

You leave work earlier than you’re supposed to. You tell Hotch about needing it for personal time. He didn’t pry and let you go, only reminding you that you need to be early tomorrow.

“You going home?” Derek asks when he bumps into you at the elevator.

“Yes, I might have a date.”

“Might?”

“I’m really not sure what it is. I’ll find out. Gotta go!” You press the elevator button to the basement, walking back and forth inside the elevator.

You haven’t thought this all the way through. What the hell were you thinking asking Emily Prentiss over to your apartment? Your fridge is literally empty aside from your stash of electrolyte drinks.

Then, it clicks. You can think when you shop for food. You need to buy groceries.

---

You end up buying a lot more than you can carry.

When you got everything sorted out, you open your ipad to search for recipes. You’re not entirely sure what Emily would enjoy and frankly, you’re just winging it, hoping that whatever you might end up cooking would be good enough for her.

You lay out the scrabble board on the center table in the living room. You also prepared nachos and homemade salsa dip and laid it next to the board game.

When the doorbell rings, you make a startled jump. You peek at the peephole and see Emily standing outside, hands in the pockets of her coat.

“Hi,” you say as soon as you open the door. “Come in.”

“You have -” Emily brushes her thumb against your cheek to wipe the sauce off your face. She licks her thumb. “Salsa dip?”

“Guilty. Let me get changed. I just finished cooking.”

“Okay.” Emily’s eyes follow you to your room. She laughs lightly when she hears you curse because your foot caught a shoe and stumbled.

---

You and Emily sit across from each other at the dining table.

“This looks delicious, Y/N.”

“Let’s only hope it tastes as delicious as it looks.”

Emily hums in approval upon tasting the shrimp pasta you made. “Are you sure you’re not a chef?” She teases.

“You have homemaderecipes.com to thank for that.” You giggle.

The dinner went better than you could imagine. Emily complimented the dishes you made, hinting that you’re trying to make her gain weight with how many dishes you made just for tonight. In your defense, you like being prepared and having options in case she has food allergies.

Emily insists on helping you with the dishes and putting the leftovers on tupperwares. You tell her she’s a guest and she didn’t have to. But you know better than to argue with her.

“Did you rearrange your kitchen?” Emily asks after opening every drawer and cabinet trying to figure out where everything goes.

“I did. When JJ moved out.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. She places the last fork on the drawer.

“I cleaned up everything after she left.” You continue. You’re waiting for Emily’s response but it doesn’t come. “I changed the sheets and vacuumed.”

Emily is leaning against the countertop, holding the glass of soda she has yet to drink.

“There’s no trace of her left here.” You say confidently.

“Y/N,” Emily murmurs. “I don’t want to be your rebound.”

Your head snaps fast and you stare at her with terrified eyes. “No, Emily, no.” You move closer to her, just enough to not invade her personal space. “It’s not what I want.”

“Good because neither do I.”

“When JJ left, I cleaned the entire house. I rearranged everything, I’m not even sure where everything goes exactly right now.” Emily listens to you intently. “And I didn’t feel sad when there were no traces of her left behind.”

Emily looks at you with a much softer, more hopeful expression on her face. She hopes that you won’t crush the tiny little hope that she’s holding on to.

“I just felt … free.” You continue. “And when I saw them walking to their car, Will had his hand on her belly and I felt genuinely happy for them.” You start to pace back and forth at the kitchen aisle. “But then, this past week without you, I realized that it’s quiet.”

“Quiet?”

“It was too quiet that I could hear myself and Spencer next to me thinking. And you know how he thinks a lot.” You continue your pace, hands flailing uncontrollably at times. “Then I kept seeing the empty space in your desk.”

“Y/N, you make it sound like I left you.” Emily lets out a scoff.

“I mean, I can’t blame you if you did but the thing is: I see it now.”

“See what?”

“You.”

You stop.

Emily stares.

There’s a long pause and though it may be silent, it isn’t awkward at all. Something shifted in the air, you could feel it.

You speak again, “I see your smile light up the room when I come in to work. You didn’t do it as much when I started arriving with JJ. I didn’t tell you how much I missed it. You have always been so welcoming of me, making sure I’m comfortable. You always ask for my insights when I wasn’t confident to share them with the rest of the team. You always make sure I have water and candies in the backseat when we’re investigating. You saved me that one time a police officer tried to hit on me. You leave aspirin on my table when you see me rubbing my head when I get migraines. You know the little things that mean so much to me.” You sigh, shoulders falling. “I see it now, Emily.”

Emily wipes the tear that fell to her cheek.

You take Emily’s hands and grip them, making sure she feels the intensity of sincerity radiating in your body. “And, I think, by now, it’s a reflex that I’d go looking for you in a room full of people.” You tell her. “I’m sorry it had to take not seeing you to actually see you.”

Emily pulls you into a hug. She wraps her arms around your neck and you hear her sobs. You tighten your arm around her waist, giving everything you had to that hug.

Because this, right here, is an entire universe you’re holding.

You stay like that for what felt like an eternity.

Emily is the first one to pull away. She places a hand on your cheek, caressing your face. “We’re going to do this right.”

“We’ll take it slow.” You agree. “We’ll go on dates.”

She nods. “That we will do, Y/N.”

---

It took a month for you and Emily to memorize where things are in your kitchen. Not only that but she has made herself comfortable knowing where everything is in your apartment.

You learn about hers as well.

She has invited you to her place more than a few times over. Her air freshener smells like lavender. Her lamp lights are always cool and never warm, she says it hurts her eyes. Her bathroom reeks of luxurious bath bombs especially during the weekend. She likes having dark curtains in her bedroom and light ones in the living room.

Emily adores Sergio. She has a whole list of reminders about him - his feeding time, vaccination dates, neuter date, etc. - stuck on the refrigerator door.

Emily also doesn’t have framed pictures of anyone at her place but as of two days ago, she has one on her bedside table - a photograph of you and her sharing ice cream from one of your dates.

---

It takes another month when you tackle Emily, your hands protecting her head before you both fall to the ground. The UnSub was taking a shot at her but you got her just in time. You watch Derek and Hotch go after the UnSub, leaving you and Emily on the muddy ground.

“Em, are you okay?” You muffle under your breath.

“I’m good, I’m good.” Emily sits up and checks on you. Her face instantly turns pale when she sees blood flowing on your left arm. “Y/N, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s not that deep.” Emily takes off her FBI vest then her coat. She uses it to put pressure into your wound to stop the bleeding. Curses of different languages leave your lips.

Emily calls an ambulance. She doesn't leave your side on the whole way to the hospital. She waits as the doctor and nurses finish patching you up.

“How’s Y/N?” Hotch asks Emily when he arrives at the hospital with the rest of the team.

“I’m still waiting for an update. She’s still in the ER. Probably getting some stitches.” Emily says, biting a nail.

Spencer puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder to calm her down.

---

The doctor says recovery will take at least two weeks. You wear an arm sling and are stuck at a desk job for the meantime. You don’t hate it. And even if you weren’t a tech genius like Penelope, she is fun and entertaining to be around during case consultations.

But every time the team leaves, your heart sinks knowing Emily might fall into another danger. You worry about all of them, of course, but Emily …

It’s five months later that you’re in the unit chief’s office talking about your budding relationship with a coworker.

Emily has your heart and you will wreak havoc if something happens to her. You wish the universe won’t test you.

---

Emily is sitting on the opposite chair. Hotch is behind his desk.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Hotch tells the both of you. “I’ll have HR send me the files that you need to sign. It won’t be complicated.”

“Are you sure none of us needs to be transferred?” You ask him again, scared that the answer might change.

“I’ll make sure of it. You’re both an asset to this unit and it would be a damn shame if we lose either one of you.”

You and Emily can finally breathe.

“Thank you, sir.” Emily says.

“Thank you. I promise this won’t affect anything, especially work.” You tell your boss.

Hotch nods. “It hasn’t, so far, and we’ve known for months.”

You choke on air upon seeing Hotch’s smug smile.

“You’d literally take a bullet for her, Y/N.”

“Which I told her was stupid and reckless.” Emily adds.

Maybe you and Emily aren’t so subtle after all.

---

It’s a year later when you and Emily are throwing a housewarming party. The team arrives one by one. Spencer brings you an espresso machine. Derek hands Emily a toolkit in all pink; he gets a jab on the shoulder from Emily. You happily accept Penelope’s cheese board set. Hotch sets up the money tree he bought by the door. Rossi brings white and red wine for dinner. Will, JJ and little Henry arrive last. Will is carrying their son on his arm while JJ brings out their gifts.

“I come bearing gifts,” JJ announces.

She bought a lot of healthy and unhealthy snacks for you and Emily but the personalized cushion for Sergio with I Love My Moms embroidered in it is your favorite. You excitedly show it to your cat and he immediately lies on it.

“It’s Sergio approved!” You squeal.

JJ takes a picture of Sergio enjoying her gift.

“Hi, little buddy!” Emily takes Henry to her arms, cooing the little boy. “God, you’re heavy.”

“You’re a big boy now, aren’t you, Henry?” You slightly pinch his cheeks. “What are you feeding this kid? He grows up so fast.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me I will cry.” JJ chuckles.

Everyone gathers on the table. You and Emily have one rule during the dinner though: No Work Talk.

Rossi compliments your pasta and you thank him. Emily opens the red wine that Rossi brought tonight.

The rest of the night goes better than expected. You have no idea why you and Emily were ever nervous about hosting.

When everybody left and everything was cleaned up, you and Emily found yourselves cuddling in your bed.

Yours and Emily’s bed.

“I love you,” you whisper against her chest. Your fingers are fidgeting on the button of her pajama shirt.

Emily’s eyes widened. Everything stops and her heart feels like it’s going a hundred miles per hour.

“I know this is the first time I said it,” you say, hearing how fast her heartbeat is going against your ear. “But I have felt it for a long time now.”

Emily pulls you closer to her, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “I love you too.”

Whatever the future holds, you’ll be fine as long as she’s in it. Everything finally feels good and right in the world.

Because Emily Prentiss loves you.

And you love her.

#jaye writes #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss angst #jennifer jareau x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jemily #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x y/n

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ecoamerica · 24 days

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youtube

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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Would you be willing to do fem whimsical!reader x lily where reader thinks something is haunted and maybe tries to befriend the ghost? Idk id really be happy with anything i just love lily. thank you if you do write it!! If not that’s okay I hope you have a wonderful day!!

Thanks lovely, hope you have a wonderful day as well <3

Lily Evans x whimsical!reader ♡ 916 words

You recognize the sound of Lily’s footfalls thumping dully on the dusty floors, so you don’t jump when a figure sits down beside you.

“Did you buy whiskey?” she asks. “You don’t even like whiskey.”

“It’s not for me.”

Your girlfriend hums, shuffling closer so her thigh is pressed against your knee where you have your legs crossed underneath you on the floor. In front of you is your candle, the flame flickering steadily, and your offering of the bottle of whiskey. Otherwise, the room is empty. “If you keep coming in here, eventually Michael’s going to figure it out and he’ll get a real lock put on the door.”

Michael is your landlord, of whom Lily is constantly wary because his first course of action is always threatening to kick tenants out (though as far as you know, he’s never actually done it).

“True,” you reply, “but don’t you think he’d appreciate it if I got the presence up here to quiet down? No one’s going to move in if it keeps making so much ruckus.”

Shortly after the last tenants had moved out, you’d started hearing noises in the unit above yours. Sometimes it’s a light clicking, sometimes a louder thump like something’s fallen, but every time you’ve come up here to check there’s been no evidence of things having moved around. The natural conclusion is that there’s been some disturbance in the spirit world that’s resulted in a new presence squatting here, and you like to make friends with your neighbors.

You know Lily’s a bit dubious of your theory, but your beliefs often differ from hers. She’s never made you feel like yours are any less valid.

“Are you sure that making friends with the ghost won’t make it more inclined to make more noise?” she asks.

“Mm, maybe,” you muse, “but I’d like to think that if they like me well enough, they’ll listen if I ask them to keep it down. At least at night, you know?”

Lily smiles, and the room warms in response. “Worth a try,” she agrees. “How long do you think you’re going to be tied up for? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Not much longer. As soon as the candle burns out I just have to look at the shapes in the wax, and then I can go.”

“We’re going to have to clean up the wax stains before Michael discovers them too.” She leans over to kiss the side of your head, the soft curtain of her hair falling across your cheek, before sitting back on her heels and straightening up. “Alright, love, come down when you’re done.”

You hum in response, listening to the comforting cadence of her footsteps as they leave. But then there’s another sound with them. A quiet clicking.

You inhale softly as the flame of your candle flares slightly. “It’s here,” you breathe. “It’s listening.” Lily pauses in the doorway, and you clear your throat, trying to affect your voice to be calm and welcoming. “Hello? Can you communicate with us?”

The clicking continues. You think—hope, maybe—that it might be growing louder, but it’s difficult to say.

“Hello?” you try again. “We’re friendly, please don’t be afraid.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure…” Lily takes a few steps toward you, a bemused furrow between her brows. “It sounds like it’s coming from in there.”

She starts down the hall, and you follow hastily. She stops in front of a closed bedroom door, reaching behind her to grasp your arm cautiously. The clicking does sound louder here. Lily edges the door open quietly, peering inside.

“Oh.” The syllable stretches as if drawn out from between her lips, sweet as spun sugar. “Hello, darling.”

She lets the door fall the rest of the way open, dropping into a crouch. Over her, you can see the empty, dusty room, rich light from the setting sun streaming through the windows, and a small white kitten frozen warily in the middle of the floor.

Lily reaches out a hand, making quiet little tsking noises with her tongue, but you step right over her and gather the kitten in your arms.

“Hi there,” you say. “Is it you making ruckus every night?”

Lily laughs, rising from her crouch to come stand by your shoulder. “It’s so unfair how they always come to you,” she complains fondly. “I try so hard.”

You hum noncommittally. It’s true, animals love you. You scratch the side of the kitten’s face, smiling when it purrs.

Your girlfriend smiles too. “So you’re our ghost, hm?” she coos, stroking a knuckle down its belly. “Sorry you didn’t get your chance to make friends with someone from the afterlife, sweetheart.”

“That’s alright,” you say. “This may be more rewarding anyway. You can’t pet ghosts.”

Lily laughs, dropping a kiss on your shoulder. “No, I don’t suppose you can. Do you want to keep her?”

You look at her in surprise. “Could we? Michael wouldn’t be happy.”

She shrugs a shoulder, green eyes flashing with challenge. “There are some things worth incurring Michael’s wrath, I think.”

You beam, looking down at the nearly sleeping kitten cradled in your arm. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Lily gives you a nudge, starting back out into the hall. “Our dinner’s going to burn, and I think we have tuna in the pantry to hold this one over until we can get to the store.”

“Can we name her Ghost?” you ask, following her out.

“Oh, I don’t think we have a choice.”

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strawbeerossi · 1 year

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A Secret Girlfriend. (Spencer’s Version)

Idk this was a cute thing I thought of while listening to Enchanted while getting ready for bed.

My writing is so rusty but I hope y’all enjoy it. Maybe this’ll inspire me to write more, we shall see.

Word count: 1.1K

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“Spencer. You need to listen to the whole discography to appreciate her in all her glory.” Y/N said, looking to her boyfriend as he was raising an eyebrow and looking over all the Taylor Swift songs in a playlist that his loving girlfriend put together. “Do I? I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t respect her talent because I do, it just doesn’t seem like my thing. Scratch that, it isn’t my thing.” The male crinkled his nose, a smile on his face. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t listen, mainly because he was always happy to do whatever made Y/N happy.

“Try before you deny, Reid.” Y/N huffed while letting her arms cross over her chest, a smile still gracing her features, knowing it wouldn’t take much convincing at all. “I really think you’ll like her music. It’s comforting in a way, plus she is truly one of the most sweetest people ever. She’s got a beautiful voice too.”

The thing was, Y/N was right. Spencer did like her music because of the comfort associated with it. However, the comfort wasn’t because of the melodies, the beautifully crafted bridges, or even the impeccable vocals. It was because this music reminded him of his girlfriend. The way that she’d be screaming ‘Enchanted’ while taking a shower or how she’d make him dance with her to ‘Lover’ in their shared kitchen.

That comfort was something Spencer took with him everywhere, even to the point where he’d have one earbud in while listening to one of the random albums he’d decided on. Which of course, Y/N made sure to make him have all of the ‘Taylor’s Version’ of the albums that were out already, the woman playfully threatening to beat him with her shoe if she seen anything different.

It was currently a Friday at the office, a quiet day where they were mostly getting caught up with desk work and written evaluations. Spencer had his earbud in, the album of choice today being ‘Speak Now’, mainly in anticipation for the long awaited ‘Taylor’s Version’ that Y/N was over the moon about, it being her favorite album out of all the others. He wasn’t even paying attention, being so used to being at home and having some awful duets with Taylor, unable to stop his mouth from singing along to ‘Mine’. The song had caught a few glances, however Penelope was the one who actually coined on what he was singing.

The rest of the day, there was a little bit of light gossip between the rest of the team, mostly because none of that were really expecting Spencer to be singing any of the songs that blondie had. Which there was already a theory; Spencer had a girlfriend who they hadn’t met yet. Penelope was fully convinced of it. Someone was introducing this music to Spencer because he wouldn’t just willingly listen to something he wouldn’t normally indulge in.

Little did they know, that theory would be proved right a couple weeks later.

The highly anticipated Eras tour was something that everyone had to fight in the trenches for, Y/N being one of the people who spent her whole day in a waiting room, getting the best tickets she could get her hands on. There was a reason why she needed Spencer to listen to this music in the first place, the two going together after Y/N surprised him with the tickets, her excitement being too high for Spencer to even think of denying going.

He’d ended up telling Emily that he was going to see his mom, giving him that night without interruption or fear of having to make his girlfriend leave early because he had a case. Now, these rumours reached the unit chief, the woman not saying anything about her suspicions as she allowed Spencer the time off. Although she had a good idea that he’d be spending that time with his little secret girlfriend that he thought he could hide.

What Spencer didn’t anticipate though, was who had the seats right beside himself and Y/N. They’d made it fairly early, mainly because Y/N had floor seats so the two had to get there without the crowding when it came to getting to their seats. Which they’d made it to their spots without a hitch, something she needed to brag about because Spencer had said some sort of statistic of how there was a chance they wouldn’t have had to fight through crowds to sit down anyway.

“Was I right or was I right?” Y/N asked, a cocky smile on her face while she was sitting down with her boyfriend, her hand reaching over to hold his as she was bouncing with excitement. “I’m so glad you came with me tonight. I mean it. I was so worried I’d have to come alone or sell the other ticket. You’re the best.” She sighed in content while leaning over to kiss her boyfriend’s cheek.

Spencer was opening his mouth to speak before he was frozen in place after hearing two very familiar voices. “Oh come on, Garcia. I agreed to come with you tonight and you’re gonna bully me the whole night?” Luke asked, a laugh leaving his lips as he was trailing after Penelope, the blonde scoffing. “Of course I am. You know that I have been looking forward to this for weeks and with JJ being busy and Spencer being god knows where, you were my very last choice.” She spoke while trying to humble the male, although Luke was rolling his eyes with a smile gracing his features soon after.

Don’t look over. Don’t look over. Don’t—

“I love your dress!” Y/N gushed, leaning over to look over at Penelope, unknowingly calling attention to Spencer even though he was mentally begging for Penelope to not pay much attention to him. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide his girlfriend, far from it.. He just knew how the team was when it came to significant others and their coworker’s relationships. They were too nosy, as good as they meant by it.

“Thank you! Oh my god, your bottoms!” Penelope grinned while looking over at Y/N, although through her peripherals, she seen a very familiar face. Instead of calling attention to him just yet, she was instead keeping light conversation with the woman who was on the other side of her coworker.

It was later in the concert though, Y/N being fully captivated by the show in front of her as she was happily screaming along with lyrics and dancing, one hand in Spencer’s while she was keeping her gaze on the stage. That was when Penelope decided to say something, her elbow nudging Spencer’s side to get his attention before she was smiling from ear to ear up at him. “I knew it. You didn’t just randomly start listening to her!” She yelled over the music, making Spencer blush while laughing. “You picked a good one!” Penelope called soon after, to which Spencer was looking over at his girlfriend who was having the time of her life.

Yeah, yeah he did.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #penelope garcia #taylor swift #fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff

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bartxnhood · 1 year

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another life | c.b

colby brock x fem!ghost!reader

summary: on a certain investigation, colby finds himself oddly intrigued by the mystery surrounding your passing. so, he tries his best to help you move on.

warnings: sadness, angst, murder, bittersweet ending.

a/n: hi loves ! long time no see ! i haven’t been writing like i usually do, to lack of inspiration and motivation. i hope this can make up for it. also my first time writing for colby, so i hope i did okay ! if you’d like to see more let me know !! also this was slightly inspired by corpse bride especially the scene at the end. iykyk. enjoy <3 feedback is appreciated !

requests open

not proofread

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the thought of the idea of something after life always intrigued you. what happened to someone after passing? or did your life begin again after death? but after passing, you were hit with the reality that you’d be bound to the house you died in; and living the same thing almost every single time.

after a couple years the constant investigation it was getting very annoying. at first, you’d interact the best you could but when they’d take it too far and taunt you, you’d slowly begin to stop giving them what they want. they’d always seem to be disappointed and often left not believing. you’ve come to understand the why humans think, trying to prove the existence of the after life. you know if someone truly believed they wouldn’t be so aggressive.

no one had toured the house in what felt like a long time. on one night in particular you heard commotion outside, so, you peeked out the curtains seeing a group of people, around your age. they all took a step back and panned what you had come to recognize as a camera towards the house. your eyes caught a blonde girl as she scanned the windows but her eyes landed on you.

as the sam panned the camera on the victorian era home, amanda noticed you. her eyes locking with yours before you vanished into the blackness behind you. she thought about mentioning your presence but she decided to wait until they were inside.

they were greeted with a guild which you were also familiar with. they had stopped in first two rooms downstairs before coming up to the third floor.

the guide lead them up the spiral staircase into the mist anticipated room of the night. your bedroom.

“now, you may notice the energy shifting in this room, it’s much darker and heavier.” she started “the mystery surrounding y/ns death is still pretty much unsolved” she stood at the foot of your bed. “people suspect she died of a broken heart, but there is also a theory that she was murdered by her sister to get with her fiancé” you stood in the corner behind her, she stepped to the side showing a photograph of the man. sam zoomed in on the photo while the guide continued to give misleading details about your story. “most people don’t believe this story to be true as there is no evidence of a murder happening. so, we may never know.”

amanda pipes up, “is she known to be active?.” the guide shakes her head, “when we first opened for investigations she was our most popular ghost and was the most active one but eventually she just stopped. so, people would often leave disappointed. some people would try to taunt her, but it only made her not want to interact anymore.”

the group nodded. “y/n, if you’re here we want you to know we aren’t here to harm you, we’d love to talk to you more tonight if you’re down.” colby said, looking around the room, hoping you’d be listening. “lets check out the rest of the house shall we?” sam asked and they all nodded.

you watched as the group returned to your bedroom, setting up the camera before going over their last investigation.

“the energy is so different from the rest of the house.” nate started, filing in behind the blonde boy. “i feel just this heaviness on my chest. like i could cry” he added. colby nodded in agreement, “yeah, i feel like that earlier. it’s very overwhelming.”

if you still had a heart you knew it would ache, watching colby, the taller and darker headed man walk around in your bedroom admiring what used to be yours. you watched the man who reminded you of the man who you once loved with all of your heart.

“the guide said everything here is all original to y/n, correct?” sam nodded, reaching into his bag for the two flashlights. “yes, everything here is the same as it was when she was alive.”

your felt especially sad, spectating these people in your area, saying everything they could but you were still stuck in silence.

you knew the blonde girl could see you but it had been so long since someone could see you, you were afraid. ironically. “she’s sad”

amanda stood across from you, “she wants to communicate with us but doesn’t know how. she feels lonely.”

“so these are flashlights, i will sit these on the dresser and basically you can use your energy to turn these on and off for yes and no.”

you moved from your bed to the dresser and tried out the flashlight. it took a few seconds but you eventually got it on, it took more energy than you thought. “she’s here!” nate chirped.

“y/n if this is you can you turn off the flashlight?” sam asked, you began dimming the light and eventually it turned off. “y/n, you’re free to use our energy if it helps you communicate.”

once again, you turn the flashlight on again, but a tad quicker this time. colby grins, “this is crazy. okay, y/n. i’m colby, this sam, nate, and that’s amanda.” he introduced everyone. “we want you to know we don’t want to force you or push you into anything. we just want to know who you were.” the one you came to know as nate said.

“how about we move to the bed?” nate added, for a change of pace.

now colby was lying on what was previously your bed and carefully you laid next to him. “holy shit dude” he looked at nagw. “what?” sam said, who was filming. “swear to god i just felt the side of the bed dip like she is laying next to me” “holy shit, for real?” he asked, couldn’t nodded. “yes.” he then paused, “y/n are you laying next to colby?” the four looked at the flashlights now on the bedside table.

you turned it on. then off

“y/n, would you like to talk to us?”

you turned it back on signaling you wanted to talk more

“okay, we’re going to pull out a spirit box and you can talk through it using the channels.”

“hi” you started the session with. finally feeling relieved being able to finally talk.

nate asked “y/n, are you lonely?”

“yes” “very”

“do you miss interaction?”

“of course.”

“y/n, how do you feel about us being here?” amanda questioned.

“happy.” “comfort”

“do you mean you feel comforted?”

“yes.”

“y/n, did you die from a broken heart?”

it fell silent for a few seconds, you begin reliving that night. “no.” you answered.

“we’re you murdered by your sister?”

“yes.”

sam and nate shared glances them looked back at colby.

“we’re sorry that happened, y/n. you seem like you were very sweet and to be surrounded by all of this sadness is very overwhelming. i cant imagine how you must feel.” amanda could feel the pain radiating from your energy.

“thank you, amanda.” you said, knowing if you could you would be crying.

“are you trapped here?” sam stood up from behind nate.

“i don’t know”

“have you tried leaving?”

“no”

nate hummed, “maybe she feels the need to stay here, like it’s her duty? she doesn’t have anyone waiting for her so maybe she just needs the okay for her to move on” he conspired, the rest hummed in agreement. “that could be a big possibility” colby says.

“yes” you answered from the spirit box, they all shot up to look at each other “yes!” sam repeated your answer throwing his hands onto his head. “wow, that’s a lot” nate added, laughing after.

“amanda and nate, do you guys wanna take the basement? i’ll take the second floor and colby can stay here?” sam suggested and everyone else agreed.

the rest of the group left, leaving you alone with colby and a few pieces of equipment.

“y/n, looks like it’s just us.” he announced, closing he door.

the flashlights were left on the bedsides and he walked over to your bed. “is it okay if it sit on your bed?” you turned on the flashlight closer to him, answering his question. he sat down and laid the spirit box next to him letting it run through channels. you suddenly came through the box “hi. colby.”

“hi, y/n” he smiled, glancing to the camera to make sure it was still recording. “i know you like to touch people, so feel free to touch me or use my energy if you want to talk more. we aren’t here to harm you.”

you smiled, answering. “thank you.” you carefully sat next to him, not wanting to startle him like last time. but, he still noticed. “holy shit. i just felt the bed sink next to me.” he talked to the camera, he took a deep breathe calming himself. “this is insane” he added. there was a few seconds of silence. you took this opportunity to finally to physical interaction. hesitating, you rested your hand on his which was laying on his knee.

colby froze, a huge wave of emotions flooded his mind. his heart began to ache feeling your sadness. his hand was ice cold, “is this you, y/n? are you touching my hand?” for just a moment, if he had closed his eyes and focused enough, he could picture you sitting next to him. though you didn’t answer, you only sat there still holding his hand.

“this is insane guys. i’ve never feel like this before” the camera, which was in his other hand was now panning to his hand. “my hand is freezing. i feel so many emotions right now.” he said, taking in a deep breath. “i’ve never felt like this before” he explained. you admired him, his kind soul, his gentle presence and peace of mind. “thank you, colby” you used the last bit of your energy you had so he could hear your voice.

he shot up from the bed and dropped the camera on the nightstand. “oh my fucking god” he mumbled, now pacing back and forth. “guys i don’t know if the camera caught that but i swear to god i just heard a voice” he ran his hands through his hair, feeling tears welling in his eyes. “holy shit guys.” he walked back and picked up the camera, documenting his tears. “that’s insane.”

you kind of felt bad, not expecting someone to cry so suddenly. “i’m sorry” you spoke from the spirit box. “no, no don’t be sorry. that was amazing. thank you for that y/n.”

the sound of an alarm went off and colby checked his phone which meant the group would return to colby.

colby was still emotional when the rest of the group returned, sam was the first one to see him. “dude? what happened?!” he asked. “you’re never going to believe this sam”. colby started but didn’t tell the story until amanda and nate came back.

colby turned the camera off before rewinding to the part you spoke in and there it was, clear as day. your voice. something you hadn’t heard in many years. “dude!” “bro!” “oh my god!” the othe three exclaimed. “that’s actually insane, colby. no wonder you’re tore up” amanda added.

“i’ve never felt like this before. just the pure wave of hurt, pain, loneliness, and sadness is just overwhelming. i cant even put into words how it made me feel. and after i heard her voice, knowing she is here is just so insane. that was an amazing experience”. sam agreed, keeping focus on colby as he spoke.

colby added “so, thank you, y/n for talking with us and sharing your story. you seem to be a wonderful soul and you deserve so much more than being trapped in this house. i want you to know that it’s okay to move on now, you can be at peace. the world will know your story now.” he wiped his eyes, now coming down from the overwhelming emotions.

you smiled, standing in front of the group. the sudden feeling of warmth and comfort surrounded your spirit. turned you head to look at amanda, “thank you”. you closed your eyes.

“she said thank you.” the blonde said, she also now felt emotional watching you find peace.

closing your eyes you fell your body being surrounded by light, and your soul was now at peace. you were able to move on now, all thanks to colby.

#colby brock #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x reader #colby brock x you #colby brock imagine #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fluff #colby brock angst

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 months

Text

Yandere Coworker (Part6)

Tw: a little sickness, Cyprus patting you on the butt non consensually super short chapter, tw afab reader

like idk guys its so hard for me to brainrot for Cyprus i don't like him and i rarely get asks that would leave long analyses and theories for Yves, so he's not a fun guy to work with

but anyways here u go a more softer side (i guess)

masterlists, part 1, part 7

He grinned. "I knew you'd come around."

Cyprus straightened his posture. He kept your ID away and left the scene.

The day went by smoothly after that.

Two minutes before lunch, you made a beeline to the toilets. You locked yourself in a stall and planned to stay there until that dreadful hour is up. Cyprus obviously can't enter the women's restroom, he would risk his job.

Actually, you hope he did. HR has grounds to fire him, or at least reprimand that man.

Half an hour in, you received a text from Cyprus.

"Wtf is taking you so long"

"you ok?"

You replied, deciding to use a fake stomachache as an excuse.

You thought he gave up and left you alone for now. You nervously kept glancing at the clock in your phone, it ticks by slowly as you worry about what he would do.

As you breathe slowly and jump every time someone opens the door to use the bathroom, you fidgeted with the hem of your blouse nervously. Time ticks by and before you know it, lunch is over for you.

You let out a sigh of relief. Finally, one hour without that fucking creep. You exit your bathroom stall, wash your hands, dry them, and get out of the toilet.

You only had one foot out of the women's restroom before that deep vibrating voice of his reached your ears and made you jolt.

"You okay, babygirl?"

You whisked your head to the side to see him leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed and a look of genuine concern on his handsome face.

You stammered, yes. You would like to get back to work now.

He didn't stop you from scurrying away to your seat. Not like he could do anything now, his lunch is over too. So he has to get back to work or he faces the risk of getting called to HR.

You immersed yourself in work, tapping away and tuning out all surrounding noises. To you, minutes or hours felt the same. You don't know how long you've been working since you got out of the restroom, but you're sure it's been a while. The gears in your head are churning non-stop to try and figure out a plan to get away from Cyprus. Or get him fired so you can work in peace.

"Princess."

You craned your neck up only to be kissed on the forehead. Cyprus set something down on your desk. You turned your focus to the object he placed in front of you.

"For your stomach." It's a steaming hot cup of green tea. He must have prepared it earlier in the kitchen. You picked it up and muttered a thanks to him.

"I don't think you ate anything today. Here." He opened a packet of bland crackers, which you recognized was from the vending machine. Cyprus placed it near you.

You said you appreciate it, but he needs to get back to work before Jane yells at him. He scoffed at the mention of her name.

"She can't do crap to us. If she's giving you a hard time, tell me." He ruffled your hair as he walked back to his cubicle.

You're now genuinely feeling sick in the stomach as Cyprus carries your suitcase for you to his car. Your coworkers said bye to the two of you as they got into their respective vehicles too, but you knew behind those friendly grins was the intent to gossip.

You went to the passenger's side, not realizing that Cyprus was noticing how you were looking a little green in the face.

You buckled your belt up and so did he after shutting the door and igniting the engine.

You flinched when he brought a hand to your face, but he did or said nothing except to touch your cheek with the back of his palm. It then slid down to your neck, and back up to your forehead. You were too tired and frazzled to ask him what he was doing. All you did was to stay still.

He let out a sigh before retracting his digits and placing them firmly on the steering wheel.

Cyprus drove in silence, periodically looking at the rearview and side mirror to check the position of his car relative to the road. You're surprised that he wasn't in a chatty mood today, not interested in teasing you or extracting new information about yourself. He seemed grumpy, but you don't know why, was it because you didn't join him for lunch earlier?

You decided to seal your lips in the end though, savoring this rare instance of silence, and decided to scroll through your phone instead, feeding your brain with social media junk food until it's too sick to take anymore.

Cyprus would spare some quick glances at you periodically, there was a disapproving look on his face when he realized that you have no interest in looking out of the window at all. Just on your phone screen.

He actually... pities you. He thinks you're trapped, you've been in this routine for so long because you were spineless enough to let Jane work you to the bones. The only thing that's remotely fun for you to do, that's within your time and financial budget is to surf the net. Now, you have Cyprus to keep your boss in check, you have him to pay for your exciting adventures together, and to manage your time for you, yet you're still falling into the same rut.

It takes time, as habits are hard to break. Especially bad ones such as your obsessive scrolling and his smoking. It's fine, he is willing to work with you. Cyprus thinks overcoming obstacles like these will strengthen the bond between you and him as a romantic couple.

"We're here." You were snapped out of your trance by his voice. Cyprus killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. You did so too and left the car, but this doesn't seem like his house. No, not at all, he brought you to a block with various businesses still operating past office hours.

You asked where he had brought you to. Cyprus ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him into a shop. The smell of antiseptic stung your nose upon entry and the blindingly bright lights gave away that he brought you to a clinic.

You told him that you're fine. But that made him hush you before talking to the receptionist on your behalf.

Once he's done registering for you, he turns around to look at you.

"Sit, we're gonna need to wait for a while." He leads you to the waiting chairs by the small of your back.

You said that you were fine, it was just a small stomach ache. He rolled his eyes at you and grunted, he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. Cyprus loosened his necktie earlier and unbuttoned the collars, giving everyone a glimpse of his sculpted chest.

Seeing that nothing was getting to him, you pulled out your phone. You failed to notice how he side-eyed you for doing so.

"What do you want for dinner, princess?" He asked, frowning when you're still glued to your phone.

You said anything is fine. Which slightly infuriated him.

You exclaimed an expression of surprise when he snatched it away from your hands. He dangled the device next to his face as he adjusted his glasses.

"Christ, I really need to tape this to my head for you to look at me." He narrowed his eyes at you.

You asked if you could have it back. But all he did was switch it off and shove it into his pocket.

"You're addicted to this crap." He spoke, in a condescending tone and a face that suggests that you did something to offend him.

You said that you can say the same for him and smoking. But you're not controlling him or trying to get him to stop smoking his life away.

"Maybe you should. Because, Hell, I'm not letting you scroll your life away." A teasing smirk reached his face.

You demanded his packet of cigarettes, and to your surprise, he handed it to you without a complaint. You swiped it away and hid it in your pockets too, he didn't say a word or pull a face at you. He simply crossed his arms and resumed resting in his original position.

You were upset, that you have nothing to pacify you at the moment. So you decided to be petty and proceed to break all his cigarettes, reducing them into mere leaves of tobacco and shreds of rolling paper.

He watched you wide-eyed, his mouth opened and shut, as if he was about to say something but decided against it in the end. Cyprus is having a hard time controlling his breathing and the twitches in his eyelids. You just shredded $50 worth of cigarettes.

But... it was fair. He helps you break this addiction towards this bright brick, and you break his addiction to lung cancer. Though, it doesn't hurt any less that a good pack has gone to waste.

You got up and chucked it into the trashcan nearby, marching off to sit far away from Cyprus.

He simply stood up and sat next to you. So you moved. Then he moved. You moved, he moved.

This sequence went on until your name was called by the nurse.

He gently slapped your bum as you walked to the consultation room. You whipped back and flipped him off. Cyprus simply shrugged and grinned at you.

He watched you disappear past the door frame. The nurse closed the door behind you a bit after that.

Cyprus rose from his seat and took long strides to the bin. He looked down uneasily at the desecrated carcinogenic sticks.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and massaging the bridge of his nose.

It's going to be difficult. But he's willing to work with you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #male yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc cyprus #yandere coworker #yandere oc male #male yandere oc #yandere x female reader #tw afab reader #male yandere #yandere boyfriend #cw yandere #tw: yandere

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