#spins combinations of things i like around in my head like two mugs in a microwave

[solvskrift]

and i'm wondering when it will all collapse | 1.5k | loki & thor

whumptober prompt no. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | safety net | “How many fingers am I holding up?” also on ao3!

Thor is waiting for him at the kitchen table.

“Morning, idiot,” Thor salutes him, raising his cup of black coffee.

Valkyrie scoffs from the seat next to him and props her feet up on the table with a loud thunk.

Loki grunts as he settles himself gingerly into a chair. Thor nudges a plate of pastries toward him but Loki ignores it, nausea rolling through his stomach.

“Sleep well?” Thor asks drily.

Loki grunts again and swipes Thor’s coffee. He supposes he must look as terrible as he feels because his brother lets him. He takes a tentative sip, wills it to stay down, and wraps his hands gratefully around the warm mug, letting his eyes fall closed.

“What were you thinking?”

“‘Not much’ is what I’d say, personally,” Valkyrie offers helpfully around a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

“Why are you eternally here instead of your own home?” Loki demands without opening his eyes.

Valkyrie laughs and the volume of it makes Loki want to kick her. “Please. You two are so fun to watch! Plus,” she adds, taking an obnoxious sip of her coffee in demonstration, “you’ve always got the good shit.”

“Charming.”

“Knock it off,” Thor tells them half-heartedly, but they both know he doesn’t mean it. “How are you feeling?”

The dish of pastries bumps insistently against his hand again.

“Fine,” Loki bites out.

“Really. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He cracks an eye open to see Thor flipping him off with a pleasant smile.

“Up yours,” says Loki, and nibbles unhappily at a croissant to head off the very real possibility of Thor shoving one down his throat.

“Nah,” Thor says easily. “Not really my thing. And I’m still waiting.”

Loki opens his eyes all the way just so he can roll them at the ceiling. “Enough, Thor.”

“No,” his brother says flatly, and there’s an edge to it this time that takes the warmth right out of the sun streaming through the kitchen window.

Valkyrie very carefully takes her feet off the table and stands. “Think I’ll go see if Heimdall needs any help with that generator,” she says quietly, and pats Thor’s bicep as she goes as if to say ‘take it easy on him.’

Loki scowls.

When the door closes behind her, Thor starts in earnest.

“Brother – ”

And Loki hates that tone.

He stands abruptly, abandoning the croissant and stolen coffee. “I’ve work to do.”

“We’re not done – ”

Loki allows the front door slamming behind him to be sufficient answer.

-------

He successfully manages to avoid Thor all day through a combination of strict calculation, happy accidents, and what he optimistically attributes to the Norns abstaining from shitting all over him for once.

His luck runs out eventually, as it always does.

It’s easy to spot Thor climbing the hillside out of the corner of his eye, but Loki doesn’t bother to move. His fingers tighten in the grass, gaze glued to the waters of the fjord down below.

Thor plops down next to him with an inelegant ‘oof.’

“You didn’t check in at the healing halls today,” he begins casually.

Loki doesn’t look at him. “I’m not injured.”

“Not injured anymore,” Thor corrects. “And Fulla said the real concern was your lungs, after the burns.”

“You truly need a hobby.”

“I’m serious, Loki.”

Loki lets out a long-suffering sigh and pins Thor with a look. “I assure you, if I begin coughing up any internal organs, you’ll be the first one I inform.”

“This isn’t a joke!”

There is something like fear glinting in Thor’s eye, wild and desperate, and it’s such a naked expression Loki has to look away.

A hum vibrates through the air and brings with it the faint smell of ozone.

They’re both silent for a long moment.

“I know what you are thinking,” Loki murmurs finally. “And I am not trying to die.”

“Aren’t you?”

The words are bitter, and brutal, and they hit Loki like a punch to the gut.

But more than anything there’s anger.

“Perhaps next time you’d prefer it if I let the building burn down while I pour myself some wine and watch?”

“That’s not what I – ”

“If I don’t help, I must not care. If I do, I must be trying to kill myself - make up your mind.” Thor moves at the edge of his vision but before he can say anything, Loki goes on: “What do you want from me, Thor?”

It comes out far closer to a plea than he intended, and Loki shuts his eyes.

“I want you to stay,” Thor tells him, voice wavering. “I want to know you are safe.”

Loki huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

He says nothing, and when Thor speaks again there’s an anger in his voice, too. “Do you truly wish so badly to see Valhalla?”

This startles Loki so much he opens his eyes and looks over at Thor. Now that is funny.

“Frost giants do not go to Valhalla,” Loki says, tone dripping with disdain. “And even if they did, I have not exactly put together a compelling application for it, now have I?”

Thor looks stricken. “You don’t really believe that…” he asks. “Do you?”

He sounds thoroughly wounded, and there is a vicious part of Loki that is glad.

“Stop being a child, Thor. It’s not something either of us can change, and it is not simply what I believe. It is true. You should know - we were both raised with the same stories of the Jotnar…”

Loki digs his fingers viciously into the cool earth.

“We were raised to believe many things,” Thor says quietly. “Many of them have turned out not to be true.”

Loki doesn’t reply, willing the subject to drop.

Thinking of the frost giants too deeply always makes him feel like he’s crawling out of his skin.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Thor demands after a pause.

Loki bristles and allows his next words to sound as dangerous as he feels. “Have you forgotten what I am capable of?”

“No,” Thor counters, “I haven’t. Which is why I’m left wondering why you went inside that building at all.” His gaze is hard, jaw working and shoulders drawn tense.

“I assumed you’d prefer it if the town hall was still part of the town,” Loki deadpans.

“Stop it, brother - you could have put out that fire with a thought! Or else if you were too spent one of the Vala would have aided you. If Heimdall hadn’t seen – ”

“And I’m the one who’s called dramatic – ”

“STOP! Just - stop.”

The smell of ozone sharpens and the hair on the back of Loki’s neck stands on end. There’s an audible crackle in the air. Thor doesn’t rise, but there’s something about it all that makes him appear larger all of a sudden. As forbidding as - or perhaps more than - Odin ever had been.

Loki is reminded all over again why he has always, in one way or another, feared his brother.

It’s only after several heartbeats that Loki realizes his own hands have started to rise in defense, faint trails of green swirling around his fingertips.

Thor sees this and presses his lips together, his good eye widening a fraction before he forces himself to calm. The crackling fades. Loki warily lowers his hands to his knees, eyeing Thor who appears tightly strung as a bow pulled to the end of its limit.

Then Thor goes slack, the fight going out of him, and he slumps forward to drop his head into his hands. He breathes like that for a while, deep and even, while Loki watches and wishes to be anywhere else.

After long minutes in which the only sound is the lapping waters of the fjord, Thor lifts his head to meet Loki’s gaze. His eye is glassy, his voice thick as he pleads, “Tell me how to help you.”

Loki swallows, fighting the numbness creeping up through his fingers and toes. Tries to make his throat work.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits on a whisper.

He has never even been able to understand how to help himself. How to fix whatever it is inside him that twists up and turns inward like a viper striking its own hide and makes it so all he can hear is I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Thor does not look surprised at his answer, but the lines of his face seem to deepen. Cautiously, he reaches for Loki and settles a warm hand at the back of his neck. Squeezes gently.

Loki’s eyes burn. He wants to throw the touch from his skin. He wants Thor to promise never to leave.

“Will you come back to the house with me?”

Loki breathes in through his nose. His feet are cold and half-numb, and he doesn’t think he would mind sitting here forever at the top of a cliff.

“I’ll make dinner,” Thor promises, “and we can have a drink.”

Loki takes another breath.

Slowly, he nods.

“Thank you,” says Thor, the thread of relief unmistakable.

Loki allows his brother to pull him to his feet and they set off together down the sloping grass toward their village.

Loki will walk back home.

He will let Thor make him a meal.

That is all he needs to do for the moment, he assures himself.

For now, this is all he needs to do.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #lyric #safety net #quote #marvel #mcu #loki #thor #fic #references to depression #discussion of suicidal ideation #solv fic

[uncozy-unrose]

Comfortember Day Three : Overthinking

Fandom: Criminal Minds ♡ Main: Emily ♡ Ship: Penemily ♡ Features: Misunderstandings, hot drinks, Emily Prentiss’ smile, losing your mind, losing your voice, but getting the girl

Read on AO3

Patent pink kitten heels scurried down the hall, dodging drops of lukewarm coffee as they fell from a ceramic unicorn mug. 

The tight grip on the handle of that mug was one of Miss Penelope Garcia, the BAU technical analyst, eyes wide with eagerness, as she made her way toward the east entrance elevator. She hastily turned the last corner, dodging two oncoming agents and stealing a look at her watch. 

Three minutes.

Three minutes until the usual time that Emily Prentiss would make her way out of the elevator, where Penelope would “coincidentally” run in to her, starting up a morning conversation. 

Three minutes until Emily made her daily beeline toward the coffee machine, never even stopping at her desk to take off her coat, all while Penelope scurried behind, trying to keep up.

Three minutes until the blonde’s favorite part of the day- her cheeks warming each time Emily made her laugh as they stirred sweetener into their mugs together. 

Penelope usually had a good handle on this routine, but today was a little bit different. She had come in early to take care of a few things, and a combination of early morning grogginess and autopilot caused the technical analyst to make a solo mug of coffee. A mug that would sit there, untouched until the very moment she began her mad dash down the hallway. 

The thing is, if Penelope thought about it, she didn’t even like coffee all that much.

But she did like Emily. 

“Going somewhere, baby girl?”

Derek Morgan, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, stopped Penelope in her shiny pink tracks, just a few feet from the elevator. He stepped back as another wave of liquid poured out of her mug and onto the floor in front of them. 

“Oh, shoot…”

“You alright there?”

Pushing the mug into Dereks hands, Penelope pulled a package of tissues out of her skirt pocket. She bent down in an attempt to clean up her spill, simultaneously trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for her haste. When she thought of something that she might be able to get away with, the blonde popped up back in front of the other agent, curls bouncing around her jawline. 

“Yeah!- Yeah, I was just running to freshen up my coffee before the briefing started.” 

“Um, okay. But I think you can slow down a bit because we have a briefing this morning. I was just sitting with everyone, and I think JJ would have told us.”

Penelope’s eyes somehow widened even further than they already were, her eyebrows lifting over the orange plastic frames of her glasses.

“Oh! Well silly me, then. Bye now!” 

Penelope pushed past the wall of a man standing in front of her, pulling the unicorn mug back into her possession in the process. As she began to stomp away, wave of realization made her halt, spinning back around on her sensible kitten heel.

“Everyone? Whose everyone? Who you were sitting with?”

“Y’know…everyone? In our cubicle at least. Reid, Prentiss. Rossi and JJ even stopped by for a bit because we were all making fun of-“

“Prentiss?”

“Yeah, how did you kn-“

“What? No- shhh… Prentiss is here already?” 

“Yeah… she’s at her desk. I wouldn’t try talking to her though-“

Penelope started down the hall, abruptly ending the conversation. As she shuffled back in the direction of her lair, she turned her head toward the bullpen for confirmation- and quickly finding it. There was Emily, sat in her chair with a closed-mouth smile, seemingly stifling a laugh as Reid prattled on about something. A travel mug sat next to her on the desk and her coat was draped over the back of her chair.

Penelope’s cheeks warmed as they usually did, but this time it was due embarrassment and concern. A thought enveloped her mind- a tidbit from Morgan that she didn’t even know that she had heard over the sound of her shoes. 

I wouldn’t try talking to her though. 

Why wouldn’t Emily want to talk to her? How did she miss her by the elevator this morning? Why did she bring coffee from home?

Was she trying to avoid me?

After making it back to her office, Penelope plopped down in her seat, causing her plastic earrings to clack in her ears. She pulled a pom-pom adorned pen out of her desk and tapped it against her lips in concentration. 

You’re jumping to conclusions, Penny. She’s not mad at you, you’re just overthinking. Maybe the morning didn’t go as planned, but let’s just wait until lunch. We always talk at lunch.

…

They didn’t talk at lunch. 

Penelope chewed ravenously on the apple slices in front of her. The buzz of the dining hall light above her seemed to grow louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. On any other day these seconds were usually filled with very different sounds- mainly Penelope’s workplace gossip followed by Emily’s laughter and a well-timed witty retort. 

Today, though, it looked like the technical analyst was flying solo. That was until a lanky figure topped with a mop of sandy-brown hair slid into the seat across from her. 

“Apples, huh? Did you know that bobbing for apples started as a British courtship ritual?” 

Reid began shuffling his salad around with his fork. He had no intention of putting anything in his mouth before rambling off his daily quota of “fun” facts to Penelope. 

“That’s wild, Reid…”

The blonde sat there, slightly hunched. Her eyes drifted from the boy-genius in front of her to the cafeteria entrance, where maybe- just maybe a turtleneck-wearing brunette would come through the door.

“They did it to try and determine’s ones future mate-“

“Uh-huh…”

“Maybe we should do it at the BAU Thanksgiving dinner. Imagine getting Hotch’s head in a barrel of water? Or Rossi? Although, now that I think about it the idea of that many microorganisms congregating in one place during cold and flu season is somewhat horrifying.”

“Absolutely…”

“Y’know, I’d still bet that Emily would do it after a few glasses of wine.”

“Emily?”

“Oh yeah, you know she’s kind of wild. One time after a case in Nashville-“

“Where is Emily?”

This caused Reid to stop and take a moment to look around the bustling dining hall. 

“Oh- you’re right, she’s usually here before me… Maybe she went out for lunch today?”

“She would have come and told me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. She really wouldn’t tell you much of anything-“

“Why do people keep saying things like that?!”

“Garcia, I think she’s sick-“

“Sick of what? Sick of me?!”

Garcia tossed the half-gnawed apple slice back on the tray. She rose hastily and marched out of the door she was staring only moments ago. 

Continuing her brisk pace toward her office, Penelope snapped her head toward the bullpen. Emily’s jacket was still slung over her chair, her bag propped up against the wall of her cubicle, and her computer was locked, but still on. 

She didn’t leave for lunch… Where was she? Reid confirmed it… she’s avoiding you. She knows…

The technical analyst walked as fast as her shoes could take her. She felt tears stinging in her eyes.

You did too much, Penny. She’s a profiler! Of course she would figure you out.

Garcia hung left down the hall, shoes sticking to the floor where someone must have spilled coffee this morning.

Theres only so much I can blame on being naturally affectionate. She’s grossed out by you, Pen. She’s not even gay!

A few final steps and Penelope would be at her office door. A few final steps and she would be face to face with her cute embellished wall placard. A few final steps and she would run into-

Emily.

Penelope’s vision swam as she slammed on her own personal brakes. 

“Em!”, she squeaked, exceptionally less chill than she would have preferred. 

The brunette, looking sullen coming out of Penelope’s dungeon, suddenly brightened when she saw the other woman. Emily broke into a smile that would have caused those tears in Penelope’s eyes to fall if she hadn’t been blinking them back, furiously. 

Emily’s opened her mouth as if to speak, but then simply bit her bottom lip as she tenderly rested her hand on Penelope’s shoulder. The blonde stiffened. 

This is it.

“Look, I know you’ve been avoiding me today. It’s okay. We can talk about it.”

Penelope looked down, unable to keep eye contact as she said the last few words. Because of this, she didn’t notice Emily’s brows furrow in confusion. She did feel the other woman’s hand slip off of her shoulder, though. But what she heard next, over the sound of her racing heartbeat was not what she was expecting. 

A series of weak but persistent coughs rattled through the tight hallway and Penelope shot her head up, startled by the noise. Emily’s back was now turned, head bowed into her elbow as she coughed into her cream cable-knit sweater. After composing herself, she turned back to the blonde, both of their cheeks a bit rosier than they had been before. 

“Sorry…”, Emily’s voice was hoarse, only slightly above a whisper. 

“Don’t be… Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah… Just-“ Emily fruitlessly tried to clear her throat. She continued, most of the time her voice completely skipping over the vowels, “Do you have any more of those lollipops? I mean cough drops would be great but-“

“Shh, shh… Yes I do, come, in.”

Garcia led Emily into her office, directing her to a chair and placing a bowl of several mismatched hard candies and lollipops on the desk beside her.

“I wasn’t avoiding you”, Emily rasped, her voice slightly better with the addition of the candy. 

“I think I knew that… I didn’t see you this morning, and then when you didn’t come to lunch, I-“

“I’m so sorry, I would have texted you, but this morning was such a mess, I forgot my phone. I woke up late, and I sounded like this and I debated not coming in if we didn’t have a case”, she cleared her throat again, “but I changed my mind about a thousand times before deciding to try make a gross cup of tea honey and shit, and powering through.”

“You? Tea?”

Emily let out a rough chuckle, “I know! I couldn’t force it down my throat at home so I tried bringing it with me. It’s still in the thermos on my desk, I can’t drink it! I actually wound up getting here early, which is why I missed you at the elevator this morning.”

Penelope felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and understanding as she laughed at the story. She watched as Emily unwrapped another candy from her bowl and placing it gently on her tongue before continuing. Penelope swallowed thickly. 

“As for lunch, Hotch basically told me to ‘go the fuck home, and rest’. Not exactly those words, but I could feel it in his stare, y’know? I needed to finish a few reports though, so I figured I’d work through lunch then go home. I must have not realized what time it was when I came to find you and steal your candy. ”

“I’m sorry you’re having an awful day, Em.” Penelope placed a hand on Emily’s knee, disregarding the anxiety from earlier as it threatened to take hold of her again. 

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m sorry I made your day awful too… I mean not that not seeing me would make your day awful, but-“

“It’s okay…” Penelope gently squeezed Emily’s knee. The brunette responded with her infamous smile, her tongue adorably poking out from between her teeth- cherry red from the candy she had in her mouth. 

“If you aren’t completely revolted by the sound of my voice, you can come by my place after work. We can make up for lost time? I missed talking to you today.”

Penelope could feel fireworks going off in her chest as Emily placed her hand over hers and carefully dragged her thumb back and forth. The blonde wordlessly nodded, and the plan was set. 

…

Moments later, when Emily left the office and the door shut with a click, Penelope was again left to her own devices. This meant overthinking the hand-hold, overthinking the invite to the other woman’s apartment, overthinking her ruby-tinted tongue.

Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?

Then, when Penelope got home, and began to get ready to head over to Emily’s, she overthought her outfit, her timing, her bag stocked with lozenges, cough medicine, and soup. 

Was it too much? Am I too much?

It wasn’t until the blonde crossed the threshold into Emily’s apartment, that her head would stop spinning. She felt a welcomed wave of peace when she saw the brunette, clad in a pair of soft sweats and knit cardigan over an old FBI softball tournament t-shirt, hoarsely thanking her for the supplies as they walked inside.

That evening Penelope wouldn’t overthink- not about the closeness of their spots on the couch, or how she played with Emily’s hair as they watched a movie. She didn’t overthink the profuse compliments that the other woman gave her when Penelope finally made her a decent cup of tea. She didn’t over think the brunette’s insistence that she stay over when it got too late or how she felt when she crawled into Emily’s bed. 

There was nothing to overthink about how they ended the night- the cherry-flavored kiss they shared under the covers. Well, other than how they were going to explain to the team where Penelope’s voice went the following morning. 

#comfortember #comfortember 2022 #comfortember2022 #penemily #this one is long #but i love these two dearly

[squidinkedcreative]

I'm a Monster

Dr. Robotnik was fuming, pacing around the kitchen like a mad-man. His face felt hot to the touch and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The man couldn’t believe that the project he was working on had failed so tremendously. He knew he was smarter than this, and he had done harder things than this with better outcomes. 

It felt like his brain was sizzling inside his skull. There was no logical reason for it to have failed, and especially not this epicly. Everything should have run smoothly, but here he was with soot on his new clothes, soot all over his face, and a singed mustache. Ivo’s anger was bubbling within him. If he didn’t figure out an outlet for these feelings in the next few minutes, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He hadn’t felt this angry in… years. Not since the first time he got out-smarted by that blue rodent, and ended up hurting Agent Stone in the process. 

It wasn’t too long after that that Stone had left for ‘new life experiences’, though he would still drop by from time to time. Things were never the same between the two men again. Stone had kept quite some distance between him and his former boss, both emotionally and physically. Robotnik was angry, sure, but he was scared he might end up hurting Onyx the same way he had hurt his last assistant. 

Guilt and fear combined with the rage that was festering deep inside him; a dangerous combination for anyone who dared step foot in the same room as him. The man turned around swiftly, bringing his fists down on the counter that was now in front of him with such force that it startled Onyx, who had been relaxing in another room nearby. Ivo was pouring sweat, muttering swears under his breath as he slammed his fists over and over on the countertop. 

Onyx heard the commotion in the kitchen and began to fill with worry. Their nerves were quickly set off by the littlest of things, as it had served them well in getting to this point, but it didn’t really serve them in the same way. Not with Ivo, though he still triggered the feelings from time to time. 

They rose from their seat at the desk where they were working, intent on figuring out what was going on down the hall. The smooth hardwood floor beneath their feet felt cold, but calming as they walked to the source of the noise. They took a few large steps before pausing and waiting for more noises to gauge what they were walking into. Onyx just wanted to help and make things better for the man who had saved them a year ago. That is all they ever wanted– to be helpful and supportive. 

The commotion from the kitchen where Ivo was had calmed, but it still sounded as though he was raging. Onyx took a few breaths to center themself before entering the far door to the kitchen. The door was heavy and cold beneath their hands. They pressed their weight into it and swung it open. A small squeak sounded from the hinges as the door swung back and forth til it was shut once more. 

“I-Ivo…?” Onyx whimpered, stepping closer to where their partner was seething in a corner. 

They couldn’t deny that they were scared– Onyx had never seen Robotnik this angry before, and didn’t know the cause either, making the situation that much more frightening. Their heart raced as they stepped closer, daring to speak again.

“Honey, are you alri-” They began, but were rudely interrupted by a mug being chucked at their skull.

Eyes wide, mouth agape, they took the brunt of the attack in the face. The glass broke upon impact, leaving Onyx bleeding profusely from the corner of their forehead. Had they… Had Ivo just… hurt them? On purpose? 

‘Oh god, I’m bleeding. My head feels like it’s spinning… Wait– Was I the cause of his anger? Is that why he hurled that mug at me?’ Onyx thought to themself as they reached a hand up to see how bad they were hurt. The area stung with even the slightest of pressure, especially where bits of ceramic had embedded in their skin. Blood spilled down their brow, blurring their vision in one eye. As their hand came back down from where they were hurt, a viscous red liquid dripped to their shirt, then the floor, settling in a small pool below them. 

Fear and adrenaline began to kick in as Onyx looked up, eyes wide and mouth agape, at Ivo. Their breathing picked up, getting faster and faster while tears formed in their eyes. One tear fell, followed by another, and then another. It felt like the room began to spin as their feet carried them quickly out of the room and down the hall. There was no telling what had gotten into Ivo, as this was out of the norm that Onyx had started to adjust to. He had never done something like this before, nor had Onyx heard of this kind of behavior from Stone, either. 

They couldn’t wrap their head around why? Why would Ivo hurt them? What had they done to deserve this? Within seconds of getting into their room, door locked and closed behind them, the dam broke letting the flood of tears and gut wrenching sobs free from where they were being held. Every choked breath lead them deeper and deeper in a downward spiral with only one solution: they had to leave. They had to pack a bag of the bare essentials, steal one of Ivo's cars and leave this place. 

With vision blurred by tears and a head screwed on wrong, they tore apart the room they had learned to love since Ivo saved them from their hellscape of a life before this. All logic had gone out the window once they had closed the door behind them, and the only thing they could think of was the harm they had faced before at the hands of men, how Ivo really wasn’t any better than any of those men, and how foolish Onyx had been to just pick up and leave everything they knew behind for him. 

Furious and terrified, they shoved random items in a backpack pulled from their closet. A handful of underwear, some shirts and pants crumpled in messy balls; toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant. Any time they stood still, the sobs threatened to take over and bring them to their knees. They would shake their head, bringing a tight fist to their forehead before continuing to pack. Soon enough they had a bag full of what felt like everything they could need to start over. 

Onyx slung the backpack over their shoulder and grabbed a pair of sneakers from the rack by the door before slipping out of the room. They tiptoed as quietly as they could down the hallway towards the foyer where the garage door was, but caught wind of crying behind a door they were told was off limits. 

Was… Ivo crying? On the phone? Onyx thought to themself, ‘who the fuck would Ivo be crying to?! Ivo was the one who threw that mug, he shouldn’t be crying like this?’ and stepped closer to the door. They pressed an ear to the wood, silencing the ongoing monologue in their mind to listen.

“...ever since I was young… always felt like a monster…” Onyx could only put together pieces of what Ivo was saying, but it was clear that it was Ivo on the other side of that door. 

They dropped the bag softly to the floor and knelt down, tears continuing to fall as they listened to their partner sob.

Robotnik’s room was bare in comparison to Onyx’s– the walls were a medium gray, with only a few shelves built to house the few book collections he amassed in his time there. He was pacing from one end of the room to the other, headset attached to his ear and tears flowing. Ivo felt his heart aching with every step, with every sob he wanted to just fix everything and make Onyx feel safe again. 

“You don’t get it, Stone… Everyone always called me a monster. Evil, even. Can you imagine how that fucks a child up?!” Ivo wiped his tears to clear his vision, ultimately failing as the tears wouldn’t stop coming. “I learned to embrace it, to become the monster everyone told me I was so that as an adult I wouldn’t have to deal with the insolent, cowardice filled humans who belittled me ever again. I distanced myself so much… maybe too much… that I became who you know today.”

Ivo felt his heart breaking as he spoke; the baggage he carried silently around with him all these years begging to be opened and talked about. “I know… I know we’ll probably never grow old together… but I love them, Stone. And I think it’s the real deal this time. And I have been trying so hard to get a fucking grip on this shit so I can be better for them, but I’m failing them now and it… it fucking hurts.”

Onyx could hear the sobs, along with what Ivo was saying, loud and clear at this point. The fear and anger burning holes inside them had subsided more than enough to understand what had happened.

“I wasn’t even mad at them, Stone. I was mad at myself for royally screwing up this lab experiment but they ended up really hurt… because I couldn’t contain it. And I know that we’re so different– they’re so young and- and traumatized and I’m so old and full of repressed shit that hasn’t seen the light of day since before they were even alive, but for them I would do anything.” He kept having to pause between words to breathe, as the sobs kept getting caught in his chest making it hard to breathe. 

“I’m scared that I’m not good enough… I know we’ve had our differences, Stone, but you still saw enough good in me to be with me as long as you were. And even now, after everything, you’re still here. But Onyx doesn’t share our history. Onyx doesn’t understand anything about me the way you do, but I want them to. I want them to share that and get it and just… exist with me and be imperfect together and I–”

Ivo paused for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm him down. He reached over to the box of tissues on the table near his bed, grabbing a few to blow the mucus out of his nose so he could breathe better. “They’re the pink in my cheeks, and I love that it means I’m a little bit soft. We are just messed up kids, at our cores, but together I know we can make things good, because I love them and I want to put in the work to make sure they know that.”

A brief silence followed before Ivo thanked his former assistant and hung up the phone. He took a few deep breaths, wiping his face with a tissue and blowing his nose once more. The older man stood, grabbing a first aid kit from his bathroom cabinet and heading out his door to find his partner to patch them up and talk things through. 

Onyx heard footsteps approaching the door where they sat crying silently on the other side from their partner’s room. The bag they had packed had fallen behind them, lumpy and over stuffed, laid forgotten as Ivo opened the door. He almost ran into Onyx, but was able to stop himself mid-step as he saw their bright orange hair at knee level. A quizzical look danced across his face, his puffy eyes looking small in the dim lighting.

“H- how much did you hear?” Robotnik asked, his voice small as he spoke.

Onyx jumped up into their partner’s arms, rubbing their snot and tears on his shirt. They babbled on about forgiveness and how they ‘got it’ now, but Ivo stopped them. He pushed them away just enough that he could see that they had been sobbing, as well, and that the wound on their forehead had clotted. 

“Nyxie, come in. Let me clean you up, okay?” Ivo led the way to the bed, where he sat his partner down on his bed to get a better look at the gash. 

The younger of the two sniffled, looking up at the man they loved with a new found understanding of who he was and what he wanted, but most importantly what had happened in the first place. They looked at Ivo as if he was the moon on a clear night– beautiful and complex, making more than just waves in the oceans and light in the dark. 

“I heard… a lot of it, but I’m glad I did.” Onyx smiled softly in between wincing as Ivo worked on cleaning the wound on their forehead. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled to himself a little, trying to keep a steady hand while he removed the few bits of ceramic that had stuck in their flesh. “Why is that? Does it have anything to do with that stuffed backpack lying in the hall?” 

Onyx scoffed, pulling away from Ivo’s gentle hands. “...maybe…”

Ivo gave his love a look, one that read ‘I know what you were going to do’ as he pulled them closer once more to start stitching them up.

The orange haired queer chuckled, then winced as the needle penetrated their flesh. “Yeah… it does… I was, uh, planning to steal a car and run away…”

Robotnik tried to pretend that it didn't hurt, but Onyx could read the pain on his face better than he thought. 

“But then I heard you on the phone, I think? And you were crying and I… yeah…”

“Well… I’m just glad you are still here and we can talk about it instead of things ending then and there.” Ivo managed to say calmly, finishing up the last of the stitches Onyx needed. 

“Me too. But we don’t really need to talk about anything. I understand what happened, now. I’m really sorry you were treated that way as a kid, and I love you too. I want to work together to be better for each other, because you have made me feel more loveable than I have I think ever.” Tears threatened to fall once again, but Onyx pushed them away. “You’ll never grow old to me, Ivo. You’re wonderful and have given me a new lease on life and I just–”

“You’re finished,” Ivo nodded to the stitches, turning around to clean up the medical equipment he had to break out. “And you don’t have to say anymore. We’re on the same page.” With a handful of biohazard waste, he bent over to plant a kiss on Onyx’s head. “What do you say to some dinner and unpacking that poorly-packed get-away bag of yours?”

Onyx nodded, red rising to their cheeks as they stood and took their partner’s hand. “I think that is a great idea, love.”

#ivonyx writings #onyx leashe x dr robotnik #original writing #original character #dr robotnik

[mirkwoodshewolf]

A different kind of education; Doctor Strange x teen reader

*Author’s note*

I would've posted it up earlier but this week we had a bad storm and my power's been out for a few days (fams okay now we kept ourselves warm as best as we could mainly staying in our beds covered up in our hoodies and winter hats).  But now that my power's back on I can finally start posting things up.

Now there's some hints of Shang-Chi and the 10 Rings in this fic (No spoilers don't worry to those that haven't watched it yet) but I wanted to kinda combine those worlds with the reader. Not really any warnings just some father figure Strange, fluff, and minor swearing.

Also this is kinda like what my dad does for me, he's always up for giving me either a movie-cation or musication by letting me listen or watch movies/music I have not seen. Anyways I'll stop rambling and allow you guys to read on :) Until next time.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@psychosupernatural​

@waddles03​

@ixchel-9275​

@queen-paladin​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@austynparksandpizza​

@bisexualdragongirl​​

_______________________________________________________

I was in the training grounds practicing my forms and combinations that Wong had asked me to do before my next test. Using my relic the Fangs of Ta Lo two 10in blades made from the actual fangs of the Guardian of Ta Lo and the handles protected in dragon skin.

Twirling and spinning the daggers skillfully in my hands before doing my kicks and leaps before finishing off with a lunge.  I counted my steps with my breathing before conjuring a shield with the daggers.  The blades glowing a bright orange and yellow light as I traced the shield and pushed it forward before tracing in the air the shape of a dragon which circled around me roaring and flapping it’s great wings.  

I ended my form by bringing my arms inward before extending them back out slowly until they came together at my stomach and I bowed (at the same time the dragon’s upper body stood tall and it’s wings unfurled and extended back out the same time as I moved my arms) before it let out one last roar and then disappeared.

“You never cease to amaze me with your forms and combinations. Even when I was still learning under the previous Sorcerer Supreme.” I grinned and looked up to see Stephen Strange standing along the corridor of the training grounds.

“Magic has been in my family for 3000 years. Even some of my family members live in the realm of Ta Lo guarding it’s sacred lands.”

“Remind me again why you couldn’t have been Sorcerer Supreme while I was away? You could’ve prevented the shared blizzard Wong so wonderfully neglected to close off from Mt. Everest.”

“Because like you and half of the other Sorcerers here, I too was blipped away. I should be 21 years old by now. Do you know how long I have been dying to drink Wong’s secret stash of sake?” Strange chuckled as he walked up to me.

“I think you’ve done enough training for the day. Why not take a break for a bit?”

“Thank you Stephen but unlike you I do not have the privilege to fool around. If I want to finally get up to be the Head Guardian of the Hong Kong Sanctum, I’ve got to continue my training. I would’ve managed it five years ago but well you know what happened.” He nodded.

I’m betting your wondering just how the Sorcerer Supreme Dr. Stephen Strange and I can talk to each other like we’re old friends (even with him being well over my age).  Well it all started back in 2016; when he had came to Kamar-Taj after he had experienced his accident.

He was just about to get mugged for his watch until I stepped in and saved his ass.  When I revealed my face to him he was of course surprised that a kid had to save him but I retorted back to him that it was because of a kid that his white ass got saved.  I took him to Kamar-Taj where he met the Ancient One, the previous Sorceress Supreme.

During his training he did struggle and of course it was all because of his arrogance so after a few sass riff-offs between the two of us, I gained his respect and offered to help him out (and also gain access to the books without Wong ever knowing. Yep I taught him that trick). And through our training, we also opened up to each other about our personal lives.

He told me about his partner? Ex-partner? Christine Palmer and that she was the reason he didn’t want to give up the watch. He shared with me that the real reason he had wanted to become a neurosurgeon is that he had a younger sister who had suffered a stage 3 brain tumor.  She fought for as long as she could and they had even managed to take out most of the tumor but then suddenly it came back with a vengeance and she died three days later.

In return I shared with him a story that only the Ancient One and Wong only knew of me.  In Ta Lo where I was born and raised for a brief moment of my childhood, there was a deadly disease carried by the Malarias (to normal people they would look like mosquitoes if they were 10x bigger. About the size of an English bulldog) that suddenly began to sweep throughout all of Ta Lo.  My parents desperately wanting to save me, sent me through the forests and out into the real world so that I wouldn’t get infected while they fought bravely to keep them from entering this world.

Wandering alone on the streets a lowly orphan, I was found by the Ancient One herself who knew of my birthplace and where I had come from.  Her and Wong both tutored me on the ways of the Mystic arts, both from their perspective and from my own arts that came from my land.  

When I was 10 years old I was given permission to finally return and see what had became of my homeland.  When I arrived and passed the tests in order to gain entrance, I found my grandmother and grandfather who had survived the Malarias invasion, however they told me the sad truth that my parents died defending the exit in which I had escaped.  And the last thing they ever spoke was my name and sending a prayer of protection and guidance to me.

From there my training was split between my homeland and Kamar-Taj until I felt like I was destined to remain by the Ancient Ones side.  For a great evil would soon come to Earth and I felt like I could help stop it (if I could). My grandparents accepted my fate and gave me my relic before bidding me farewell.  Fast forward 2 years later and that’s when I found Strange just shortly after my 14th birthday.

From then on Strange and I developed what you may consider a mentor-mentoree relationship that tips on the scale of being like a father-daughter type relationship.  Don’t get me wrong Strange still has his ego moments that I have to deflate (Wong gets a little wishy-washy when it comes to Strange’s recklessness behavior).  And I’ll admit sometimes I have my moments of pushing myself to the limit and Strange has to step in and sometimes force me to rest.

“Come on, as Sorcerer Supreme I command that you take the rest of the day off.”

“Just because your Sorcerer Supreme does not make you a king.” I sassed at him.  “But if it’ll get you off my back I’ll take a break.” I placed my blades in their sheaths that crossed behind my lower back.

“I was thinking about maybe doing some different kind of training with you.” He offered.

“And just what other kind of training is there?”

“Well I’ve been going through your music playlist.”

“You took my computer? How’d you get my password?” I snapped.

“Next time you create a password, don’t make it a gag to a joke.”

“Damn. And I would’ve though ‘I don’t remember’ was the perfect one.”

“Anyway, figure I help expand on your music taste.”

“I’ve got good music.”

“All you have is K-Pop and maybe one or two classic rock bands on your playlist.”

“I also got some female artists here in America. Can’t deny Pink she’s my girl.”

“Well at least you’re not into Nicki Minaj or Cardi B.”

“Oh gods no. Those girls sing only one key. Autotune.” I said.

“Well you’re on your way. Now come on, there’s lots to educate you on in the ways of music.” He extended his hand for me to take. I smirked at him and we walked side by side with his arm around my shoulders.

So out into New York City we went.  I’ll admit it’s always a bit weird to see Strange in normal civilian clothes, I’m just used to him in his Sorcerer Supreme attire (all we pretty much wear is our sorcerer robes whether in public or within the sanctums).

“You know we went shopping for a reason.” He told me gesturing to my sorcerer robes.

“I know but you also gotta admit these robes are super comfy. It’s like they’re not even there.” I told him.  He opened his mouth but closed it and lightly shrugged.

“Alright, but don’t take out your knives otherwise people will think you’re crazy.”

“It’s New York. Everyone is crazy.” At that statement he shrugged a nod again agreeing with me as we kept on walking until we reached our destination.  Marko’s Record Shop.

“A record shop? Seriously? You do know there’s a new thing called streaming.”

“Yes but there’s nothing that beats than old fashion vinyl records. Plus I found an old record player in the sanctum that I’ve been polishing it and fixing it up for weeks. Now come on.” He gently pushed me forward before following behind me as we both entered the store.

“Welcome to Marko’s how can I—Stephen? Stephen Strange?” an elderly man spoke up from behind the counter.

“Hello Marko, glad to see again.” He greeted the man.

“And good to see you too son, been a long time. I was almost beginning to think that being a hero would make you forget about all the little people you knew.”

“Please Marko forget you? Never. I brought along one of my top students, (Y/n) (L/n) figured I’d let her get out of the streaming train and see how we got our music back in the day.” Stephen said placing an arm around me.

“Well, welcome, welcome, welcome to Marko’s Record shop young lady.” He extended his hand out to me and I gratefully took it. “It’s always a pleasure to see young folks like you coming into my store these days. No one really cares for records like they used to.”

“Is it really because of the streaming services?” I asked.

“That and there was also the phase of illegal music downloading like Napster and Frostbite. Glad those sons of bitches got terminated or at least filled with so many viruses that no one downloads things from there.” Marko said.

“Indeed.” Stephen agreed.

“Well feel free to browse around for as long as you want and if you find something either of you like, it’s on me.”

“Oh no Marko we couldn’t possibly.” Stephen argued.

“Take it Stephen. You—you brought my wife back to me as well as our children from the Blip. Please.” Stephen looked at Marko with solemn eyes and he nodded before guiding me over to some of the records.

“So—how is it you know this guy? You talk as if you’re old friends.”

“he is. An old family friend of my mother’s. And he’s the reason for my supreme music-cation which I shall now bestow onto you.” He said fiddling through some records till he came to on. “Ah-ha yes! Oh Marko I still can’t believe you have this one!” he pulled out a Beatles record.

“Pure mint condition as the day I bought it. And it still sounds great too.” Marko said from his desk as he was cleaning it up.

“A Beatles record?” I asked.

“Oh not just any record, this my dear girl is the very first record The Beatles ever released.” I looked at him wide-eyed.

“And a record can stay that fresh for as long as Marko said?”

“If kept in the right hands, yes. And Marko is the Master of preserving music history.”

“If there’s nothing out here to your liking, I’ve got more in the back. Mostly stuff that I grew up on like Jazz and Swing.”

“No thanks Marko I think we’ll—”

“I’d like to see what you’ve got.” Stephen looked at me questioningly.  “What? I’ve got a guilty pleasure for old school swing and Jazz.”

“Ha-ha that’s a girl. Hang on let me just get the box from the back.” He got up from his chair and waddled his way to the back room. “Do you need any help?” I asked him.

“No, no thank you little missy. I maybe old but I still got a spring in my step.” He said giddily.

“But you also gotta be careful, Ellie warned you about throwing your hip again.” Stephen said.

“Oh poppycock!” Marko waved Stephen off as he set the box down and opened it up.  He turned to me and took out the first record which was an Elle Fitzgerald one. “Now this record here was what gave Ella Fitzgerald her true name. The moment this record dropped, her name was all over the billboards.”

“Have you got any instrumental swing music? I can only really find those one youtube and maybe a few on Amazon music.”

“Oh hang onto your toga there little miss.” It’s not really a toga but I wasn’t gonna correct him on that.  He soon pulled out over 10 records of swing music. “Now these here, these were the records that always played during and after the war. Why this record right here is very special to me.” He pulled out a Bing Crosby record and handed it to me. “This right here, especially track 4 is the song that played in the Jazz club where I first met my Ellie.”

“Aww that’s so sweet.”

“She loves herself some Bing Crosby. I think she said if I could sing like him she’d be a happy camper, unfortunately for her I just got the looks of him and not the voice.” He softly laughed.  I softly smiled.

“Guess streaming services don’t really hold the special memories and moments that a record can have.”

“Indeed not.” Marko said.  I turned to Stephen who quirked his brow at me knowingly before giving me a wink.  I nodded to him and turned back to Marko and asked him what other records he had such fond memories of.

For who knows how long we stayed in Marko’s shop talking about records and we even purchased some of our favorite ones before heading back to the sanctum.  Strange and I now sat in his room going over some scrolls while playing in the background was Charlie Feather’s ‘I can’t hardly stand it’.

“I don’t normally say this Strange but—you were right.” He looked up at me.

“I’m sorry what did you say?” I scoffed lightly at him.  “I-I really hope I just heard you right did you just say that I was right?” he said with a cocky grin.

“Alright then I take it back.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no. You already cashed it in, can’t take it back now.” He teased.

“You are such as cocky asshole.”

“The cocky asshole that’s also your Sorcerer Supreme but I’ll let you get a pass just this once. Because it seemed to me you were really invested in Marko’s teachings.”

“It’s not really about the music itself but the history that the songs can have in a person’s life. That’s why music is so Universal, even more powerful than magic. Because it connects us all and binds us as one. No matter the race, gender or sexuality, music is Universal. It’s not just for one group, it’s for everyone. And for some it’s a comfort, an escape from our reality into one that the songs create.”

“Must you make everything into a philosophy lecture?” he teased.  I stuck my tongue at him and said to him.

“It’s just how I am. Plus another thing you and I have in common. We’re both music nerds.”

“Not quite yet, my young padawan.” He teased in a really bad Yoda impression before walking up to the record and turning off Charlie Feathers and picked up another record and played it next.  An opening came up and he said to me. “Name that song!”

“Oh come on Strange really!?”

“Come on you know this song now tell me what it is!”

“No I don’t know what it is.” I argued.

“If you don’t tell me what this song is, I’m gonna take your card away. Now come on tell me what it is!”

“Gods I hate you so much right now. Will you just tell me what it is?”

“September by Earth, Wind and Fire!” I groaned as I fell back against his bed.

“Oh come on! I’ve only ever heard the chorus to that song how am I supposed to know there were words you could briefly understand for a bit?”

“Doesn’t matter, give me your Earth, Wind and Fire card right now.” His fingers snapped at me gesturing me to give him that card. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a make believe Earth, Wind and Fire card as he began to rip it up.  “You’ll get a new one after I educate you on all their best hits and you can name each and every one of them.”

“This is gonna take all night.” I grumbled.

“Well thankfully we don’t have to be anywhere, nor is the timestream in any danger. Now—shall we begin?”

#doctor strange #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange imagines #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x teen reader #marvel movie #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #stephen strange imagines #stan lee cameo

[scuttling]

Head Over Feet - Chapter 4

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 5,180 Chapters: 4/4 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink, TW Fire, TW Burns Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 4 below! You pat Spencer on the back, rub your hand soothingly over his shoulders. He’s not crying, but he’s clinging to you like a child, and your heart aches for him a little.

“I’m sorry, Spence. I know it’s hard when you care about someone and things don’t work out, especially because of what we do. It’s complicated; sometimes people just don’t understand.”

He shifts out of your embrace, stands up, runs a hand over his face.

“I’ve spent most of my life not being understood. I thought maybe I found someone who finally got me.”

You get him, you muse; you’ve always been the one to translate his info dumps into useful commentary, to sense when he’s overwhelmed, anxious, to pull him back before his emotions get the better of him. You may only be his friend, but dismissing that fact hurts more than it should.

You sigh, step into the kitchen, fill your electric kettle with water and turn it on, pull a box of chamomile tea out of the cupboard.

“I’ll be right back. Watch the kettle,” you say, patting his arm, and you head for the bedroom.

Aaron has his undershirt on, and he sits on the edge of the bed staring at the tv—he’s not so much watching it as just looking at it, and when he catches sight of you in the doorway, he turns it off.

“What’s going on?”

“Chelsea broke up with him,” you explain, wrapping your robe tighter around your body. “He missed a function because of work, and she wasn’t able to see past that. It’s been a point of contention.” You know it’s a bit of a sore subject, even after all this time, because of his divorce; you try to tread lightly.

“I should go,” he says, standing, and instantly your heartbeat races. You step toward him, put your hands on his arms.

“No, don’t go. Aaron,” you say when he pulls back, looking around the room as if forgetting that all of the rest of his clothes are piled by your front door. “Please, I don’t want you to go.”

“He needs you.” His voice doesn’t sound particularly kind or unkind, just flat, and you sigh, reach up and take his face in your hands.

“Hey. I’m making him a cup of tea—to go.” He wets his lips, and you pull him down for a slow, soft kiss, drag it out, breathe against his mouth. “Please stay with me.”

“You want me to stay, and you want him to go,” he murmurs, clarifying, and you nod, kiss him again.

“Yes. Give me ten minutes?” He agrees, and you turn to head back to the kitchen, but he stops you, pulls you close for a kiss so full of hunger it makes your head spin. You wouldn’t have thought you’d have another round in you after all that, but it may not be completely out of the question.

Back in the kitchen, Spencer leans against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. His eyes roam over you, and then the mess on the floor—clothes, shoes… condom wrapper.

“I didn’t realize he was here,” he rasps. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s alright. I understand.” You walk around him, pull a travel mug down from the cupboard, an unspoken sign that a warmer welcome is not being extended tonight. “You’ll go home and get some sleep. In the morning, call her and apologize for the things you said. The situation may not be as hopeless in the light of day.”

“It feels pretty hopeless,” he counters, and you stand next to him, look up at him.

“There have been times I’ve felt pretty hopeless. You’ll get through it, with or without her.” He rests his elbows on the counter, his head in his hands, frowns exaggeratedly.

“I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t take me back. I was a jerk.”

“Love makes us brave and dumb; it’s an unfortunate combination—and you, Doctor, are not used to feeling dumb.” You tap him lightly on the arm, smile softly. “If she gets you as well as you think, she just might understand your reasons for saying what you said.”

“How did you get through it? When we… When I…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish; you both know what he means to say. “Because it feels like my heart is literally breaking, even though I know that’s biologically impossible.”

“It wasn’t without effort, or… help.” You think of Aaron in your bedroom, who has been nothing but patient and kind and caring, who has been there through sleepless nights and self-doubt and you being, honestly, a little insufferable; the thought makes you smile. You loop an arm around his, lean against his shoulder. “Or the knowledge that what is meant to be will be. I was meant to love you, Spencer Reid—but only like this: friends, partners, bad movie buddies.”

“I like this,” he agrees, and you stand close until the kettle beeps. You prepare his tea, snap the lid on the cup, hand it over, and he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Okay, I’m taking your advice. Wish me luck?”

“All the luck,” you say with a smile, and then you see him out, close and lock the door behind him. You make a second cup of tea—in an FBI mug, this time—and head back to your bedroom, press the cup into Aaron’s hand where he sits propped up against the pillows.

“Is everything alright?” he asks as you climb onto the bed, curl up against his side.

“I think so; I gave him some advice, he left in better spirits. Whether or not they can work it out is another story. He can take it from here, though.” Aaron takes a sip of tea, hands you the mug, and you take a sip and then set it on your bedside table. “I’m glad you didn’t leave,” you say softly when you turn back to him; you just look up at him for a moment, then wrap your fingers in his t-shirt, pull him close for a slow kiss. “I don’t ever want you to leave, you know?” You brush your nose along his, and he brings a hand to your cheek, kisses you back—it starts as something tender, but becomes steamier as it goes on, until you’re panting, breathless against each other’s lips.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, and you kiss again, a bit rougher, more desperate, pull his shirt over his head. You sweep your hands over his shoulders, his arms, brush one through his hair.

“Good. Don’t leave me.” You rise to your knees, untie your robe, and he gets his hands inside it, runs them over your body, pushes the robe off and onto the bed. He presses up to pull his boxers off, and you swing a leg over his, straddle his thighs, curl in to kiss him deeply, wet and messy. “Don’t leave me, Aaron,” you breathe, beg against his lips, and you lean forward to slip him inside.

You grip his shoulders, moan as you sink down, and work your hips, pressing kisses to his face and hair. His hands caress you, running up your back, gripping your hair where it falls over the back of your neck. “Oh, baby. Fuck,” he groans as you move up and down, and the hand on your back slides down to press against your ass, to encourage your quick, eager movements. “You’re so good; you feel so good. I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Hmm. And I’m yours, right daddy?” You look up at him, chest heaving, grip his hair at the back of his head, and he nods, moves his other hand to your ass as well and squeezes hard; you whimper, tip your head back, slam down roughly.

“You’re mine, kitten, all mine; you belong to daddy.”

“Oh, fuck yes. Yes.” You moan, lean back in his lap, press your hands against his legs, and ride him hard; nothing has ever sounded better than his groans, looked better than his face while you fuck like you haven’t already gotten off twice by his perfect body tonight.

You let your hair fall back, bring a hand up to rest on his flexing stomach, and he surprises you by running his hands over your thighs, then your legs, pushing you up so you have to plant your feet against the bed. He wraps his big hands around your hips, takes control and moves your body up and down on his cock, your ass meeting his thighs with each of his thrusts. The new position means you’re leaned back further than before, and that he can see everything—your blissed out face, bouncing breasts, your pussy as it hugs him, enveloping him in tight, wet heat.

“Daddy’s good girl, fucking so pretty,” he grinds out, and you just hold onto his legs, moan while he works to bring you both off. “Come on my cock, baby, all over it. Give it to me.”

“Oh, god. Yes, daddy. I will, I will.” Your head drops back, exposing your throat, and you swallow hard, whine your impatience. You want to please him and find release, and it’s frustrating but so fucking sexy, the position he’s put you in. “Harder, please, please.”

“Harder? Are you sure you can take it?” He slams you down roughly, thrusts up faster, and you tremble both with effort and pleasure, press your nails against his thighs.

“I can take it, I can take you. Feels so good.” You’re breaking a sweat, can feel it prickling at the nape of your neck, behind your knees, and you bounce in his hands, clamp tight, nearly sigh in relief when your orgasm is just out of reach. “I’m gonna come, daddy, gonna come on your cock—oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“Yes, baby, just like that.”

Your climax is powerful, lengthy, and Aaron is loving it if the tightened grip on your hips, the low groans of pleasure are any indication. You don’t have it in you to help anymore, too worn out, but he continues to move your body until he comes, and you stare down at him, satisfied and out of breath and ridiculously—surprisingly—in love.

Oh, fuck. Three weeks go by, and you don’t talk about it—with anyone. It eats at you, and you simultaneously want to scream it from the rooftops and hide it in the dark and hope that the feelings pass.

You love Aaron. You’re in love with Aaron. Your best friend, friend with benefits, the man you suddenly on a whim decided to call daddy because you just can’t get enough of him: of his strong hands, soft hair, lips and voice and just… everything.

You’re not sure when exactly your feelings for Spencer went away, but it’s like they drifted off silently into the night, only to be gradually replaced by sharing big breakfasts and a hot coffee on your desk and wearing his flannel pajama pants just because they’re comfy and lazy morning sex on the weekends—

—are you dating Aaron? Because friends with benefits doesn’t feel like coming home to just the right person at the end of the day, like you missed him even though you work together. It doesn’t feel like desperation, like a need to know you belong in his arms, like a confirmation that he’s here because he wants to be, not just because you asked him to be.

Things haven’t really changed since that night—you still go to one of your apartments after work, have dinner, have sex some evenings or just relax others, sleep together every night—but you’re so nervous you’re going to slip up and say or do something to clue him in that you’re almost always on edge now. He notices, because he notices things, and because he notices you.

“What’s got you acting so odd lately?” he asks softly in your ear while you cuddle on the couch, reading, your back against his arm, legs stretched out in front of you. You’d like to crawl into his lap, wrap his arms around you, breathe against his neck, but you settle for this because it’s a little more manageable.

“Odd? Me?” He curls his arm around your chest, rests a hand gently on your throat. There’s no pressure, it’s just a soft claim, but it makes your heart beat fast.

“Yes, baby. You’ve been quiet. You haven’t flipped a page in a while. Is something on your mind?”

“Not really,” you murmur, and he taps a few fingers against the side of your neck.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” It’s soft, not a line your daddy expects parroted back to him, but a question Aaron feels the need to ask. You bring a hand up to rest on his arm, something of a hug.

“I’m just thinking. Enjoying sitting here with you.” You tip your head back to look at him, and he leans down to kiss your mouth, slowly, deeply, squeezing your throat just a little. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy, cared for, and a little turned on. “Are you enjoying me?”

“I always enjoy you,” he says quietly, brings his other hand to your cheek to cradle your face. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, looking up at him, into his deep, curious eyes—he seems to know there’s something more, but he also seems to know now’s not the time. “Do you want to go to bed?”

He nods, and you both get up, tidy up the living room, turn off the lights. When you climb into bed, you just kiss, for what feels like hours, curled up around him, skin on skin. Your next case takes you to Portland, where you are tasked with building a profile for a serial arsonist. It’s not going well.

“We’ve been over this,” Derek says, running a hand over his head. “The motives for arson are simple: vandalism, crime concealment, political statement, profit, and revenge.” You stand in front of a whiteboard with your arms crossed; the words he just said are already scrawled across it in your handwriting, in green dry erase marker.

“Well we’re missing something, so let’s go over it again. There have been no signatures, no hits on social media, nothing sent to the news outlets, so we’re not thinking ‘political statement.’” You draw a line through the words.

“No connection between the buildings, so we’ve all but removed ‘revenge’ from the list,” Emily adds, and you draw a line through that one too.

“Second building had no insurance, was taken over by the city—no one profited from that,” Penelope adds from the speakerphone. You strike it out, sigh.

“That leaves vandalism and crime concealment.”

“Nothing was found at any of the scenes to indicate crime concealment, but it is possible,” Derek reminds you; that one stays on the board. Emily taps her pen against her notepad, looks up at you with a cocked brow and points to the board.

“We’re forgetting one. Hero syndrome: when a firefighter or other first responder sets the fires with the intent of returning to help put them out.” You quickly scribble it on the board.

“So we know that in most instances, those who engage in acts of arson due to hero syndrome have had some type of failed attempt at heroism in the past, be it a botched detective exam, dishonorable military discharge…”

“What about someone who failed out of the arson investigator program?” Penelope asks, keys clacking in the background. “I have an Alexander Carter who works for the Portland Fire Department who has failed out of the program—wow, a whopping six times.”

“Could be he’s trying to prove what an asset he’d be,” Emily proposes, and you turn to jot it down, then freeze.

“Did you say Carter? Alex Carter,” you repeat, and she hums.

“Yes, Alexander Carter, age 30, 5’11”, 200 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes.” You cross the room in a hurry, search your jacket pockets for your cell phone, and Derek stands almost immediately.

“What is it?” he asks, and Emily and Penelope echo his question.

“Hotch and Spencer are with Alex Carter right now. They’re checking out the last scene, the one where the fire went out on its own and didn’t spread. The one that failed.” You look up at him, hold your phone up to your ear, dialing Aaron. It rings and then goes to voicemail three times before going straight to voicemail the fourth. Derek tries Spencer, but his goes to voicemail right away. “We have to go there. Fuck. Garcia, what’s the address again?”

The three of you rush out of the conference room, passing JJ, who gets a brief rundown from Emily and offers to stay back to keep an ear out in case they call. You, Emily, and Derek strap on your vests, and Derek drives—Speed Racer may be useful right now, but your hands are trembling. You sit on them so no one sees.

The building is up in flames when you arrive, and there are firefighters on scene as well as police, EMS… and the coroner.

“Where are they?” you all but scream at the detective. He stands, hands on his hips, shakes his head, and your throat goes dry. “God damn it. Say something. Where are our men?”

“Where do you think they are?” He gestures to the smoldering storefront, and you take a calm, measured breath and step away from him; nothing you say will do you any good, only serve to get you in trouble, and it’s not his fault anyway, not really. You try the fire chief, hope you don’t sound like you’re pleading when you ask him for news.

“My people are working hard to put the fire out; we don’t know the extent of it. We can’t say for sure,” he says, and it’s kind, but firm. Not a guarantee. Derek finds you, puts a hand on your arm, and you look up at him like he’s going to have the answers to this. Someone has to, right?

“We just have to wait,” he says, soothing, and even though you know he’s just trying to help, you could punch him in the face; it’s an unfamiliar feeling, not something you’ve ever felt when faced with Derek Morgan. You shake your head.

“Wait? Wait for what, for—for them to be pulled out in body bags? I can’t wait, I won’t wait. I’ve waited long enough as it is,” you mutter under your breath, turning away. You stare at the flaming storefront, trying to formulate a plan that doesn’t end with Derek tackling you before you can get close enough to call for them, but you can’t come up with anything, and it’s not necessary anyway: less than ninety seconds later, Aaron and Spencer come around from the back of the building, looking a little worse for wear, but not as bad as Alex Carter, who is badly burned on the left side of his face.

You are so relieved you could pass out, and it’s an honest to goodness miracle that you don’t. They get Carter to the ambulance, where the EMTs begin to treat him, and then they walk toward you.

You can’t help it, your feet move without you, bridging the distance, and you crash into Aaron, nearly knocking him over; you cling to his shirt and inhale the scent of smoke and cologne, listen to his heartbeat, think the words you’ve been so afraid to say out loud.

He holds you tightly, one hand on the back of your neck, murmurs words in your ear that you can’t make out; when Derek and Emily come over, you snap out of it, grab Spencer by the shoulder and pull him in too, and the five of you form a group hug and you are not the only one to cry.

You go back to the hotel so everyone can shower, wash away the soot; you would have preferred being able to shower with Aaron, to move your hands over his body and see for yourself that he is unharmed, to wash the stale scent of smoke from his hair, but that’s just not possible. You settle for a text that tells you he’s okay, he’s just tired and ready to go home with you—home, which is apparently wherever you are, whichever apartment you are making noise in, taking up space in, wherever you are leaving half empty cups of tea.

You’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly in your life, but the flight from Portland to Virginia is five hours long and almost torture. He sits next to you on the plane, which doesn’t usually happen, and he does paperwork, brushes his free hand against yours occasionally. You drift in and out of consciousness, so tired from the emotions of the day, and before you know it Aaron is smoothing his hand over your head to wake you up.

He drives you to his apartment, stopping only to pick up takeout from your favorite Indian place—the bags are abandoned on the kitchen counter, though, because the moment you are behind closed doors, everything changes.

You kiss him like it will be the last time—and maybe it will be, considering what you plan to say—your hands in his hair, breath on his lips, the taste of him on your tongue. This could be like Spencer all over again; you hadn’t realized then just how not on the same page the two of you had been, not even on the same chapter, maybe in a whole different book, so what makes this any different? What you have come to realize is love could just be comfortable, guaranteed sex to Aaron, and if he turns you down too, you’ll probably give up on all of it.

You move to the bedroom with the practiced motions of a couple who has walked this walk many times before, but this time it feels different. It feels like matching energies, like emotions that have been tamped down and are now allowed to be fully expressed, fully exposed.

Aaron gets you out of your clothes first, with sure, gentle hands, and then you strip him slowly, look him over the way you wish you could have earlier. You touch his arms, his chest, his stomach, then bend to run your hands over his legs, his feet.

“You’re whole. You’re here,” you murmur when you stand, and he takes your face in his hands, presses his lips to yours again and again.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you; I meant it.” You wet your lips, look up at him, exhale softly. After a sentence like that, what the hell are you waiting for?

“I love you.” His eyes search your face, and you release one soft sob before he pushes you back onto the bed, covers you with his body, kisses you deeply, wet and passionate.

“I love you—fuck, I love you,” he breathes, his hands in your hair, on your face, and then he reaches down to grab your wrists and hold them above your head. You gasp, shudder, spread your legs for him, and he weaves a hand between your bodies, roughly rubs your clit. “Going to fuck you so good. So good.”

He stares down at you, wrists clasped in one hand, the other working to bring you close, or off, you’re not sure; you ache to touch him, but since you can’t you just breathe a little harder, hitch your knees up higher, give yourself to him.

“Please, daddy,” you sigh, and he knows what you want, guides his cock inside you and then slams it all the way in, so deep that you’re overcome by the feeling of fullness and your eyes water. It’s not pain, or even really pleasure, though it does feel good, but more like… completeness. Like you were made for each other in all the ways that count.

He thrusts into you hard, his knees digging into the bed, and you take kisses when he offers them, moan when he doesn’t, struggle against his grip on your wrists just to feel him tighten it. He pounds his hips roughly against you, uses his free hand to squeeze your ass, then your breast, and then finally, eventually, your throat.

He hovers over you, panting, staring down like he’s viewing a masterpiece and not looking at your sweaty, overheated face. “Can I have you? All of you?” He glides the hand from your throat down to your chest, rests it just over your heart, and you nod, surge up to meet him for a kiss.

“All of me—all of me.” He releases your arms, plants his hands against the bed and fucks you hard, and you slide your hands up his back, pull him down so he’s fully on top of you, heavy and solid and strong. “Take me, Aaron, I’m yours. Take me.” You lift your legs, knees almost up to his armpits, and he holds your hips, kisses you deeply, messy, pumps inside and then comes murmuring your name into your hair. You clutch him, buck desperately against him, mouth at his shoulder, and he shushes you softly, brushes his palm over your hot cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says with a kiss, and then he slides an arm around your lower back, tilts your hips up, grinds inside until you come digging your fingertips into his sides.

He rests your body against the bed, drapes himself over you, moves his mouth slowly up and down the side of your throat; you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you close to him. After a few minutes, he speaks, low, into your ear.

“So this is why you’ve been so…”

“Odd?” you say with a smile, and he tilts his head so he can see you, smiles too, kisses you on the lips.

“Yes. Odd. Because you love me?” You shift slightly, pull back so you can see him better, card your fingers through his hair.

“Not because I love you, because I was afraid to tell you I love you.” He makes a face like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and you brush your thumb over the ridge of his ear. “I’m not sure if you remember this,” you begin, softly sarcastic, “but I recently told Spencer that I loved him, and it didn’t go over very well. I was scared that could happen with you, too. It was easier to just enjoy what we had.”

He looks over your features, sighs lightly.

“Do you remember the night you stayed late at the office to help me with the records retention? We ordered pizza and you raided Rossi’s office for liquor.”

“Yes, and it was very expensive Scotch and it went very well with my veggie pizza. You smiled more that night than I’d ever seen,” you say, almost dreamily; you’re such a goner for him, now—it’s like letting yourself tell him was the last straw, and now the floodgates are open and your affection pours out of you, thick and sweet and sappy. You press a palm to his cheek, and he covers it with his hand.

“That was the night I realized I was in love with you.” You look up, think back, try to place that night on the calendar.

“That was six months ago. Right?” He nods, slow and steady.

“Yes, six months ago. Two months after that, I… miscalculated. I got it in my head that you and Reid were in a relationship. I tried to pull back, give you space, but you never seemed to want that, so I selfishly continued to spend time with you.” You curl around him, press close for several soft, slow kisses, lightly tug at his hair.

“Well, that explains why you were so confused when I told you what happened with Spencer. Why you thought you couldn’t talk to me. Silly.”

“I just wanted to do the right thing. You were happy, and I thought it was because of him.” That makes you frown, and you think of what happened that night after Spencer’s, how you came here, broken down about being rejected by another man, and Aaron, who was in love with you, was so kind and gracious and sweet, put your pieces back together. You don’t deserve him, or any of it.

“I was happy. I’m happier now,” you whisper, because any louder and you wouldn’t be able to get the words out over the lump in your throat. “And I am so in love with you.”

“I’m happier now, too,” he says, hovering over your lips, “and so in love with you.” Saturday morning is for sleeping in as long as your bodies will allow—that only ends up being 8:30, but it still feels indulgent—and puttering around Aaron’s apartment, stealing kisses because you can’t so much as brush past him without his arms winding around your waist, without wanting to push your hands up the back of his shirt and hug him.

You both get a text at noon, from Penelope, stating under no uncertain terms that the team will be meeting at a bar you frequent, at 9 PM, and that everyone is expected to attend—significant others are not only welcomed, but encouraged.

“So. If you’re alright with it,” Aaron says when he’s driving to your place—he’s dressed and ready, looks handsome in a navy shirt with his sleeves rolled up, top button undone, but you didn’t have anything appropriate to wear, so you’re heading home to change your clothes. “This could be an easy way to tell the team we’re in a relationship.”

You don’t think it will be particularly easy, especially not for you, because you’ll be hounded for information all night, but the timing is convenient, and you just love to hear him say that you’re in a relationship, so you agree. You change, head to the bar, and when you meet up, Penelope and Emily are already there.

“Hey, guys,” you say as you hug Emily, and then Penelope. “Just the two of you so far?”

“Just us single ladies,” Emily says with a sip of her drink. “You didn’t bring the boyfriend? I thought we were finally going to meet the man who’s been putting a smile on your face,” she says with a grin of her own, and you shrug your shoulders, wrap your arm around Aaron’s.

“Actually, I did.” They both look at you, at Aaron, between you, then at each other, and then they aww in unison. You turn to him, smile, and he offers to go for drinks, excuses himself with a soft look and a brush of his hand.

“Holy shit,” Penelope says, and you can’t help the smile that takes over your face.

“Yeah, I know.” Well, that was a wild ride! Thanks again @ssamorganhotchner for the prompt—I know I changed a lot of it, omitted some things, but this is what happened when my fingers hit the keys! 🤣 Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @uchihasteph @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

[muffindaddystyles]

SERENDIPITY.

(n), beautiful accidents turning out in beautiful journeys.

Nothing to explain, just Vampire!harry.

Smut, Smut and Smut.

Masterlist , Let's talk about more vampire H!

Author's Note: This's me just testing waters with my fantasy writing skills. It got deleted at first and I had to write everything again with fat sad tears. Tried my best hope ya'll like it. Reblogs are always appreciated and I kinda deserve it for this one *sheepishly*

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back.

Or

Y/N interrupts Harry amidst his meal and ends up him clinging to her.

Kittens. One hell of the beasty creatures they're. You'd give them your heart but they'll prefer their two hours sleep over it. Such type of beasty wee landed Y/N into such situation. She's been searching for Meowsie her cat for fifteen minutes now when she heard a feeble cry of an animal. The tall trees with it's roots snatching at soil - the moon at it's peek. Gasping she crouches down for the rescue of a deer with it's fur wrenched in blood. 

When she does so her eyes struck at the sleekness of a pair of loafers stubbing yellow leaves under it. A groan of annoyance whirling in air and gulping she rakes her eyes to find a tall, swiney man staring down at her in offence like she disturbed him. 

He's gorgeous. Features that of greek sculpture with silk kissing it, eyes –well she can't figure them out in her fear. "Who're ye'!?" He snarls and she toppled back on her bum with a squeak, "Aish. should be asking you the same." She shuts her eyelids. He thinks she's very stupid for leisuring in an abnomished forest at this hour of night when every creature's ready to strangle her alive. 

"Who're you?" She emphasizes each word grabbing the broken branch and pointing it towards him mustering some courage not letting her brave cascade waver. 

His first instinct was to say that he's vegan. But, why should he when he's not. He doesn't like lying. 

He steps from under the shadows of trees rims glimmering under the beautiful moonlight, "Could be anythin' ye'r little brain's been thinkin' of." He smirks towering her and scrambles back. Her facial expressions blown out more from the fright he's causing. 

Poor little thing. 

Before, he could fill in her curiosity his prey escapes into darkness gaining his attention. He growls throwing his head at his shoulders — Harry isn't that of tantrum throwing person (a practice of one hundred year has taught him that bitterness brings you nothing) but he's been devastatingly hungry and the feeding clubs grossed him out. 

The smell of grinding bodies, sweat and the combination of different human's blood makes him sick to core rubbing his appetite away. He's bored of them. 

Her sweet glazing auroma calls him to trap her and take a succulent bite out of her but before that she benefited the opportunity running away from him exiting the dark forest only to find Meowsie snuggling inside her bed. 

"You batty creature!" She huffs, "No wonder I'd be found – dead one day because of you." 

With whoever; she bumped in the forest wasn't human at all Y/N thinks. 

.                                  .                                .

She's been fighting her sweet tooth for so long but it's not helping her. She muttered a fuck it before lecturing Meowsie, "No sneaking." When Meowsie meowed bobbing her head she cheered, "Good baby." Like a proud momma. 

It was success. Reaching the nearest store and buying the oreo yogurt to savour it immediately. When she strolled outside gloomy vibe hit her causing her nerves to shudder winter chillness freezing her toes.

The cup hits the pavement and she emits a loud scream as a brutal force rams her in a brick wall. 

A groan of pain rumbling in her chest and she shuts her eyes as a shadowy demon creeps up her calves agonisingly trying to pop her in two. 

Counting on her death when it screeches in horrifying noises being ripped into bits and pieces mercilessly. When she squints her eyes open she finds the mossy jade eyes peering down at her more pissed than he was in the forest, "do ya humans don't sleep at night? Or are ye' a mouse that steals good-ys at night?" He traps her head with his hands on either side of wall and she grumbles at his insult of calling her human. But isn't it what she is? A human? 

"I -- don't be mean." She pouts hissing at the dull ache in her legs and he sighs voice getting gentler, "Can ye' walk?" When she nods he scoffs with a thick accent lips quirking and nose scrunching. He wanted to leave her at it but the scared look on her tightened his chest and he felt his responsibility to walk her home safe and invest if she got hurt. 

"No you can't!" He winds his arms around her encouraging her to put all of her weight on his side as he walks her. "Who're you. And how did ya do that?" She asks with a timid voice. He doesn't want to scare her away but the truth's he's been keeping an eye on her for days. Muttering a curse to himself whenever she'd have her nightly visits without a care for herself. Silly human. 

"Harry." He replies without a care and if it wouldn't be for the pain she's feeling she'd have never let him inside her home. "I can't even eat my yogurt in peace 'cos of you Harry." She reproaches as he sits her on sofa taking her ankles and putting them over his knees. 

[That's how I felt when you interrupted my meal you little pesty thing he wanted to mutter but held back.] 

Taking out the potion Nana gave him that heals painful scars. 

"It'll hurt a bit little mouse." He murmurs pulling out the cork of bubble shaped bottle she flinches, "Don't call me that!" Staring at the way her ripened gnashes disappears in beautiful spirals. "Then stop acting like a coward-y mouse." He stands up looking down at her slumpy with sleep. He shushed her, "'s okay. . ." with each dab feeling sorry for exposing her to his world and now the demon who was manifested without a precise spell thought they're co-related kept lingering around her and well he couldn't leave such an innocent girl to be harmed by evils.

"Not gonna tuck ye' in bed, now." He stands up chin doubling raising his hands in defence albeit he's privy for such actions. Too domestically affectionate for him. 

"Please." She doesn't want to be here on uncomfortable sofa and wants to snuggle inside her blankets. "Fine." He rolls his eyes not giving heed to the angelic details of her home for that it'll create a soft spot in his heart for her. 

His body swimming in her scent once stepping inside her room and he tucks her under quilts grabbing Meowsie akwardly and putting her beside Y/N so she could cuddle with her. He stares her for time and Y/N doesn't hear door shutting and he's out of her bleary vision in a tick 

.                                  .                           . 

White swarms over the crimson in hues with yummy smell spreading everywhere along with the waves of Y/N melodic hum. Meowsie tries to rip the muffin batter and Y/N smacks her paw away ending up having a standoff stare competition with her in the kitchen. 

She literally heard her saying mean mommy. 

Y/N thoughts are all over the place. All she could think of is his's stupid beautiful face and they way his gentle touch made her feel floffy from muscles. He shouldn't pesk her like that. The white chocolate chip pops and she was about to see if they were done when a rasp crawled in her ear making her jump and causing the pyrx bowl to hit the oak counter, "Been thinkin' of meh, lil mouse?" 

"What the fuck. Harry!" She spins sending him into fits of laughter with squeaky scream.

"Not funny. Don't you guys not go somewhere unless invited?" She gasps putting her hand atop her heart and Harry's eyes follows her commotion, "'course we do. Got some manners 'n shite." He scoffs with cupid bow quirked up and nose scrunched. 

"Then where are your manners now?" He smirks at that leaning at her level, "You manifested me s' hard it broke rules." Heat splashes on her cheeks and she notices the intricate details of his features finding them dull and sick than his prior glow. She gasps in shock taking his hands leading him to sofa and sitting him with a push to his shoulders. 

"God. You look terrible what happened?" He gives out a smile at her care throwing his head into headboard cushions, as she scrambles back to kitchen to take out muffins from oven she asks worriedly proper concerned for his health, "Would you like something?" 

A warm mug of delicious bubbling blood thank you very much.

He wanted to mutter but his throat went dry from the headache making him all dizzy. He's been death starving for days now cause his appetite seems to vanish and tongue wouldn't accept any kind of blood since the day he smelled the gush of crimson running inside her veins. 

"Can I bite you?" He regrets the moment it slipped from his tongue. Y/N doesn't seem to mind instead mulls about it for a moment putting two warm hot cocoa milk and red velvet muffins on the lil coffee table. 

"Will it keep you alive?" When Harry closed his eyes in gentle affirmation she cranes her neck to side like she has seen in many movies. "Okay. Go then." He smiles weakly taking her fingers ever so tenderly in his hold and ushering her in his lap. 

"If you wouldn't mind — it'll be more comfortable like this. ." She just nods knees bended on either side of his thighs and his mouth waters at her appetizing sweet smell. He rakes his nose along the curve of her neck swearing that she's made of puddle of how soft her skin's. His senses wrecking havoc as his fangs glistens at the surface grazing against the barrier of her sensitive spot. 

"Aa-a!" She cries out and He pulls her back anxiously brows kinking, "Didn't even bit yet." 

"Surprised is all." She confesses shyly and Harry shakes his head with a silly smile letting her fist the hem of his shirt tight as he wrapped his arm around her waist smushing her closer to him and keeping her head in one place stopping her from squirming..

"Ticklish baby mouse ye're." Saying this he pushes his fangs into her flesh and she created a mousey noise head lulling. He gives out a moan-y growl at the taste of first droplet hitting his tongue. He doesn't think he could stop from now on. She tastes like the nectar birds of heaven could feed on. 

His body coming to life. Inners feeling fresh as ever again. 

She feels float-y. Like taking a nap over clouds and letting the zephyr cocoon her and she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck breathing him happily with a loopy smile.

This's oddly satisfying and calming. He wants to take care of her. She's a beacon he always wants to keep protected from the storm. He gasps feeling himself nourished all over again after days of starvation. Lapping at the shiny drops of what's left making her giggle and he could easily recognize that smell. Of her arousal. 

She's all worked up in his embrace snuggling closer to him. He has been in this position with many people before but once they serve his purpose they'd been walked away to take care of.

"Don't go lost on me little mouse y'need to eat somethin'." He settles her over his thigh taking the mug and muffins. 

Tearing it in two and bringing it to her mouth as she lays her head against his shoulder. He sighs happily feeling full as she nibbled slowly, "Thank you." He wipes the crumbs from the corner of her lips feeling the petalness of them and wondering what he shouldn't be wondering at all. "'S okay." She quips with cracky voice making Harry chuckle and sipping onto his own warm milk.

.                                  .                               .

Harry didn't know a human could attract him like a magnet to metal. She manifested him once and now he's always at her cosy home, he likes the radiance of sunshine that promises from her presence. They watch movies till the clock doesn't strike six in the morning, have secret rendezvous hidden from the eye of normal people at the places Y/N has never been, he has his weekly bites from her and in return brings her every Oscar Wilde's books from his shelf. 

Biting her's the most pleasing yet excruciating part because the way she melts like a honey over him like she depends on him and the sweet smell of her wetness that billows in the room makes Harry gripe at her sides, sometimes drinking more than her petite body could handle. He feels awful after that. 

Cuddles her to sleep and makes the walnut pie he learned from his Nana which apparently is a witch (she isn't actually his grandma — he has long forgotten about his real family). 

Harry took her to the vampires museum and when her marshmallow lips baubled in astonishment at the wings of Angels displaying on the burgundy wall. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist the whole time eyeing anyone that would look towards her weirdly (humans aren't allowed at vampire premises, but who dares to point a finger at Harry? No one.) One of the reasons he hugged her in a smushing coddling suffocating way to lather his scent all over her leaving her flustered and confused. Y/N has finally met someone that shares the same sleeping schedule as her insomniac ass. "We better leave before they hang me angel here too." His breath was hot against her neck running shivers down her spine. 

His words carrying amiability and seductivity causing Y/N to gape at him. Did he just call her his Angel? He definitely did. Annoying leech that's fucking up with Y/N's emotions. 

They didn't talk about it at all after that. 

Harry did with Nana. Freaking out to her how his emotions are always spiraling for her. That he wants her all to himself. Wants to feel her in ways that's beyond just the touch. Nana just laughed it off and made him eat his coconut pie. He almost choked on his bite. Adam apple bobbing in pain when she cleared to him – that; The they indeed have bonded to eachother. 

Her blood runs inside him. His marks are on the most precious spot of her body. Where lovers claim their affection — how could he not feel like that towards her? She's sure that Y/N also feels the same for Harry. 

Harry was getting done with some cluster of work when a stab of pain invaded his whole body prickling uncomfortably against his skin. Something's up. He could feel in his bones that his little mouse's not okay. When he goes her home he's met by pure silence making him more anxious than he already is.

He picks Meowsie from the floor rubbing her crown as he steps inside her bedroom. She's layered under many fold blankets in her bed shrinked into a pea and her head perks up when Harry's voice reaches her, "Angel. . ." She throws everything aside tackling him to mattress making him squeak.

He smiles petting her hair as she purrs against his chest fisting the hem of his shirt tightly. "One of those days?" He asks genuinely not stopping his gentle action and she bobs her head  vigorously bottom lip wobbling, "Oh my little mouse – c'mere what happened?" His gaze flitting between her's as he cups her cheeks squishing them adorably. 

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back, "Then can I bite you?" She just wants to distract herself from the unbearable headche of her history course. 

He chuckles breathily at that sighing because could he say no to her? No. He smiles down at her dimples denting in his cheeks, "Kay. Go then." She stuffs her face in the dip of his neck sniffing the marbled beach fragrance of him that of summers I'm December's cosiness. Her teeth grazing at the curve of his pale skin and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation. He feels intimidated by this little human being like no other. His little human.

Her teeth grazing against his cold skin and Harry almost whined letting a moan slip his eyes rolling back into his sockets as she bites him. His hands on her ass twitching to grope at the flesh when his cock stirred with her heat leaking against it. She creates sweet filthy noises succling the mark and "Enough." Harry cleared his throat and the haze in his head bounding her wrists between them pulling pulling her away looking at her sternly when she whines. 

"Baby. . talk to me." He caresses her cheek with his knuckles but she ignores his words floating in her all headspace staring the mark she created. Tracing the beautiful hue of love bite with her fingers, "How did it feel?" Harry's eyes flutter with charming smile as he kissed the hand which's not busy memorizing him. 

"Like a lil mouse ticklin'" She leans at that kissing her work of art, giving wet little sweet kisses up his jaw palms running down his midriff as she whispered. 

"This?" Her hips stuttering with his swell sitting delicious between her panty clad pussy lips, she peers up at him from her under her lashes as her lips rested against the corner of his pillowy full mouth. 

"And this?" Test of his patience. "Like I've never felt before." Saying. He smudges his lips against her's in a succulent, sweet and affectionate kiss. Lapping tenderly with his pink wet tongue at her mouth to deepen the kiss squishing her cheeks in the process. Swallowing her whimpers and whines down his throat like she's most precious. She humps his bulging cock with erotic swivels of her hips and Harry griped at her sides to leave blue blemishes in some hours.

He closes his eyes still smiling foolishly resting his temple against her's – noses doing eskimo kisses. 

"Can we talk now, what's disturbing my angel?" He tucks her hair back kissing her forehead and she bobs her head embarrassed at her tantrums. "It's silly. 'M gonna fail my history exam." His eyes twinkle, "Just havocin' your brain for this?" 

"No worries. I gotcha."

. . .

This's how they ended up like this surrounded by notes and papers. Harry complaining with an unbelievable scuff, "What do they teach ye' kids now days? That didn't happen at all in history." Still ending up helping her with learning which ended up him giving her his slender fingers fucking her with them to let her work for her reward.

"No pet. Wrong answer." He tutted eyes still on the quiz card and it's the sight for sore eyes. She cramps her thighs around his wrist and he curled his fingers rubbing her walls in return as a warning, "Come on lil mouse ye' right there." He leans from the edge of his chair to snatch a chaste kiss from her parted ones.

"189-5?" She mewls not sure of her answer and Harry again pressed his lips against her's murmuring against them driving a third finger inside her and rubbing her clit in circles with his thumb, "such an intelligent girl. doin' s' good fo' me – wanna cum?" He bites at her earlobe gripping the quiz cards tightly.

"Yes. Please‐" He cuts her off taking his digits out making her whine and squirm loudly. Sage coloured panties clearly drenched in her slickness as Harry licks her sweet juices like a hungry kitten from his fingers wrapping his magenta lips till his knuckles — if it's a lollipop humming around them vulgarly.

"Harry No!" She huffs making grabby hands at him and he squeezes her bossom thigh to push her down, "Harry yes. Now -- tell me babe where Buddhism originated from?" He wets the pad of his thumb nonchalantly eyeing her playfully and Y/N just wants to kiss that pink pretty tongue as he turned the page around.

She grabs his hand moving them closer to her swollen pussy head falling at his mere graze, "Please." He gives love nibbles at her cheek flickering her clit to tease her.

"What baby?" He murmurs gliding them up and down her slit causing her to rock her pelvis against his touch his freezing fingers adding upto sensation. "Want your fingers." She gasped breathily because before her request Harry was stuffing her back with his fingers massaging the sweet shell of her g-spot.

Her tummy coiling with pleasure and she threw her arms around his neck parted lips pressing against his throat, "Last quiz and then ye' can come all over me fingers." He tells her pinching her thighs. His cock weeping in his pants. The world around them deafening to glitter noises and Harry puts his chin atop her shoulder raising the card infront of her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

It was for his last criss-cross of swipe when she gushed all over him with noises that stroked Harry's ego and this time he gave her a hickey coaxing her orgasm from her high, "Hmh. S' warm I could stay inside ye' forever." A sugary smooching voice echoes in room when he kissed the spot between her ear and neck.

Y/N thinks Harry has successfully made a nest in her heart.

. . .

They were flopped over quilts in her bed moon glowing happily in love with them together and Y/N turned in his arms admiring each glimmer of his skin with an awestruck puppy eyes, "You're such an Angel. . .so pretty." He chuckles softly bringing her closer to her chest to hear her heartbeats.

"People think otherwise my mouse." He gives out a 'oof' sound giggling when she climbed up his torso heels of palms pressing against his pecks. "You're for me resting in the depths of ye'r skin — that went through love and sorrows, nourishment and pains until god decided you were meant to be mine. . ." She sucks in a breath cupping his beautiful face to lull it side to side. Harry could bite her whole made of petals and honeycomb she is. He stares her zoning out for a moment.

"Sorry. But seeing ye' with my bites makes me s' hard. . ." He whispers. "Bite me again then." She nuzzles in the crook of his neck pressing her wet crotch down against his hard dick pressing against his zipper.

"So polite and carin'." He grins smacking kisses against the thin skin of her shoulder reaching the mark that's still pudgy and purple. She moans getting him out with shaky fingers and kissing him heatedly in full vigour making slick filthy noises. He slaps her bottom ripping her panties to throw them carefully rubbing his weeping blushed head in between her clenching pussy lips to smudge their arousals.

Whimpers of bliss whirling in air when he slipped inside her slick cunt filling her to brim his balls pressed against her bum, "Fuck. Just how I imagined — tight 'n snug. I love ye'r cunt baby." He gritted grinding his pelvis against her's in slow teasing motion hitting one spot continuously.

"Feels good. . ." She cries softly thighs quivering by his sides and he wrapped his hand around the nape of her to bring her down for another passionate kiss, "Would ye' bond to meh? Huh - lemme cum inside ye'r pretty pussy? Make it mine?" He mumbled wet-ly against her lips sucking her lower one to make it all plump and pinkish.

"Make me yours." She gives out a squeaky whimperish moan when at her words he licked his mark biting it. Her walls creamping around his cock to feel each, ridge and thick vein and she turned a loopy butterfly in his arms.

"Ye' can't cum unless I give ye' permission and I've had plenty to drink. . ." He growls grabbing her jaw eyes turning oyrx and she wipes her own blood from his mouth to press her thumb against his tongue letting him suck. Now, she doesn't have one mark only it's plenty that of flowers scattered on canvas.

He stretches his legs wide toes curling holding her down from her hips to fuck into her with rough mind forging thrusts, "Yes!" Y/N whispers with hoarse throat that she hasn't spoken from months.

"Cum fo' me. Over me cock baby wants to feel ye' Angel." He moans fondling her breasts in his large calloused palms smauching kisses at very skin he could find to shower his love to. Y/N comes a wave of shiver running from her soles to head as she just created noises straight out of porn.

Her creaming around him. Warm and slick cum dribbling down his balls didn't last Harry too. He came inside her in thick spurts of ribbons leaving blueprints at her arse.

They remained like this for some moments. Cacooned into eachother breathing eachother Harry memorizing her to memorize the memory he could never forget and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

He lays her on bed gently slipping out of her shushing her with pecks on mouth when she whined from sensitivity, "Gonna take care of ye' little mouse." He bends her knees kissing them stroking the insides of her shivering thighs to calm her down taking his discarded boxer from side.

"Want you to squeeze baby -— I came alot." She does as he said and he cleans her with his clothe showering her in kisses and praises.

Running a steamy bath with essential lavender and rose oils and bathe salts. Resting her between his legs to feel her skin everytime against his skin.

"I love you. Gonna keep ye' forever." He whispers in the silence of night and she smiled with fuzzy heart. Feeling good and fluttery. "I love you too."

Shrugging she retorts playfully, "I'd be all old and wrinkly but you'd be still this gorgeous now that's unfairrrrr." He just laughs at her cuteness creating obnoxious kissing noises while kissing her face.

"Gross." She mutters bashfully eyeing him and he fake offends tickling her sides causing the water splash from rims, "Wasn't gross when I was fucking your brains out—" She tries to smack him in between laughters.

"Heyyyy."

#Vampire!harry x reader #harry smut #harry styles dirty one shots #harry styles vampire smut #harry styles vampire one shots #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #cute harry #harry styles blurb #fluff #hsh #harry angst #harry styles smut #dom harry

[parkers-gal]

Being tom’s costar & him setting you up with his brother, Harry. Maybe reader keeps saying no because she thinks Tom is asking her out

hello

combined with another request (hope you don’t mind)

Reader is dating Harry & Nikki like doesn’t her because she’s tom’s love interest in a movie. Harry & Tom defend reader

wc: a fat 3k (sorry lmfao took this too far)

—

When you were first called in for a dry run through of a script that would later be your next movie, you didn’t expect Marvel’s very own Spider-man to be there too. Of course, he didn’t expect you there either, but you were still pleasantly surprised that the director had called in for willing or suggested actors. 

The two of you immediately hit it off, clicking on screen and off screen. And though you were playing lovers in front of the camera, your relationship with Tom was strictly platonic — and you were glad he was on the same page. 

That didn’t, however, mean Tom wasn’t completely involved with your love life. After returning to your trailer directly after a date, Tom was waiting for you — and wondering where the hell you’d been. You confessed you’d gone out with someone, but the date wasn’t smooth and they weren’t your type at all. The date went pretty badly, and Tom pointed out later. Ever since then, he’d ask you if you were going on another date. 

It had been a month and a half since then, and though you were ready for a relationship mentally, you knew it might be hard with all the press you and Tom would be doing around the world. You weren’t sure why you would be going on tour, though — it was a recreation of Sandra Bullock’s film While You Were Sleeping. Tom and you were popular enough as it was — a tour simply didn’t seem necessary. But, alas, you complied with your manager’s advice. 

“Sooo…” Tom followed you into your trailer. It was around eight o’clock, and he was using the voice he used whenever he wanted something from you. “Are you seeing anybody?”

It had been about two weeks since the last time he’d asked, and you were already rolling your eyes. “No, Tom. I’m not interested in whatever offer you’re about to make.”

“But Y/N!” He whined, pouting. “I know somebody who’s perfect for you!”

“As perfect for me as Andrew from the Uncharted crew?” You raise a brow, setting your purse down while Tom huffs. 

“He wasn’t that bad! How was I supposed to know that he doesn’t wash his beard?” “That seems like common knowledge to me, Tom!” You’re trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “I could smell it from across the table!”

“Alright, alright.” Tom winces at the details. “I’m sorry about that one. But this time, I’m sure of it.”

“I swear to god if you pull some weird cliche shit and say yourself, I’m going to kick you out of my trailer.” You deadpan, pouring yourself from coffee from the brewer he’d just used while you were out. 

“It’s not me, Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, but you keep giving me dates with people that aren’t my type and then saying you have someone better. What if you’re buttering me up?” You smirk from behind the mug, sipping it smoothly. He rolls his eyes, but blushes nonetheless. 

“It’s not me.”

“Whatever you say, Spidey.”

He rolls his eyes again, sighing dramatically before heading towards the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“For what? Our date?”

“Quit teasing me!” He spins around, body halfway out the trailer entrance. “I meant ‘I’ll see you on set.’” You laugh wholeheartedly, waving to the brunette as he leaves you alone for the night. When you awake, you’re due early for a shower and straight to hair and makeup. You’re not sure why your character always wakes up so damn early just to work in a train station, but you comply with the director. 

“G’morning.” You greet the assistant director with a smile, bagel in one hand and your script in the other. 

“Morning,” He smiles before offering you some coffee. “Coffee?”

“Please?” You smile wider at the mention of the beverage, internally cheering as he makes your order — he’s memorized all of the crew’s by now, and it’s truly astonishing. You take up a conversation with him while you wait for your day to begin. 

Tom comes in through the double doors, spotting you immediately — with another boy. He races over as quickly as he can manage with his tired body and with what’s left of his dignity. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he really thinks he’s found a promising boyfriend for you. 

“Hey, Y/N.” He greets before his jaw clenches subtly. “Morning Conor.” 

Conor nods at him before pouring another cup of coffee for the Brit. You’re rolling your eyes at Tom — you know him well enough to know when he’s feeling anything but positively. 

“Excuse us,” You smile apologetically at Conor. “I have a part of the script I’d like to talk to Tom about before we start.” Conor nods understandingly, and you pull Tom aside, walking behind the sets while you angrily sip your coffee. “Y’know, you don’t have to be so dry to the crew that happens to talk to me.”

“I wasn’t dry!” Tom defends, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket. 

“Then what do you call that?” You gesture behind you with the roll of your eyes. “I thought we were on the same page about our relationship, here. I don’t like you in a romantical way, and I’d prefer it if you’d keep that base of our relationship out of work.”

“Y/N, Y/N.” He’s wide eyed, hands gesturing for you to slow down and listen to him. “I don’t like you in that way. I just… think I know somebody who you’ll really get along with.”

You groan. “Tom, you’re a shit matchmaker. Y’know that?” He gasps at your response, feigning offense. “Look, I’m being real with you! Nobody you’ve set me up with has lasted more than a week. You suck at this job, Cupid.”

Tom rolls his eyes but stops you from walking any further, grasping your arm to turn you in his exact direction. “Look, just trust me on this one?”

You ponder the idea almost with your body, head tilting in unsureness. “I don’t know…”

“Please,” He’s practically whining now. “Please, just… one more date?”

“Fine.” “Yay.” He smiles in victory just as the two of you are called back onto set. With heavy feet, you drag yourself to set, but this time, you can’t help but feel a little hopeful. Don’t fuck this up, Cupid.

**

You’d wrapped up filming last week, and the director’s were quite positive you wouldn’t need to come back in later for reshoots. So, you were flying out of Chicago and down to Atlanta with Tom for the weekend. He was going to “introduce you to his next option.” You still didn’t trust him, but you didn’t have any immediate projects, so you agreed anyways.

Tom was due to start filming Spider-man 3 on the upcoming Monday, so you knew you’d be going to the airport alone on your last night — that is, if things didn’t work out with this new date. 

After receiving a text from Tom to be ready by eight o’clock, you’d showered and done your makeup. Settling on an outfit wasn’t as difficult because you had only what you brought with you. You were driving down to Tom’s rental home — apparently Marvel Studios always rented him that one — by seven forty-five. You were driving a rental car, and you mentally kicked yourself for not bringing a jacket in the middle of winter. 

Parking in the open driveway, you rang the doorbell. Tom swung the door open, hair slicked back and trousers fitted nicely. You rolled your eyes with a groan, and before Tom could even greet you, you complained. 

“Tom, I told you I’m not going on a fucking date with you- please ju-”

“No, no, no, love.” He laughed. “C’mon in, it’s game night with me and the boys. Your boy is inside waiting for you.”

You looked at him skeptically before walking up the steps and through the door. Tom led you through a rather modern-looking house, through an extremely large kitchen and into a back den room with a poker table. You rolled your eyes, but your facade dropped in the immediate moment where all eyes turned to you. 

“Guys, this is Y/N, my co-star in that rom-com we just wrapped.” You saw Zendaya smile and wave, Jacob greeting you with a cheerful “hi!” and then you saw a freckled boy with red hair and immediately felt butterflies tickle your stomach. “Y/N, this is Harry. The guy I told you about.”

You wanted to curse at Tom for practically keeping this guy a secret. You wanted to curse him for setting you up with all those other tramps instead of this gorgeous boy right here. You wanted to curse at Tom for-

“This is my brother, Harry. Harry, this is Y/N, the girl I told you about.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out at his words, for reasons being that this “Harry” is his brother and that he’s talked about you to him. Keep your cool, Y/N.

“Uh, hi.” You nervously laugh, stepping forward to shake his hand. Harry smirks at you, hand reaching up as his lanky fingers make contact with yours, shaking from his seat without even standing. 

“Hey.” His voice is deeper than Tom’s and it catches you by surprise. Tom had told you about his three younger brothers, but he never mentioned specific details like the ones you’re noticing now. 

“Right then,” Tom clasps his hands together. “Y/N, you can share the seat with Harry while I get the drinks.”

You nod and try not to come off as too flustered, heart pounding against your chest, palms sweating. They’ve pulled up a loveseat to the poker table, suitable for two people, or two lovers. You wince at your own self, wanting to kick yourself again. But you don’t, instead sliding in next to Harry. He smiles, removing the toothpick that was sitting on the side of his mouth, sticking out like a truck driver. He throws it, and it lands directly into the garbage bin. You bite your lip and begin the game. 

You end up staying in Atlanta for a lot longer than your two-day trip for the weekend. You’re there for a total of four weeks, and you’ve spent practically every hour with Harry. You were in a hotel for the first four and a half days before Tom had groaned at you leaving at one in the morning again, telling you to stay in Harry’s room and stop wasting your money on lousy hotels. The proposition made you giddy inside (and nervous, but they didn’t need to know that), and when Harry smirked at the idea, encouraging it too, you agreed.

So, you spent practically four weeks in Harry’s room, giggling at jokes and cuddling and watching movies and taking pictures. He’d taken you to set too, showing you around, talking nonstop about his cameras and their many different lenses. 

The Spider-man crew was dispersing for a two week break, and Harry had already decided that you were going with him and Tom back to London. 

“Love, are you ready?” Harry called for you from the bathroom connected to his bedroom. You shouted back your reply, zipping up your final suitcase while he walked back into the room. 

You knew that after your trip to London, Harry would have to go back to work and you’d have to go home before starting your next project. But you didn’t care — the two of you had already discussed long distance relationships before confirming yours; you could make it work. 

You would land in London by your two-month mark, you realized with a smile. Harry gave you a forehead kiss before talking both of your suitcases downstairs to the car. You grabbed the duffel bags and followed him out of the room where it all began. 

The flight was exhausting but nostalgic in a weird sense. You spent the latter half of it curled up into Harry’s side, asleep or watching a movie. When you finally boarded off the aircraft, you went straight to Harry’s flat without protest. Normally, you’d fight about checking into a hotel so you wouldn’t catch anyone unprepared, but you were too tired to care. 

Now, it’s been a day since your flight and you’ve promised Harry — and Tom — that you’ll go with him to their parents’ house for some lunch. You admit that you’re nervous and that it’s probably too soon to be meeting parents, but you pay no mind as you’re entering Holland's childhood home. 

“Mum!” Sam, Harry’s twin who you’ve just been introduced to, yells out. “They’re here!”

You hear excited squeals as Sam leads the three of you through and into the kitchen. Nikki’s back is turned when you enter, but she excitedly turns around to greet her sons. She’s taken off-guard at the sight of you next to Harry, but still leans in to tightly hug her sons, who she hasn’t seen in quite awhile. 

“And who’s this?” She inquires, gesturing in your direction. You’re a little taken aback at how unwelcoming she seems to be acting, but you shake it off as nerves. 

“Mum,” Harry smiles, a hand on the small of your back, nudging you a little closer to him and his mother. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

The whisk in her hand seems to stop mixing the recipe in the bowl. Your smile falters slightly, but Tom fills the silence at Nikki’s ajar mouth. 

“Mum, she’s- uh, she’s my co-star in that rom-com I got casted for. Remember?”

“Oh,” She smiles a tight-lipped one, and you can tell it’s forced and fake. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Nikki.” She wipes a hand off on her apron before extending it for you to shake. You accept the offer with a hesitant but genuine smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She hums but doesn’t respond, instead turning her attention to Tom. You make eye contact with Harry worriedly, and he shakes his head, bewildered. He kisses your temple before sending you in to meet Paddy and talk to Sam — somebody who actually welcomed you. 

The day goes on like this, and though the tension is most obviously present, you don’t touch the subject, knowing it’s not your place or your home, especially since you came almost unannounced. You don’t want to be angry with a woman you barely know, so you try not to mirror her feelings.

“So, Y/N,” She directs her attention to you for the first time all day. You look up from your intertwined hands with a smile. 

“Yea-”

“Did you just decide Tom wasn’t good enough based on his character and then move on to my next son?”

You’re shocked, mouth ajar as you blink. “W- what?”

“Tom told me about how many ‘date failures’ you had until you finally settled on Harry.”

You want to curse at Harry for offering to refill your drink, and you want to curse at Tom for spilling the secrets of your dating life. “I- I didn’t settle for anyone.”

“That’s not what my son says.”

Just then, both boys walk in together, laughing in conversation about something. You’re already crying, but the minute the door opens you stand abruptly, nearly knocking Harry off his feet. 

He laughs at you, “Love? What’s u-” But he’s cut short when he notices your red eyes and fresh tears. He sets the glasses down, wiping your cheeks and grabbing both of your hands. “What happened? Hm?” He’s shushing you, trying his best to calm you down. “C’mon, angel. Tell me.” 

“Your- your mom just said a few things.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrows, and so do Tom’s. They turn to look at the woman in the chair skeptically, questions flying out immediately. 

“Mum? What did you say to her?” 

You excuse yourself, not wanting to be a part of the conversation just yet. You run off to the bathroom to freshen up while Harry and Tom talk to Nikki. 

“Harry, I’m just being a protective mother, okay? I didn’t say anything that bad.” 

“Mum, you made her fucking cry.” Harry’s fuming, nostrils flaring while he glares at his mom. 

“Don’t talk that way with me.” She points her finger at her son. “That girl is no good for you.”

“Mum, I introduced them.” Tom says. “I know her; she is good.”

“Not if she has to settle for Harry.” She clicks her tongue. “I remember all those dates you told me she went on, Tom.” She sighs while he scoffs. “Anyone that tries that hard to find a boyfriend is out for other things.”

“That’s bullshit.” Harry interjects. “She’s an actress, of course dating is hard.”

Nikki purses her lips but doesn’t reply. 

“Mum, she’s crying.” Tom says softly, seemingly trying a different approach. “You haven’t talked to her at all, today. I think you shouldn’t have judged her too quickly.”

“Apologize.” Harry says finally before standing up. “Apologize or we’re leaving.” He walks out of the room, heading to the bathroom where you’re hidden away, sitting on the toilet while you catch your breath. He knocks, coming in with your permission. 

He pouts when he sees your tear-stained face, face puffy and eyes red while you sniffle. 

“‘M sorry.” You grumble the words while he kneels in front of you. 

“What’re you sorry for, baby?”

“For causing all this drama.”

“Hey, hey,” His thumb rubs across your knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She had no right to say those things to you.” You look at him as he finishes, engulfing him quickly, crying into his shoulder while he catches you with his arms, holding you against his chest lovingly. After a few minutes, there’s a knock at the door, and Tom’s voice rings through. 

“Mum says she wants to talk to you guys.”

Harry makes eye contact with you apologetically, thumb still moving across the skin of your hand. 

“Well,” he stands tall. “Shall we?” You wipe your cheeks one final time before standing with him, taking the hand he offered you as you head for the bathroom door. 

“Guess there’s no avoiding this part if she’s going to be my future mother-in-law.” 

Harry sucks in a breath, and as you make eye contact with a smirk, there’s a glint in his eyes that acknowledges that you’re feeling better. He smirks back, opening the door for you as you head back into the living room. 

Keep your cool, Y/N. You inhale a deep breath, emerging into the room. Keep your cool. 

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress!reader #harry holland x actress!reader #harry holland fluff #harry holland angst #harry holland fic #harry holland imagine #harry holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

--

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #sicktember #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #sick aziraphale #cuddles #fever #protective crowley #soft crowley #there was only one bed #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #my writing #prompt challenge

[asset35-maya]

Nice Things

Inspired by this spectacular drawing of long-haired Nines by @marndraws

Gavin Reed never had nice things.

Every day was a fight for survival. He studied hard, worked hard and did everything he could to come out on top… but he never had nice things. If he did, they wouldn’t last.

Then the most beautiful creature to walk the planet entered his life.

A sheer scientific miracle. A combined feat of engineering and art. The most advanced android ever built… and the kindest soul the mean city of Detroit had ever seen.

Nines.

Gavin had no idea how to interact with the RK900 in the beginning. If it were any other new partner he’d have been his usual abrasive self, but there was something about the android that left him dumbstruck. No insults came to mind, so Gavin stuck to silent cooperation (and obedience, actually).

The RK900 model was designed to be aesthetically pleasing. There was no doubt about that, but it was how the android carried himself that took things to another level entirely. Poise, elegance and flair touched everything that he said and did.

It extended to the way he transformed his appearance after deviancy. Nines shed his Cyberlife uniform with the harsh turtleneck and stiff jacket in favour of softer, more delicate garments. He still stuck to dark colours, but his clothes were all loose and flowing. He dressed more like an interior decorator than a homicide detective (and it honestly served him well).

Gavin often had to tear his gaze away from the refined fabrics and unconventional styles that Nines wore. Gavin never had nice things… but he certainly had an eye for them.

And then there was Nines’ hair…

When Gavin had first seen the change from the default appearance settings, he had to leave the station, find a quiet alley and focus on bringing his breathing back to normal.

Nines… for some unknown, wild, spectacular, unprecedented, utterly amazing reason… had decided to lengthen his hair and let it hang loose around his shoulders.

The dark tresses were as expressive as the android himself. They danced when he laughed. They whipped the air when he animatedly told a story with his steel blue eyes flashing. They shone in every damn light.

Gavin couldn’t help but stare. He never had nice things… but he was drawn to them.

Not a day went by that he didn’t want to reach out and tuck the fine strands behind Nines’ ear, but he held back from giving in to such insanity.

Nines didn’t hold himself back though.

For all the times Gavin had been looking, so had he. He made his move in the middle of a very boozy Christmas party at the DPD. It didn’t take much of an effort. They left the party together on the flimsy pretext of Nines showing Gavin his Christmas lights at home… and promptly fell into bed together.

Gavin had never had nice things… but he knew exactly what he wanted, and when they were presented to him on a silver platter, he knew how to take them.

Nines’ hair was as soft as he imagined and even silkier than he dreamed. He couldn’t stop running his fingers through the lifelike synthetic fibres and Nines couldn’t seem to get enough of his touch either.

Bliss.

On the third anniversary of the Christmas party, the pair found themselves in very much the same position, only that they didn’t actually make it to the mindless office event this time. The day started and ended in bed.

Fairy lights glittered and tastefully-chosen tinsel framed the snow-laden windows of their loft apartment. The large Christmas tree emanated a warm glow that reached even the bedroom where they lay tangled in the sheets.

Nines was draped over Gavin’s chest, his fingers skimming idly across the warm skin.

“Sweetheart…”

“Nines.”

Gavin’s wary tone of voice made the android laugh. A velvet sound that the human would follow to the ends of the earth.

“What’s the thing you love most about me?”

Gavin exhaled loudly, hugging Nines closer.

“Baby, you know I ain’t good at words and shit.”

“I’m not asking you to write me a poem. Just tell me what you love most about me.”

He sighed and stared at the ceiling.

“Is this a test?”

“I don’t have to test you. I know everything there is to know about you. I can read you like a book even with my analysis software turned off.”

“Uh huh. Then why the inquisition?”

“Because validation is nice.”

Gavin snorted and carded his fingers though Nines’ gorgeous hair.

“Guess I can start by applauding your honesty.”

Nines hummed, rubbing slow circles into Gavin’s pec with his thumb. A few minutes went by and Gavin began to drift off to sleep.

“So what’s more attractive to you? My personality or my looks?”

Gavin’s eyes snapped open in alarm.

“What the ph-”

“There’s no right or wrong answer. Just tell me.”

Nines propped himself up on his elbows and peered into Gavin’s face. It was truly a magnificent sight. Two piercing blue eyes… plush lips curling into a smirk… a cyan LED… and a perfectly arched eyebrow. A pale, angular face… framed by sweeping curtains of dark, glossy hair.

Gavin gulped.

“I can’t choose. You’re the total package.”

“Cop out.”

“Pfffft. You tell me then. What do you like better? My mug or my sharp wit? Hah. Betcha can’t answer that for all the complex calculations your supercomputer brain can do.”

Nines tossed his hair over his shoulder and elevated himself further, pressing his forearms onto Gavin. His fixation with the human’s muscular chest was no secret.

“I can.”

“Huh.”

“You hardly said anything when we first met so I had nothing to go off for your personality-”

“Maybe I was mysterious and aloof and ya just couldn’t resist.”

“No, I actually thought you were kind of slow. All your medals and service awards didn’t make any sense to me.”

“Wowww.”

“So it had to be your body. Why else would anyone keep you around?”

“Is that why you stuck around too?”

“Maybe.”

“You little-”

Gavin reversed their positions on the bed, flipping Nines onto his back and curling huge biceps around his lithe body. Nines tipped his head back to allow Gavin to drag his teeth across his throat and latch onto his collarbone. Some moments passed like that until Nines regained control by hooking a leg over the human’s waist to slow him down.

“Fine. I confess. It was the leather jacket.”

“Seriously?”

Nines dug his heel into Gavin’s coccyx.

“It was everything about your appearance that you had control over… or weren’t born with at least. For instance, your face is conventionally attractive, but it’s all the lines and scars and little things that made me wonder what kind of a life you’d lived… what you might have gone through... how you came out stronger. And yes, your body is a temple, but it’s the work you put into it that I admire. You know how to take care of yourself and that’s…”

“Hot?”

“Hot.”

Nines accepted a rather sloppy kiss with grace. He rubbed his hands up and down his partner’s back.

“So. Tell me. What was it for you? What is it for you?”

Gavin’s right hand subconsciously found its way into Nines’ long hair and caressed his scalp. He sighed into the crook of Nines’ neck and took in the familiar scent that was neither entirely human nor entirely artificial. Everyone expected androids to smell like a new car but the fact was that each of them had their own unique smell. It was impossible to describe in words, but it was one of the many many things Gavin loved about Nines.

“Babe, I think you’re asking a shit ton of questions, but none of them are what you actually wanna ask.”

“Say more.”

“Gavin, do you love me because I look like a Greek god or is it because I’m smart as phck? Gavin, what did you notice first about my sexy android ass? Does the same thing get you off today, or is it something else?

I think… there’s something you already know… or something you think you know… and you’re just trying to get me to say it and dig myself into a giant hole.”

Nines didn’t respond but his LED did. Gavin chuckled and pressed his lips to the spinning yellow light.

“Called it.”

Nines rolled his eyes.

“It’s my hair, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“Admit it, you’re obsessed with my hair.”

“And you’re obsessed with my tits. We take turns objectifying each other. First sign of a healthy relationship.”

The android’s sharp nose scrunched up at a particular word and Gavin closed his eyes in resignation. Despite his best efforts he’d walked right into the trap.

“Dammit, babe, I didn’t mean it like that. I would never ever see you as an object-”

“My, my… we’re lying here two years to the day we became…”

“A thing.”

“Yes. And here I am reminiscing about what made you even look at me in the first place… and it turns out the credit goes more to Cyberlife than it does to me.”

Gavin groaned while his lover’s tinkling laughter rang out. He had to think fast if he had to turn the tables.

“So I’m that slow?”

Nines looked back at him, confused.

“You just dragged MY instincts. Like I’m dumb enough to fall for a program written by some geeky little code nerd. Like it was all totally predetermined and I didn’t see you tease and flirt and practically fall over yourself trying to get my attention for months. Huh?”

Gavin tightened his grip and gave his partner an affirmative shake.

“All those outfits and nail colours and pointy shoes and sparkly, shiny things. You saw me looking and you just kept stepping it up.”

He grasped Nines’ jaw and kissed him firmly.

“And your hair, baby… yeah, some genius worked on the tech at some point… but they didn’t tell you how to wear it. They didn’t tell you about the length or cut or angle. They didn’t tell you to walk around looking like a phcking prince. They didn’t tell you to roll the car windows down on the highway so your hair could fly in my face and drive me phcking crazy…”

Gavin thrust his fingers into the dark locks and pulled the android back in for a series of open-mouthed kisses and tantalising swipes of his tongue. Nines started to reciprocate physically, but Gavin swatted his hands away, not wanting to let things go further without making it clear who had gained the upper hand in their ridiculous game. He broke away panting.

“I love you. Don’t ask me why because there isn't one single reason. And I phcking love your hair. Not just ’cause it’s pretty but ’cause you’re the only motherphcker in that precinct who’d show up to the gristliest of crime scenes looking like a runway model.”

They stared at each other. Nines’ LED flickered.

“I… wow, sweetheart… okayyy… I… love you too.”

A moment of silence passed and Gavin rounded things off with his classic double wink.

“You’re welcome.”

Nines smiled, accepting defeat. He reached up and carefully rearranged his hair, letting it fan out on the pillow. Unable to keep the smile off his face, Gavin dipped his head down and returned his lips to Nines’, kissing him under the covers until his LED spun bright blue.

Gavin Reed never had nice things… until he learnt how to take good care of them.

//

Part 2: Red Dress

#reed900 #gavin900 #dbh gavin #gavin reed #rk900 #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #tw: implied sex #high romance #my writing #dbh writing

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki series #sylvie #mobius x reader

[wwilloww]

cliff diving pt. 3 | kth (m)

genre: fluff. smut. nonidol!au. camping!au.

pairings: Taehyung | Reader

rating: 18+. NSFW. Explicit.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: cursing. talk of sex. skinny dipping. spooning. grinding. dirty talk. hair pulling. public nudity. public sex. oral sex (f giving and recieving). slight exhibitionism. unprotected sex (okay guys, you know the drill, wrap it before you tap it). creampie.

summary: Every year as soon as the weather warms up, your friends haul ass out of the city to the mountains where you camp and hike in the shadow of giant rocks and ancient evergreens—and now apparently jump off of cliffs for fun. This time, an innocent round of truth or dare inspires you and Tae to play a mischievous game without getting caught by your friends.

a/n:  THE FINAL CHAPTER. Who woulda thunk this piece would end up so long. Thank you so much to everyone who helped with this series, especially the always lovely @ot7always, who beta read the final chapter. This has been my baby for the past month, so if you’ve enjoyed it, it would absolutely make my day to hear from you!  

<- previous chapter || series masterlist ||

©️WWILLOWW DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR COPY MY WORK

Chapter Three

“The fire is dying down faster than I thought,” Jungkook frowns as he pokes the dwindling flames with a stick.

You had long since dried off from your swim and now the five of you were huddled around the fire, laughing and exchanging stories. It almost seemed normal. Almost as if nothing had changed. Taehyung kept a respectable distance from you, knowing Jin was periodically glancing over at the two of you.

“I’ll grab some more firewood from the car,” you say, standing up from your chair and placing your steaming mug of tea on the ground.

As you walk away from the fire and the distraction of your friends, you finally have a moment to breathe and reflect. Within your chest, you feel as if you are being split in two. Your heartbeat echoes through your body, unrelenting in its pace. Now that you know he wants you, a floodgate has opened, pumping elation and excitement through your veins with each beat of your heart. Yet, something akin to shame sings beneath your skin, turning your cheeks red and pressing your nails into the skin of your palm. What if you had taken things too far?

In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t felt wrong. He had melted into your body like he belonged there. You’d never been kissed like that before, kissed like he knew you, like he understood every curve and desire of your body. You run your finger over your lips, the lower one still pink and swollen from Taehyung’s ministrations.

It was the most natural thing to allow him to wrap himself around you, and yet, you feel frozen at the thought of what could possibly lay beyond this.  

“Tae, why don’t you help her?” Jin suggests, his gaze flickering between the two of you as you near the edge of camp. “Bring enough back for hot water in the morning.”

Taehyung’s mouth opens and closes, before he mutters a hurried, “Sure,” and rises from his chair to follow after you, jogging to catch up. You smile up at him when he comes to your side.

The car is parked a short distance away from the campsite, short enough you’re not worried about lugging piles of wood back and far enough that you’re not concerned anyone will overhear you.

“Do you think Jin saw anything?” Taehyung snickers in your ear.

You giggle.

“No, I think he would have said something if he did.”

“And what would he say?”

“Ah...um,” you flounder, smiling up at Taehyung’s grinning face as you reach the car. “Don’t be stupid?”

Suddenly large hands are firm on your waist and Tae spins you around, your back hitting the metal of the car.

He’s close. Awfully close. He presses you up against the car, his chest pushed to yours.

“Is it stupid?”

“I, uh—” Your eyes widen as he stares down at you, unmoving, a look of curiosity flashing across your face.

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes tracing the slight pout to his lips, a delicious pink. “Yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

He reaches up to tug on a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from your messy bun. It’s a familiar gesture—one that he’s done for years—but now it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why’s that?”

“You, mister, are pushing your luck,” you say, avoiding the question. “The others are right over there.” As much as you want to reach up and pull him against you, there is a lingering tension that what you’re doing is dangerous, risky. So instead of wrapping your arms around his neck, you push gently against his chest and grin up at him as he leans closer to you. The all-too-familiar habit of teasing one another, mixed with the novelty of the warmth of his hands against your skin—the combination sucks the air right out of your lungs.

“Would this be pushing my luck?” He leans down towards you, stopping only when his lips are an inch away and his gaze is locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Because I kind of want to push it.”

Your heart all but stops. Your body is screaming for this. All you can think of is the way he felt against you earlier, the way you didn’t need to think of anything else with him wrapped around you, the way nothing mattered except for keeping him close.

Fuck it, you think.

“Then push it,” you breathe, closing the distance between you two.

There is a moment when all you can feel is the pillowy plush of his lips. However, the spell is quickly broken as he nips your bottom lip gently between his teeth and you gasp. His lips are feverish as he presses against you, pulling you as tightly to him as he can. Palms spread wide against your back, dark curls tickling your forehead, his breath heavy against your mouth.

“Taehyung,” you breathe against his lips, tightening the grip you have around his waist. But instead of leaning into you like you had wanted him to, he’s pulling back, his irises blown wide, lips slightly swollen.

“Do you really think this is stupid?”

You pause for a moment, searching his gaze.

“I don’t want to—”

Your sentence is cut short as you hear footsteps quickly approaching. Taehyung steps back from you just as Jimin jogs into view.

“Do you guys need any help?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Taehyung beams as he opens up the trunk to hand Jimin a pile of firewood. Taehyung hands you an almost too-large stack and smiles softly at you before turning and heading back to camp.

I don’t want to get hurt, you finish internally as you watch his tall frame silhouetted against the campfire. I don’t want to lose you.

That night, you lie awake without Tahyunge’s hands on you. Jin and Jimin had stayed up, whispering who knows what to each other around the campfire. Taehyung, seemingly wary of their lingering gaze, had become unusually shy, averting his gaze from you and instead focusing on your other friends.

After you climb into the tent, Taehyung quickly falls fast asleep, clear by the even pace of his breath and the slackness in his jaw. But even after Jin and Jimin crawl into their sleeping bags and settle down for the night, you lie wide awake.

You wonder if you should reach over, if you should roll just a little closer to him. You’ve never craved someone’s touch like this. You’ve never let the thought of someone wrap so devastatingly around your mind. If only he would fucking wrap himself around me.

You hold back a groan, split in half between sexual and emotional frustration.

Through the mesh in the tent, you can see the stars blinking down at you. This far out in the mountains, the stars sing with a strength and clarity you don’t get to see anywhere else. Looking up at them, you feel so very small.

Could there be beauty in this kind of smallness? The quickness of your life, like dew on a rose—magnifying and drawing attention to the color it exists upon, only resting for a moment before the day begins—doesn’t that smallness, in the same moment it may make your life feel insignificant, make it all the more precious?

You close your eyes and feel your breath wash through you.

This smallness—this insignificance—this all-consuming feeling—is precious to you.

This thing with Taehyung—you aren’t quite sure how else to describe it—scares you. As you look in on the feelings that rise in you, as you look forward to that which is still to come, all you know is that you don’t know. And then it strikes you.

In looking over the sharp edge at a dark unknown, there is an indescribable—but undeniable—beauty. To take that step? To take that risk? In that moment you realize that it is not what waits on the other side, but the act of stepping into empty air, the act of jumping, that is what holds the mystifying beauty of life. This is the thing that takes the smallness of a single moment and stretches it as large as a lifetime.

Knowing this makes the decision for you. You roll over on your side and nuzzle into Taehyung’s chest. The mix of his familiar musk—the perfect combination of juniper and his signature cologne, a little faded from the mix of campfire and coffee grounds, eases the tight feeling in your chest. Just enough.

Sleep comes quickly. As that dark shore approaches, you feel a large and gentle hand wrap tightly around your waist.

You wake with a start to Tae shaking you gently.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to say something but he covers it with a large hand and places a finger over his lips.

“I want to show you something,” he whispers. “Will you come with me?” You nod, a sleepy smile spreading across your features as you rub the night out of your eyes. With one hand he holds out your bathing suit, which you quickly, but confusedly, slip on. Despite all the times that you two had changed in front of one another, he averts his gaze like he had yesterday.

It’s still dark outside as you crawl as quietly as possible over the piles of clothes and sleeping bags in your shared tent, doing your very best to not wake the others.

As Tae unzips the tent, you hear a groan and the ruffling of nylon behind you.

“Tae—?” Jimin’s sleep-fogged voice cuts through the darkness. He’s barely lifted his head but he’s staring directly at the two of you, eyes narrowed and heavy with sleep.

“Shh, Jiminie,” Tae sings, his voice like a lullaby. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Jimin lets his head fall back. You breathe a sigh of relief. As you climb out of the tent and slip your shoes on, you find something warm and tingly spreading through your chest: excitement.

As you take in the dark shadow of the mountains against the lightening backdrop of the sky, Tae wraps himself around your back, arms coming around to settle securely by your collarbone.

“I love how you’re keeping quiet for me,” he whispers, and the words shoot straight through your body. “I wonder what else you’ll do if I ask.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you fight the habit to shy away from his attention. He bends down, his hair brushing your cheek so that his mouth ghosts over the junction between your throat and your shoulders. It’s just enough sensation to raise goosebumps all over your body.

But it’s not enough.

You shiver, and he takes that opportunity to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. You let out the quietest of moans and can feel his lips turn to a grin against your skin. Just as you’re about to turn into him, to press your lips against his, he’s pulling away and the serious, gentle Taehyung is replaced by the smirking, devilish version.

He gives you a boxy grin and takes off towards the water, ripping off his shirt as he goes.

You don’t hesitate before following him.

The two of you paddle out to the middle of the lake at an easy pace. Taehyung undoubtedly has a competitive streak, and while that shines through in many of his interactions, his desire for companionship is what takes over in the quiet moments. The people he cherishes most in his life are those who he can sit with in comfortable silence.  

You swim in silence as rose-colored streaks and white fluffy clouds slowly paint the dark sky. The only sound is that of the water parting for you and the first measures of bird song.

You’re used to early morning swims with Taehyung and your friends, it being one of your favorite forms of exercise. But this feels different. As the mountains loom above you and gold ripples of dawn shimmer on the surface of the water, there is a sacred weight—anticipation—that hangs within this moment.

You fall into this beauty, focusing on the way your breath creates a pattern in the sounds of the world. It’s so easy to fall into this charm that you slow your pace down to a crawl, lifting your head out of the water to take in the view.

Suddenly, you’re tugged back as strong arms grab you from behind and you squeal in surprise.

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he sings as your surprise turns into laughter. “It’s this way.”

And just like that, his touch is lost and he’s paddling away again. You follow behind him, watching the way the muscles of his back ripple as he glides through the water. You realize he’s leading you towards a spot in the lake where the shores press together, creating a narrow inlet. The water is still deep as you swim into it, tall evergreens rising above, casting deep shadows onto the small swells of the lake.

You see a shore quickly approaching and quicken your stroke to catch up to him. When you do, you smirk to yourself and launch yourself onto his back, shoving his head underwater in the process. He sputters but quickly straightens up, a deep laugh echoing through his chest. You are still clinging like a koala to him, and he sucks in a large breath before throwing the both of you back into the water.

Everything goes quiet.

A low thrum echoes through your skull, the sound of water—lots of water, humming low and deep. You let go of Taehyung just as he spins towards you, your eyes opening in the clear lakewater. Your hands grip the strength of his shoulders as he faces you and time seems to slow down—the dark locks of his hair flow freely in the current, forming a halo that dances around his sharp features. And despite the shadows cast by the looming evergreens above the surface, his skin seems to glow in the tide of snowmelt and sunrise.

All too soon, your lungs begin to ache for air and you kick up towards the surface, letting Taehyung pull you along with him towards the shore.

Here, the lake is shallow enough to stand. His hands are firm on your hips as he turns you towards him, pressing you to his torso.

There’s a hungry look in his eyes and he licks his lips as his gaze locks on yours.

“Why do you do that?” you blurt, your words sounding harsh, like they could break the stillness of the morning. That same fear is rushing over you, the dread of looming disaster.

“I—” his eyes catch yours as his eyelashes flutter. “I want to.” He blushes, suddenly shy. “I want to kiss you. Can I—?”

“Please,” is all you can force out.

His lips come to meet yours. Unlike your last kisses, this one is gentle. You press against his lips, letting your hands glide up his torso to rest on his chest. The kiss is soft, slow, and you can feel him breathing steadily beneath your hands, even as his grip around your waist grows tighter.

His hands trace their way up your sides to cradle your head between his large hands. The gentleness with which he holds you—the tenderness with which he kisses you—

“I don’t understand,” you manage to whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, a puzzled look on his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

“You. This.” Your instinct is to look away, but instead you hold his gaze, making the decision to turn away from your shyness, from the fear that bubbles up in your throat. He’s holding you close to his body and his chest rises and falls evenly, his eyes focused intently on you as you speak. “Like, is this a one-time thing? Is this just us messing around? Is this a friends thing?”

He laughs. “I don’t usually treat my friends like this.”

“Jimin will be disappointed to hear that,” you giggle.

“No, I’m serious.” His brow furrows and he bites his lip. “I like you. Maybe that’s stupid, like you said. Maybe this is stupid.” He gestures between the two of you. “But I’m willing to take that risk if you are. And I don’t know… it probably requires a longer conversation but I’d like this to be a more than friends thing.” He smiles softly at you. “If… if that’s what you want too.”

“I don’t want to be friends with you,” you state.

“Good. I have absolutely no interest in being friends with you either,” he grins.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you smile back softly. He nods his consent and you lean in.

It starts slow, tender.

His hands come up to draw against your sides and you shudder at the delicacy of his touch.

However, any sense of delicacy quickly disappears as you tangle your hands in his hair, loving the way the silky strands tangle around your fingers as if even the smallest details about him are begging you to come closer. Noticing the way his grip on you tightens as you run your fingers against his scalp, you take a guess and tug just enough to elicit a rough, graveled moan from him.

“You like that?” you ask.

“God, yes.”

Your grip tightens around his dark strands and you ever so gently build up the pressure in your wrist until his face is flushing and he’s tilting into your touch, leaving his neck exposed.

You pepper kisses softly down from his lips to his neck, where you nip and bite at the delicate skin. Between your ministrations on his neck and the firm hand you have in his hair, he’s putty in your hands.

However, his compliance doesn’t last long. He seemingly regains his senses and he slips his knee between yours, your center meeting his thigh. He presses up, applying a warm and heavy pressure just where the tension is building. Just as you’re starting to move your hips against his leg, he stops. You whine, chasing his touch. Although he smirks down at your pout, his next words are soft.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for his lips.

“No, you’re shaking.” He takes a step back. “Let’s get you out of the water. I know exactly how to warm you up.” He sends you a wink.

Despite how heated Taehyung has made you feel, he’s right. Your fingers are white and a chill has sunk deep into your bones, leaving you shivering.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you to the shore, guiding you over the slick rocks of the shallows.  

“This way,” he says, taking your hand and leading you alongside one of the rivers that feeds the lake. It’s shallow but wide, and he helps you balance as you step over the river rocks. It’s only a minute or so of walking before you hear the sound of rushing water. As you turn the corner, you find the source of it.

Water tumbles down from a height of twenty or thirty feet, falling into a crystal blue pool. Steam rises off the pool and as you move closer, you realize it’s… warm?

You jog towards the hot spring, slipping a little as you do so.

“Hey! Be careful!” Taehyung calls from behind you, but you don’t slow down. You only slow once you reach the edge of the water, dipping your toe in to test the temperature. Reassured, you wade into the water, sighing at the comforting warmth.

Once you’re in deep enough, you submerge your entire body, allowing the heat of the water to ease some of the coldness out of your limbs. You hold your breath for as long as you can before emerging, pushing your hair back. You sigh, deep and long, as your body warms and replaces the chilled tint of your skin with a gentle flush. After a minute, you open your eyes to see Taehyung standing, waist deep, just watching you. The corner of his lip is twitched up in the smallest ghost of a smile.

“You’re beautiful when you’re relaxed,” he says.

“Thanks.” You flush at the compliment.

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m pretty too?”

You break into laughter and he dives beneath the water, swimming away from you and towards the shore. You follow after him.

“Was this the only thing you had in mind to warm me up?” you tease, coming to press up against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“What? Is my secret hidden hot spring not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s perfect. I just… thought there might be a quicker way to warm up.”

He grins at you as you plop down onto the shore, wringing the water out of your hair. He comes to sit in front of you, kneeling between your legs.

“Did you now?” Tae grabs one of your legs, pulling it into his lap. He begins to massage your calf, hoping to bring some blood flow back to your limbs. “Something like this?”

“Something like this,” you repeat back to him, a slow smile spreading across your features. His fingers are lithe and nimble and somehow move in beautiful circles while still digging deep into the muscle. He had always done this for you after a long day of climbing, but with your legs spread and lips still swollen from his teeth, his touch takes on a different, blossoming meaning.

“God, that feels good,” you groan, your body relaxing under his touch.

“How good?” He bites his lip.

“Good enough that I want you to keep going.”

He begins to move up your leg, reaching your thigh before stopping to massage the fleshy bits of your body. His touch unravels the coldness from your blood and releases the tension from your early morning swim. It’s now your turn to melt into his hands and he takes note of this, leaning forward to meet your lips.

The kiss is light, but his hands dig deeper, moving upwards and closer to the edge of your swim bottoms.

He releases you with one hand to push the still-dripping hair out of his eyes. He catches you watching him and reaches out to cup your chin.

“You know, when you want something your eyes widen, adorably.” He runs his thumb over your lower lip. “And your lips part…” your blush deepens as his gaze becomes more intense. “...when you look at me. I’ve always noticed that. Noticed it the first time I met you.”

“You—you knew this whole time?”

“No, I thought that was just you—you being you. But now, knowing it’s just me,” he grins.

“It isn’t just you,” you say defensively.

“Isn’t it?”

You meet his gaze.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.”

He leans forward to kiss you, his hand meeting your inner thigh again. His large fingers skate around the edge of your swimsuit. You’re so on edge after days of teasing that the simple gesture has you gasping against his mouth.

“Fuck, Tae, if you don’t touch me now I… well I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shoots you one of his classic boxy grins. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he says as he sits back on his heels and walks his fingers towards the edge of your swimsuit, brushing the pad of his thumb over the fabric. You arch into his touch. After so much build up you’re overly sensitive. With one finger, he toys with the edge of the fabric and the swell of your lower lips, tracing around them. “You know I’ll always give you whatever you want. Especially when you look like this.”

He shoves your swimsuit to the side.

“So pretty and pink for me,” he murmurs. He draws his index finger up and down your folds. The touch is simple but it draws a whine from you.

His eyes shoot upwards to meet yours.

“Do that again.”

“Make me.”

He grins and slides your swimsuit down your legs and tosses it off to the side. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head to your glistening lips, using his hands to spread you wider for him.

“Take your top off,” he commands. “I want to see all of you.”

As you make quick work of slipping your swim top off, he kisses gently down your thigh, watching your tits come free and harden against the crisp morning air. And then his lips are pressed against you, warm and plush. He sends a stiff flick to your clit, sending sparks straight up your spine. Your head falls back, mouth hanging open.

“Tae, you feel so good.”

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against you.

His tongue laves over your cunt rhythmically, drawing some kind of beautiful pattern. You can’t help but grind against his mouth, pushing your hips up towards him. When his tongue dips into your entrance you cry out. He groans against your lips, sending vibrations through you. As he builds a steady pace you find your orgasm hurtling towards you, crashing into your body before you can warn him. You gasp, hands shooting out to grab onto whatever you can.

“Good girl,” he whispers against you, unrelenting in his pace.

As you reach down to push the hair away from his eyes, you notice his hips moving. He’s thrusting into his own hand with the same rhythm as his tongue.

Something about the unrestrained desire in his movements, the sight of him chasing  his own pleasure, has you clenching again and he smirks against you. You can feel his lips curl.

“C’mere, baby,” you murmur, trying to pull him up. “Let me take care of you.”

The two of you switch positions, him leaning back against his elbows and you on your belly in the grass between his thighs. The position is almost casual, as you kick your feet up behind you. But any portrait of innocence is broken when you pull his swim shorts down. His length springs free, already hard and slapping against the taut skin of his belly.

“God, you have a beautiful cock,” you gape, reaching out to wrap your hand around it gently.

He chokes at that.

“Well I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s true. So pretty and flushed.” You trace your finger over the prominent vein and grin when his cock twitches in your hand. “Ooh, sensitive.”

“I appreciate your curiosity, babe, but god, please, touch me.”

“I am.”

“More,” he begs.

You smirk up at him as you take your time leaning down and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. He tastes salty and a little bitter. You run your tongue along the underside, using a hand to cover whatever isn’t in your mouth before pulling him fully inside. You begin a slow but punishing pace, bobbing up and down on his length.

It’s not long before his hips are twitching up into your mouth.

You look up at him to find him slack jawed, reeling in pleasure and delight that it’s your lips wrapped around him.

“God, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me.” It slips out before he knows what he’s saying. But the look of desire and admiration in your eyes is enough to placate his nerves. “Better than I imagined.”

You pull your mouth off of his cock with a slight pop. “You thought about this?”

“Mhmm.” He swallows hard as your mouth descends on him again. “The other day—that fucking popsicle.”

Your eyes widen with a hint of a smile but your pace doesn’t slow.

“And before that too—god I couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I’m sorry—, I tried, I didn’t mean—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I thought about it too.” Your reassurance sparks a light in his eye. “Tell me what you thought about.”

Your lips wrap around him again as you tongue at the head of his cock.

“Back in college, you would do this thing— fuck— where you would suck on your pencil in the library. Or your water bottle. Really, anything. Anything with your lips.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you remember those long nights spent studying in the stacks, and all the times Taehyung had urgently excused himself to the bathroom, returning a while later with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and a dopy, almost guilty smile painting his features.  

“Mhmm, what else?” you mumble as you lathe your tongue up and down the underside of his cock.

“The other day, on the cliff. All I could think about was you fucking someone else.” His eyes narrow. “That night in the tent, with you rubbing yourself all over my dick—” Your eyes widen at his directness, a spark of desire shooting through your core. “All I wanted to do pull those tiny shorts down and fuck you until that thought stopped spiraling through my head, until everyone knows who you belong to.”

His words egg you on and you attempt to take as much of him into your mouth as possible. The head of his cock brushes up against the back of your throat and you suppress the urge to gag. Instead, you take a deep breath, relax, and ease him slowly into the tight walls of your throat.  

“Ah!” he gasps as you attempt to swallow around his length “Okay, okay, come here baby,” he chants, more to himself than to you. “I’m gonna come if you keep it up like that.” He loosens his hands from where they’ve been tangled in your hair to pull you up so that you’re straddling him.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him. He can taste the bitter tang of his own precome on your tongue and he loves it. He loves tasting himself on you.

As you settle your weight into his embrace all of your attention is drawn to the hard length pressing along your folds. You’re soaking and he slides easily against you as his hips move in rhythm with his mouth. You moan directly into his open mouth when the head of his cock pushes directly against your sensitive clit.

“You want to do this?” you ask against his lips.

“Yes. God, yes. More than anything.”

You smile and lean back,  reaching down to grip his cock as you align it with your entrance.

“Wait—”

You freeze.

“I should have said this earlier. I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to or because you think this is the only thing I want you for.”

Your eyes widen, taking his flustered look in. Despite the sensation of his hard cock throbbing in your hands, all you can feel is the way your heart swells at hearing his words.

“I like you—I know I said that already—I like you a lot.” You press a shaky kiss to his lips, taking a deep breath. “I want you, not just this,” you say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Good. Are you gonna make me wait even more?”

With a smirk, you grip him tightly and slowly push just the head in, allowing time for you to adjust to his girth.

And then you pull up, releasing him from your warmth.

You do it again, only taking the tip of his cock. And again.

His hands are on you, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes.

“Please.”

You smile.

His adam’s apple bobs as you slide slowly down on his length, his fingers digging into your hips so hard it almost hurts. Almost.

“C’mere,” he pushes against your back so that you’re leaning forward, foreheads pressed together. You both stay in that position for a moment, unmoving. It’s enough to just savor the way your body relaxes around him, savoring the warmth, the feeling of melting into one another.

All you can hear are the sounds of your breath and the water lapping at your feet, mimicking the sounds of a heartbeat.

Finally, you shift your hips against him, lifting up just enough to feel him drag delightfully against your tight walls. You love the way his next intake of breath is sharp, as if he is doing his best to hold himself back.

With a grin, you push him back so he’s now resting his full back on the ground and you’re riding him. You begin your pace torturously slow, gently picking up speed.

Taehyung has always been a man aware of the way he looks. When you were younger, you all swore he could become an actor. He had a knack for twisting his face into exactly what people wanted to see from him, but here, now, he’s completely unraveled beneath you.

You watch in fascination as shifting emotion and sensation flickers freely across his face. Pleasure. Delight. Desire. Need.

His eyes flash open. “Moan for me. I want to hear you.”

You bite down on your lip, still doing your very best to keep your whimpers and groans stilled within your chest.

“I said I want to hear you moan for me,” Tae growls, shifting beneath you. The new angle is just enough to allow him to thrust up into you at his own pace. It’s just enough to split you open in pleasure and an involuntary moan slips out of you. You clap your hand over your mouth but he pries it away from you. “I love your voice,” he reminds you gently. “There’s nothing wrong with using it.”

“I don’t want them to hear,” you laugh, struggling to get the words out as he continues to hit a sensitive spot inside you.

“Let them hear. I want them to hear.” You look down just in time to see something mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands are tightening around your waist, and in a flash he flips you onto your back so he’s now in control of the angle and his thrusts. “Let them know it’s me drawing those pretty little sounds out of you.”

The combination of his words and the new angle stirs a deep fire in your belly and a sharp cry leaves your lips.

“That’s my angel,” Taehyung praises as his pace picks up. “So willing to do exactly what I tell her to do.”

He hooks his hand underneath your knee to get a better angle. You moan again, half for the sake of witnessing the bliss that spreads across his face at the sound of it.

“That’s it, baby. Let them know whose cock has you making those sounds. Let them know you’re all mine.”

You reach out for something to grab onto, twisting your fingers into the coarse ground as you arch your back.

“Baby, baby, grab onto me instead,” Tae coos from above you, unrelenting in his pace as your orgasm builds. “Hold onto me.”

You bring your hands underneath Tae’s arms to wrap around his back. When he hits a particularly soft spot inside you you groan, your fingers coming up to dig into his shoulders. It’s not just you. Your body wants him closer. Needs him closer. On his next thrust, you rake your nails down his back, trying to press him closer.

“Fuck,” Tae hisses.

“Closer…” you gasp. “I need you closer.”

“I’m already inside you and somehow you need me closer?” Tae grunts. “Greedy girl.”

“Yes, yes,” you beg. “Greedy for you.”

He comes down to rest on his forearms, boxing you in beneath his body. Still, his pace never falters.

“Do you think you can give me one more?” he asks. You grit your teeth and nod obediently. “That’s my girl. Let me feel you. Cum on my cock. Cum for me.”

You want to pull him into a kiss, but instead find your back arching and neck stretching out deliciously for him. He latches onto the already blooming flesh there, moaning your name against your skin. Your arms wrap as tightly as they can around him pulling him as deep as you can, calling his name and coming undone for him.

His pace only falters when he feels you gush around him. His movements become sloppy and desperate with need. A new sensitivity overtakes you as you come down from your orgasm and a whine slips from you. His continued thrusts only add to the sensitivity.

Your pleading voice in his ear is enough to send him over the edge. He presses into you hard one last time before collapsing and spilling into you, the most beautiful groan spilling from his lips.

Warmth and a gentle fullness replaces sensitivity as you both pant against each other, his weight resting heavy and reassuringly against you. He kisses slowly up your neck, lingering an extra moment on the marks he’s left, until he reaches your lips. He kisses you slowly and deeply.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Just like this?” you tease.

“Especially like this.”

“You too,” you remind him, not much energy left in you for a lengthy confession. Instead, you take the moment to brush his hair out of his eyes. He closes his eyes and sighs against your touch.

It’s only now that you become aware of your state. Your knees are cut and bruised from the rocks of the shore and your tangled hair is dripping in a mixture of lake water and sweat. Tae looks just as beat up as you do. And you love it.

As you run your thumb slowly over his damp cheek you hear footsteps—running footsteps quickly approaching. You have just enough time for Tae to sprawl out in an attempt to crudely cover you before a sweaty and very wide-eyed Jungkook trots into view. He seems as surprised to see you as you are.

“Oh hey, wha—Oh my god.” His eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled forms and tangled limbs. “HOLY SHIT.”

He immediately turns on his heel and starts sprinting back to the camp.

“TAE AND YN ARE FUCKING.”

The sound echoes all around the lake.

Jin smirks to himself as he climbs out of the tent and into the crisp mountain morning.

“Took long enough.”

<-previous chapter || series masterlist ||

masterlist || ao3 ||

taglist: @dontaskshhhhh @myimaginationsrunningwild @taehyoungmoney @taffyteffy @london-dreamer71 @satoujk @spicykoreantatertots

#ksmutclub #btsgoldnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #kth #v smut #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fic #bts ff #bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #fanfiction

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 2

****** 

Coffee. You use to drink it every morning but that became a bad combination with the wave of emotions you took on. In which you switched to tea. It doesn’t have the exact same effect as the coffee did but it worked perfectly in it’s own way.

Pouring the hot water on the teabag causes a swirl of transparent brown to fill the mug. The steam that rises warms your hand and you release a sigh.

Being distracted means you get startled when dishes start clattering behind you. You jump, spinning around to see who came into the kitchen without you noticing. Only to instantly relax when you see Steve and Rhodey.

“Hey guys.” You smile and wave.

Both men give you a smile and say good morning. 

A small conversation breaks out about some threat over in San Diego. Not knowing anything about it, and it being none of your business, you just fix your tea and a bagel while they chat. And when they’re done Steve is more than willing to get his session started.

Your last session with the man ended with him heartbreakingly sad. The topic of Peggy arising and being addressed.

He’d admitted to you that he considered going back. After Thanos, when he had the stones, he considered staying in the past to be with her. 

When you asked why he didn’t, he told you a number of things. Two important ones making the decision for him. One, when he found her, she was on a date with a man who would later become her husband. And two, despite his regrets over the past, he had things waiting for him in the future/present.

He had built friendships with Tony, Natasha, and Sam. And he had Bucky, his best friend since the beginning of time, or at least Steve’s time.

During this session you ask him how it felt to move on, not just from his second chance with Peggy but even before that, when he woke up from being frozen.

He’d started to tell you how hard it was and how he still doesn’t think he has. But he’s interrupted when his phone rings.

Much to your dismays, he has a mission he’s been called on and has to leave.

Before he walks out you stop him,“ you want some happy?” You seriously ask with a joking smile.

That’s how you’d described your powers to him, after he didn’t get the broader description the second time. You told him that you could take away his hurt and pain and give him happy.

Steve shakes his head,“ I’m good actually. Thanks though.”

Usually, with the busy schedules and occupied minds of the team, you have to go in search for your next patient. With Bucky you don’t. In fact you find him waiting just down the hall when you step outside your office.

Even though he wasn’t eager to be sharing his memories and feelings with you, he always made it a point to show up. You appreciated it.

You wave him over and he’s quick to walk down the hall. Bucky steps in behind you and sits on the couch as you shut the door. Despite the comfortability of the furniture he sits up straight, hands rubbing his knees.

When he glances up at you, you smile comfortingly. You sit in your chair, crossing your ankles as you hold on to your fresh cup of tea.

Like always, the super soldier remains nervously silent. It was a few sessions ago that you came to understand why. He isn’t nervous because of you, it’s the idea that he should know what he’s feeling and felt.

The man hasn’t processed an emotion properly in decades only to just recently be introduced to the concept of explaining his emotions. Plus the added anxiety of letting it all in.

Knowing he won’t be the first to speak you ask him,“ you want anything to eat or drink?” 

He’s quick to shake his head. Then looks directly in your eyes, for the first time today,“ do you, um, have any cracker jacks?” 

“I do actually, they’re in the cabinet to the left of the mini fridge.” 

After he’s gotten two boxes, he turns away, before grabbing a bottle of water and then going to sit. 

If it weren’t for Steve you wouldn’t have had any. The man said it reminded him of the “good old days,” getting cracker jacks when he went to see baseball games. Steve usually eats his with a Coke.

“Me and Steve use to buy a bunch of these and sneak them into baseball games. They were always cheaper at stores than the stadium.” 

A fond, nostalgic, smirk plays on his lips and you smile as well.

“Are you also a Dodgers fan? Steve spent our whole first session talking about them.”

When he chuckles you feel good about yourself and focus on his answer.

He nods,“ yeah, I like the Dodgers, but I think the Cubs are better. I used to like the Yankees simply out of loyalty to New York.”

“Do you not like the Yankees anymore?”

A sigh falls from his lips,“ no. They’re not the same. Then again, nothing else is either.” Before you can ask anything else he continues.“ I didn’t really know how to feel about missing decades of time. For a while I just pushed it aside, especially since I didn’t remember anything.”

His long pause makes you a little anxious. He’d started to open up without much from you and you didn’t want that to stop, you couldn’t help if he chose not to continue.

You ask,“ what changed?”

“Steve.” It’s a quick answer. Obviously he’s given this particular topic some thought.“ After my memories started to come back I realized I wasn’t alone in being so out of place. Steve missed just as much time as me and after I got better, after Thanos, it was nice to have someone to remember with.” 

Throughout the session you let him do most of the talking. Every so often he starts to shut down so you prompt him with an easy to answer question that seems to guide him into opening up even further.

By the time it ends, you’re incredibly happy with the progress. Seeing Bucky’s troubled and stressed expression drives you to asking him if he’d like you to take it away.

He was hesitant at first, you know it’s because of his experience with mind altering tricks. You assure him that it’s nothing like that. You don’t take his memories or thoughts away, essentially you pull everything he has to be happy about to the forefront.

Your powers aren’t permanent on anyone but it helps.

The man accepts and while he doesn’t leave with a bubbly smile on his face like Peter does, you can see that his eyes are lighter.

“Thanks for the chat Doc.” He smirks playfully when he mentions your title.“ And thanks for being patient with me.”

You shrug,“ thanks for letting me.”

After he’s left, you sit back down and finish off your tea. 

According to you schedule, your next patient should be Natasha, but that hasn’t been a thing for months.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you’d done that made her not want to even try. Thinking about it, you’d done nothing but be kind to the woman, offering your help at first but then just telling her you would only listen if that’s what she wanted. Each attempt at reaching out failed miserably with the woman’s emotionless denial. 

One long glance at her name written in your notebook lit something in you and you knew you couldn’t just give up on her.

******

Natasha moves her body effortlessly. 

She uses attack combinations and take down moves that at, one point she thought was too hard to execute, without even thinking.

Which is good. If she, even for a second, allowed too many of her thoughts to break through she’d never stop. She’d become distracted and give her opponent too big a shot to take her down.

If she focuses on anything but doing these moves perfectly she’d fail and she can’t have that.

Yet another groan from the person underneath her causes a smirk to form on her lips. 

“Jesus Nat, we’re sparring you’re not trying to kill me.” 

She lets his wrist go and rolls off his back before offering him a hand.“ I think your retirement is setting in Barton.” She teases.

Rolling his eyes, he rubs his wrist,“ what? I’m in the best shape of my life.” The man mockingly pulls a karate pose.

Natasha laughs, making Clint smile widely. 

With him knowing her so well, it’s good to see the woman happy. Still he hears the heaviness in the laugh and knows that there may always be something holding her back from being genuinely, completely happy.

Part of him wonders if talking about everything would help her. He knows it helps him and he doesn’t miss the light air that’s seemed to encompass his other teammates lately.

Clint formed a greater appreciation for you over that fact. It was about time the team took a shot at healing themselves instead of ignoring their issues to fix the world’s. 

He wasn’t pleased, and still isn’t, to see his best friend so opposed to the help. Natasha is strong but she’s still human and holding everything in the way she does isn’t healthy. 

“Alright,” with yet another groan, he steps off the mats,“ I need to get home or I won’t have a good spot for movie night.” 

He salutes to Natasha’s wave, figuring the woman is going to be in the gym for a while. 

The door almost slams into him with the force that it’s thrown open. Stepping back, he just barely avoids getting hurt.

You stand on the other side, your determined expression slipping to one of shock when you realized you might’ve hit him.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were right there, are you okay?” You rush out.

Chuckling, he nods,“ all good, didn’t even graze me. What’s got you in such a rush?”

As if remembering why you’re there, you go back to being determined.“ Is Miss Romanoff in here?”

“Uh, yeah, she’s over on the mats.”

Nodding with a smile, you march past him further into the gym. 

Clint presses himself against the wall with every intent to listen in, whether Natasha knows he’s there or not. 

The woman is already looking at you when you step into view, trained eyes watching your every move as you approach. An eyebrow quirking in question when you stop at the edge of the mats.

“You didn’t show to our session Miss Romanoff.” 

She’d never heard someone’s tone be equally as warm as it is accusatory. 

She makes no effort to reply.

Moving forward, you step on to the mat, her eyes flickering to your shoe covered feet, then back up to your eyes to see how close you are now. Far enough away to not be overstepping any boundaries but close enough for her to see the fire in your eyes.

Admittedly Natasha is fascinated with seeing the emotion in your eyes. Ever since you got here she’d seen nothing but your perky, optimistic, “everything is going to be alright” attitude. Like this, she feels as though she’s seeing a new, slightly intriguing side to you.

“I know exactly what game you’re playing Natasha,” the way you say her name nearly makes her shiver. She’s not intimidated, but she could be.“ I’m sure you sized me up and categorized me as a certain type of person the second I got here but I can tell you now you were wrong.”

Her head tilts in the slightest, amusement flickering through her eyes. 

You continue,“ I am not going to accept you giving up on yourself.” That right there erases the amusement. Her expression hardens.“ I don’t know anything about you but the fact that you actively avoiding coming to see me is very telling.”

For the first time, since maybe your third day here, Natasha speaks to you. And you’d be lying if you said her voice isn’t as sexy as it is scary.

“Whatever you think you’ve figured out, you haven’t. And this power move that you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work.” Despite her control over her words you feel the emotions pouring from her statement.

The agitation radiates off her and sets your powers alight, almost enough to make you back off. Until you feel it. The smallest, microscopic, bit of fear. It’s buried behind her annoyance with you, and a mountain of other things, but you feel it.

“This isn’t a power move Miss Romanoff. This is me letting you know I’m not giving up on you. I don’t know what it’ll take to get you to come to your sessions but I’m going to try everything I can until it happens.” She’s glaring now but that fear hasn’t left.“ Tony gave me your very detailed file,” she stiffens,“ but I didn’t read it.” Que her surprise.

Her frown this time is a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“When you come to see me I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to think I see you as whoever is on those papers. You will simply be Natasha Romanoff and I will accept whatever you’re willing to give.” You smile softly at the woman and step away.“ I’ll schedule you to come see me on Friday’s, that day is free for me so I will have more than enough time to chat. And you can try avoiding but I will come find you.”

Not leaving even an inch of room to argue, you turn and leave, giving Clint a little goodbye on the way.

It’s quiet for a moment. Natasha and Clint both processing what just happened. Clint gets it first and steps around the corner to look at his best friend.

“I didn’t want to push you into seeing her but after that,” he puffs out some air,“ I think it would be really good for you to go see her. She obviously cares, if that whole thing was to go based off of. She just wants to help, at least let her try.”

With one final smile, he leaves.

Standing on the mats, Natasha thinks. 

You were right. She did categorize you as the type of person who would just accept that she wasn’t coming. And if what you just did was any evidence, she was wrong.

******

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @nat-km-mh 

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #prove me wrong #reader insert

[ratchedspeach]

My Dearest Darling

Nothing like some nice domestic fluff to start off my writing expedition, hmm?

My Dearest Darling

Gwendolyn sings. Well, no, not so much sings as hums a melody with the adage of her favorite lyrics when she can remember them. She goes through song cycles. Most recently, the object of her affection has been the discography of one Etta James.

Today, Mildred awoke to A Sunday Kind of Love being murmured only slightly off key from the bathroom. The pale glow of morning settled into their bedroom as if someone had thrown a bucket of the light onto their room and watched it soak through. Mildred sits up on her elbows, blinks away the last bits of sleep. The air smells sweet, an amalgam of both their perfumes, and the floral notes of Gwendolyn’s shampoo seeping through the crack in the bathroom door. Mildred falls back against the pillows. Her hair feathers around her, a smile purses against her lips, and she sighs.

“And my arms need someone, someone to -- oh, you’re awake.” Gwendolyn appears in the doorway, steam billowing around her ankles, and clad in nothing more than a robe. Her strawberry blonde curls hang damp and limp against her shoulders, and she musses them with her fingers to ring out droplets of water.

“Good morning.” Mildred breathes, eyes still gazing up at the ceiling.

“Morning. I was thinking pancakes for breakfast?”

“That sounds nice.”

Gwendolyn starts on the batter while Mildred dresses. She smells coffee as she pins her rusty hair into a bun, and hears the sizzle of the griddle as she applies makeup. By the time she descends the stairs, Gwendolyn is putting syrup on the table and chopping up strawberries, and humming all the while.

“I don’t want Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. Oh nothing but Sunday, oh yeah.”

Mildred comes up behind her, wraps her arms around the taller woman’s waist, and buries her face in the nape of her neck. She smells like lavender and menthol, like the ocean, and driving down the coastline, and brown butter, and sugar. Like home, Mildred thinks, she smells like home.

“Darling, if you don’t let me go, we are going to be eating charcoal for breakfast.” Gwendolyn teases, finding Mildred’s cheek with the palm of her hand and spinning so that she’s facing her.

Gwendolyn’s fingers are sticky with the natural sweetness of berries. The color there matches the blush high on her cheeks, and her lips -- oh those lips -- those lips which Mildred thinks she could spend the rest of her days lost against, for they are sweeter than any fruit, warmer than any breakfast.

“Go on then.” Mildred smiles, planting a delicate kiss adjacent Gwen’s ear. “I’ll get the coffee.”

She pulls two mugs from from a cabinet, filling them with the mirky brown liquid. Mildred puts cream and sugar in one for herself, and leaves the other black. “I still can’t understand how to stomach this with nothing in it.” She chuckles, handing it to the older woman.

Gwendolyn takes it, murmuring her thanks, and brings the mug to her lips. She sighs, eyes fluttering when the caffeine buzzes through her system. “Years of practice.” She winks, and Mildred blushes.

It’s a beautiful day, uncharacteristically warm for November. A breeze hums off the trees in their backyard, and carries with it the sweet, rotting scent of dirt and grass. They decide to take breakfast on the porch. Mildred watches the steam rise off her plate stacked high with pancakes.

“They’ll get cold, you know.” Gwendolyn says with a mouthful.

Mildred nods, cuts off a bite, and puts the morsel in her mouth. They’re good. Really good -- crispy, and fluffy, and holding the distinct tang of buttermilk. Mildred swallows, smiles, sighs. They eat in relative silence, taking this brief moment of reprieve to simply exist near one another. When Gwendolyn has finished her plate, soaking up the last of the syrup with her finger notwithstanding, she leans back on her wicker chair with her coffee mug in her hand, and starts to hum again. It’s a new tune, one Mildred doesn’t recognize.

“That’s nice,” Mildred whispers for fear of enveloping the sound, “what is it?”

“Etta James.” Gwendolyn swallows another gulp of coffee.

Mildred rolls her eyes. “I know that. She’s all you’ve been humming for the past week. But what song?”

Gwendolyn swallows a laugh. “It’s called My Dearest Darling, and I have not been singing her so much.”

“Oh, you have so!” Mildred jabs back, eyes wide and knowing.

Gwendolyn thinks she can see the universe reflecting back at her through Mildred’s dark eyes. They glint and gleam with the force of a supernova, and the gentle vastness of space and time combined.

“Etta James. Since Tuesday, maybe? Billy Holiday before then, and before her, I think it was The Ink Spots.” Mildred recalls.

“You’ve been keeping track?”

Mildred blushes and pushes a few pieces of strawberries around with her fork. “I like to know what you are singing. It’s like having a music lesson.” Her expression changes, the corners of her lips twitching downwards. “I ... I never listened to a radio growing up. One of the homes I was placed with had an old record player, but ...” She shakes her head.

Gwendolyn takes Mildred’s hand, pale eyes shimmering, but she doesn’t pry. Mildred will tell her when she’s ready. The luxury of time in on her side.

“It’s getting late. I’ll drive you to work.” Gwendolyn stands, taking Mildred’s plate and lingering a kiss against her forehead.

The drive from their home to Lucia State Hospital takes thirty minutes along the coastline. Mildred presses her finger against the airflow which bounces off the car, and feels like she’s flying. Gwendolyn steals glances of her from the corners of her vision. She smiles, an earnest and gentle thing, and turns the radio up. Shadows dance across the younger woman’s face, painting her in a sort of yellow glow as they flit across her features. There, with Gwendolyn next to her, and the radio blaring, and the sound of wind billowing through their car, Mildred thinks she can feel the swell of ocean rise through her. And what of Gwendolyn?

Gwendolyn hums in spite of herself, under her breath at first, until there’s a break in whatever song has been playing on the radio. Then, Mildred hears her, and she shuts the thing off, and turns a little in her seat so she’s gazing fondly over at her; as if this is a private concert just for her.

“You’re going to give me stage fright, you know.” Gwendolyn smarts.

Mildred shakes her head, a giggle bubbling in her throat. “I doubt that.”

“Oh nothing, nothing in this world can keep us apart ...”

Mildred’s fingers tangle with the hair at the base of Gwen’s skull.

“Oh my dearest darling, I offer you my heart.”

She rests her head in the crook of Gwendolyn’s shoulder.

“Oh my dearest darling, I offer you my heart.”

#drabble #fluff #domestic fluff #mildolyn #Mildred Ratched #mildred x gwendolyn #ratched #gwendolyn briggs #this is short and sweet but i missed you all!! #nat writes

[crystalk17]

Using Cookies to Break the Ice

This is my secret Santa gift for @infinimay

For @secret-shifters

Sorry for it being late. Some reason my account would not post anything. I would upload it, but nothing showed up. I called and got it fixed today. Hope you enjoy it!

"Hey, Virg! Where ya at?!"

Roman wandered around the house trying to locate the little guy. Knowing him he was most likely hiding. He never understood why he did this, they had to be passed this stage in their friendship. He knew seeing someone close to twenty times your size had to be frightening, maybe even scarring, but it wasn't like he did anything to warrant this fear. Maybe it was his energetic aura he had attached to him since he was a born dramatist, or maybe it was even how loud he was when he was excited or practicing his lines, but it shouldn't be this bad.

The Prince wandered through every room in his small one-bedroom apartment trying to find a sign. A crumb. A tool left behind. Maybe even the guy's hoodie. Something. He would even appreciate a scared squeak only because that was an indication he was inside.

"Hey Emo! You gotta tell me where you're at!" Maybe calling the borrower by his hated nickname would get him to come running out.

Nothing

He wandered over to the window with worry. "That idiot wouldn't have gone outside would he?"

Roman hoped...no prayed the borrower wasn't that frightened he tried to go outside. That would be a suicide mission, especially since that's why the borrower even met the human in the first place.

About a week ago the biggest blizzard came rolling in. The biggest anyone has seen in years. Most houses were snowed in only the lucky ones could even step outside, but why would they? You couldn't even reach your vehicles that had literal sheets if ice caked on them. For two days straight the wind screamed and raged at Roman to open his door to come outside just so it could claim one victim. After those two days, the storm became a snow day. The wind halted like God commanded it to die down and the weather was no match to that power. The snow still came down with a total of a few more inches after one more day.

Roman was cuddled in his red fuzzy blanket just ready for this all to end. He luckily had a generator for the necessities along with the warmest fire he has made in a long time and a mug of hot chocolate at his side. Nothing was going to make him budge from his forced vacation. Nothing except a little visitor.

As he was trying to fall asleep and balance a cup of boiling cup of chocolate in his hand he noticed something run right in front of the fire. At first, Roman didn't even think twice. A mouse. Probably a creature that ran into his house to get out of the storm. Nothing major he just had to decide between letting it go or removing all of his comfort items just to grab a rat and toss it back outside.

Reluctantly he moved his blanket to the side while placing the cup on the table. "I can't let something get into my food, I should probably take care of this."

The creak of the couch under his moving body was what caused the creature to spin around.

Both creature and Prince stared at each other for a few seconds. This was the first time Roman got a good look at the mouse in front of him...well borrower.

Shaking in place was a smaller human. Roman couldn't tell if the shaking was from fear or the cold. Could have been both at this point. The smaller human life form had on a purple and black cloth that was made into a loose shirt. It looked like a pretty good imitation of a sweatshirt. He wore blackish pants and messed up hair that was doused in melting snow. Well, his whole body was soaking wet, probably from the ice and snow already melting from the warmth.

That night Roman welcomed the new visitor. If he was so desperate to just run out into the open right in front of a human then he needed the kindness. The prince made sure to give him pieces of his cloth and any food he needed that night. He didn't get much in return besides the borrower's name. He didn't share any information, didn't say how old he was, even to give the borrower items Roman had to slide them over to him since the little dark boy didn't want to come anywhere close to the human unless he had to. Roman agreed to just give the guy space and if he did then the borrower would stay here until the snow melted. For a few days now the two have been...cohabitating. They would talk once in a while but never sat down to eat together or talk for long periods. At this point, Roman's curiosity was running like crazy. He had to find out something, get him to talk, something or all of this would be a waste, plus not knowing exactly who was living with him wasn't exactly unnerving, but it would be nice to know the guys eating habits, sleep schedule, family, something.

Today he officially decided no more hiding, he would force the little guy to come out and join him even if it killed him. "Hot topic!" he looked around one last time to make sure he wasn't around the house before putting his coat on. He was not leaving him outside.

"What do you want Roman! I was trying to sleep!" Virgil came stumbling out from underneath the couch rubbing at his eyes. He could see the relieved sight that was Roman but tried his best to ignore it.

"Well my two-inch dark friend we are celebrating the holidays and since you are a guest here you are joining in."

"Yeah, I'm good." Virgil started to walk back underneath the couch to continue with his sleeping but felt a warmth around his torso that he never wanted present. Ever. "I told you to never touch me!"

This was the first time since the borrower came to stay with him that he had the small human in his hand. He knew he probably shouldn't have done this, but he wanted to make sure the little guy knew what he planned. They had to try, but that wouldn't happen if the borrower was given the choice. He could feel the small struggles graze across his humongous hand. He knew this had to be uncomfortable. "Trust me, I don't want to do this either."

"Then put me down Princy!"

There were a few times that Roman swore he almost dropped the little guy because he wouldn't stop kicking or trying to pry the giant hand off of him. Before the horrible inevitable happened he dropped Virgil onto the counter causing him to stumble back and fall. He felt horrible and this was not the plan he wanted at all. "What the hell!"

"Well if you wouldn't struggle so much this wouldn't happen." he was just a bit too egotistic to admit he was in the wrong or even say sorry. "All that I was trying to tell you is that we have cookies to make."

"What do you mean that wouldn't have happened? I told you not to touch me in---wait. Cookies?"

"Yeah. It's a tradition to make them during the holiday season. Just because you're here it doesn't change anything ."

"Well, how am I suppose to help smart-aleck." Virgil crossed his arms not even glancing at the red and white dressed giant.

"Well, you could read the recipe or help me with ingredients. Doesn't matter to me. I just know you're not sleeping the day away"

"Fine if I'm going to be forced and held prisoner. I'll help with the cookies." Virgil said, a bit of irritation seeping into his voice, instead of anxiety. He watched as Roman took out ingredients such as sugar, eggs, milk, flour, then laid a giant piece of paper that took up half of the counter. He could tell it was old and used multiple times with the thousands of crinkles and creases all over it, luckily the recipe was written in red so it was legible. Watching the giant very apprehensively he made sure Roman didn't reach out for him again. He walked over and stood on the piece of paper reading it to himself.

"Are you going to-?"

"Oh right. The first ingredient is 2 eggs mixed with a cup of flour."

It took the two several hours to get this perfect. There were a few mess-ups that neither expected like making the batter too salty, another time the batter got spilled because Virgil was leaning against the bowl not expecting it to move from his weight, and another ended up all over the kitchen because Roman accidentally flicked some batter onto the borrower as he was using the mixer. Virgil growled a bit trying to scoop it off of his now messed-up sweatshirt. He noticed Roman trying to hide a laugh, so he approached his arm and smeared the batter there. Roman got upset and used a finger to placed some batter onto Virgil's head. The two went back and forth smearing the cooking ingredients onto each other trying to get the last laugh. Roman took it easy half the time to allow it to seem fair and exaggerated his reactions so he didn't feel so insignificant.

After placing the fourth batch of cookies into the oven Roman realized there were probably more ingredients all over Virgil than there were in the bowl and oven combined. He felt bad since only his fingers and parts of his arms and shirt were covered. On him, it looked like someone just flicked the materials at him. Virgil seemed to have the bowl dumped on him.

"Here. I can help you back to your place so you can change. I feel a bit bad about this." he was trying his hardest not to laugh or smile.

Virgil looked at the hand still skeptical, even Roman knew after earlier it would take a miracle for him to agree to this much trust. "Alright. Just...walk slow and not so much of a grip!" he barked out a bit.

"Alright Emo."

"It's not...Oh, forget it." Virgil climbed onto the surprised Romans' hand.

As slow as he could Roman crossed the room allowing Virgil to close his eyes and held his own body. He could tell he was trying his hardest not to shake, but it wasn't successful. The thing was, Roman understood. He was a naturally nervous boy.

The princely man placed his hand down slowly onto the ground so Virgil could climb off on his own. The rest of the night Virgil didn't see one sign of Roman. The annoying human didn't even come to check to see if he was clean. What Virgil did find was a cookie placed in front of the couch on a plate with a note.

Hoped this helped. Happy holidays come out to say hi when you can. I don't mind your company.

Virgil couldn't help but smile a bit and break off a few crumbs to bite into.

#secret shifters 2020 #giant #g/t #giant and tiny #g/t sanders sides #gt #gt sander sides #sander sides #cookies #breaking the ice #storm #borrower #getting to know each other