#and sry to the two people I was talking to

[alex-just-vibing]

ough................ brain hurts................

[insecateur]

Me, looking at vulgar french words for penis: Oh neat they also have Verga

Also tbt to the time a teacher of mine said "Le bilo bitte" instead of Bic and we spent a full hour laughing

"verge" is commonly used in french smut and is at least marginally better than "membre" which is a nightmare imo. "organe" is another euphemism which i feel like you need to be very confident in order to pull off. i haven't written smut in french in so long i'd like to write some this year

"bite" is always funny altho i do think going a step further and reaching for "teub" gives it a real special flavor

[cyeayt]

being autistic in the mormon church

being autistic in the mormon church was, for me at least, a weird experience. because i wasn't excluded or mocked very often, just smothered in that strange warm beige obligation. because they could tell, they knew i was different just like i did. so they held my hand, told the other children to be nice to me, to make sure i felt included. and my peers did, cause they didn't have a choice, raised to be polite and kind no matter what just like i was. so i was included and invited places, always as an afterthought or a checked box but invited nonetheless, injected into conversations and games by adults that my peers wouldn't dare contradict. 'well meaning' adults who ask me if im okay or if i want to join the group, talking down in the sweetest tones. every christmas and on every birthday they still track me down to give me a card about how much they miss my 'unique perspective', even though i always tried my hardest to fit in and say the normal things.

"Look at that one. it's different and broken, but you must be kind to it. help it stay in the light of god, because god is the only way to save it. we're good, and righteous, and its so lucky to be in the church because we're the only ones who'll ever tolerate it, because that's what god wants."

and i miss it sometimes. standing on the edge of people who i desperately want to be friends with, flitting around in the back of stores and staring at concert posters indecisively until the date has passed. never finding the right spot in a conversation to talk, never working up the courage to ask if i can come too, i miss the people who had to be nice. who had me on a little list in their mind of what they need to get to heaven.

but im never going back. because even i could feel that it was fake. i felt watched and judged and pitied at all times, by peers who would ask me if i was coming then talk amongst themselves about jokes i didnt get and shared friends i didnt know. and i may be lonely now, but id rather do the work and be awkward and sick with nerves and find people and spaces that i actually want to be in who actually want me to be there, even if it seems impossible now. id rather that than go back to that warm suffocating place, familiar like the worst kind of family.

also telling that all the adults im talking about are either women/afab people or members of the bishopric, people whose 'job' it is to be welcoming and nurturing, though these experiences are mostly from young womens so that would also be it, but even women who arent involved in the yw leadership are raised and taught and obligated to do this and i dont blame any of them but its always made me wildly uncomfortable. never as much as random men who would sit down next to me and just start talking like we knew each other tho so eh

[un-pearable]

google search how to get people in your life to take your suspicions of inattentive adhd seriously when you’ve been an anxiety-ridden overachiever your entire life

[kingtomura]

Arcade

Summary: There's nothing worse than getting ditched by your so-called friends on a Friday night. Well, maybe the asshole complaining about your skills at the arcade has that beat. Tomura Shigaraki knows how to make one hell of a first impression. word count: 8.5k Part three to Good Girl and Bloodline Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, quirkless AU, fluff, angst, virginity loss, virginity kink, corruption kink, mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral (f! receiving), praise, strict parents, toxic parents, smut with plot, protected sex, piv, overstim, tomura talks you through it, if you know what i mean, reader is kinda bad at games sry, mdni crossposted to ao3 | Part 4 is here!

You meet him on a Friday.

The mall is crowded and filled to the brim with groups of friends, chattering, laughing – wondering what to get into for the night. You’re just trying to find your group. They said that they would meet you here almost an hour ago, but no one has shown up. 

Bitterly you kick the small rock in front of you, officially accepting the fact that you had been ditched and decide it’s too early to go home. It’s a Friday night for pete’s sake. You walk aimlessly through the mall, only pausing when the noises of video game lasers and hyper dance music flood your ears. 

The arcade. Of course you could kill some time there, people go there alone all the time. No one would think you were out of place and effectively ditched. 

You make your choice, beelining for the upgraded rendition of Pac Man and slipping in a coin to start it. 

The excitement was short lived as you remembered that the game isn’t as easy as you remembered. Whatever, you take your leave and try for a game you hadn’t played before. Something simple with muted colors. It’s fun, but a little difficult. You find yourself getting lost in it, the sounds drowning out the bustling of the arcade.

You huff as you lose another round and reach down, ready to drop a coin and start up again when you hear an annoyed groan coming from behind.

“Can I help you?” You ask, giving the guy a once over. He wore all black with ashen hair and ruby red eyes that shone with annoyance.

“Yeah, you could find another game to suck at.” He scoffs, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Irritating. 

You take the challenge. “Oh yeah? Well let's see you try it then, since it’s so easy.”

He shrugs, brushing by you and inserting his own coin into the machine, the beeps of the game starting up and filling tension between you. 

This guy… was good at the game — as much as you hated to admit it. He blew through the enemies with little to no trouble and easily passed your place in the game. Ending it all with one final blow to the boss and snagging the new high score right before your eyes. 

To say you were embarrassed was a little less than an understatement, but you wouldn’t let him know that. So, you double down, brows furrowed and standing proud. 

The mystery man turns back to you, carmine eyes gleaming in triumph over his easy win. “See? You suck.”

You bristle at his blunt insult and bite back. “Yeah, well I only tried this game today! You think you're so good, why don’t you try to beat me at a game I'm good at.”

He looks you over, eyes dragging from your head to the converse on your feet, before turning back around towards the game and dropping another coin into it. 

“No thanks.” 

This asshole… you don’t know why you're fighting this battle, you don't even know this man! But it would be a lie if you didn’t think it was entertaining —- in an annoying way, of course. 

But you take your loss and give up, moving on to the next game. It is something silly and bright, but also difficult. It's easy to get lost in and you find yourself aggressively tapping the buttons, inevitably losing the game and huffing off to find the next one. 

You choose a first person shooter this time. Originally a two player game, but you play on your own — taking down zombie after zombie as you try (and fail) to progress to the next stage. 

You groan as the game over screen mocks you for what feels like the thousandth time that night and fight to keep from banging your head against the screen in frustration. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” a low voice speaks from behind you and you can already feel your anger flaring. “It’s all in the aim.”

“Yeah, well, what do you know?” You ask bitterly, watching as the same asshole from before puts a coin in and starts the game up again. 

He makes it look so easy, getting headshot after headshot as he easily advances to the next rounds. There was a moment you swore he would lose as a mob of zombies crowded him, but he hit a flammable container in the background, causing an explosion and killing all of the zombies. 

The winning screen lit up his pale cheeks in a red hue, giving him a faux flush of color making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. 

You can’t bite back your sigh of defeat this time, the losing streak getting to you. “Did you come over here just to show off? I can do without that, thank you.”

He only shakes his head, putting in another coin and starting the game up again. You stare blankly as he hits the two player button and hands you a gun. 

“No, let me show you why you’re not winning.” It's spoken like you asked him for advice and you know damn well you didn’t, but you take the gun anyway because you had no reason not to.

Muttering a taut fine and gearing yourself up for more humiliation, you stand tall and hold the plastic gun up to the screen, ready to shoot incoming enemies.

You jolt when you feel the guy come up behind you, placing his hands over yours and moving them so that you have a better grip on the weapon. 

It was so quick and so natural your cheeks began heating for a reason completely different from your earlier embarrassment. 

He was so warm, his hands were warm and calloused and you could feel the heat of his body radiating onto your back as he invaded your personal space to show you how to hold the plastic gun. 

Your heart hammered against your chest but you forced yourself to keep your eyes forward and face neutral. 

It was much easier said than done, you realize as he leans in, his soft hair tickling your ear as he spoke, guiding you through the mini tutorial of how to shoot the zombies. 

Everything he said went in one ear and out the other as you could only focus on the low vibrato of his voice, explaining as his fingers ghosted over yours, casually helping you shoot. 

The smell of fresh linen and what you could assume was citrus shampoo flooding your nose, making you dizzy as you struggled to listen. You wanted nothing more than to lean back into this stranger, fully feel the warmth of his chest against your back and run your fingers through his soft locks. But you didn’t. 

You will yourself to focus on the sounds of the game and his technique, knowing that you will probably be playing the game soon and didn’t want to look silly if your skill remained the same.

Unfortunately, he pulled away sooner rather than later, taking all of his extra warmth and citrus scent with him. 

“Do you get it now?” He asks, rasp in his voice having genuine curiosity and you nod, ready to try your luck at the game now.

It seems like his tutoring wasn’t in vain and you both pull out a win, scoring high enough to place your names on the screen. 

You can’t hide your excitement from your first win of the night, turning to your new companion as he looked over the other high scores on the board.

“So, what’s your name?” You ask, riding the high of the win and letting the confidence of it guide you. “Because I don't think it would be DustKing like your high score says.”

He gives a small laugh, something tiny and barely there – a mere blow of air through his nose — and looks at you. Those carmine eyes send heat rushing to your cheeks again and spreading to the tips of your ears. 

“Tomura.” Is all he gives and you nod, giving him your name and turning back to the arcade game again. 

“Wanna give it another try?” You offer, and he gives you a small smile back, dropping a coin into the machine and starting up another round. 

“Sure.”

And suddenly, being ditched on a Friday night by your so-called friends isn’t so bad.

—---------------------

The next time you meet Tomura, it is on a saturday afternoon.

The arcade is already bustling with people and the noise almost makes you turn on your heels and walk away. But you don't, instead white hair and dark clothes catch your eye and your feet move before your mind can catch up with the actions. 

“Hey!” You greet, a little too chipper and a little too close. 

Tomura looks down at you, eyes dropping to your shirt and then back up again. You weren't sure if he had been checking you out or trying to size you up. It makes you falter a bit as he goes back to his game, effectively ignoring you.

The behavior is odd, but you try not to let it bother you. The last time you met the both of you played the silly zombie game until the arcade closed — there was no way he didn’t remember who you were.

You feel a little out of place and the tiniest bit hurt as you take a step back, ready to find any other distraction in the arcade to erase this from your brain. 

“Um, okay, bye then—” You start, but you’re cut off by Tomura’s groan. He lost the game and it's difficult to hold back the laughter.

“God, you’re such a distraction. You made me lose!” He barks, riling you up.

Your brows furrow in frustration, you’ve barely said two words to the guy. “How did I make you lose? I just got here!”

“Yeah, and you're being all distracting, with your little shirt and your jeans. What do you want?” 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? The statement is lost on you as your anger takes the forefront. “Don’t blame me because you’re off your game today.”

“I will blame you, because it’s your fault.”

“Whatever, Tomura. Since you’re done losing at this game, why don't you try one you;ll need real skill to play?” you challenge and hope he takes the bait, the irritated narrowing of his eyes shows that he will and you bury your giddiness inside.

“Fine, I'll try it.”

Tomura loses. Bad. And you can't stop the tears from crowding your eyes as you laugh at his misfortune. 

“No, why did you rush out so fast?” You hear Tomura’s low growl of annoyance and continue, “This is not that kind of game! Slow and steady wins the race, you know.” 

Wiping the tear from your eye, you try again, dropping a coin and gearing up for the next round while Tomura sits beside you, seething. The game starts up again and it's bright and inviting. You strategically tap at the buttons, ensuring that your duck character can make it across the street safely. 

It's only when you hear the splash of the fallen duck next to yours that you break out into laughter once more, accidently tapping the button and sending your duck into the open road, ending the game for you both. 

“This game is rigged!” Tomura protests, frustration palpable and scowl deep on his face. 

You only shrug, knowing it's not an easy game, “Well, I'm sure you’d say that about any game you aren't good at.” 

“That's a lie.” He states. Blunt and firm. This guy… He’s so rude, but so cute. You want to bite him.

“It's not,” You keep your voice light as you tease, not wanting to push him too far. “You don’t have patience so of course you would lose.” 

“I could beat you at other games.”

This piques your interest, brows flying up. “Oh, yeah? Like what?” 

He shrugs, irritation all but dissipated. “Mario Kart. 200cc. It takes patience and it’s not rigged.” 

You take the bait, fingers twitching in anticipation, “Sure, but look where we are. There is no Mario Kart here.” 

The look tomura gives you makes you wonder if you’d asked if the sky were blue. “I have Mario Kart at my house. Stop by and I'll kick your ass at it.”

You are stubborn, and decide fine. If he wants to be cocky, then you could bring him down a notch. “Alright, let's go and we'll see.” 

He nods and you both take off, leaving the noise and excitement of the arcade behind.

Tomura was not lying when he said Mario Kart required patience. 

You were currently in his room, on his bed as you try and fail to correct your character's position on the race track. You were stuck against a wall and slowly turning the opposite way, meanwhile, the other karts whip past your character — mocking while you firmly sat in dead last. 

The small laugh Tomura gives is enough to send you into a rage. Standing up, you grip the controller with force, twisting and turning with it as if it would give you more control over your character. It did not. 

“Oh, come on!” You shout.

“You have to use your brakes at this speed.” Tomura supplies, his character crossing the finish line and cheering at its win. 

Your frustration is blinding because once again, those large, warm hands were covering yours, Tomura’s low voice filled with amusement as he guided your character to the finish line. 

Embarrassment wasn’t enough for what you were feeling. Not only did you talk shit and lose, but you needed help from him again. 

He pulls away and you fleetingly think it’s too soon, watching as Tomura grabs his own controller and flips through the options. “We could try a slower cc. 200cc is brutal to newer players.”

“You knew that and you still let me play it?” He clearly set you up, you bitterly realize as you sit next to him on the bed, watching the screen.

“Yeah, for all I know you could have been a prodigy. You weren't though, so it’s nothing I have to worry about.” 

“Hey!” You scold, smacking his arm and grabbing the controller. “Fine. Let's do 50cc and see how good you are.”

Tomura shrugs, plucking the item from your hand and getting more comfortable. “Sure, but don’t think slower races will mean you’re better.” 

The next race goes about the same as the first one, but at least this time your character sticks to the road and you’ve even placed higher this time. Eighth place! Take that. 

“Impressive,” Tomura drags, voice stripped of malice and insults. It was a small feat, but still better than twelfth place. 

It's hard to keep your excitement down, a stark contrast to Tomura’s reserved demeanor. You’ve only met him recently but he's already perfected the way to get your feathers ruffled and rile you up. 

“Yeah, well I'm going to buy the game and practice on my own. Just wait, you’ll be in last place soon.” You had the gaming console, but never this game. It wouldn’t be too steep of an investment. 

Tomura hums, pondering a moment before responding, “You could always just come over and practice. No need to waste the money when I have it.”

His words make you pause, slowly realizing where you are and who you're with. Some guy you met at the arcade — in his home, in his room, playing video games. How did that happen so fast? Your parents would kill you.

“I guess.” You look around, suddenly wanting to find anything else to focus on that isn’t the man beside you. Now that you think about it, you’ve never really been alone with another guy before. Especially not in his room. Sure, you had all kinds of male friends, but never any this close. It made you… nervous. And warm. 

Very warm. Something that spread from the pits of your abdomen and crawled its way back up into your cheeks. 

You hoped Tomura wouldn't notice your blush and searched your brain for any way to get out of this situation. 

But then he was speaking again and god, was his voice always this low?

“Do you want to go another round?”

“Huh?” You stammer, looking over and it was a mistake because you were forced to notice how close you two were sitting, on his bed of all places. You shake the thoughts from your head, “y-yeah, we should play another round.”

You reach for the controller and Tomura stops you, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

“Hey, what's your problem?” Blunt. Rude. Fucking cute. 

It's settled. You hate this man. 

His brows furrowed as he moved closer, examining your face as if he could peer into your mind with his eyes alone. It made you want to shrink away, but that would only make his observation worse.

“Are you... getting nervous?” Your eyes widen at the words and you pull away completely, shaking your head, 

“No! Of course not.” You cross your arms in a huff and absently wonder if you could take your leave now. 

“You are,” he decides, a slow grin creeping across his face, “Why?” 

You're sure the ground will open up and swallow you whole if you just wish hard enough for it. Maybe then Tomura would back up out of your personal space and shut up.

“I'm not nervous.” You bluff, praying he won’t see through you. 

“I know why.” 

You brace yourself for mortification. 

“It’s because you know you’re going to lose.” 

He has that smug smile on his face and it hits you. 

He has no idea. Tomura doesn’t get it — he thinks you’re upset about the game and not the fact that you can smell the citrus of his shampoo and see the flecks of black in his red eyes. 

God, maybe he’s an idiot. 

You want to kiss him. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he assures, giving you a little smile and grabbing the controller again, “I’ll walk you through it.”

There was something about Tomura’s choice of words that made you think maybe, just maybe, he had a little more of an idea about your mood than he let on. You press your thighs together, praying it was subtle, and mentally push away the arousal you began to feel at his low tone of voice. 

“Sure.”

The next round you both play goes the same as the others. Tomura winning and you barely breaking the top ten. Your frustration was becoming palpable as it no longer was fun to see your character cry at the end of the match. 

“We don't have to play anymore.” You look over at Tomura’s words and he’s stretching, eyes closing at the movement. You can't help but notice the sliver of his exposed abdomen as he reaches up. 

You get a glimpse of his lithe figure and feel your mind begin to wonder what the rest looks like, but cut your thoughts short as he adjusts and meets your eyes again.  

You should get out of here before you embarrass yourself.

“Where are you going?” Tomura questioned, the minute you stood to leave.

“Um, home? It’s getting late.”

“Not that late. C’mon, it’s a Saturday. You have somewhere to be or something?” He’s getting up and you can only assume it's to get another game. You are correct because he turns to show you the case and it’s of a white goose. “This game is more fun.”

You look at the time on your phone and shrug. He's right, it's not that late — there should be no harm in staying a little longer.

So you do.

And it’s worth it as you both watch two geese in the game with excellent teamwork terrorize a farmer.

“Okay, you distract him and I’ll take his hat.” You were on a mission and Tomura indulged you, making his goose honk while yours swooped in, effectively stealing the hat and allowing you both to progress to the next level.

“Hah! I knew that would work.” You feel elated as you watch the geese move on, waddling across the screen and into the next area, “And you’re not so bad yourself, for a goose.” 

Tomura huffs a laugh, shallow and light before turning to you, “I carried you that round, but okay.”

You haven't known each other long, but he already knows his way around getting you riled up. 

The comment makes you turn so that you are better positioned on his bed, one leg still hanging off the end of it while trying not to puff your cheeks. You would be fighting a losing battle if he saw how riled up you were.

“Hey, I’m the one who told you where the picnic blanket was!”

“Okay? And who brought everything to the blanket?” he leaned forward, invading your space and challenging.

You didn’t back down, both of you so close, almost nose to nose. “You. but only after I found everything.”

The distance between the two of you was slim, and the air was heated, his crimson eyes looked down at you with that smug smirk on his lips and you wanted to bite him.

Or kiss him.

Whichever came first. 

Tomura followed your line of sight and it only made his smug expression worse, if that were even possible — yet neither of you backed away. His lips parted like he was on the edge of saying something, but was cut off by the peppy chime of your phone’s ringtone. 

That seemed to dissipate some of the tension between you two as it caused you to back away and scramble to find your phone on his bed. 

Once you’ve gotten it and answered, there’s the familiar voice of your mother on the other end, worrying about where you are and questioning when you would be home, standard practice for her. After many reassuring yeses and “i’ll be there soon”’s you are finally free of the call, now knowing that you have to wrap this up and head out. 

“Who was that?” Tomura questioned and his voice seems loud in the quiet of the room. 

You turn back to him and his eyes are waiting, expecting. He’s not doing anything but looking at you and it still feels like he can see all of you, as if you’re naked and bare, exposed completely. 

“My mom.” You can’t help the small shrug of your shoulders, feeling a little embarrassed at how uncool it could look to have your parents keep tabs on you all the time.

“Aww,” Tomura coos, and it's said more like an afterthought, something to fill the air as he leaned forward — finally, finally closing the distance between you both and kissing your lips. 

It shocks you as you feel the soft cotton his duvet hit your back, Tomura’s lips still pressed to yours as he pushed you down. They were rough but so warm, just like the rest of him, and your hand seeks his hair, finally indulging in the urge you’ve had to touch it since you’ve met him. 

He groans when you give it a tug and you whimper when he bites your lip a little too hard. It drives you crazy and Tomura wastes no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping over yours as his hands slide up your shirt. You let out a gasp  when he cups your breast, taking a sensitive nub between his forefinger and thumb. The feeling has you mewling into his mouth and arousal soaking your panties. 

It doesn’t take much to get you riled up, especially since the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy is a kiss here and there. 

Tomura crowds your senses as he hovers over you, caging you below him as he sits between your spread legs. Your heart races as you keep your eyes squeezed shut, you don’t know how far you’re going to go, but you definitely did not think you would be losing your virginity today. 

He pulls away, lifting his shirt up and over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor of the room. You waste no time taking in the new sight of his exposed chest, desperate to reach your hands out to touch. 

But Tomura was back down again before you had a chance to, his mouth making its way down your jaw and neck leaving kisses and licks in its wake. It’s sensitive, especially when Tomura sucks right on a particular spot on your neck, making you cry out. 

“D-don’t leave a mark.” You stutter, words nearly lost to the pleasure. 

“Why not?” The warmth of his tongue licking the area he’d just sucked on was making you shiver. 

Your hands were gripping his shoulder, desperate for any kind of grounding. “Because my parents. They would k-kill me.”

Tomura hums, seeming to take your concern into consideration before pulling away. You’re worried you’ve blown it and ruined the mood, but he just tugs at your shirt. 

“Get this off.” 

You can feel the heat on your face, from the kissing, but now you feel it burn more as you gaze at the man above you. The words make you stall, process what's going on — what you should do. 

No one’s seen you without a shirt, especially not in this situation, but honestly? Who cares. You’re an adult, you can and will make your own choices. 

There’s no one else in this room but you and Tomura, so when you sit up to remove your shirt and bra, catching Tomura’s eyes scan your newly exposed body, you can’t help but smile at the chill of excitement that dances down your spine. 

It makes your heart flutter so you pull him back into a kiss and back down onto the bed, fisting your hands in his ashen locks again and savoring the groans he made. 

Tomura makes his way down again, taking your right breast into his mouth and tweaking the nipple of your other with his free hand. The sensations are overwhelming and you moan, arching your back and trying with all you had to pull Tomura closer. 

He obliged by lowering his hips and grinding down against you, the press of his erection against your clothed cunt drives you wild. Tomura comes back up, claiming your mouth again and he is demanding as he deepens the kiss, giving you everything you wanted and more. 

You wanted to take it further, needed to take it further, but you weren’t sure how to progress from making out. Telling Tomura you were a virgin would probably make things awkward and you were going to lose it if everything ended here.

Tomura pulls away to look at you, flushed and red while you ponder what to do with your hand placement. You decide to wrap them around Tomura’s neck, pulling him close enough that he rests his forehead on yours. 

Your breaths intertwine as you both stare at each other in a daze. 

“What?” He asks first, breathless and curious. 

You cut your eyes to the side, hoping your scoff came off as unconcerned instead of wildly nervous, “Nothing! Nothing..”

Your tone is not lost on Tomura as he narrows his eyes, gears turning in his head and piercing gaze seemingly looking through you and into your deepest thoughts. “Why are you being shy like a virgin?”

The way you purse your lips gives you away and you do everything to avoid his gaze, which is hard when you’re both so close to each other. 

“Oh my god, you are.” There’s a whimsy excitement in his voice and suddenly, embarrassment is creeping its way back into your mind, “why didn’t you say so?” 

You look up as Tomura pulls back, his smile open wide on his face, ill hidden elation buzzing in his words. 

There’s your innate need to defend yourself and your honor rising up again and you can’t stop yourself. So what if you’re a blushing virgin. “Yeah, so? Aren’t you?” 

His shoulders give a small shrug, “Maybe.” 

Then he’s down again, lips next to your ear as his hands trailed down your waist, leaning goosebumps in their wake. 

“Have you ever made yourself cum before?” He asks and you can feel his smile against your ear.

Embarrassment has officially taken the forefront of your mind as you weakly shake your head no, “I’ve tried, but when I get close the feeling goes away.” Might as well be honest since it can’t get more vulnerable than this.

Tomura hums, one hand reaching to take your hand in his, “I could show you how, if you want.”

You feel his hand drag yours lower, down your body and to the hem of your pants and stop, waiting for a response. It feels like your nerves are in overdrive and you writhe below him in anticipation, nodding your head, “P-please.”

Tomura pulls away, taking his warmth with him as he reaches down to unbutton your pants, removing them and leaving your panties. 

“You’re soaked.” He muses, causing you to whine in anticipation. “Show me how you do it.”

And you do, slipping your hand under your panties and biting back a moan as your middle finger rubbed circles on your clit. You were dripping wet so your fingers glide easily and the feeling makes your eyes close. 

It's a song and dance you are familiar with in the heated nights of your bedroom. Trying and failing to make yourself cum because you’ve read about it, it’s supposed to feel good, but you just can't get there. 

Tomura watches on, absently palming his erection and watching you touch yourself. As much as he wanted to reach down and help you out, there was something about seeing you whine and writhe in his bed that made his brain wild. 

You were getting close and you knew because there was that familiar sensation of heat pooling in your lower belly, it was a pressure that got more and more intense as you chased after it, but every time, your hands would get tired and you would lose it. And with the momentum gone, you lose the orgasm. 

Your furrowed brows went from aroused to frustrated within the span of a second as, once again you’ve unintentionally denied yourself release. 

“Fuck,” Tomura breaths, hand now fully in his sweat pants as his breathing picks up, “you were close.”

“I know!” You whine, unsure what to do now, but Tomura has a few things in mind. He pulls his hand from his pants, not wanting to ruin his own orgasm and hooks his fingers on both sides of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them to the side. 

You were fully exposed and the only thing keeping you from pressing your thighs together and holding your dignity close was Tomura between them. 

You wish he wouldn’t look so much, but he does, drinking up the sight of your exposed cunt and licking his lips. You’re about to call him out of it before he dips back down, capturing your lips in his and it distracts you. 

It distracts you so well that the press of his thumb over your slick nub makes you cry out, the pleasure sudden and better than you imagined. Tomura devours your moans, rubbing slow circles onto your clit and easily picking up where you left off. Your hands find purchase on his back and your toes curl at the sensation. 

He had just started, but it was just right and you couldn’t stop yourself from arching your back, desperate for more and overwhelmed by the stimulation. 

“T-tomu..” You moan as you feel the horizon of warmth again and bury your face into his neck.

“Yeah,” his lips are by your ear again and you close your eyes, fully focusing on the feeling of his thumb working your clit and his low voice in your ear, “Just let go for me.”

And it all hits you, pussy pulsing in pleasure as you come undone, your cries muffled by your face in his shoulder. It feels like the end of a long marathon as the bliss spreads through your body like a warm blanket. 

You could only lie there as Tomura pulled away, kissing your sternum and all the way down until he was at eye level with your cunt. The action confuses you because he had just made you cum so why was he..? 

“What are you doing?” You ask, confusion muting the buzz in your head. 

His eyes meet yours, mischievous glint in them sending the butterflies in your stomach wild. “We’re not done yet.” 

And before you could question the man further he dips down, warm and wet tongue meeting your slit and diving into your slick entrance. The action makes you jolt, keening at the sensation and thighs reflexively closing against Tomura’s head. This action only spurred him on further as he lapped and dipped his deceptively long tongue in and out of your wet entrance, sticky slick walls clamping down on him as he sloppily ate you out. 

He was relentless as he drove your pleasure up the wall — blowing your previous orgasm out of the water with this new sensation. 

“Fuck, tomu — fuck its..!” You can’t form a coherent sentence because the pleasure was only building and building, giving your brain no time to catch up with your words. Your hands immediately found purchase in his hair, the soft ashen locks grounding you as he continued his actions, unbothered by your tight grip. 

Tomura decided to move up, licking his way from your hole to your clit, the overstimulated bud was next on tomura’s list as he lapped and kissed your bundle of nerves. 

The actions make you cry out, mind muddled as your body tries to figure out if you want to be closer or further away from the sensations. You don't have much time to reach a conclusion either as Tomura sucks your clit and your second orgasm of the night quickly builds up and spills over, making your back arch from the bed and your legs shake in pleasure. 

It feels like your mind is completely blank as tomura gives your cunt a final lap and your clit one last kiss before returning to meet your eyes again. 

You were face to face now and watching him grin down at you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had made a deal with the devil himself as your mind swam in the pleasure radiating throughout your body. It all felt surreal, and your eyes naturally closed, enjoying the feeling of your second climax. 

“Aw, don’t tap out on me now, I haven’t even given you the final boss yet,” you hear Tomura coo, finally moving to remove his sweatpants and boxers and oh— 

You watch his cock bob between his legs and panic internally as you wonder how the hell that would fit inside of you. 

It’s like Tomura could read your mind, because his laugh brings you back to the present, “don't worry about it, promise it’ll fit.” 

You don't know if you should trust him on that, but you do — mentally preparing yourself as Tomura leans over you and into the drawer of his bedside nightstand. He pulls out a square foiled packet and it’s in that moment you realize – no, he was not a virgin and only humoring you. 

You don't have much time to dwell on it though because in no time he has the condom on and is lining himself up with your entrance. 

The nerves are making themselves known as the reality of your situation starts to set in. The thoughts don’t flood your mind for long because Tomura takes your chin in his hand, demanding your undivided attention as he slowly pressed into your cunt. 

The pressure of the stretch makes you whimper and your eyes reflexively close, but he was only getting started. It was the somewhat soothing feeling of Tomura’s thumb stroking your cheek that kept you grounded and able to withstand more of the stretch. 

Little by little, Tomura pushed on, guiding you with his words and reassuring you that it wouldn’t hurt for long. He was right up against your ear, the familiar smell of his shampoo bringing you comfort as your bodies intertwined. 

“That it,” he guided, voice low and hips still as he bottomed out. You felt so full. It was a sensation you’ve never imagined and could only whine as tomura started to pull back. “I’m gonna move now.” 

Even though the pain was there in the initial thrusts, there was also the feeling of dull pleasure, slowly growing and growing until the previous pain had all but gone away and now you were floating in ecstasy as Tomura’s thrusts began to speed up.

You gripped at his forearms as he gained momentum, hips rocking into yours and making you moan.

“You like that?” he husked, lips brushing your throat as his hips snapped forward and hit a particularly sensitive spot inside. 

“F-fuck, again, do that again,” you cry and Tomura focuses his attention right where you want him to. The feeling is euphoric as you feel a different kind of coil tightening in your lower abdomen. A feeling that makes your toes curl and your thighs tense and it's hit again and again. 

Tomura lets out a low groan, his own pace becoming unsteady as time went on. “You’re so tight..” he murmured, reveling in the feeling of your slick walls clamping down on him, “‘s like you’re sucking me in.” 

You’re nearing the end again, you can feel it, but you don't want to be. This all felt so good. “Tomu, I-I’m—”

Tomura cuts you off, pulling away to look you in the eyes, his ruby red gaze was hypnotizing. “Just let go, I’ve got you.” 

And you do, that’s all it takes for you to tip over — mind rushing in bliss as your heart fluttered at his words. 

You felt this orgasm deep in your bones, the overwhelming feeling of clarity and contentment settling within you as you were now along for the ride, enjoying Tomura’s increasing erratic pace while he chased his own orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck—” he pants, following behind you with his own climax. His eyes were squeezed shut as he rode it out, slowing to a stop and dropping his head onto your shoulder. 

The heavy breaths between you were the only sounds in the room as you stare at his ceiling — noticing the faded out green stars above. So faint you were sure they had been placed there years and years ago. It brings a warmth to your chest, something new among your many new feelings you’ve felt today. 

“Next weekend,” Tomura starts, still sounding a bit winded as he pulls out — and you wince at the soreness, the pain not really something you were prepared for — and lays next to you, “Next weekend we’ll rematch in Mario kart. I’ll help you get better.”

You smile, the buzzing excitement making you flush, “Okay, let’s do it.”

The next morning is one that leaves you with a forming pit in your belly. It is a Sunday morning, and Sundays are the day’s your family loves to enjoy a homemade breakfast and sit together at the table like a loving family. 

And they were loving! Loving and observant.

You felt as if your parents knew. Like they knew where you had been yesterday — somehow seeing through your foolproof lie of hanging out with an old school friend, but things were quiet. 

Everything on this Sunday morning had been proceeding as normal. Your parents were sitting across from you, none the wiser and laughing about a show they watched last night while you were out. 

It did not feel real. It felt like there was something you were missing, as if they were omnipotent and knew your every move. Knew that you were no longer their shining star child, that you had been up to things that were everything but innocent. 

You feel the same, physically. Maybe a little sore from how rough Tomura had gotten, but other than that, normal.

“Sweetheart,” your father’s voice calls you, cutting through your paranoia, “could you pass me the syrup, please.”

And you do, maybe with too much haste, but he does not comment on it. Instead he just pours the sugary liquid onto his pancakes and continues. “So your mother and I were thinking,”

Oh, god. They knew.

“We know you’re taking a semester off, but if you aren't happy with that college, we could look into other’s for you.”

Your shoulders relax. It’s just college talk, again. That was talk you could handle. 

“Um, yeah. That’s okay with me. I could always use more options.”

Your father smiles, “That’s our girl. Always so flexible with her options. We know it takes a lot of strength to take a break, but you did. We’re so proud of you.” 

The smile that graces your face is pitiful and filled with guilt that you prayed was not obvious. They really saw the best in you, no matter how suffocating they were. so it’s only right you follow the path that they lay out for you. 

“Our girl could never do any wrong,” your mother chimes in, chipper and full of admiration, “you’re just so smart.”

You only nod, now trying to tune them out as they go back and forth, discussing possible college they believed would be best for you. 

It really makes you wonder just how far that love and pride stretched when their angel of a daughter strays against what they expect of you.

—-------------------------

And not even six months later that same love and adoration is tested, put on the line and shown bare as your enraged parents look down at you. 

The same parents who doted on you about how much you made them smile. You who had made them so proud and apparently brought them so much joy. 

It’s suffocating as you sit right back on the very same couch where it all started, listening to a lecture from your mother about the woes and pains of having such a disobedient unruly child. 

Even though you’re an adult. 

Even though you can make your own decisions about your life. 

It’s maddening having to listen to your once so meek and complacent mother go on and on about how she would have never snuck around with some boy she’s only known for a few months. How she would never lie to her parents about her whereabouts and how it’s just unheard of that you would turn your location off. 

You shake your head, they wouldn’t understand. Your father wouldn’t even look at you. “Mom, please..” you start, wanting to offer anything to break up the nonstop lecture. 

“I just don’t understand!” Her voice is so high it’s nearly a yell, and your mother makes it a point to never yell. “He’s just a man! Why would you put yourself and your future at risk for some guy?”

“He’s not just some guy.” You mumble and curse yourself for trying, they would never see it your way. 

There is a buzz from the phone in your pocket and you habitually grab for it, pulling it from its place and you are not given a chance to check the notification before your mother snatches the device from your hand. 

“And no phone! This damn phone is the root of all your problems in the first place.”

Disbelief mars your features as the constant drilling catches up with you. “You can’t do that!”

She only folds her arms across her chest, head tilted in challenge, “I can’t? Watch me. You’re lucky we haven’t put you on the street yet with how irresponsible you’ve been.” 

It’s hard to understand what’s so irresponsible about taking birth control and practicing being safe. But you knew it was deeper than that. It was deeper than the boy and it was more than sex. 

They hated the lack of control they had over you and how it waned with every passing day.

“So, what, was this guy supposed to be the love of your life? Someone you would just run away with and expect to support you?”

Your mother’s voice grates on your ears and you just wish for this conversation to be over, you want this entire thing to be over and done with. “I don’t know. Maybe.” The defeat is evident in your voice and you shrug. “Can I go now?” 

They are beating a dead horse at this point and you’re over it. 

To your surprise, no one stops you as you rise, allowing you to take your leave before the tears clouding your vision could fall. 

The defeat you feel is deep and you can’t even muster the energy to slam your door shut, opting for a quieter close. The fragile click of your door was so soft and it felt as if you were made of glass. To slam the door would only make you shatter into a million pieces onto your bedroom floor. 

How foolish of you to think there could ever be a world where you had autonomy in a house filled with hawks. 

Your bed greets you with its cozy warmth and you allow yourself to fall apart there, letting out all of your despair and frustration into your pillow and leaving the pieces of your soul to be picked up in the morning. 

It’s been a week. 

A long, boring, drawn-out week. 

You are without your phone, without wifi and without your parents car — so you couldn’t go anywhere if you tried. 

It’s been a long week of nothing, not even from Tomura. You assume he can put two and two together and figure out something has gone wrong. The thought brings you a little peace, but not for long. 

You barely leave your room and barely say two words to your parents. The isolation is… lonely. 

Even if you went out to the living room to watch television, you run the risk of running into one of your parents — and you can really do without another lecture. The only thing on your mind this past week has been Tomura. What was he doing? Did he pick up on your silence? Last time he showed up at your house, but that’s not happening this time around. 

You sit up from your bed, realizing that sitting around rotting away would drive you mad, and look to your window. The sun was setting and dusting the rest of the world in pretty orange and pink hues. It would be nightfall soon, and you don't think you could spend another night in this room, alone. 

So, against all better judgment, you open your window, look back to listen for any suspicious footsteps — the lack thereof giving you the greenlight — and climb out of your window, stumbling on to the ground as you try to regain your footing from the drop.

You weren't sure where your feet were taking you, but you didn't care, the feeling of fresh air against your cheeks was all you really needed for a clear head.

Your feet lead you to the mall, the start of all your problems and the beginning of your independence. 

It felt strange, seeing all kinds of happy faces throughout the mall. Blissfully unaware of their freedoms and enjoying their night. The jarring feeling pushes your feet to the familiar route, flashing colors and blaring music of the arcade greeting you. 

It’s comforting, in a way. But you didn’t bring any money. You didn't bring anything but what you were wearing so you could only look around, watching friends and couples alike laugh together. 

There's an area near the back of the arcade with tall barstools and empty tables. You decide to take a seat there and sulk on your own. At least you were no longer trapped in your room, forced to watch your four walls while the days passed you by.

You were in a daze, tracing the brown lines on the wooden table with your eyes, until someone interrupted you by sitting right next to you. You turn to face the culprit, less than friendly words on your tongue and ready to let whoever have a piece of your mind. 

But you stop in your tracks as ruby red eyes look down at you. 

Tomura. 

He was here, next to you and your heart fluttered at the realization. 

“What’s your problem?” He joked, rasp in his voice comforting to your ears. 

You don’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug, his black hoodie soft and familiar. “How did you know I was here?” You mumble into the fabric and miraculously Tomura understands you.

“I didn’t.” The admission causes you to pull back, looking up at him through your long lashes. “None of my calls or texts went through, and I tried to stop by but your dad was suspiciously outside.” He brings a hand to your head, brushing your hair back and giving you a small smile. “I still like coming here, so I did. Something to pass the time. Ironically, I saw you walk by. 

You hum, fighting the pout that wanted to make its way onto your face. “They took my phone. They took everything, even the birth control pills. I can’t keep living like this, Tomura.”

“I know.” He responds, soothing your nerves even with his presence. “I can get you another phone.”

The suggestion only makes you shake your head, it doesn’t tackle the real underlying issue. 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before they find that too. We’ve seen that they aren’t above going through my things. It’s hell. I can’t do it anymore.”

This seems to make Tomura ponder, taking your words in and running them through his mind for a solution. His expression is fixed when he looks back at you. 

“Then don’t.”

“What?” 

“Don’t go back home.” He elaborates, “Come stay with me. My place is big enough, it shouldn’t matter.”

You are shaking your head before you realize, pulling away from him with a stern look. “No, no I can't do that. I can’t impose on you like that.”

Tomura gives you a halfhearted glare. “It’s not imposing if I'm offering. They’re assholes, and I'm usually home alone anyway. Well, besides Kurogiri.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, “C’mon, just go home tonight, pack a bag and then meet me here tomorrow. Can you do that?” 

There was no other option you would want more so you nod, giving a short okay as Tomura presses his lips to yours. 

It's set — by this time tomorrow you will be free.

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part three

when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.

“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.

Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.

The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.

You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.

She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”

Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.

Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”

You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.

One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.

As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.

You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.

“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.

Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”

He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”

“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.

Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”

“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.

Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.

The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”

You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so unamenable,” he accused.

Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.

You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”

“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.

Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.

You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.

Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.

Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.

I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.

It’s okay. I’ve got you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.

Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.

Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.

He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.

As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.

Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.

It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.

You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.

Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.

He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”

You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”

“Don’t start,” he said immediately.

You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”

Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”

As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”

“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.

You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.

Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not,” you answered.

“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”

“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.

You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”

He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.

Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.

Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.

“Oh, come on,” he protested.

“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”

To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.

Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”

“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.

You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”

His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.

“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.

Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”

You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.

Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”

You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.

“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.

Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.

“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.

You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”

Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.

You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.

Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.

“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.

Fuck.

You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.

“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.

He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”

The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”

The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”

He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.

Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.

“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.

You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.

“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.

He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.

“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.

“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”

Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.

He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.

“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.

You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.

Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”

If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.

He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”

You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.

Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.

Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”

“I’m going,” you said simply.

He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”

You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.

As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”

Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”

He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.

Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”

You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.

Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.

He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.

“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.

You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.

Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”

“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.

He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”

“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.

Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”

You hummed, “You’re sweet.”

 “For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.

Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.

He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”

“Okay,” you answered.

“What?”

You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”

He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.

Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.

You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.

Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”

Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”

He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”

“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.

taglist: @football1921 @thedancingnerdmermaid @dollarstore-lydia-deetz @cillsnostalgia @alivesarcastically

@hellsingalucard18 @poetoflawed @lillysfrogsandbogs @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sndixz

@k-corbett @nott-my-riddle @guiltyyassin @starkeyellow @rainydayathogwarts

@roblino @awildfirestarting @getawaycarsficrecs @syd-maximoff @melodyflowersblog

@stargirlls-world @ovando13

[newtkive]

shift shenanigans - s1 social media au

note: jus for fun ! may or may not do more parts.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes from richie sry

part two

liked by syd_adamu, marcus.brooks11 and 30 others

chefboyardee: my friends! i love my friends! the two on the right more than the left (i’m joking i promise) 😁😁😁😁

see all 8 comments

syd_adamu: brave of you to call him your friend y/n

↳ chefboyardee: boss man carmy save me

↳ syd_adamu: oh.. :///

marcus.brooks11: you did me so dirty, friend.

↳ chefboyardee: love you marcus you look spectacular

↳ marcus.brooks11: don’t start

richietheking: Where am I?

↳ chefboyardee: ya motha

liked by syd_adamu, chefboyardee and 10 others

richietheking: Getting sh$!t done.

see all 8 comments

marcus.brooks11: This is coolllddd.

↳ richietheking: You already know it man.

syd_adamu: this is actually crazy

carmyberzatto: can you show this on instagram? i think you should delete this.

↳ richietheking: Delete your life.

chefboyardee: come down to the beef for a number 6 the occy way 💯 the safest joint on the block 🤑💯we are 🔛🔝

↳ richietheking: Eyyy I know that’s right.

↳ carmyberzatto: please don’t advertise this.

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 8:25 am ]

y/n:

bruh im about to lose it. heads up when you guys get to work.

marcus: that catering order is about to be crazy

DO NOT REPLY: These white boards are stressing me out.

syd: we know, probably giving you ptsd from not finishing high school

DO NOT REPLY: Fuck you I did finish it.

y/n: oh i gotta change ur contact name richie

richie poo: ????? What

y/n: it was ‘DO NOT REPLY’ lols

marcus: valid

syd: real

richie poo: What? Why?! That’s so rude

y/n: cuz you piss me off

and you kept blowing up my phone yesterday

richie poo: You weren’t answering, and we needed help at the cook out.

syd: the one where you poisoned everyone?

richie poo: Fuck off.

y/n: when i’m off work, i’m off work.

marcus: don’t let carmy hear that, y/n

y/n: don’t remind me

syd: he’s trying at least, go easy on him. he really has great ideas

richie poo: You mean you have great ideas in that little notebook

tina: Never trust a broad with a notebook.

syd: hey! i’m just being helpful

y/n: do you guys think my ig post will hurt carmys feelings

marcus: it would make me a little sad if i were him, but i don’t think he cares

y/n: great i’m gonna cry now

syd: i doubt he even saw it y/n it’s fine

richie poo: Check the work chat. Cousin is in a mood.

y/n: oh great

tina: Help us all.

syd: be nice you guys

WORK

[ 9:15 am ]

carmy: Everyone, we have huge catering orders tomorrow to prep for today. Please get here as soon as you can, the earlier you clock in the better. Additionally, please be careful what you post on social media. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

syd: ok sounds good

richie poo: Cool it, Cousin. What’s the issue with the social media

tina: I use FaceBook. That not allowed now??

carmy: Tina, you’re fine. I’m talking about those who post work things on public accounts

marcus: facebook is crazy

richie poo: I can’t go private

y/n: he needs the likes

richie poo: No I’m disabled from doing so. Not sure why

y/n: liar

richie poo: 😑I don’t like you

carmy: Then please don’t post pics of yourself posting up with a gun and an air horn outside of my shop anymore.

marcus: that pic was fire can’t lie

carmy: Well, it’s bad for business.

richie poo: Fine, whatever

y/n: carmy

carmy: What, Y/n?

y/n: is this because of my caption on my post i’m sorry i promise i wasn’t being for real

carmy: I don’t care Y/n.

y/n: is that code for ‘i care a lot and i’m crying in the office right now and that’s why the door is closed’

oh

syd: ? why the oh

y/n: he opened the door and yelled no 🤨 but i think i saw red eyes

carmy: Please get back to work and I’ll comp a meal for you later

y/n: OMG yes chef 😍

richie poo: Inappropriate emojis and you shouldn’t have to incentivize her to work

y/n: shut up acting like HR i’m gonna beat your ass

jealousy is ugly which is why you have that mug on your face

carmy: Stop

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

i heard your giggle tho

richie poo: Again with the schizo episode

syd: you can’t say that richie

richie poo: Oh sorry

[noellefan101]

Nick-Names - Genshin

Characters: Xiao, Scaramouche, Venti, Lyney, Albedo, Kaveh, Thoma, Diluc, Childe, Heizou, Kazuha x GN reader

Warnings: a lot of cheesy and weird nicknames, if you dont like some for a specific char you're welcome to send me your ideas, could be modern au, established relationship

(you can clearly see that i prob put in an OC, so im so sry, but some i just also really head-canon as the "would rather date a loving person than be loving" if you get what i mean)

Summary: both of your pet names for each other, some silly some sweet

Note: you can really tell where i had no ideas for nicknames. and ik i use both 'pet names' and 'nicknames' but im just kinda stupid and didnt care to change stuff when i was already done with it. also i may just have a problem but why does princess sound 10x better than prince, no matter your gender, anyway love youuuu

Xiao

He will always say what is on his mind, and he did the same thing when you brought up using pet names. he wasn't very fond of the idea, and sometimes he still isn't(depending on the situation). but he has gotten used to it more over time, like when you burst open his door and to talk to him while using the most absurd nicknames he´s ever heard of.

__

Pet names for you: lovely, qinxing, [shorter version of your name](sry people with short names, i fell ya)

Pet names for him: babe, baby, cutie, dove, birdy, my alatus

Scaramouche

Will never admit he likes being called weird things by you, EVER. if he did then he was drunk and he was totally lying. and that counts with calling you stuff as well, he would rather die than admit he doesn't just call you that bc you wanted him to.

__

Pet names for you: idiot, princess/prince, dear

Pet names for him: smoochi, love

Venti

He was probably the one who suggested the idea at first, like two days/weeks (seconds) into your relationship. i also think he already had at least one nickname for you when you were "just friends", in the crushing phase, and has some for all his other friends as well(prob also his teachers if school au, lul).

__

Pet names for you: windblume, cecilia, [insert the cheesiest thing you can think of], my love

Pet names for him: venni, my dear, sweetheart, my bard

Lyney

He would be over the moon if you gave him a nickname, and would instantly be looking like a tomato too. would increase its usage by tenfolds if you said you liked one of his nicknames. you cannot stop him even if you somehow got 'Father' involved.

__

Pet names for you: babe, mon trésor, mon amour, beautiful

Pet names for him: sweetie, amour, lyn

Albedo

He didn't really see a use for it at first, finding it kind of useless. but sooner or later realized how happy you looked when he had somehow slipped up and called you 'love' when he needed your assistance. and later just didn't bother to stop.

__

Pet names for you: love, my cecelia, my dear

Pet names for him: 'bedo, lovely, (my) genius

Kaveh

He LOVES nick-names, probably made one for everyone in the friend group(yk alhaitham, tighnari n cyno), and would be delighted to make some up for you.

__

Pet names for you: beloved, lovely

Pet names for him: baby,

Thoma

He really wanted to try using them, yes he calls Ayato and Ayaka my lord and my lady, but its just not the same as calling your lover something sweet. and good luck if you don't like it, he's keeping those names forever.

__

Pet names for you: babe, sweetheart, baby, sleepyhead, lovely

Pet names for him: babe, love

Diluc

He honestly wasn't a fan at first, he hated it even. but of course, you being you, insisted on using names for him, and encouraged him to at least try to use some for you. so he kinda got into routine with it.

__

Pet names for you: my love, my dear

Pet names for him: dear, red head, love, my hero

Childe

Of course, he would use nick-names and such, he uses nick-names for the traveler and paimon, so of course he would be using such with you. honestly how could he not, especially when you're looking all cute cuddled up in his hoodie.

__

Pet names for you: my love, beloved, cupcake

Pet names for him: ginger, ma strong man(only for teasing purposes), hubby

Heizou

He'll almost never call you by your actual name, he didnt even when you two were just friends, only in the most serious of times would he do that. so it was no surprise that when you actually started dating, they could only become sweeter and cheesier as time goes by.

__

Pet names for you: princess/prince, baby, beautiful, (my) sunshine

Pet names for him: hei, zou-zou, babe

Kazuha

He loves it bc no matter what you call him he'll be happy. and he makes sure you have "some" as well, and i guess he just can't stop coming up with more, and they're always more cheesy than the last. you don't know how he does it, but maybe its just his poetry skills coming through.

__

Pet names for you: dove, (my) love, sweetheart, sweetie, my dear

Pet names for him: kazu, dear

thank u for reading whatever this thing is(totally not a filler bc i habe been working on that streamer au for too long), luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[delfiore]

—DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: in the end, what is meant to be will always be. or; leah struggles after the break up.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is a continuation of LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. i just have to make things angsty i’m sry, if i don’t i start gnawing at the bars of my enclosure but worry not, this will turn fluffy in the end :)

EIGHT. Paris.

It took about 45 mins for Leah to decide that she longer wanted to be in this damned opera house.

The red carpet was exhausting enough, but she powered through it, familiar faces like Amelia DiMoldenberg’s making it barely enough to get through.

The dinner had gone into an intermission, and she had a moment to relax from the cameras, being sat at a table not far from the stage. Ever since she first attended the GQ Men of the Year Dinner a few years ago, it had created a lot of buzz around her every year, fans speculating whether she would come again, donning outfits so foreign on her body. Back then, she still had a support system that she looked forward to coming home to. Now, maybe the only positive to this night was that, whatever happened, she would eventually get to go home and sleep by the end of it.

She had to tilt her head all the way up to get a full glimpse of the ceiling. The Royal Opera House wasn’t the oldest building erected in London by far, but it was one of most interesting to look at, if she wasn’t so in love with her club and the look of the Emirates that was. It was grandiose, regal and typical of Baroque architecture, the concave ceiling arching over her, stretching all the way back to the five balconies—generously lit and horse-shoe-shaped seating areas—stacked on top of each other. It looked a little bit like the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris that she got to see when she attended the Ballon d’Or for the first time a couple of years ago. A lot of things can change in two years, and Leah wasn’t sure whether it was for the better or not.

Her agent caught her in the middle of her admiring when he gave her shoulder a light tap, telling her that she was expected at the after-party too. Great, another two hours she’d have to endure as people praise her name for achievements unworthy of praise, just because she was Leah Williamson, captain of the Lionesses. But whatever else he said after that, Leah didn’t register, because her eyes had found a familiar frame standing a few tables away.

You looked dashing in your black nighttime attire, which sparkled every time the limelight happened to sweep past you. A gentle smile adorned your face as you conversed your heart away with a couple of actors whose names were lost on her. When you put your hand on one of them and laughed, your eyed darted over to her for a split second.

Only when those actors had left, did she even think of approaching you, but her feet were planted on the ground.

One, two, three, she counted in her head. One, two, three; come on, Leah . . .

“Hi, you!” There was a residual cheerfulness from your previous conversation in your voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she tried to chuckle away her nerves, wiping the sweat in her hands on her pant legs. “You been okay?”

“Yeah,” you said it so softly that she almost missed it, if she wasn’t watching your lips. “Are you? Beth says you don’t come around her place anymore.”

“You still talk to Beth?”

“Yeah, she’s my friend, Lee. I . . . hope you don’t mind.”

“No! No, that’s . . . it’s great.” Leah said quickly.

You had smiled at her gratefully, and grasped her hand. “It’s good seeing you again.”

“You too.” She had said, robotically, before deciding against it. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright?”

You smiled again. This time, you brought her into your chest and wrapped your arms around her neck. “You first,” you said with a glint in your eyes, then you disappeared into the crowd.

And for a few brief moments, Leah Williamson didn’t think about how exhausted she was, only about how much she has missed being held by you. After all, it had been almost two years since she and you broke up, and maybe Leah was never able to move on like she had promised you.

How could she?

NINE. Be My Mistake.

She hated the feeling afterwards. She hated herself for having initiated it, for chasing after the girl like a hungry wolf in that nightclub. Now, Leah couldn’t bear the feeling of her lanky arms and sweaty skin touching her, like the intimacy was warranted, like she had somehow earned it.

Leah knew it was begrudging of her to shove the girl’s arm away so heartlessly and move upright to the edge of the bed, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with someone else, not yet. Not when every time she felt her skin she imagined yours, soft and scented with your familiar smell; every time she closed her eyes she saw your face like a ghost, refusing to leave her psyche; every time she opened her mouth to let out a noise of pleasure, it took everything in her to hold herself back from uttering Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The girl was confused but she was still, no doubt trying to decipher the sudden shift in Leah’s demeanor. She hated her stillness, the way her eyes watched her frame like she was a wounded animal in its enclosure.

“Please leave,” Leah said quietly, begging.

Silence.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but if . . . you need someone—”

“Thank you, Delaney.” She gritted her teeth. “Please get out.”

Tonight, it was Delaney with the fiery red hair and dimples peppered over her cheekbones. A few nights ago, it was Lisa-Mae with the sultry brown eyes and unforgettable plump lips. Then there might have been an Erin and Hailey and Polly and maybe even a Daniela from when she visited Keira in Barcelona. She hated that she somehow remembered all of their names and kept count. Body upon body, yet she could not forget the one body she was using them all to forget about.

She couldn’t turn to alcohol, couldn’t smoke or do hard drugs because they would affect her performance on the pitch, but God knows she was thinking about it constantly. Anything to take this pain away for a moment, lest she turns into the starving wolf and goes out to hunt at night again. If only the press caught on to what she was doing.

Righteous Lioness turned starving wolf the moment the loneliness becomes a little too much to bare.

But she knew you wouldn’t have judged her. No, you would wrap her in your arms and let her scream, cry, do whatever she wanted to rid herself of the torment. She remembered all the nights you spent on the bathroom floor with her as she battled through her endometriosis, and how you would hold her like the world was about to collapse outside the window.

Leah was on the bathroom floor again, but she was alone this time, and the floor tiles felt colder and harsher than she had remembered.

TEN. Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy).

The feeling she got when the three whistles finally blew came to Leah quite rarely. It was one of elation and immense joy that the result of the game was finalized, because she had known half an hour ago that Arsenal would bring home the crucial three points from the match.

She brought her fists in the air as she made her rounds, patting her teammates on the back and shaking hands with opponents. She found Kyra and hoisted her in the air with a tight hug, as her younger teammate managed to score and assist today.

“Thank you, Leah.” Kyra giggled, as she was put down. “Is Y/N here?”

Leah’s smile remained, but she scrunched her eyebrows. “How did you hear about that?”

“How could I not? Y/N Y/L/N, coming to watch us play. I won’t be surprised if social media was buzzing about that rather than the actual match.”

If Kyra knew, that meant the entire team knew. She would endure the endless teasing if it meant getting to see you again, though.

Leah had found where you were sitting right from the start, in the VIP box where her friends and family sat, the usual spot you occupied when you were still together. Back then, she would watch you jog down the stairs with a blinding grin on your face, hop over the barricade and pull her into a bone-crushing hug. It could be a sold-out Emirates Stadium, but the only thing she wanted to watch was you. She still wanted to.

“Hi! Great game today.” You didn’t hug her, but did something far worse. You swung your arm and gave her bicep a quick pat, like a friend would.

“Thanks,” she said. “Should have scored that header though.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down like that. You were great.” Somehow, your words made her feel worse about herself, and she just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. They felt patronizing.

Not far away, Beth’s joyful laughter cut through her sulking. Turning to look at the woman, she saw Beth wrapping her arms tightly around Viv’s neck and the Dutch spinning her around gleefully. Viv had managed to score a hat-trick today—her first since returning from her ACL injury—and even if she didn’t celebrate such an important feat, she would be dragged into one because her girlfriend definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

It reminded her of when she would come home and celebrate her wins with you. She didn’t need any fancy parties or lavish gifts, just being in your company was more than enough. You would always end up buying her gifts though. “Just because”, you would say, the I love you going unspoken, but she knew it was there. She could always feel it hanging in the silence, in the spaces in your home, even when you were half a world away filming. She could always feel it, like a hearth, a palpable warmth flickering in her chest.

It made her envious watching Beth and Viv that they had what she once did.

“Y/N! You made it!” Beth’s voice tore Leah from her thoughts.

Despite her sentimental predicament, a chuckle made its way onto her lips as she watched you embrace Beth like two schoolgirls finally united again after the summer holidays.

“How long are you staying in London?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know, really,” you replied. “I’m doing a thing with Stella McCartney, so it might take a while.”

Leah couldn’t help but perk up at that. She could feel Viv glancing at her from the corner of her eyes.

“No way! Look at ya. Moving on to the fashion world already!” Beth exclaimed and gave your shoulder a light shove.

Only when you and Beth had walked away happily chatting did Vivianne elbow her gently.

“They seem happy,” the Dutch said.

“Yeah,” Leah pursed her lips. “That’s good.”

“And you? Are you happy?”

Leah knew that the both of them knew she wasn’t, but that wasn’t the right answer. She would not admit to something that she has been working for two years to get over, because it would mean that her woes were all for nothing.

“I am,” she nodded. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

If anything, Leah still loved you enough to admit that.

ELEVEN. Me.

Leah didn’t sleep much these days. She never really did—adrenaline being her biggest enemy—but she would find herself crying in frustration at four in the morning, unable to fall asleep.

It would be during those torturous hours that she would reminisce on the conversation in which she pulled the plug on your relationship.

It was a slippery slope of miscommunication, both of you were to blame, but she was the one who decided to run away instead of trying to work it out. She still kept the ring in a drawer somewhere, but the memory of your rejection made it to painful to look at.

In hindsight, she could have said it a bit differently, but she was close to exploding the previous days that all of it came flooding out of her.

She replayed the conversation often, like a broken record in her head, swapping out things that she could have said or you could have said that would have lead to a different outcome, maybe one in which she wasn’t so miserable two years on.

It was 1:43am, and she was wide awake yet again. You’d always had an irregular sleep pattern, and she wondered whether you were awake too.

She knew it was a mistake, and that she would regret it in the morning, but she texted you anyway.

hey are u awake?

Slamming her phone on the other side of the bed, Leah curled in on herself, burying her face in the pillows trying not to cry. If she hadn’t looked up in time, she would almost miss the incoming call on her screen. It was you.

“Hey,” she picked up after sniffling her tears away.

“Hey, you,” your voice was soft and lulling. “What an odd time for a footballer to be awake. Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

This made her chuckle. “If I did get all of my beauty sleep, you lot would have no chance.”

“Watch out, everyone. Leah Williamson’s ego is inflating, try not get crushed by it.”

As Leah’s laughter died down, she felt an awkwardness settled over the line. A silence once so comfortable now felt forced, straining under the pull between what once was and the ruins of it. The heavy weight of unspoken words curled on the tip of her tongue, the broken record of her mistake playing ever louder in her head.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” you finally broke the silence, your voice teetering between caution and curiosity.

“Yeah, well, insomnia makes one do questionable things.”

Leah wondered if she had accidentally revealed too much, and whether it was appropriate to do so. You two weren’t intimate anymore, you were barely friends nowadays, the finest thread of your acquaintance lied solely on your hangouts with Beth. How strange it was, you were half of her soul. Now you were almost like passersby on the street.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, a sense of concern in your tone.

“Um,” she hummed, trying to pull herself together. “Not really. I-I haven’t been doing too well.”

“Leah,” you said. “I-I know we’re not as close as we were before, but I wasn’t lying when I said I still want us to be friendly at least. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She said, her voice wavering. She wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings from you, never you. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner.”

“It’s okay, Lee. It hurt me a lot, not gonna lie, but I understand where you were coming from.”

Leah couldn’t hold it in anymore, and squeezed her eyes shut, her tears wetting the pillow she lay on. “I can’t be your friend, Y/N. I can’t just pretend like the last five years didn’t happen.”

There was a brief silence once more before you spoke. “I know. Might be selfish of me to wish things were different.”

“Then I’m selfish too,” she said, almost a whisper.

There was a pause, in which Leah bit the inside of her cheeks so hard they might start bleeding.

“Are you coming to Beth’s thing on Friday?” You asked.

“I think I’m expected to be there. Why?”

“Good, I’ll be there too. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” Leah said dumbly.

“Now, go to sleep.”

She giggled. “You first.”

TWELVE. Sincerity Is Scary.

Leah’s teammates have teased her many times throughout the evening, stating her unnecessary brooding was actually unnecessary this time and that she should liven up. She really couldn’t. Just thinking about seeing you again tonight made her want to have a heart attack and end her misery right there.

But the moment she heard your voice as you stepped into Beth and Viv’s house, a bottle of wine in hand and a bright smile on your lips, Leah felt her anxiety dissipate into oblivion, scolding herself for ever feeling nervous.

After all, it was you.

She waited patiently with a soft smile, her arms folded behind her back as she waited for all the girls to swoon over you. She had all night to keep you company, she was in no rush.

“Hey,” you found her after all the canoodling. Extending an arm, you awaited a hug which she gladly accepted.

“Hi,” she offered to take your jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. “You got here alright?”

“Man, the traffic at rush hour,” you sighed exasperatedly. “That’s the one thing I’ll never get used to. Almost makes me miss you being my personal chauffeur.”

She laughed. “That’s the only thing I was good for, was it?”

You narrowed your eyes at her teasingly. “Not just that.”

Leah wasn’t sure what you meant entirely with We’ll talk then, but seeing as she was the one who stupidly broke up with you, the balls were entirely in your court. She was just happy you were still willing to talk to her after she called you at 2am to blabber her insomniac nonsense.

She wasn’t courageous enough to sit directly next to you at the dinner table, but rather took the seat next to Katie who sat in front of you. Courage wasn’t something Leah felt much lately, and it took seeing you again for her to admit that. Perhaps she was never brave, but you always made her feel like it anyway.

Everyone loved you, the movie star that graced her team’s humble dinner. She couldn’t help but watch in awe as you managed to charm the pants off of everyone at the table with your witty remarks and crazy anecdotes. You had a presence that made everyone want to be your friend; it made her uncharacteristically shy at trying to get you to notice her, that she resorted to watching you from afar. And the few times you would make eye-contact with her, she could only look away, bashful that she had been caught staring, as her courage dwindling with each gaze.

Later in the night, when everyone was scattered around the house chatting, she found you sitting alone on the patio. Upon closer look, she could make out a smaller, fluffy unit in the form of Myle, Beth and Viv’s little pup, prancing around in front of you, waiting for you to throw the tennis ball in your hand.

The constant sound of the girls’ conversations died down the moment she stepped out in the backyard, now lit with rows of incandescent lights overhead. Myle barked once with excitement as she spotted Leah approaching.

“I think she wants you to throw it,” you handed her the ball.

She grinned and took it. “No one beats Auntie Leah.”

Little Myle was quick to launch herself across the yard on a mission to retrieve her precious artifact.

“I wanted a dog really bad, the first year we started dating.” You said, pulling your knees to your chest as a gust of wind pulled at your hair. “I wanted a little corgi or an Italian greyhound. I spent hours looking for one to adopt and researched food, bills, insurance and stuff.”

“Why didn’t you get one?” Leah asked.

“We haven’t even moved in together at that point. Plus, I was still bouncing around, you knew that.”

She did. You were shooting a movie in Canada the few first months you and her started talking. Then, you were hopping around Spain, Portugal and various parts of the UK for another project. It wasn’t ideal, but still much closer than Canada. You would fly out every other weekend to watch her play, and she would do the same and visit you on-set, moving most things aside for a couple days with you.

“I would have loved a dog, I don’t know about you.”

“I’m sure you would have. You’d probably love it more than me,” you laughed.

“No,” Leah shook her head softly. “Never.”

Summer was approaching. She could feel it in the mildness despite the breeze. For a while, the soft murmur of the wind caressing the trees was all she could hear, and Myle’s occasional huff as she impatiently waited for the ball to be tossed again.

You both sat there watching her, fantasizing of a different life, a dream that never materialized, another fragment of memories again tainted by what-ifs. Leah bit her lip, trying to calm her spiraling thoughts. She felt her courage slipping away again.

“I’m sorry I called you the other day,” she pursed her lips. “That wasn’t very appropriate. I should have asked to talk to you properly.”

“Don’t worry. Wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve done.” She heard you chuckle next to her. “I’ve had some time to think about us. Admittedly, I didn’t want to think about it at all the first few months, but my therapist told me I had to face it one way or another.”

Leah held her breath. This was the part where you tell her that you’d moved on and that she should stop pestering you. One of her knees started bouncing up and down as she waited for you to talk.

“I had to face the fact that you’re the love of my life, and that night I met you and we danced to Hozier together—on the first night we met no less—was the second best night of my life. The best was when you told me you loved me. And the worst night of my life was when you broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered, feeling her throat tighten at your confession.

“No,” you said, moving closer. “I don’t regret it. I wasn’t ready when you proposed, and that was my truth. But Leah, I’d be lying if I said that I’d be okay with letting you go again.”

“I should’ve talked to you about marriage before I asked you to marry me. It wasn’t fair on you.” Leah offered you a tearful smile.

“I want to try again. I would do it again for you.” You reached out and wiped away the tears that had silently rolled down her cheeks as she listened to you.

“I thought I’d lost my chance,” she said. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“Oh, baby,” your thumb brushed over her cheek softly. “How could you think I’d ever be able to forget about you?”

She let out a soft cry of relief. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and there was only one thing she thought of doing.

So she leaned in, never minding her wet cheeks. The last thing she saw was you closing your eyes too.

“Oh—sorry!”

The two of you jumped apart at the voice behind you. Leah turned around with a visible scowl on her face, seeing Beth grimace sheepishly as she called for Myle.

“It’s her dinner time. Come, little one, you hungry?” Beth attempted to explain herself, as Myle sprinted inside. “Alright then. As you were.”

The moment the door closed, you burst into laughter, making her break out of her frown and smile with you. “I can’t believe that just happened,” you said, laughing into her shoulder.

“I’m going to kill her,” she shook her head and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek.

She didn’t mind it too much, because she got to take you home later and make up for the last two years until the early hours of the morning. You and her would laugh about it years later.

THIRTEEN. About You.

Your lover never backed down from a challenge.

That was her way, and that was what made her one of the best in her sport, her unrelenting spirit.

Yet, her legs felt like they would turn to jelly the moment she laid her eyes on you at the end of the aisle, umber dirt covered in white rose petals. She felt like drowning in her emotions which had all risen to the surface, and the waves would only plunge her further into itself until she was completely immobilized by it. But she knew once she was able to pull herself together and walk to you on the other end of that path, heaven would be waiting for her.

The officiate went on and on about love, life, and promises of forever, but she had made that promise to you long before this day. She kissed you fervently the moment she was able to.

It only seemed fitting that the first chapter of your story began with a dance, and the most important one to also end with a dance. She offered you a hand, and you gladly took it, a childish giggle bubbling in your throat. The song you danced to the first night you met rang out in the venue, a soft and folksy tune the backdrop of your falling in love.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She said with a teasing grin.

You gazed into her eyes like they held the world. You had no idea that her heart beat for you, how her soul yearned for yours, how her life will not forever be intertwined with yours.

You closed your eyes and hummed, swaying with her slowly, just like you’d practiced at home a couple of weeks ago, only that instead of the four walls of your shared home baring witness to this dance, it was all your friends and families.

Memories of the first night you met, and the one in which she promised you her heart bubbled as she saw the serene look in your face. You both have come so far.

You placed your head on her chest for all to see, the way you do when you are tired after long hours of work in front of the camera, when all you wanted was the magic and warmth of her company.

Leah smiled; she couldn’t stop smiling. She smiled and smiled until her cheeks ached, even beyond then, until forever.

“No,” you mumbled. “Not bad at all.”

a/n: happy holidays to everyone :)

[a018233]

my english sucks a lot sry😔 and it’s not like request, but more of a question???

i was thinking about which yanderes would be willing to share their darling with another yandere (pairs like naib and norton, both had very traumatic past, both very protective and closed off, maybe andrew and luca (i love them they are so silly🤭))

absolutely in love with your rental-gf/bf-au it’s just chef’s kiss🤌🤌 can’t wait for another part!💓

I'm assuming this is for the rent-a-gf/bf au so I'll start:

Xie and Fan. They already share you on their dates. Taking turns with you sitting on their laps and spoon feeding you, taking you on shopping sprees. Instead of being their boyfriend, it feels like you're more of a domesticated kitten in their grasp that they want to spoil.

You hit the spot on Andrew and Luca. The two are already roommates. They might as share you since neither of them are willing to back down. I honestly think because of how delusional Andrew is, Luca manages to convince him to kidnap you. You can live with them, and since they have different work schedules, someone will always be home with you. That is if they come to an agreement first..

I don't think Norton would share, he alr regrets introducing Eli to you because now Eli talks as if you two are in a relationship. Norton is kicking himself in the face, all he wanted was for Eli to get out of bed, and now he's trying to court you to? C'mon.. Norton wishes he left Eli alone instead.

Not only that, but Naib is totally into you too!! Now he has two people to actively compete against. One is ex military who probsbly has a high killcount, and the other is delusional nutcase who believes that he's your boyfriend.

[quimichi]

NSFW [ SFW if NSFW isn’t okay- ] Malleus Hc? [ male reader if your comfy with tat, if not gn is good too :3 ] ignore if your not taking requests or this isn’t okay-

. . . . . . . . . ╰──╮MY DEAREST ╭──╯ . . . . . . . . .

(N)SFW MALLEUS BF HCS

Malleus x Gn!Reader

A/n: I do male reader, but since you said gn reader is fine too I did gn reader! I hope it's ok but obviously I can still do a male reader ♡

SFW

: ̗̀➛ first of all, damn you're lucky like---

: ̗̀➛ the fact that you're now in a relationship with the most powerful being of the school is mad scary for so many. After all, you're just a magicless human.

: ̗̀➛ but you are so much more to Malleus himself, and he takes a pot of pride in being your partner, boyfriend sounds so...weird to him

: ̗̀➛ Lilia btw is a super proud mom

: ̗̀➛ i have the add the adorable gargoyle stuff because it's a Malleus thing. He always takes his time and is open minded to youe interest, so obviously you are too! Whatever it might be he will try and study it to understand you better

: ̗̀➛ please help him tho, he may get a little lost in places of the internet if he ever trys to learn more on there

: ̗̀➛ insist on you two sleeping together. And INSISTS that you and Grim move to his dorm, his room to be specific, because the conditions you live in? We don't talk about them---

: ̗̀➛ once he got a taste of cuddling, it was over for you. He can and will get clingy at night, pulling you into his chest so he can hold you

: ̗̀➛ very protective and somehow greedy. Your attention is his, his animalistic dragon side may come out there but you can deal with it, so far that is-

: ̗̀➛ gets you way to expensive presents, mostly with pretty gems. Things like jewelry, or even other decorative pieces. All in your favorite color(s)

: ̗̀➛ loves to take late night walks with you, having your arms linked while slowly walking beside each other enjoying not only the atmosphere but each other's company

: ̗̀➛ will also read to you if you ever ask for it. Having you falling asleep right there in his arms ro his soothing voice really does sound like a dream

: ̗̀➛ lol he literally told Sebek to also protect you from any harm that comes if he can't be around you (which is like so rare he's glued to your side)

: ̗̀➛ baby can't use his phone right and would think that if he speaks to his phone with the chat open it will magically send the text to you, like you always do with voice mails---

: ̗̀➛ or he has his front camera open and doesn't know how to turn the view so he literally turns the whole phone and trys to blindly press the button

: ̗̀➛ he's so cute stfu

NSFW

: ̗̀➛ this guy is huge like---massive. You have to be around his size to really take it down good-

: ̗̀➛ rip to my fellow small people out there

: ̗̀➛ obviously he gives off big dick energy and this is what he has, a big dick. Like 9 inches, in cm that would be 22

: ̗̀➛ it's average in thickness but the length...damn: ̗̀➛ like i said before very protective, also meaning possessive. He will mark you up, with his smell and with any other sign he can. That's why he gets you the jewelry too. And also hickey's

: ̗̀➛ if you dont like those, he won't do any of them he respects you to much for this to push you into anything that you are not willing to at least try. Same with showing them, if you don't like people to know this way, he is very okay with this

: ̗̀➛ since he does love and respect you a lot, like literally adore and being obsessed with you, you will have the final word of anything. He is willing to try everything out of curiosity and will maybe bring something up himself, but won't MAKE you do anything. A no is a no after all

: ̗̀➛ so a no for him is definitely degration, like sry people who like it but no-

: ̗̀➛ [FEM REDER] a little yandere but would baby trap you at some point in life cause he knocks you up all the time with everything he has. So in the end, you are truly only his

: ̗̀➛ [MALE READER] would also let you take control once in a while. Yes, he is dominant for 99% but if you are also, just ask and take control he won't bite unless you want to, bite back even. Literally ruin this man's insides he will love it ♡

: ̗̀➛ seeing you so...rounded with his cum just makes him keep going, if you let him

: ̗̀➛ also, belly bulge. It's hypnotizing seeing himself going in and out of you, in and out...

: ̗̀➛ can go for so many rounds, because the Stamina he has is insane. Like he turns when you star begging for his dick inside you

: ̗̀➛ really loves to hear you, he knows you're obsessed with his voice but so is he with yours. He won't only whisper those dirty but also sweet things into your ear, making you weak. He wil also make you say things you were never expecting to say, without him forcing you. Same with the noises he can draw out

: ̗̀➛ He makes you shameless without even realizing it and it makes his brain go brrr

: ̗̀➛ to a point where Lilia heard it more than once-

[frenchkisstheabyss]

୨୧ ｓｔｒａｗｂｅｒｒｙ ｊｕｌｉｕｓ ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x chubby!fem!reader x boyfriend!namjoon

୨୧ Genre: fluff, smut, rocker au/crime au combo

୨୧ Summary: The night of an event you've been stressing out about for weeks, you find stress relief in an unexpected but welcome place.

୨୧ Word Count: 2.4k-ish

୨୧ Warnings: unprotected sex, double penetration, double creampie, anal, light choking, dirty talk, pet names, strong language (I can be a potty mouth, sry), pet names (love, baby), dom vibes if you squint, & that's all I think.

୨୧ A/N: I really wanted to mix two of my favorite au's with two of my favorite people so here we are. There's definitely gonna be a part two because my brain won't shut up about this. Anyway, I hope you like it my loves 🖤

Punk music blares from the speakers in your living room, the distorted strumming of guitars and brutal drumming enough to shake the walls of your two story home. Playing your music as loud as you want whenever you want. One of the few perks that come with living on the edge of the city where your nearest neighbor's an elderly woman a mile down the road who never uses her hearing aid.

A hearing aid. You’ll need one any day now if you keep this up but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re having the time of your life fresh out of the shower, dancing around in your towel while you tear your closet apart to find an outfit for the party tonight. Everything has to be perfect. Your hair. Your outfit. Your makeup. Jungkook says you’re perfect already. That everything else is just decoration.

With all the effort he put into getting your band invited to this party, your “decoration” needs to be more memorable than ever. Everyone who’s anyone on the punk scene will be there tonight. From journalists to producers to some of the women who inspired you to start a band to begin with. The pressure to make a lasting impression is insane and the precise reason you’re running on 4 hours of sleep right now. You’ve been moving non-stop since this morning, trying to outrun your doubts and insecurities.

“Love, slow down. Let me help you” Jungkook whispered in those moments he caught you burning yourself out. You don't know what you'd do without the sweetheart that he is. Digging through your top drawer you pull out a pair of fishnets, the ones he can't get enough of, and you're instantly reminded of the other side of him. Thoughts of all the filthy things you’ve done in these fishnets bring a tingle to your cheeks that spreads between your thighs like wildfire. 

“Not tonight” you say to yourself, tossing them back in, “I’ll never be able to focus.” Shaking off vivid memories of being fucked against the questionably clean mirror of a dive bar last weekend, you continue to raid your closet, carelessly making a mess that’ll be a problem for future you to deal with.

“Baby!” Jungkook shouts, stepping through the front door twirling his keys around his fingers. His heavy black combat boots hit the hardwood like the steps of a giant as he marches over to the speaker and turns the music down. “Baby! Where are you?” There’s an adorable pitter patter of feet from above before your voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “I’m here! Get everything you needed from the store?” 

His brain glitches. The store? Oh, yeah. That lie he told you about needing to run to the store for something. You never pressed him for specifics. A testament to the level of trust you have in him. Trust that hopefully won’t be shattered by the fact that he lied his ass off. He cuts his eyes at the tall man looming by the door, knowing that his presence is the only thing that’ll redeem him. 

“Uh, yeah, I did” he lies, appearing at the bottom of the stairs, “Could you come here for a second?” Without bothering to answer, you skip down the stairs, only hitting the second to last step before he has his arms around your plush figure. The towel bunches up around your waist, raising your towel just enough to allow your ass to poke out the bottom. He can’t resist brushing his fingers along the softness of your ass.

A move that reignites that tingling you felt earlier and has your lips latching onto his before he can say another word. Jungkook dives right in, shoving his hands beneath your towel to hungrily grip handfuls of your curves. There’s no time for this but he’ll make it. He has to. Something about you drowns out his reason. He’d postpone his own funeral if it meant he got to touch you one last time. 

“Does everyone who comes over get to watch or am I just special?” Namjoon teases, slamming the front door shut. Jungkook’s stomach sinks, suddenly remembering what he’d actually left the house to pick up. Yours sinks even lower. That voice. It hasn’t lived within these walls for years. Jungkook steps back, waving Joon over. “I, uh, got something extra from the store.” 

A half dozen emotions brew inside of you, none of them identifiable. You only know that your feet are glued to the ground. That your mouth is drier than it's ever been and your heart’s beating in your throat. Joon approaches you, his arms outstretched to welcome you into a hug. When you don’t budge, your pouty bottom lip the only part of you able to move, he pulls you into his arms anyway.

The strength of his hug, the love laced within it, heals something inside of you that has your vision going hazy with tears. Lifting you from the stairs, Joon brings you between him and Jungkook. They hug you from both sides the way they used to before Joon went away. 4 years in prison. Light work for washing dirty money but an eternity for your close knit trio. You haven’t laid eyes on him since that last day in court.

He’d only let Jungkook come visit, insisting that you shouldn’t be in a place like that. You lost count of the hours you spent in tears hating him for keeping you away but loving him too much for the feeling to ever stick. Your Joon didn’t belong locked away with killers and god knows who else. Everything he did, everything you did together, was to survive. He'd never hurt anyone and knowing he might be surrounded by people who would made being kept at a distance sting that much more.

There was no way you and Jungkook would’ve survived without each other. Him losing his best friend and you losing one of your loves. No matter how far your careers advanced, how nice this house was, or how much money you had tucked under the floorboards in the attic, nothing could change how incomplete you feel. How incomplete you felt.

“Ouch!” Joon cries, jumping when you pinch his side, “What was that for?” “What the fuck are you doing here?” you shout, wiping the tears from your eyes. Joon just laughs, “I still live here don’t I?” “Duh, you idiot! But you’re not supposed to—your release is months away—I thought—” You turn to Jungkook who grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours before you pinch him too.

“Early release. I was gonna tell you, I just thought it’d be a fun surprise. Plus you were so freaked out about tonight. I just didn’t wanna psych you out. You mad at me?” Jungkook pouts, those brown puppy dog eyes pulling you in like they always do. “I’m not mad” you huff, rolling your eyes while leaning in to let him peck you on the cheek. Joon kisses you on the neck from behind, his large smooth hands massaging your tense shoulders.

You reach back, running your palm across his buzz cut hair, “I like the new hair. It’s kinda hot.” “Only kinda?” he asks, nipping at your neck, revenge for that pinch earlier. His hands slide down, patiently rounding your curves to reach your exposed thighs. “Stop” you giggle, a chill running up your spine, “I have to get ready.” Jungkook pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time. “We can always help you get ready” he grins, pushing his knee between your thighs to make enough space for Joon to run two fingers over your slit.

“It’s so wet down there” Joon hums, “Is that just from the shower or—.” Twisting free, you rush back up the stairs, stopping halfway up to glance back at them. “I still need to do my hair.” Jungkook shrugs, taking two steps toward you, “I’m pretty good with hair.” You swallow hard, wiping your sweaty palms on your towel. “And…and my makeup.” Joon tilts his head to see you better, “I can do that.”

Why are they like this? So annoyingly persistent. It’s not like you don’t want it. The thought had crossed your mind to have a quickie with Jungkook when you were standing in your bedroom zoning out with those fishnets in your hand. With Joon back you find yourself wanting it even more. Those feelings that overcame you are much clearer now. Passion. Love. Lust. Joy. All fighting for dominance and right now one in particular’s winning.

Look at them. They’re both so fucking handsome. And the closer they get the harder it is to ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in. “Just a kiss” it whispers as Jungkook catches up to you, his lips dangerously close to yours. You close your eyes as your lips meet, his tongue snaking against yours. One kiss. Just one.

Joon dreamt of being with you like this again. Him lying across the bed, pillows beneath him to keep him at the perfect angle to lower you into his lap. Fingers digging into the plush of your hips, he guides his length, coated in lube from base to tip, to that gorgeous ass he got a few nibbles of when you first took your towel off. “Joon…ah” you gasp, biting down on your bottom lip as the warm tip penetrates your tight hole.

Anal was never Jungkook’s thing. Seeing those cute heart shaped butt plugs you liked to wear when he had you bent over was the extent of his interest. Joon on the other hand had always been insatiable and time hasn’t changed that. “Fuck, still so tight for me” he groans out in pleasure, the tightness of your ass choking his dick the deeper he goes.

When he finally bottoms out, you fall back onto his bare chest moaning weakly, drool already leaking from the corners of your mouth. Earlier your body wouldn't even move. Now you can’t stop it from trembling, the fullness overwhelming you enough to turn your brain to soup.  Joon locks an arm around your waist, the other coming around so he can palm your breast. 

“Missed you” he whispers, rocking beneath you at a pace slow enough for his and your sanity. Your hand skims his forearm, nails digging in when he does a slight bounce to mess with you. He’s definitely put on some weight while he was away. Whatever they were feeding him, whatever weights he was lifting, you approve because he’s stronger than you ever knew him to be and you’re loving it.

“You sure you can take both of us?” Jungkook taunts, shifting his weight on the bed to hover between your legs. He places a hand on your knee, dipping two fingers into your core. He's achingly hard, twitching, leaking precum on the blankets at the sight of how wet you are. Your pussy glistens so beautifully, your walls clenching around his fingers while Joon fucks your other hole. Jungkook awaits your answer but he’s only met with your needy moans and cries.

“You have to say something, baby” he says, his thumb strumming your clit, “Tell me what you want.” The hand on your knee comes around your neck, his hold on you firm yet gentle. Joon slows his movements, offering you a second—and only that—to get your thoughts together. “Come on, you can do it. Tell us what you want.” Jungkook’s fingers are still working inside of you, mercilessly milking your g-spot.

“I…I can take it” you whine, forcing the words from your throat, “Fill me up. Please. Want it so bad. So bad.” “That’s my girl” Jungkook smiles, popping his fingers out of you. You watch as he strokes himself, using your arousal as lubricant. Joon’s hips begin to move again, leaving you pulsing in two places at once. Your clit stiffens as Jungkook rubs his tip between the silken folds of your warmth, sinking into you without warning. 

They take turns thrusting into you, one then the other, making sure you feel every arch and defining vein along their shafts. This perfect dance of pleasure and overstimulation has you crying out, tears leaking from watery eyes. Incoherent moans flow out into the ether and it’s not just you, it's them too. You can’t get enough of it, rotating your hips as best you can to pull the dirtiest noises out of them. Joon pulls your head back to kiss you and the moment you break for air Jungkook’s kissing you too, suspending you in a constant state of breathlessness. 

You’ve forgotten all about the party, your worries reduced to nothing by the ecstasy of this unexpected reunion. There’s nowhere else you want to be but here between the men you love, tension winding in your belly. You whine something between Joon’s lips and they just know what it is. Letting go of your throat, Jungkook slips his hand between your waist and his, rubbing your clit to push you over the edge. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” you scream, ears ringing as juices stream from your core, making the sound of your bodies snapping together even sharper. 

You feel weightless, disembodied, floating above yourself, jerked back to reality only by the pressure of Joon coming inside of you. You hold his hand, pressing down onto him as you kiss him over your shoulder. At the same time you’re tugging at Jungkook’s hair, keeping him flush against you. “Harder” he begs, his thrusts growing sloppier the harder you pull. One final tug has him unraveling, another wave of warmth filling you just as the other fades away.

The energy in the room gradually comes down, heavy panting turning to light breaths as you cuddle beside each other, your sweat slicked bodies still tangled together. “Still need help with your hair?” Jungkook asks, lovingly petting your head. Joon peeks over to find you sleeping more peacefully than you have in years. He kisses you on the forehead, pulling the blanket over you. “I don’t think so.”

[folkloresthings]

DID NOT KNOW YOU WRITE FOR SEB TOO!!

rbr!seb x reader who is actually so nice and sweet and innocent, but then seb is a little bitch who keeps making fun of her (all in good intentions bcz he has a crush on her) but then one day goes too far and reader starts crying and he freaks out lol (fluff + mild angst)

Sry this is long <3

sorry i LOVE this idea

SWEET OR SOUR. ❨ sebastian vettel x reader ❩

sweet as sugar — that’s what people always said when they talked about you. and since you arrived in the paddock, it was what everyone thought. you never had a bad word to say about anyone, you treated every person you came across with perfect humility and kindness.

and while, yes, you were perhaps a little green and naive, you were eager. red bull liked your enthusiasm, it made you the perfect intern.

however, you faced one problem: sebastian vettel. he was red bull’s primary driver, a very good one, and he found great satisfaction in teasing you. your innocence had attracted him the second he’d met you — a new victim for his fun. besides, you were very pretty.

“nice sweater,” he greeted you, glancing at the woollen sheep along the hem. you’d thought it was quite cute when you bought it, but the embarrassment that sebastian brought made it look like the ugliest thing ever. in truth, sebastian thought you looked adorable in it.

a few days later, you had thrown your hair quickly into two plaits for ease, keeping it out of your face. sebastian tugged on them at least seven times during the day, when you were trying to work or concentrate. it was laughable, the sight of the two of you mirroring children on a playground.

in spain, the weather was hotter than you’d expected and you had to resort to wearing the little summer dresses you had packed. sebastian spotted you the second you entered the garage. your legs on show, the dress showing off your body perfectly, sweat from the hot day beading on your forehead. his chest suddenly felt incredibly tight.

still, he’d found multiple things to tease you on during the day. forgetting a cup of coffee, spilling said coffee, not being able to reach the shelf you needed. if there was something he could make fun of you for, he’d find it.

it, and the heat, had rattled you a little. so much so that, in your briefing with christian, you’d tripped up and made a mistake in the notes. one that, if the team principal hadn’t caught it, would mean disaster for the race. thankfully, he had, and wasn’t too hard on you for it.

sebastian took a different stance.

“close one,” he hissed, when you were alone. your cheeks hadn’t cooled down yet, hurrying to double check absolutely everything before it got taken. “i’m surprised christian didn’t shout at you in front of everyone. he probably will soon, especially when you make more mistakes. you’re bound to, after all.”

his usual teasing had come at a bad time, or maybe his usual teasing had turned mean. but he didn’t go any further, freezing when he heard you sniffle. when he looked at you, spotting the hot tears spilling down your cheeks, he could have punched himself.

“fuck, no. don’t cry,” sebastian panicked, hurrying to grab a nearby napkin and force it into your hand. awkwardly, he rested a hand on your shoulder, which you quickly shoved away.

“why do you hate me?” you whispered, looking up at him. your brows furrowed, eyes wide and wet, and he sighed. “i’ve only ever been nice to you, and you go out of your way to make my life here hell. why?”

“i don’t hate you,” sebastian admits, slumping against the wall beside you. he wants nothing more than to reach out and dry your tears, to hold you close and make it all up to you. “the opposite, actually.”

it takes a moment, but it finally clicks, and your mouth falls open a little. he liked you? you’d always thought he was handsome, but his behaviour hadn’t exactly pointed to romance.

“i know i went about it wrong. like some seven year old boy who thinks being mean gets you the girl,” sebastian rubs at his eyes, straightening up when you walk over to him. “i’m sorry. i really am.”

“you’re an idiot,” you whisper, and sebastian chuckles.

“i think that’s the first mean thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses. “and i deserve a lot worse.”

he finally touches you then, palms resting on your cheeks and smoothing along your skin. you lean into them, somewhat glad of some affection.

“forgive me?” he pleads, flashing his most charming smile.

“hm. kiss me and i’ll decide.”

[thelilylav]

Hmmm... very interesting to me that Taylor Swift is trending rn and yet for some reason no one in that tag is complaining that her trending is taking away from what's going on in Palestine and what's happening in Rafah. And yet for some reason, people couldn't seem to shut up in the Kendrick Lamar tag when he was trending about how the whole beef was just two celebrities beef (it's much deeper than that) and were making up theories abt how the whole thing was taking attention away from Palestine and everyone talking about it should feel ashamed of themselves (every single account I saw in that tag was posting about Palestine too).

And the thing that's really getting me is that Taylor is trending bc of a change to the Eras tour. An objectively unimportant change to make, especially when compared to what's going on in Rafah. But that's not what gets hate, no, it's the predator getting called out in an industry known for exploitation by one of the biggest artists in said industry. The racism isn't even implicit atp...

Edit: ok so just to clarify no this wasn't meant to insinuate that Taylor trending was some setup of Israel (that's just... like objectively wrong lmao), it was to point out that when it comes to a black artist in hip hop (a predominantly non-white genre) people wouldn't let fans of said genre just enjoy the music and shenanigans happening in that genre and that's it's hypocritical to act like people can't care abt two things at once, but they can enjoy their white "feminist icon" pop star (a much whiter genre) without anyone bringing hate into that tag. like i put in the tags, the anti taylor tag is for filtering bc i honestly don't see this post as particularly negative for taylor swift, it's a critique of the fans. and i'm calling out swifties particularly bc the ones who were saying that the beef was manufactured to take eyes off of rafah were swifties, and the ones being racist in the kendrick tag were swifties. i'm not exaggerating like almost every hate post i saw mentioning the beef being manufactured was a swiftie account. it is weird to act like people caring about very serious allegations happening in a genre of music isn't reason enough to make a big deal of the situation and go INTO THE TAG and complain, but it is especially hypocritical and frankly quite infuriating to see the same people who complained about a big deal of a situation being a "distraction" from gaza and then blog abt taylor swift . it's fine if u want to blog abt music u like, honestly idc abt that, if that's all u do then this legit isn't targeted at u, this is targeted at the swifties who came into the kendrick tag to complain and then went back to talking abt swift two seconds later like they weren't doing the same thing they were complaining abt two minutes before. (sry for the long explanation, but i just don't want ppl taking my words out of context and i rlly tried to word this all clearly, but idk man sometimes u think u word something well and then nobody undrestands wtf u were on abt so i wanted to make sure it was clear) also, if you're a zionist or israel supporter, i will be blocking u if u interact with this post. ok ty bye bye

[jedi-enthusiast]

Yk one thing I barely see talked abt is the fact that Mace Windu's lineage and thus legacy is one of the longest Order 66 surviving ones in Star Wars WHO STAYED TRUE TO THE JEDI ORDER'S PRINCIPLES.

Like damn, Mace rly managed to establish a liniage of highly competent and compasionate Jedi. The Shatterpoint Lineage either outlasted or survived for nearly as long as the Disaster Liniage who pretty obviously stopped truly representing Jedi with Obi-Wan (only rly returninh to the true jedi way with Luke if ya see him as part of that lineage)

Like- who do we have in the Shatterpoint lineage ?

-Master of the Jedi Order , died trying to save the galaxy from the Sith

-Former council member, died saving her padawan from her brainwashed men

-Rebel Jedi training a student despite everything that went down , died saving his padawan & loved ones from a giant explosion

-THE GUY LITTERALY ABLE TO GET THE CHANCE TO FORCE TIME-TRAVEL WHO SEND HIMSELF INTO EXILE TO PROTECT THOSE HE LOVES & THE GALAXY

And who do we have in the Disaster Lineage :

-Guy with questionable methods who did his best

-OBI-WAN who rly doesn't need any explanation (who's also the last true Jedi with expection of Luke (if you counf him) to come out of this lineage)

-a genocial manbaby with an alergy for any sort of moral code or basic logic

-a pick me shitting on her own adoptive family, who isn't even a Jedi if we are being honest (sry Ahsoka, but your character to assasinated to a point where I just can't anymore)

And honestly ? It says a LOT that Mace Windu's lineage stands as pretty much last bastion of a true Jedi Lineage from the old Order.

Agreed 100%

And ngl I find it so funny that people constantly praise the Shatterpoint lineage- (Depa, Kanan, Ezra) -and then shit on Mace like, my dude, WHO DO YOU THINK TAUGHT DEPA AND PASSED ON THOSE VALUES TO HER AND THEREFORE HIS LINEAGE???

But no, Mace's lineage is by far the best imo---I love Obi-Wan and Luke and Yoda, but they get negative points for having not one but TWO genocidal fascists in the lineage- (Dooku and Anakin) -and then someone who thinks the Jedi brought on their own genocide- (Ahsoka) -and then someone who decided that the fate of the galaxy was less important than her feelings and probably kickstarted another war- (Sabine, apparently, since Felony shoe-horned her into the lineage).

Meanwhile the Shatterpoint lineage has the head of the Order who almost won the Clone Wars and stopped the Empire from being created, who only failed because he was betrayed- (Mace) -then an amazing and empathetic general who was literally so selfless that she sacrificed herself to save her padawan- (Depa) -then someone who fought against the Empire, successfully overcame his own issues to both train a padawan and then forgive those who he thought willingly murdered his family, and then sacrificed himself to save his family and give the Rebellion a leg up on the Empire for the Battle of Lothal- (Kanan) -and finally someone who let go of all his grief, rejected the Dark Side SEVERAL TIMES, and then sentenced himself to a life in exile to protect the galaxy from a genocidal fascist- (Ezra).

Like...there's really no competition here.

In the Imperial Era, Mace was probably sitting back as a Force-ghost, watching the Disaster lineage fuck up the galaxy and then have to fix it all over again, smugly staring down Obi-Wan and Yoda like-

Mace, smugly: Hm, did you know that today Kanan taught Ezra how to connect with animals? I'm so proud of them.

Obi-Wan, watching Anakin commit even more mass murder and Ahsoka blame the Jedi for Anakin's actions: Must be nice.

Yoda, staring down Dooku, who literally tried to take over the whole galaxy with a fascist regime: Yes. Nice, it must be.

[cumulo-stratus]

Communication Issues

(GIF NOT MINE)

Plantonic!BAU team x french!reader

Description: reader is from France and lived there until he was 11/12 and then moved to america and his first language is french. He also has a little bit of an accent. Basically reader is new to the team and it is their first late night back home on the jet with him. And basically they learn that when hes tired he reverts back to his mother tongue.

CW: possible swearing, I can't think of anything else

A/N: I'm thinking of making a series about this, like just funny scenarios related to the reader being French, if y'all have any ideas let me know! Also reader is gonna be loosely based off me when im rly tired cus i get kinda giggly/floppy/goofy. ( also sry it's short)

French, translation

3rd person POV:

after a hard, and long case the team was very ready to go home. They had found a 9 yr old girl and rescued her from a man holding her in his basement to torture her. And even though it took the profilers almost 3 full days with almost no sleep to find her. To say they were tired was understatement. It was almost 2 am when they trudged onto the plane, all tired physically and emotionally. Y/N was the last on the plane and decided to take the couch to get some sleep. Just as he was sitting down Reid plopped down next to him. (Y/N and Reid liked to sit next to each other so they could read together)

“Désolé reid, je veux lire avec toi, mais je suis trop fatigué pour ça” (sorry reid, i wanna read with you but im too tired for that) you said to him, slightly slurring your words. “Huh?” Spencer looked up at you with a small crease between his eyebrows. The switch in language caught the rest the rest of the team off guard as well (evidently by the looks on their faces) you peered at them just as perplexed and asked “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” (Whats wrong?).

“Dont worry guys I’ll talk to him” said spencer with a little giggle at his new friends antics. Morgan gave spencer a little knowing look and eyebrow wiggle at his conversation with Y/N, despite having no idea what they were saying. “Mon biche, tu parle français maintenant, pas anglais.” (Darling, you’re speaking french right now, not english) says spencers with a small smile. a look of understanding dawned your features and you said “je suis?! Oh c'est pas grave, Oh, tu n'as besoin que de me comprendre de toute façon.” (I am?! Thats okay, you’re the only one who needs to understand me anyways) you say with a wink ad a giggle. Spencers cheeks went red and emily gave him a questioning look. “Y/N, tu fais quoi?” (y/n, what are you doing?). you just gave him a mischievous look before putting your head on his shoulder and snuggling into him to fall asleep. The rest of the team got bored of making fun of the pair and began their own conversations or trying to sleep. But after a minute or two the team heard and hushed but strict “shhhhh!” coming from their resident genius. “You guys are so loud! hes asleep!” said spencer’s while he gestured vicariously to the sleeping figure drooped over his left side. “hush up pretty boy, your little boyfriend over theres out cold dont worry about it.” said derek with a teasing smile. spencers cheeks turned even more red than before if hat was even possible and started stuttering about the sleep man not being his boyfriend. “okay, okay, hes not your boyfriend,” said derek with his hands up in surrender after spencer kept spluttering on about y/n not being his boyfriend.

(small time skip)

As the plane landed people began packing up their things and getting ready to get off the plane. But y/n and Spencer had moved and when the team looked over they found the two agents passed out on top of each other and snoring lightly.

THE END