#//...what do i even tag this as except for length.

[biohazard-inevitable]

Hair

They say that hair holds stories, that the style is what makes a man.

They say long locks make you a pansy and a real man should have it short lest they be mistaken for a girl.

Where I grew up, every man buzzed their hair down.

It was a shame for it to be long and shaggy, and mothers would fuss over you, insisting upon a haircut.

For girls, it was fine.

They could have hair as long as they wanted or as short as they needed, so long as it wasnt buzzed as short as a man’s.

Being anything else just wasn’t a thing round these parts where churches chimed every sunday, pastors clammoring around resturants and filling their quotas in a single lunch.

So I buzzed mine.

I tried as hard as I could to seem as manly as possible

To appear as bull of a brute as any cowboy should.

I wore all the boy things and had all the short boy hair.

My scalp was sensitive anyways, so I thought it didn’t bother me.

It was better shorter.

Wasnt it?

I still gazed and clammored about the anime boys I saw on screen or in Otome games though.

I gushed about how pretty they were with hair down their backs like a silken curtain, or whipping wild through the air like the mane of a lion.

Legolas was never deemed as not manly enough

Beither was Zen or inuyasha or the undertaker.

A crush, I supposed.

Because of course thats all it was.

I was a gay little boy with gay little crushes and my type was men with long, Beautiful hair.

Right?

My hair was a dull, discolored brown from the shimmering blonde it used to be, the blonde I remember from kindergarten.

I tried to return to that blonde with bleach.

My school didnt allow unnatural colors, so anything was better than that matted, oily brown.

Shaved short and as platinum as a ken doll, I should have been as man as ever.

4 years, I stayed like that, and while the short hair was easy to take care of, I felt as hideous as a pile of sludge.

It didnt matter if I was loved for my looks, I supposed.

Wouldn’t that be too vain of me?

Boys weren’t supposed to care about what they looked like, they werent supposed to coo and admire Beautiful hair or seethe in jealousy that their sister looked so much better and has such long, goregous hair.

It wasn’t until after high school that I began to explore.

Covid let me grow my hair out more, though I still trimmed the sides.

I let my bangs grow long and shaggy over my face, like a veil to hide me from the world.

Eventually I dyed it again, this time going with that green I had always wanted to try, the one I had seen on my favorite youtuber growing up, fluffy and emerald.

Still, for years more, I kept it short. Only allowing that fringe to hover over me as some sort of style.

Recently though, I’ve realized I want that hair that those anime men had.

I want that soft curtain rolling down my back like waves of an ebony river, flecks of mossy green dotting it like a miasma of toxin flowing through the oily black stream.

I want the hair like the ring girl

The people around me are foolish and prudent to think the length of ones hair makes you more or less of a man.

I know that now, and I’m glad I do.

I want to stop pretending not to like things

[dyed-petals]

i know there is no light in view, but i still prepare myself to rationalize how it will be worth it once i finally reach it. there was a reason i took this tunnel, the light will be so bright at the end, trust me, i know it has to be true, or why would i have taken a tunnel. this isnt even a poem, is it? its barely even prose. i wish it was, i wish there was beauty in suffering. tragedy lets me fantasize that there is meaning in this pain, that im not just going to be done with this slightly less alive than when i started and i will have no undo button.

what can come of this? comraderie maybe? do you think i will appreciate life more when i get out of this slump? will i learn my lesson and avoid it from here on out? if any of that were true there wouldn't be any suffering in suffering.

no one is looking out for me. i can't convince myself there is no matter how many sermons i sit through and hymns i sing and verses i read. i know ill believe it again. but the only belief i can muster as of now would require i don't see my current self as a part of me. maybe it would be nice, to dismiss this as one bad dream. but it would condemn me as a creature of darkness only. it would be comforting to believe, to absolve me of my sloth in giving up, but alas i know i can't give up. my life is bigger than me and i will drag it along with me.

i have this post, i guess. is this the light im looking for? a tumblr post that no one will read except for myself in a couple months when im brainstorming song lyrics? will the song be worth it? will i ever make something good enough for this to be worth it?

i just dont. want to feel anything right now. i just want the rest of the world to wait. i dont want to tarnish the things i have a vague sense i'll care about later. can i please figure out a nicer way of asking you to leave me alone after you leave me alone. ill be normal eventually. it always passes just as meaninglessly as it came.

im sorry october. i won't get to see you again.

oh. tomorrow's the anniversery of the worst day of my life. yeah. that tracks.

8. its been 8. im sorry. i'll try again next year. i wish i remembered your birthday instead.

[pencil-n-pen]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist | ko-fi | next

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when it’s posted, please comment “tag me please!” or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)

EDIT TWO: THE SEQUEL IS UP !! It is linked at the top of this post under “next” :)

[baepsays]

cw: incubus Gojo, dub-con, borderline non-con, gloomy loner reader, exhibitionism, groping.

a/n: full length work is in the progress, please leave a comment to be added to the tag list. this will be out next month so i will let this marinate.

INCUBUS!GOJO Who latches onto gloomy and loner reader. And for the first few days he just floats around you without trying anything.

INCUBUS!GOJO just moves around you, nuzzles in your cheeks, sniffs your hair, sits beside you and twirls a strand of hair while you work. Or comes up from behind and places his head on your shoulder and stares at your face.

Until one day INCUBUS!GOJO catches you off guard by poking you in the eye, out of curiosity, because he really liked the color of your eyes, and realizes this entire time you could see him. You shriek in pain and start cursing him out. And he takes full advantage of that.

INCUBUS!GOJO Starts with just caressing you here and there. Building things up. Talking your ear off. Mostly with dirty talk.

“Ughhh I wish I was inside you right now.”

“I bet I can fit my entire cock in one go.”

“I want to eat you out and have you watch me. I bet you'll like that.”

And it takes you everything to ignore INCUBUS!GOJO 's words. While you silently sit and get more agitated and flustered with each word. As he simply leaves you tightening and rubbing your thighs together.

And god forbid INCUBUS!GOJO catches a whiff of it. “Oh shit! Did you get wet already!??? Ahhh, see I knew you were special! So sweet and sloppy, ice cream sundae has nothing on you. I would rather eat a hundred of you.” Is what he will say while he groped your thighs over your pants and runs his hands under your shirt.

INCUBUS!GOJO is a hazard to have around. From every waking moment to until you sleep. He makes you cum at least six times a day. And it is getting more annoying with the limited amount of underwear you have left to wear. But he would rather prefer you did not wear one. Better access. And takes the initiative to make you realize how much better it is to just go commando, by stealing and hiding your clean underwear as well.

INCUBUS!GOJO will sit in a seat that you're about to sit down in, then flash a big grin while patting his thighs. If you are in no position to opt for a different seat, count it as his lucky day. Once you were in a meeting, and he sat down in your designated seat at the table before you could take it. And left you no option but to sit through the entire thing on his lap.

And he made the most of it.

Roamed his hands all over your body, opened up your shirt and pulled your bra down to put your tits out on a show. And bunched up your skirt to push aside your panties and ram his cock into your hole, which is still wet and stretched out from him waking you up in the morning by eating you out and fingering you.

At that moment you were first confused why no one gave any reaction, only to later get so engrossed into the whole thing that it took your coworkers at least four times to call you out of it .

Thankfully INCUBUS!GOJO later told you that anything he does to you isn't noticeable by the ordinary eyes, except for your own reactions to him. That he told you reluctantly, because he finds it more fun to have you melt and become a nervous wreck in his arms, thinking that everyone can see you doing these obscene things. Only because you got really angry and threw salt at him thinking you might be losing your job, which made him unable to pester you for a few hours. 

INCUBUS!GOJO is the worst in public, crowded spaces. Because on your way to work, he is pressing himself against you in an already crowded train. 

“Ah, let me have my fill, sweets. Didn't even get to have my breakfast since you woke up late.” And his chest is pressed up to your tits, his one hand is holding up your leg, while the other rubs your pussy through your underwear. Which is already wet enough. So he further ruins them.

INCUBUS!GOJO will shove one finger in at first and rub it around. Watching you trying your best to not contort your face in a way that deems you as a criminal charged with public indecency.

“Aw. come on sweets. You can scream right? It's not like anyone will notice.” He will say as he shoves two more fingers inside, while his thumb rubs on your clit. And he will finger you until your station comes and you cum as well.

FULL FIC>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @teddytoru @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @soupicidesquad @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi @emochosoluvr

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

BLOODTHIRSTY

PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader

RATING: mature | WORD COUNT: 990

SUMMARY

when your next shipment of blood won’t be delivered to the x mansion for another two days, logan offers to help keep you fed.

part two, animal instinct

WARNINGS/TAGS

typical vampire themes (blood, biting), no use of y/n, reader being picked up, grinding, kissing

LINKS

masterlists | support for palestine

You're pacing the length of the kitchen, filled with anxious energy. There's a pit in your stomach, a gnawing pain that's keeping you awake and lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling wasn't helping.

You hear footsteps in the hall and pause, watching as the thick wooden door opens and Logan steps into the kitchen, flicking the light switch and bathing the room in brightness that hurts your eyes. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you.

"Can't sleep either?" he asks, sauntering further into the room. He's fully dressed, a tight white t-shirt stretching across his defined chest and biceps and a pair of jeans hugging his legs, covering boots that click against the tile with each step. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his neck, to the thin skin that covers his fluttering pulse, but you look away quickly in shame.

"Too hungry," you reply. He looks around the room.

"Well, you're in the right place for eating. There's plenty of food."

"Not the kind I need."

He tilts his head, assessing you. "You some kind of vampire or something?"

"Or something," you reply, dancing around the truth. You're not sure what you are, not exactly, but Charles has helped you unlock enough information to get by. "Anyway, Charles said the next shipment should be here in a couple days. I just have to make it until then."

"I could help you out," Logan suggests. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Absolutely not," you snap. You move to leave, walking past him, but he wraps a hand around your arm to stop you.

"Why not? You can't kill me. You won't even leave a mark."

"You don't know what you're offering, Logan."

"I got a pretty good idea," he says with a huff of laughter. "You're a predator. I know what it's like to suppress that side of yourself."

You don't know much about Logan. He hasn't been at the X Mansion for very long, but he's made quite the impression among the staff. You can see why -- he's charming, handsome, rough around the edges. You know of his abilities but you don't know him, not really, and the fact that he's offering himself for your hunger is planting nasty seeds of suspicion in your brain.

"I can't," you whisper. He steps closer.

"Why not? Afraid you'll get addicted, sweetheart?"

He's goading you, tempting you. Your gums ache with the need to bite, to feed, to fill yourself full and find sweet relief from the pain of hunger. He pulls you closer and your treacherous body obeys, ignoring the warnings from your logical brain.

"Come on," he says. "You'll feel better."

It's been a long time since you've fed from a living person, having grown so used to the donor blood Charles is able to obtain for you through various channels, but the muscle memory is there.

You're chest to chest with Logan now, pressed so tightly to him that you can feel his heart pounding against you, can hear the rush of blood in his veins. He smells like the woods and smoke, an earthy combination that makes you a little lightheaded. He wraps an arm around your waist.

"You want it?" he asks. You nod. "Do it, then. I've got you."

You're helpless to it now, nothing in your mind except survival instinct demanding to be fulfilled. The prick of pain as your mouth grows crowded with longer, sharper teeth meant to tear and ravage and maim. You lean into him, running your lips against warm skin and relishing in the sharp breath he takes at the contact.

Like any predator, you give no warning, sinking your teeth into his flesh. Blood rushes over your tongue, warm and lush, invading your senses. His heavy palm settles on the back of your neck, cradling you to him, and the intimacy of it pulls a moan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," Logan growls, his other hand tight on your hip. You lift your head to ask if he's okay, but the words are lost when he bends his knees and grabs the back of your thighs with both hands, urging you up. He settles you on the counter, fitting himself between your spread legs.

"Again," he demands, eyes wild and teeth bared in a snarl. You switch to the other side of his neck, biting down hard. He moans, loud and deep, hips flexing into yours. You can feel the hard length of his cock through his jeans and the friction against your core makes you whine and writhe against him.

You drag yourself away from him, licking your lips. His pupils are blown wide, the black of them nearly engulfing the gorgeous hazel of his irises. His gaze drops to your lips and he leans in, kissing you like a hungry animal, trying to devour you in turn.

He pulls away from you, begins to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. You grow tense, the sudden realization that Logan's favor has devolved into something more hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You push him away by the shoulder and he stares at you with a furrowed brow, confusion coloring his features. His chest heaves with breath and his mouth is stained red, lips kiss bitten and slick. The wounds you would have left behind have already closed, leaving no trace of you on his skin. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

"Thank you, Logan," you whisper. You ease yourself down from the counter, the man stepping back slightly to give you space. "Goodnight."

He clears his throat. "Right. Hope you can sleep now."

"I hope you can, too."

You leave the kitchen, the weight of his stare on your back not lifting until you're in the hall and can take a deep breath. When you return to your room, you still can't sleep.

But it's no longer because of hunger.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting, I’d love to hear from you 💕

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

All masterlists

Logan Howlett masterlist

[joshujin]

dude, nice try! [teaser]

joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.

as he gets tangled in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.

♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ is this love xg ⟡ why can’t i? liz phair pairing: joshua x fem!reader cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners-PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder hehe, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk a/n: this was a request for jealous!shua and i’m laughing bc i started responding to this anon and said i was going to just answer with bullet points bc if i didn’t, this would turn into a whole thing. and here we are anyway… with a whole thing lol. i know he doesn't seem super jealous here, but consider the joshua x jealous arc a slow burn haha. anyway, enjoy this teaser!

dividers by cafekitsune! cover by yours truly!

joshua's phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message went ignored.

he glances down and feels his stomach turn.

i have evidence.

an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.

at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was vexed jeonghan got to see too.

because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.

he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.

but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.

“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this dude, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”

joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?

“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”

he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:

“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”

his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.

he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?

no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.

and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?

if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?

“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”

he snorts. “i’m fine.”

“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”

“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”

“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”

joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”

jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.

“can i be there?”

he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.

he shrugs. “sure, why not?”

jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”

“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”

joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.

“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”

joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.

“ready?”

he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”

he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.

“what the—”

“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.

he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.

your instagram photos don’t really do you justice. your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.

prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.

“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.

he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.

“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”

jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”

“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.

his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”

“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.

joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos he himself is made of.

“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.

“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”

he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.

“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.

you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.

“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are any indication, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”

“who’s—”

“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”

joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.

“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.

“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”

joshua winces. your fury was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?

“are you hungry?” you ask joshua.

“what?” he asks dumbly.

“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.

“i am!” jeonghan announces.

you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.

“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”

“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.

"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."

"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.

"ment—?"

"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.

instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.

"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."

"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.

"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced."

"and now?"

"now what?"

"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."

"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.

joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.

so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.

he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.

"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.

"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"

"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.

you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.

his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"

"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"

you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.

“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”

joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i’m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”

kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.

“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”

he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.

your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.

“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast was any indication, you seem very loyal too.”

you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.

unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.

he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”

you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.

"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”

“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.

you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.

“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”

“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.

“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”

jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing after the first sip. he tries not to gawk when you finish the entire glass in one go.

joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.

and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.

he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develops a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.

“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”

okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.

“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.

his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.

“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.

“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”

that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.

“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”

“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.

“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.

“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n here like that has to look like ass.”

you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.

“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?

“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”

you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”

joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”

jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.

“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”

joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.

you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”

jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”

joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.

“ow, what the fu—”

“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.

you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.

“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”

the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.

“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”

you give them no chance to agree.

“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”

you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.

“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”

you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.

“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so now it's, like, what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”

the words come with even more disgust than “man.”

“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to make everything i had before i met him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”

his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.

“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”

jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.

“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”

joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.

“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.

it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.

“he turned me into a housewife without even making me a wife! and let me remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table with each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”

you seem to abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”

you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”

something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.

“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”

joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.

he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart learned something he, himself, didn't know yet: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that maybe, he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him, and there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her.

but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.

the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.

“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, i promise you he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”

[invincidick]

💗I'll be good💗

18+

Mark Grayson x F!Reader

Summary: PATHETIC MARK GRAYSON

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: Smut, mlw, Male Sub, Teasing, Edging, Hand jobs, aftercare

You and mark hadn't had sex in weeks.

That was perfectly okay with you, in fact you hadn't even realized until he was barging in through the window unannounced, stumbling over himself before falling onto your bed. He was sprawled out on your mattress, dick straining against his pants, he wasted no time and quickly began begging for you to touch him.

"Really Grayson?" you grinned, eyes raking over his large frame, suddenly not as intimidating when he's desperately begging you to let him cum.

"Please-" he whined out, hips bucking upwards against nothing in frustration at the lack of attention.

"I haven't- I haven't came in weeks." He paused, looking away as he spoke again. "You said I wasn't allowed to- do it without you." he managed to mumble out, his face practically red at this point.

"Was not being able to cum for a few weeks really that agonizing for you?" you strode towards him as you spoke, stopping in front of him to run a hand up his thigh, his leg jerking back at the sudden contact.

His head fell back against the mattress and he closed his eyes, anticipating your touch.

Except it never came.

He slowly opened his eyes to see that you had actually gone back to doing something at your desk, leaving him alone on your bed, painfully hard.

Confused, he sat up, calling out your name questionably, as you continued ignoring him, typing away at something on your computer.

Taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor, he got up and walked over to you, awkwardly standing beside you like a lost puppy. Unsure of what to do, he hoped you would eventually notice and take charge, but you didn't.

"I-" he began before you cut him off sharply "Yes?" you asked, not bothering to even glance in his direction. "Please?" he pleaded, frustration growing evident in his tone, assuming you'd understand what he was asking for. You once again took no notice in his cry for attention.

For a moment you're about to give in, thinking you've pushed him too far, but then he's kneeling beneath you, eyes begging you to touch him as you met his gaze.

He was desperate for you.

His arm reached for you, hand grasping at your knee, turning you towards him in your chair, as he rested his cheek on your other knee.

"I'll do anything you want, just please-, please touch me- I need you." he whined, his body ached as he reached his limit, cock twitching against the confines of his jeans.

You grin, something sadistic behind your eyes as your foot raises to press against his crotch.

He's immediately curling into himself, head dipping down, as moans spill out from his mouth, one arm shooting out to grip your ankle as it pushes against him.

Your toes firmly on the bulge in his pants and you've already got him whimpering. "T-Thank you" he manages to say between heavy breaths.

The little relief he did get was quickly overshadowed by your relentless need to tease him, because before he knew it you had pulled your foot away, not bothering to let him finish.

He groaned at the loss of contact, eyes half lidded and clouded with pleasure. Frustrated, he resigned to lie on his back against the cold floor to try ground himself, but then your foot was back, pressing against his length.

You continued, scrolling mindlessly on your phone throughout everything, as he writhed on the floor beneath your foot. Every time he started to calm down you would start to tease him again to keep him hard. You watched him fall apart a bit more each time you pulled away, loving the defeated noises it pulled out of him.

After just a few hours mark was a moaning incoherent mess, tears staining his face, precum soaking through his jeans, he was practically running a fever by human standards.

He kept begging for you to let him cum, slurring his words, chest heaving as the ache in his dick grew absolutely excruciating, not being able to focus on anything else.

He was a mess.

It drove you crazy.

You couldn't hold yourself back anymore and got up from your chair, walking over to your bed and sitting down.

He looked up at you, exhausted, brows furrowed, as he took in shallow breaths.

"Do you wanna cum?" you asked innocently. His eyes light up and he practically jerks himself off the floor as he speaks "Yes- please" stumbling towards you and onto your soft bed.

"Are you gonna be good?" He's shaking with excitement as you speak, quickly stammering out a reply. "Yes, I promise, I'll be good- I'll be so good- please."

He's hardly managing to hold himself upright, as you press a soft hand against his chest, forcing him to lie back against your blankets, resting his weight on his forearms.

You reach down to undo his jeans and his breath hitches in his throat, eyes slamming shut. You smirk, slowly pulling his jeans down just enough to slide his stiff dick out from his boxers. Your slender fingers wrap around his length and his back arches.

"Ah- fuck-" he whines out from the sudden contact. His brows knitted together with a mix of pain and ecstasy, embarrassed he reaches one arm up to lay across his eyes, shielding his face from your view as best he could.

You start to stroke your hand up and down his length, the pads of your fingers delicately sliding across each vein, enjoying the way his cock would twitch against the feeling.

Instinctively, his hips try their best to keep up, attempting to thrust up into each stroke. His other hand gripping the sheets as you slide a soft thumb across his tip, collecting a drop of precum and spreading it down his cock.

"Mmm-" he moaned, struggling against you, his body starts to shy away from your hand, trying to escape the unbearable assault of pleasure on his nerves. You notice and your other hand immediately catches his hip, pinning him down as he twitched .

"Mm-ah- no" he hiccuped "I can't-" he begged, tears streaming down his face, his breath heavy and hot as you continued your brutal pace.

"It's- too much-" more precum flowing out of him as he cried. He raised his foot, placing it on the bed, attempting to get any leverage to break loose from your ruthless grip on him. Your hand followed after him, speeding up it's pace as his whimpers got louder.

He whined, hips stuttering as he came into your hand, you worked him through it as he kept leaking more. It took him an entire minute before he was able to form a full sentence again, and you finally allowed him a break from the relentless teasing.

You brushed a tender hand through his hair as his breathing began to slow, relaxing against your touch. You got up to get a wash cloth to help clean up the mess, you helped him out of his jeans as you wiped him down.

"Oh you don't have to-" he tried to speak before you cut him off, "I want to" was all you said as you smiled down at him. You made him feel so cared for, he couldn't help himself from smiling back, he sat up lips meeting yours in a kiss as you lifted a hand to gently cradle his cheek.

You broke the kiss, standing up to strip down, his face flushing as you laid down beside him adjusting beneath the blankets. When you were both settled in he turned towards you arms snaking around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest.

"I'm so happy that i get to be with you." he spoke, his voice full of genuine love. "Me too, Mark" you said, as he held you softly in his arms, you both slowly drifting to sleep.

[moyazaika]

Fangdokja baby, unblock me, will you? I just wanna talk :)

Genocide. Antisemitism. Concentration camps. White supremacy. Islamophobia. The klu klux klan. Conversion therapy. Pedophilia.

Listed above, my loves, are only a few of the topics FD hopes to write about when it migrates platforms and leaves tumblr. (I mean thank christ. baruch hashem. alhamdulillah. we're finally free.)

FD says quite explicitly and at length that she has been, in her own words, holding back from writing about such topics due to tumbr guidelines and not, as she makes sure to let us know multiple times and very explicitly so, because of a "lack of desire” on her own part.

Huh. Okay, interesting.

Say, FD, why have you been holding back on writing about the very painful and devastating realities that billions of people in the world face every single day as if they are trivial topics and fanfiction tags you have been permitted to use? :)

Maybe I'm missing something here. Fill me in, won’t you? Why could you have possibly been yearning to write about little kids in a sexual context? How did you put it? Ohhh, yeah;

Infants? So close! That’s actually CSAM babes!

This is not even about yandere content anymore. It’s about your sheer ignorance and prejudice which prevents you from seeing just how fucked up of a person you are. Jesus did not ask you to trivialise and sensationalise incredibly sensitive experiences and prejudices that you will never understand nor live through.

You know what your religion does say, though?

1 Corinthians 10:23 NIV; "I have the right to do anything," you say—but not everything is beneficial. "I have the right to do anything, but not everything is constructive."

Think on that, won’t you? :)

Let me end this by saying, as a dark content writer myself, I firmly reject the idea of censorship and pirating fictional content both when it is created and when it is consumed.

However, I'm also not a fucking idiot.

When adults use their critical thinking skills to separate fiction from reality, I'm all for the exploration/unpacking/interrogation of taboo topics. It is very dangerous to condemn people for what they choose to write as an expression of their artistic abilities or personal experiences.

Fiction ≠ Reality. This idea is nothing new, and rightfully so. Everyone should be able to write what they want.

But a Christian woman shamelessly expresses homophobia? Has said very clearly in the past that the reader inserts in her posts will only ever be written as being pale, skinny, teenagers in mind? And now she wants to turn around and say she's writing about topics like conversion therapy and racism and expects anyone to believe it's from a purely creative standpoint?

Omg baby you must think we're all as moronic as you :(

Your vendetta, FD, is clear as day, and your vindication is utterly disgusting.

I condemn you.

I condemn your content.

I condemn the 'creative freedom' under which you and your supporters will defend your ability to take the lived experiences of millions of queer people, transgender people, jews, muslims, survivors of vicious hate crimes, children, victims of grooming, disabled people, black people, brown people, asians, and survivors of genocide to turn into content for your bigoted anime porn blog.

Whilst I still firmly believe fiction does not equate to reality, I wonder whether you think the same. Every other belief except for your own is up for grabs in a taboo free for all.

So when you say nothing is sacred in fiction?

I wonder whether that’s true of your own God as well—or just everybody else’s.

[hees-mine]

More Loser virgin heeseung thoughts

NSFW MDNI hard thought/Drabble

Loser virgin hee: who nearly loses his fucking mind cause he must be dreaming someone must be playing tricks on him. There’s no way that you’re actually taking video requests from your viewers, but no matter how many times he refreshes your page, the options still lingers, a blue button waiting to be clicked on with the price tag reading an amount he doesn’t even pay attention to before he clicks pay.

Loser virgin hee: who sends back to back requests for you to do a blowjob pov, and missionary pov with a bigger dildo so he can really get immersed and imagine it’s him and of course, a doggystyle pov. He loves seeing your pretty little hole getting stuffed from behind.

Loser virgin hee: who, when he receives said requested content, will thank you over and over again even though he knows you’ll never see it, but still he’s grateful for these works of art, a perfect canvas for him to paint in his pearly white.

Loser virgin hee: will cherish the fuck out of those videos, religiously busting a nut to each one every single day. He thinks the amount he’s cum in the last week is probably not healthy, but he can’t stop as he watches you fuck yourself with a new dildo, one much closer to his size.

Loser virgin hee: who can’t stop requesting videos of you, and he doesn’t know what’s dryer, his balls, or his bank account, but that doesn’t matter when he gets a notification that you’re live. He tuned in immediately, ready for a night of endless pleasure. He’s cum so many times in just a few minutes that the overstimulation makes him feel like crying, but he just can’t stop himself when it comes to you.

Loser virgin hee: who at three am is so sleepy but so horny that he pulls back his blankets and his sweats along with boxers to snap a dick pick and send it to you with the caption. “I’m so hard for you, wish I could feel your sweet wet pussy gushing and squeezing around my thick cock, bet it’d feel so much better than that stupid dildo” In his tired brain, he hits the send button, not thinking much of it until he sees a response like a real response, not the automated ones he’s used to. “Hmm, I bet it would 👅💦”

Loser virgin hee: who shoots up from his laying position. Suddenly, he’s not tired anymore, and his shaky hands send a text back. “I’d do you so good, beautiful. You’re so perfect. You deserve everything.” he feels his heart race, waiting for your response. He’s ridiculously nervous yet horny at the same time, which is a first for him, and he slowly tugs on his thick length till it’s fully erected, a bead of precum decorating his tip.

Loser virgin hee: that almost busts his load just from seeing your three dots typing. Your response makes his eyes roll in his head at just the thought. “What would you do to me?” “Take my time with you. Kiss every inch of your perfect body, prep your sweet little hole with my fingers make you cum on my face and my tongue before giving you my cock. I’d feed it in real slowly just to watch your pretty face while my thick cock fills you up, stroke every inch of your walls so deep till your begging for more, till you clamp and squeeze around me till you cum from how good I fuck you.”

Loser virgin hee: who would probably lose it if he knew you were rubbing your thighs together as you read his text. You didn’t usually text with your clients, but since he was your highest paying one, you made an exception. You’re not disappointed, especially when he sends you a video moaning your name as he strokes his cock. It’s thick, long, and veiny, and the drop of precum he spreads on his shaft makes your mouth water. When he cums, shaking while whimpering your name, you feel like you should be the one paying for personal videos of him cause seeing his cum dripping down his throbbing shaft was definitely a sight to see.

Loser virgin hee: who feels as if time has stopped when you tell him. “That was so hot you deserve a reward. How about we video call?” The speed to which he replies is lightning fast, and the next thing you know, he’s setting up a time to call you. This is by far the best night of his life, and he sleeps soundly, but this time, it’s not from the back-to-back orgasms.

Link to Patreon!

[myfictionaldreams]

Seven // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: One week is all it takes for your world to come crashing down. Even though you could have everything you'd ever wanted, for some reason, something isn't right. Will your emotions and the smothering of overprotective Stucky come to an end?

Prompt: please read my 'origin' fics last hope (Ch 1) (Ch 2) for some reader backstory.

Requested by: 2 x requests mixed together. @hellsenthero for the safeword use, subdrop + lots of angst/comfort & anon with very overprotective Stucky. I hope you both enjoy, this gets quite intense so be ready!

Warnings (PLEASE READ): injuries, blood, safe word use, discussion of m*rder, severe panic attack. Not by the main characters: threats of abuse, unconsenting face touching, derogatory, misogony, slut shaming

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (!), Overprotective (!), Dom/Sub, threesome, hurt/comfort, possessive, sir kink, oral (f + m recieving), squirting, subdrop, crying, anal, double penetration, praise kink, begging, rough sex, aftercare (sorry if i've missed any lmao)

Words: 9k (it's a long one!)

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

One week. Seven days.

Not a significant amount of time for most in the grand scheme of a lifetime. How much could change in a single week? Everything it seemed and yet nothing at all.

A week of not acting like yourself. Days filled with conflicting thoughts between overreacting and not having the energy to emote. Excuses became your best friend. Maybe it was because you were due to start your period; perhaps it was a mental breakdown. Who knows?

There was never a day that you EVER doubted your love for Steve Rogers and James Barnes. The term soulmates didn’t even come close to how much you loved these men. The loves of your life. Saving you from a lifetime of pain, saving you from yourself. There would never be a day that you weren’t grateful for these men, and every day, you tried to show them your appreciation with love and affection.

Yes, you were still human. There were days when you couldn’t even cope with their assertive overprotectiveness. Yes, it was for your benefit; they loved you as much as you loved them. Scared of losing you, cautious of the horrible life and background that they’d saved you from. Their job as heads of the Rogers Mafia was rifled with dangers, violence, and death. There was always a target on their backs and anyone they encountered. The list was endless as to why Steve and Bucky acted as they did.

For years, there was nothing but appreciation for this way of life. The dangers that surrounded every second were always at an arm's length away from you as you lived a comfortable, loving life with the men you loved.

Steve and Bucky were renowned for their protection of you. Going to extreme lengths to make sure you were safe. This ranged from 24/7 security, personal bodyguards always by your side unless they were there, and weapons hidden throughout your home that you had been thoroughly trained on just in case.

Next were the verbal and physical threats Steve and Bucky would give those who dared to look at you for more than 5 seconds. People died. MANY people had been killed, as a matter of fact, in the line of duty, love and a little bit of crazy. The lines that were crossed to make sure you were safe had no boundaries.

Except on these small occasions. Just one week for your patience to lose all hope.

MONDAY

It had been a calm day for you. You complete chores at home until you’re satisfied while your boyfriends are at work, making money and continuing to prove they own Brooklyn. You wanted to treat them to something special and decided to cook a hearty meal and have a romantic dinner.

The table was decorated with candles and fresh flowers from the garden. Even your dog Dodger was handsome in his blue and red bowtie around his neck. He sat his head on his paws, watching you chop vegetables.

“What do you think Dodger? Does Mama move well?” you ask him whilst shaking your hips in time with the song playing on the radio. The rottweiler’s head tilts as if to say you’re really going to ask me that?

“Fine, maybe I can’t dance, but I can cook; if you’re good, you’ll get some of the meat scraps”. Dodgers ears perk up at this, and you can’t help but grin down at your baby, “Of course, you’re going to be a good boy, you’re always my good boy- OW SHIT!”

The pain is intense, and the burn radiates from the centre of your palm. Blood, that's all you see at first. The crimson drips from the end of the knife in your hand before it clutters onto the cutting board.

“Honey, we’re home!” Bucky hollered from the front door.

You couldn’t reply. Utterly frozen and helpless as more drips continued to coat the surface. This is how you die from chopping vegetables. You’ll be the laughing stock of the infamous mafia leader’s lover dies from cutting a carrot.

Dodger, ever the inquisitive boy, began to bark hysterically, running out of the kitchen towards Steve and Bucky, jumping up at them, biting onto their clothes and pulling in the direction of the kitchen. He’d been trained for moments like this to protect and alert if you’re in danger.

“What is it, Dodger? Where is she- Fuck! Bucky, get the first aid kit. Baby, let me see.” Steve’s hand's cup yours, pressing firmly against the area that was now throbbing and you couldn’t help but hiss as the sting intensified. “I know it hurts, but I need to stop it bleeding”, he explains whilst coaxing you toward the sink.

With surprising gentleness for such a big hunk of a man, Steve washed your hand, able to inspect the wound as Bucky appeared to your other side with the first aid box opened and ready.

“It’s not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully, but I’m going to need to press on it for a couple of minutes to stop it bleeding”. Nodding your head in response to Steve, you lean against his body, finding comfort in his warmth and firm body.

“I guess that’s the last time you try and do anything romantic, huh, Doll?” Tilting your head toward Bucky, you glare hard at his joke as he sticks out his bottom lip in a pout. “Oh, I love it when you try and look angry with me; you look so damn cute”, he finishes his teasing with a bop at the end of your nose with his finger.

“Bucky, stop being a jerk”, Steve chastises as you hide your face in his chest.

“I just wanted to make you both a nice meal”, your voice muffled against Steve’s white shirt.

“As much as we appreciate the sentiment, maybe use the precut carrots next time, yeah?” Knocking your shoulder against Steve’s chest, he laughs and kisses your cheek as an apology for his joke.

Your hand is then thoroughly wrapped in a bandage, probably more than necessary, and you’re nudged to sit at the table while they continue cooking the meal you’d planned. Guilt settled uneasily in your stomach. It was meant to be a pleasant surprise for them, but now they’re left clearing up after you.

Dodger came over, licking at your uninjured hand, begging for pets you’re more than happy to give him as you contemplated how to make up for your mistake.

However, Steve and Bucky had other ideas as they took it upon themselves to ensure you were effortlessly cared for to the point that they refused to allow you to cut up your food or feed yourself, cuddling you into Bucky’s lap as he fed you. Next, they’re undressing you slowly, carefully and tenderly, bathing you, being careful of your injury, and ending the day with enough orgasms to have your mind fuzzy and body sated.

 You were treated to the care and attention you were used to, and Steve and Bucky did not complain once. In fact, they had smiles on their faces, and they enjoyed looking after you, which is where your conundrum occurs. Sometimes, the overprotective attentiveness verged on being smothering.

TUESDAY

It did not end. You’re washed, dressed, and hair combed by them. Even lifting the damn spoon for your cereal to your mouth.

“I can use a spoon; I’m not incapable of everything!”

All you’re given in response from Bucky is a soft smile, his eyes flicking across your face like he’s trying to memorise every pore, and then once more, he continues to feed you. “I like looking after you like this”.

“What, like a baby?” you ask in a monotone voice.

“You know exactly what I mean” he rolls his eyes playfully but doesn’t stop.

You knew he was trying to be innocent and caring, but for some reason, this time, it was hitting you the wrong way. One small mistake, and now you aren’t even trusted to do anything for yourself? Maybe it was because you were irritable, as they were only being nice to you, but something didn’t feel right. You need a breath or moment to be independent, but for today, you let it go, thinking it would all be back to normal by tomorrow.

WEDNESDAY

There was never a single complaint when it came to sex. They worshipped every inch of your body. Your trust in them was never-ending, especially in your most vulnerable positions. They both knew you better than you knew yourself in those intimate times.

When you need soft, they will give you love and gentleness. When you needed a more brutal, rougher fuck, they would absolutely be up for the job, which is why in the different situations and scenes played out in the bedroom, you all used the traffic light system for safe words. What might be right for one person doesn’t always suit the others.

It wasn’t even like you used the word ‘red’ often, but today, you needed it just because of your uncomfortable position. Kneeling over the back of the chair, Steve had one hand roughly gripping your hip as he fucked you from behind, blinding you with the pleasure pulsing in your cunt from his engorged cock. The other hand was in your hair, pushing you towards Bucky’s cock as he fucked your mouth.

It was perfect, hard and highly satisfying. Until Steve lifts your right leg, trying to rest your knee on the arm of the chair, giving himself more room to push his cock deeper. However, the angle at which he lifted your leg had a sharp pain shooting through your hip joint as it clicked.

Tapping your hand three times on the back of the chair, the pressure on the back of your head eased as Bucky’s cock slips out of your mouth as you rush out the word “Red”.

There’s instant relief as Steve moves away, allowing you to lower your leg and rub the sore area that had clicked. The leg wasn’t dislocated; it was just a bad angle and horrible timing.

“Did I hurt you? Christ, baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to”, Steve begs as he hovers behind you, looking helplessly down.

“I just- need a minute”, you say, trying to catch your breath enough to explain what had happened. The muscles around your hip ached, but nothing more as your breathing slowed enough that you could look up and try and give a reassuring smile. You hated how they both appeared terrified, glancing between your hip and face. “It’s fine; I just twinged my hip a little. Maybe if we just move positions or something so I’m not kneeling”, you suggest whilst trying to stand, but wince when the soreness returns to your hip.

Steve’s eyes are almost bulging out of his head, and he is concerned as he shakes his head, leaning down to lift you into his strong arms. “Absolutely not; I’m taking you to the hospital. I could have broken your hip; I’m not risking it”.

Gripping his cheeks, you force him to look at you while trying to remain calm and stern. “Steve, stop! It’s fine; it was just a little twinge. I’m not going to the hospital. Nothing is broken; I would have told you if it was, and you’d never break me.”

Steve didn’t look convinced as he carefully settled your body into the centre of the bed, his calloused hand lowering over your body until resting over your right side. “You don’t know that. I could have dislocated your hip or something.”

Moving your leg to emphasise that this much damage hadn’t happened to your hip, you comb your fingers through his blonde hair to soothe him. “Steve, please stop overreacting. I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine”.

Bucky suggested, “If you won’t go to the hospital, then I’m still going to call Doctor Banner to come and check you over. There could be a trapped nerve or-”

“No! You aren’t listening to me. Please, will both of you just stop? I don’t want to go to the hospital, and I don’t want the Doctor to come and see me. It was a little twinge and nothing more. I’m perfectly well.” The blonde and brunette exchanged an uncertain glance but thankfully didn’t say anymore.

It was safe to say the pleasurable mood was thoroughly out of the window as they began to tentatively and extra carefully give you aftercare. Cleaning you up, ensuring you’d had something to eat and drink and wearing comfortable clothes. One of them continued to touch you at all times, even as you fell asleep, stroking over your back and massaging any aches and pains away.

THURSDAY

Usually, after an emotional night, you’re feeling needy, but today, you’re withdrawn, potentially experiencing a subdrop where your emotions are heightened and vulnerable.

If you thought Tuesday Steve and Bucky were constantly at your side, this took smothering to a whole new meaning. Even when going to the bathroom, one was there to ensure you were okay, to the point where you stopped answering and continued with your day. It was too much, and it wasn’t like you meant to push them away, but you just needed space, a moment, a second, to catch your breath. It was like you were drowning with the want to be ok, but being constantly reminded that you weren’t made it more difficult to recover.

Your friends who had children would always speak about those moments when they’re overstimulated with touch by these kids. No matter how much they love them, it becomes too much when someone constantly needs to be on you at all times of the day. This was exactly how you felt. You love them with all your heart, but it becomes too much.

By the time the sun had set over your home, you were hardly conversing with either of your boyfriends, which had them both tense. Deep lines were imbedded between their brows; fists clenched to stop from wringing their fingers together. Some of you felt sad and guilty even for pushing them away, especially when it came to bed, and you wanted to spoon a pillow rather than one of them. 

FRIDAY

Due to their lifestyle, there were days when they could stay at home and others when they were needed at work. Today, they were needed at work and for a change of scenery, you wanted to join them, which had never been an issue before. Especially after the last few days with your emotions all over the place, you just wanted some normality with the two men you loved.

“Wait, what do you mean I have to stay here?” you ask in a state of shock, feet planted into your living room carpet.

The men share a look you’d seen multiple times this week already. Where no words are shared, but enough was said for you to read between the lines. The mafia leader stepped forward, all towering and handsome in his suit, enough to distract you momentarily. Especially as his big hands cup your face, tilting it back so that he can kiss you enough to take your breath away. As he pulls away, you’re lifting onto the tips of your toes for more.

His hands remain framing your face as he explains, “We just think it would be best for you to stay here and get some rest, that’s all. There’s also an important meeting today with some unkind people, and we’d rather you stay here where it’s safe.”

You sigh exasperatedly, holding onto his wrists to keep him in front. “But there are always meetings with those types of people. I’ve attended many, might I remind you? I’ve rested enough this week; I want to come with you both.”

Steve’s blue eyes drill into yours as he chews on the inside of his cheek, contemplating before glancing over to his boyfriend, but it’s your turn to hold onto his face, forcing his gaze back to yours. “No!” you snap, “Don’t look at Bucky for backup. I want a genuine reason for being forced to be kept in the house. I want to stay with both of you today, and I thought that’s what you wanted over the last few days?”

It was a low blow, and you had to refrain from cringing.

“I can stay”, Bucky begins as you look over at him as Steve’s hands fall to his side.

“No. That’s not fair. I’ve been here for four days now. Please let me come with you”. It wasn’t often you had to beg either man for anything other than during an intimate moment. They were always happy for you to do anything, especially if it meant for you to remain at their side.

However, as both of their blue eyes clash in another knowing gaze, you give up. Feeling once more vulnerable and tired. It had been an odd week, to say the least. Stepping away from them, your shoulders drop in defeat. “You know what, I’ll just see you both when you get home. Please be safe”. With that, you escape up the stairs with the plan to rot in bed for the remainder of the day to catch up with your emotions.

Bucky heaves a sigh as you reach the top of the stairs. A small part of you wished that seeing you this upset, they would have chased you, but this didn’t happen. As the front door opens and closes, you can’t help but drown in the emotions of the last few days, crying into your pillow.

Later, when they return home with bags of take-out and unharmed, useless, this would be enough to pick up your spirits. However, you aren’t in the mood, unable to pull yourself out of the grump, mentally still blaming it on your impending period.

So, you ate the delicious food and climbed back into bed. It wasn’t like you were going out of your way to be distant, but the rejection from earlier still hurt, so being petty, if they wanted to be without you, they could continue that way.

SATURDAY

Wake up alone, but you know they’re somewhere still in the house. It takes you considerable time to even crawl out of bed with how groggy you feel. You’d probably spent more time in bed this week than any other time, so you decided enough was enough. You texted your friend Laura Barton.

I haven’t seen you in a while and need a distraction. Coffee date?

Five minutes passed before your phone was lighting up with a response.

Love in paradise? You know I’m always free for you; I’ve just got to bring Nate along as no babysitter, but I’m down!

My mind’s just all over the place, and I really need a friend, you respond immediately.

I can pick you up in 20, and we’ll head to a coffee shop.

Your fingers are typing before you have a moment to think about what you’re sending, and you reply, "That’s if they will let me leave the house."

The three dots on your phone appear and disappear multiple times before Laura’s text arrives. Wow, if you’re revolting against their overprotectiveness, things must be tough there. I’ll be there soon. I’m sure if you bat your pretty lashes at them, everything will be fine.

If only you thought rather than responding and taking the next 15 minutes to prepare. After getting dressed, you feel much more motivated and in better spirits; speaking to them about leaving the house is the only issue. You just needed an hour or two away to clear your thoughts from all of the protective, macho-man bullshit that seemed to surround you on the daily.

They’re both working out in the gym, and for a second, you admire them, your mouth slipping open in awe. Dressed in only their gym shorts, you’re momentarily jealous of the sweat dripping down their chests, the muscles covering their bodies flexing with each movement.

“If you want a closer look, Princess, why don’t you come here?” Bucky eyes you just as hungrily as he lowers the weight, wiping a hand over his stubbled jaw.

Taking a deep breath and trying to remain on the plan, you shake your head, straightening your posture. You can do this.

“I’m going out”, you firmly state. Usually, you ask so that they can prepare a bodyguard or security guard to patrol the area, but not today. You were a grown-ass woman who didn’t need to ask.

Steve nods, moving some strays of his wet blonde hair out of his piercing eyes. “I hope it’s somewhere fun”.

Your gaze is still flicking between them, especially Bucky as he saunters over, his eyelids lowered, and he looks like an animal on the way to pouncing on his prey. You’re like molten lava by the time he’s by your side, all but ready to jump into his arms, kissing him until you’re breathless. Your fingers slide over his firm chest, feeling his muscles, thumping heart and skimming over the scars where the metal of his arms connect with his skin. 

You mewl pathetically as he pulls back, grinning as he realizes how needy you’ve become. “If you give us a few minutes, Sam can prepare a car.”

Sam is your trusty bodyguard and best friend, and as much as you love spending time with him, today, you didn’t want to be reminded of how you always needed to be coddled.

Taking a hearty step away from him, you firmly say, “No. I don’t need Sam. I’m just going out with Laura, and she’s picking me up. It’s just coffee. I’ll be fine”. Much like the rest of the week, the atmosphere soon sours as Bucky’s grin fades until you can see his jaw tighten as he swallows.

“Ok, that’s fine”, he begins slowly, like he’s careful with what to say. “Laura can drive you, but Sam’s still coming with you, Sweetheart. It’s too dangerous out there”.

A negative heat flushes through your chest as rage slowly takes over. “No. I just need some space, I just-”. You hated how difficult it was to articulate yourself when angry. Most of the time, your instinct was to cry, but you needed to explain how you were feeling to them.

Steve enters your eyeline as he lowers his height so you’re both eye to eye. “Ok, Sam won’t go.”

“But-” Bucky tries to interrupt but stops when Steve holds up a hand to silence him.

“Take my card with you and buy yourself something nice. Have fun, baby girl”. You’re so shocked by Steve’s reaction that you hardly respond when his lips caress yours in a simple kiss.

“Really? You’re letting me go like that?” you ask suspiciously.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we? We’re a team, right?” There’s something in how he looks at you with such uncertainty that your chest is tightening. A beat passes before your arms are locked around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him slowly and deeply. Savour the touch of his stubble against your cheeks, the softness of his tongue. You’re relieved when his fingers dig into your waist, holding on with just as much eagerness.

Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. The reminder that Laura has probably arrived outside has you taking a step back, licking your lips while looking down. Your fingertips slip over his abs, which flex as you touch them.

“I’ll see you both later, love you” Quickly pecking Bucky, you turn and leave the gym, tickling under Dodger’s chin as Steve and Bucky simultaneously shout ‘Love you’ back.

Sitting with a coffee that probably had a week's worth of caffeine and a cake the size of your head, you could finally go into detail about what was happening with Laura.

“So after all that, they really let you come out with no security? I’ve never seen that happen before”, your friend muses whilst sipping her drink and trying to entertain her toddler, Nate.

“I guess not that I’m going to complain about it. Feels rebellious to be out here by myself”. 

The time passed, and it was relieving to catch up with her, definitely needed someone to validate your feelings. You still absolutely loved them and appreciated everything they did for you, but you were smothered over the last few days.

Just as you’d taken another sip of your coffee, the fine hairs on your neck rose as you felt like someone was watching you. Keeping the coffee at your lips, your eyes darted, looking out the window to the street and the patrons in the coffee shop when you saw them. Both of them.

Sensing your change in demeanour, Laura frowns as she looks at you. “What is it?” She looks around the room, and it takes seconds before she chuckles. “You’re joking, right? Did they really think a baseball hat and aviator sunglasses would be a good enough disguise?”

The fury that had first hit you when spotting Steve and Bucky soon turned to sadness. It was like they didn’t trust you at all, feeling overwhelmed by them. Initially, you wanted to confront them, but there was no point; you just wanted to escape and go to your safe space.

“Can you take me home, please?” you quietly ask Laura, pushing away the rest of your coffee.

You try to ignore your friend's sad look as she leans across the table to hold the back of your hand. “Honey, I’m sure they’re just trying to look out for you”.

“Yes, I know, they just could have told me. It makes me feel incompetent when they sneak around behind my back.”

“It’s not that, you know it’s dangerous to be dating them-”

“Yes, I know. Please, can we just go”. You didn’t mean to snap at her, and it was clear she didn’t seem offended as she packed up her belongings and rested Nate on her hip.

Standing, you walk without stopping towards the exit, conveniently where your boyfriends are sitting. Out of the corner of your eye, they both stand, and Bucky tries to reach for you.

“Just listen, we can explain why we’re here”.

You don’t stop. Even as the tears begin to fall and you see the visible flinch from Bucky, you don’t stop.

Laura tried to comfort you in the car, but it was useless. You’re home with a brief goodbye to your friend. Weaving past the security to the entrance to your home, you finally are at your front door.

By the time Steve and Bucky return, you’re upstairs, changing into your pj’s with a tub of ice cream and Dodger at your side. “Baby, where are you?” You don’t answer, but it doesn’t matter as in a matter of seconds, Steve is standing at your bedroom door, breathless and clearly distraught. “Just give us a minute to explain. It’s too dangerous to be out by yourself. We didn’t want to make you feel crowded by having someone at your side, but you need someone close just in case”.

Allowing him to speak, you’re too much of a coward to face him, turning away as the tears continue to fall and soak your clothing. “Mmm hmm, I understand”. You feel drained of energy, and the caffeine from earlier has no effect. Moving towards your bedside cabinet, you unplug your phone charger, collect your phone and ice cream, and bundle the fluffy decorative blanket from the bed.

“Where are you going?” Bucky now asks where he appears at Steve’s side, appearing just as concerned as his boyfriend, with the hat and sunglasses gone.

“The spare room”.

You can hear the audible breath that your boyfriends suck in. It took everything in you not to change your mind immediately. It hurt them, but they also hurt you this week. It wasn’t like you were gathering all your stuff and going to stay in a hotel; it was only across the hall for the rest of the day.

 It was just a break, a place to cry without having someone watching and then consequently feeling guilty for having emotions.

One of them begs, “Why are you going there? Just let us talk,” but you’re done.

“I don’t want to talk” Your bottom lip wobbles as you hold back the sobs, threatening to burst free.

Bucky steps forward, whose metal hands are cupping the point of your chin to tilt your face up to his, “Don’t stay in the spare bedroom; if you don’t want to sleep with us, we’ll stay on the couch. Just give us a minute, please”.

Trying to ignore the pleading in his tone, you shake your head, not trusting yourself to talk. Walking around them, they let you walk past, and no word is shared as you walk across the hall to the spare room.

Locking the door, you can just turn the TV on before releasing the pent-up sob you’d held in. Nearly the entire tub of ice cream has been emotionally eaten, and eyes are sore from the crying. It also felt soul-soothing to get all your emotions out, and by the time hours passed, you were ready to speak to them both, except for one long blink, which turned into a full sleep.

SUNDAY

There was no sense of time when you began to stir, only aware that the room was mainly cast into darkness except for the glow from the TV that was still playing whatever trash TV show you’d picked on Netflix.

You’re so incredibly comfortable you have to hold back a groan of pleasure with how content you’re feeling. It was like you were in a cocoon of warmth and contentment as you nuzzled further into the firm yet soft heat beneath your cheek as the bubble surrounding you tightened.

Thump thump. Thump thump. The therapeutic beat against your cheek was something you had already memorised in your dreams.

All the memories came flooding back. The crying, the argument, the locked door, the ice cream and more crying. The locked door. Something you specifically remember doing, yet somehow, you’re wrapped in a boyfriend sandwich, and you’re pretty sure the heavy weight across your feet is Dodger.

In truth, you were happy to be there and had planned to speak to them before your eyes had closed. You’d never fallen asleep during an argument before; it felt unhealthy in a relationship to do, and god knows how stressed Steve and Bucky must have been.

Snuggling closer to Steve’s chest with your back pressed against Bucky’s, you finally feel content after a week of wobbly emotions. You’re sure you need to speak with a therapist or something with how up and down you’ve been all week. You didn’t want to move from this spot ever again.

However, the urgency and pain radiating from your bladder had you cursing. Carefully and with great difficulty, you can wiggle out of your beefy cuddle and sneak to the toilet with Dodger following closely at your side. On the way, you’re able to see the door knob to the room has been shaped like it has been gripped, assuming that Bucky’s metal hand was behind the breaking into the room whilst you’re asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you take in your dishevelled look, showering, freshening up, rebandaging your hand, and dressing in one of Steve’s comfortable jumpers. On your way back to the boys, you pause, overhearing them awake and whispering.

“I told you we shouldn’t have broken in”, Steve groans frustratedly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sleeping without her”, Bucky argues, his voice crackling lowly from where he’d just woken up.

There’s a momentary pause, and you’re about to go in when they continue. “You don’t think we’ve pushed her too far, do you?” Bucky asks.

“You tell me. She’s not in here now. She’s kept up at arm's length for days. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I just want to keep her safe, but I feel like we’re losing her”.

Broken. That’s how they both sounded, and you have done this. Your eyes sting as they, once again, well with tears, and you move back into the room, pulling the sleeves of your jumper down over your hands to wipe away the moisture.

“I’m sorry I made you both feel this way”.

Strong arms wrap around your body, cradling you carefully against their body as you’re moved to sit across Steve’s lap, and Bucky takes your feet into his lap so that you are facing one another. “I love you both. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know whether it’s my impending period that’s finding everything too overwhelming. I’m sorry!”

You’re hysterical as they both attempt to ground you with soothing shushes and strokes of their hands over your back and legs. “Sweetheart, it’s ok”.

“No, it’s not okay! " Reaching up, you take Steve’s face in your palms and say, “I love you! I would never leave you. EVER!” Next, you hold onto Bucky, half crawling fully into his lap to get your point across: “I love you so much; I’m sorry I wasn’t there to fall asleep in your arms.”

“Hey, hey, calm down, Mama. I’ve got you, we’ve both got you. We aren’t going anywhere”. 

Eventually, you can calm down enough, cuddled up against Bucky with Steve massaging the souls of your feet. You all discuss everything from feeling smothered by them to your up and down moods, feeling incompetent, and yet understanding why they are the way they are to keep you safe. It was like the world had tilted back to the right way up. Boundaries are set, so some understanding will be shared if you ever feel overwhelmed again.

“We just need you to know that we’re never going to stop protecting you until our last fucking breath”, Bucky promises as he kisses your temple.

“Good thing neither of you is going anywhere. Did you really think I’d ever leave either of you? Do I need to remind you of the hell hole you saved me from all those years ago?”

“Yes, and you’ll never have to live like that again. You’re mine and Bucky’s. No one will touch you again”.

If only Steve knew what was to come.

It was the early morning hours after your long chat, but it was late enough for Steve and Bucky to forgo sleeping and head to the office. Having a couple more hours of sleep after they left, you were fresh and ready to go by the time Sam was knocking on your front door.

It had been a long week, so you surprised your bodyguard by hugging him. “Did they tell you about my week?” you ask, needing to know if Sam had been updated about everything from your boyfriends.

“I don't know what you mean” Judging by his tone, he damn well knew what had happened, but nonetheless, his arms tightened around you, “as much as I love your company, the bosses will kill me for touching you”.

You pull back, alarmed to see him trying and failing to hide the smile on his face. Rolling your eyes at his jokes playfully, you climb into the waiting SUV.

“Just a warning, boss lady. There’s a meeting being held over the next 10 minutes,” Sam explains as he pulls into the parking lot that opens into the warehouse.

“Oh? Do you know who it is with?”

Sam shrugs, helping you out of the car whilst looking around at the chaos surrounding him as men and women rush around the crates and trucks. “Some hotshot guy who owns a couple of clubs wants to have the protection of the Rogers team so he can run his underground market. HEY! That’s not supposed to be in that shipment, you dickwad! Sorry, do you mind if I go kick their heads in?”

You know he’s joking, but he nods, grinning as Sam, the group's mother hen, rushes toward the offending truck. “Good luck! I’m going to head to the office. I’m sure the meeting will be over soon.”

Lost in your daydream world, you’re half paying attention as the elevator arrives at the corridor leading to the office. Stepping out and into the elevator, expecting it to be empty but stopping short when, you find a man leaning against the wall, staring at his phone.

The walls felt as if they were caving in. Everything, including your breath and heart, pauses momentarily as you know who it is. You’d know him from his voice, aftershave, and grimy hands. He was one of the many that plagued your nightmares from a past you were trying to forget. No happiness existed when your brother controlled every aspect of your miserable life until Steve bulldozed his way into it. 

Ralph Pannone, the man before you, was one of the highest individuals in your brother's gang, but over the last few months before it all came crashing down - thanks to the Rogers mafia - he had been missing on a job. It had been a relief, if not a blessing, those weeks without him and the years that followed, and it’s easy to think you’re safe from those past demons when they don’t haunt you in reality.

The wolf tattooed on his throat is ingrained into your mind. The silver of his fingers glinted in the dimmed light that was shockingly cool against your skin from all the times he had inappropriately touched your face.

Later in therapy, you would talk about your instinct to freeze when in a shocking, fearful situation. For example, on Monday, when your palm was accidentally cut, and today, staring at one of Hell’s workers in your safe space, all you could do was freeze.

He must have smelt your fear because his face slowly turned to yours, his typical devilish smirk causing your knees to shake. You wanted to scream. Scream for help for Steve and Bucky to save you.

“I was saddened to see my little kitten wasn’t on her knees and waiting for me in that meeting like I thought she would be. But, it appears she wants her own personal meeting”. He’s now walking towards you, and there’s nothing you can do except tremble with fear.

Kitten. That nickname that always had you flinching. It was his favourite thing to call you. He’d say it’s because you’re soft and cut, and whenever he decided he had the right to touch your face, you would swat him away with your ‘sharp little claws’. He was degrading, misogynistic and utterly terrifying.

The tip of his boots brushes against the front of your shoes as you breathe in his nauseating aftershave. “Come on, kitten, cat got your tongue? It’s funny how your brother gave you everything, but it wasn’t enough, was it? You still had to have my BEST friend killed and sleep your way to the top of Brooklyn.”

You finally have a visible response when you flinch away, staring at the floor as you struggle to catch your breath at his derogatory words. Your throat burns with the threat of vomiting as his fingers graze against your forehead, brushing aside a strand of hair until it's tucked behind your ear.

Leaning even closer until his lips are close to his fingers around the shell of your ear, he whispers, “Don’t worry, my sweet kitten. You’re going to be mine soon. These pretend soldiers aren’t going to stop me from getting what’s mine.”

And then he’s gone.

Like that, your world is once again tilted on its axis—the safety net you’d been cocooned in, shattering into dust. Time doesn’t seem to exist when you’re in this state of shock as the next minutes or hours flash by in brief glimpses.

Lying on the floor of the corridor, high-pitched ringing in your ears.

Sam’s face hovered above your own as he shouted, but you couldn’t hear what he said as the world felt muffled. All you could tell was that he was conflicted between being scared and furious.

Now you’re in the office, specifically Steve’s personal office on the couch, your head in Bucky’s lap as Steve paced a hole into the carpet.

Natasha was here, by your side, talking lowly to you. It feels like you’re responding, but you can’t be sure. It was like your body was in a weird limbo of sorts.

Home. At last, you were home, in your bed, with Doctor Banner lightly touching your wrist with his eyes closed. He was counting, you thought, and as he finished and glanced up at your face, he was happy to see you were awake. A bright light flashed in your eyes as you flinched away, trying to shield yourself.

“I’m glad you’re back with us.”

“What happened?” you croaked from the dryness in your throat as you tried to sit up.

“Careful, here’s some water. It appears that you had a panic attack and fainted. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any head injuries or lasting injuries. Maybe a bruises here and there. Do you remember what happened? What was the last thing you remember?”

Ralph.

The next thing you know, you’re breathing into a paper bag as the Doctor rubs slow circles over your shoulders, trying to reassure you to breathe slowly. It took a few minutes to calm down before you could ask, “Bucky, Steve, please, I need to see them”.

“Of course, I’ll go right and get them. I’m on call tonight, so please don’t hesitate to get them to phone me if you need anything”.  You’re hardly paying attention as he leaves, and suddenly, you’re first welcomed by a lick on the face by an excited Dodger and arms around your waist and back as Steve and Bucky are finally at your side.

They all hold you as you cry, not a single tear reaching your shirt as either Dodger licks them away or Steve and Bucky wipe them with their fingers.

“I’m not expecting you to explain what has happened, and I have never been more scared than seeing you on the floor, barely conscious, without an obvious reason for it. I want you to know you’re safe, and the threat has been eliminated”.

Turning towards Steve, you give him a questioning look so he continues explaining. “We watched the security camera from the corridor. He saw what he did, and we heard what that scumbag said to you. For some reason, a background check wasn’t completed on him so he could weasel his way into a meeting with us. We found plenty of evidence of his involvement in your brother's gang.” Steve has to take a deep breath as his anger increases again, his jaw tight.

Bucky, therefore, continues, but you can tell by the venom in his voice that his anger is just as severe as his boyfriend's. “It took me minutes to track him down whilst Natasha and Sam stayed by your side. We wanted to stay, but we needed to be the ones to end that fuckers life. I wanted to see the light leave his eyes”.

“To be honest, we killed him too quickly. I wanted to inflict as much pain mentally as he had done to you, but know that he died screaming and begging for his life”. 

Steve and Bucky held no remorse when he came to you. This was the life they lived, the protection they offered for someone they loved.

Appreciation and regret are the two words spiralling through your thoughts. Appreciation for them both, for everything they’ve ever given for you and regret for how you’ve overreacted this week. Yes, you were human; it was expected to have ups and downs days, but right now, there was nothing more you wanted than to show how much you loved them right back.

You were done being the victim.

You’re in Steve’s, thighs burning from the stretch of straddling over his, your fingers desperately clutching into his blonde hair, pulling onto it and drawing his face towards yours. You feel his body tense and then wholly break. Warm hands grip your waist, dominantly tugging your body closer until you flush against him.

“Dodger, go to bed, buddy,” Bucky instructs, clicking towards the door. The good boy that he is, your baby strolls out of the room to his bed downstairs. 

Your hands are all over Steve, combing through his locks, to the stubble on his cheeks, to the muscles over his shoulders. You needed to feel all of him, the softness of his skin, the power in his legs, the hardness of his cock.

“More, I need more”, you beg against his lips whilst trying to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Woah, ok, hold on a moment”, Steve urges gently whilst cupping both of your hands away from his chest. “I think we need to walk about this. You’ve been through a lot, and I just need to ensure you’re alright”. 

“I can and will talk about this, but not right now. I need a distraction, and I need you to remind me that everything is alright. I need you to remind me that I am yours, and you are both mine, and no one will change that!”

“Damn right, you’re ours”, Bucky growls possessively, tugging on the strands of hair at the nape of your neck, angling your head back and devouring your mouth. At the same time, Steve’s on your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses and nippin' in the sensitive spots. Your hips instinctively grind against Steve’s crotch, needing pressure and stimulation to your pussy.

You’re rewarded with the outline of Steve’s cock, hard and squished within the confines of his suit trousers. Bucky’s tongue enters your mouth, and he groans at your taste, his sharp teeth catching your lower lip and soothing the bites with more kisses.

“Need this off!” Steve demands as he roughly grabs the hem of your shirt, tearing it down the middle and discarding the pieces across the room. His mouth is then attached to the swell of your breasts, sucking until pain and pleasure pulses in the areas. With a simple snap of his fingers, the clasp of your bra is the next to be removed.

Topless, his bare hands are finally able to cup your breasts, his thumbs pressing on your hardened nipples. “These are mine”, he speaks against your skin before sucking a nipple into his mouth, pulsing the sensitive area until you’re crying out his name against Bucky’s lips.

Your panties feel uncomfortable and restrictive with how warm and wet you are between your legs. However, your needs are the last thing on your mind right now as you need to please your boyfriends and show them your appreciation.

Reaching between your bodies, your fingers press against the swell in Steve’s crotch, massaging the throbbing erection until he’s bucking into your palm. Undoing his buckle and zipper, you’re able to free his cock, moving your tight fist up and down his length as he groans hungrily against your breasts.

With unsteady legs, you climb off Steve’s lap and lower to your knees on the carpet; however, his hands pull up against your arms, stopping your movement. “No, this is supposed to be about you”.

Shaking your head with a reassuring smile, you move back to your knees, massaging your hands up Steve’s thigh. “No, actually. It’s supposed to be about all of us. Now, please, let me suck your cock, sir”.

The name works wonders as his cock visibly throbs against his abdomen, and his eyes darken as he licks his lips. To his side, Bucky pulls off his shirt, muscles flexing as he does so, and you continue with your plan for the rest of the evening. “I want to take you both at the same time. So why don’t you help me, sir?” you’re looking directly at Bucky now, who grins in response.

“Fuck yes, Doll”.

He helps to take off the remainder of your clothes until you’re left kneeling, back arches and ass perked up with Bucky behind you, his hands massaging your ass cheeks.

“I want your pretty little mouth on Steve’s cock whilst I make you cum. Do you think you can do that for me, Princess?” Bucky asks whilst kissing up the length of your spine.

You don’t need to verbally answer him as your mouth is instantly on the blonde’s cock, teasing at first with licks around the sensitive head before wrapping your lips around the thickness and sucking inches of it back into your mouth. You’re welcomed with a sinful gasp from the man who spreads his legs further, giving you more room to settle between them, his big hands resting on the back of your head.

Bucky watched whilst removing the rest of his clothes before delving into his own personal feast. Growling with hunger as he spreads your cheeks and licks from your clit up to your puckered back hole. Your body reacts by pushing back into his face as his tongue slips into your pussy, slurping all your juices lewdly.

His tongue played special treats against your clit, circling, sucking, pulsing whilst his finger dipped into your asshole. He knew exactly how to get you worked up as he used your wetness to lube one finger, then two, gently easing in and out, trying to stretch the area for his cock. It burned, but it was a delicious pain you’d hoped for when asking him to complete the task.

Just as he had three fingers penetrating your hole, your orgasm burst in pleasurable, mind-numbing waves as your pussy squeezed his tongue desperately. Your moan also caused your mouth to vibrate around Steve’s cock as he verbally coached you through your pleasure.

“That’s it, cum around Bucky’s tongue. Taking his fingers so well, aren’t you, baby girl? You’re made for us.”

Nodding with his cock still in your mouth, you’re suddenly pulled off by the hand on the back of your head as Steve leans down to heavily make out with you, not caring that your mouth had just been on his cock. “I need to taste you”, he demands against your mouth, and within seconds, you’re led out over the bed.

His head dips between your thighs, his mouth hungrily eating and sucking away as your back arches, fingers and nails desperately clawing into his hair. “Yes! Sir! Oh my god!”

“Damn right, I’m your god now”, he spoke the words against your clit. Your mind was rushing with the need to agree verbally and yet desperately hold on to his hair.

A cool hand cups your cheek as Bucky tilts your face in his direction, and you open your mouth, accepting his cock as you had done with Steve’s. Bucky isn’t as demanding as he’s fucking your mouth as he rolls his hips carefully so that he’s slowly fucking your throat.

It takes almost no time at all before there’s overwhelming tightness between your legs like everything down there is going to explode. Pulling away from Bucky’s cock, you cry out, “I can’t- it’s too much!”

“Yes, you can. Come for us, Baby,” Steve encouraged as he slipped two fingers into your wet pussy, curling them to hit that perfect spot within. That was all you needed to both cum and relax all your muscles between your legs, and without shame, you could feel the bed soaking beneath you as Steve and Bucky cheered you on, “That’s it, squirt for us! Damn, you’re so beautiful”.

The breath is knocked out of you by the time the waves of pleasure have subsided. However, your arousal is still at a ten as Steve’s arms circle beneath your body, and you’re now koalaed around him. Arms around his shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back.

“Steve!” your head tips back as the thick length of him slowly enters your pussy. No matter the number of times the two of you fucked, there was never a time when you weren’t shocked by how full you felt with him inside of you.

“Feels so good to be inside of you. Do you think you can still take Buck?”

“Yes, please, sir, I need you both inside of me”.

The warmth of Bucky’s chest finally surrounds your spine as he kisses the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Easy there, got to be careful when slipping this big dick in this tight little hole back here”, Bucky teases as you feel the head of his cock pressing against your asshole.

Your head tips back and rests on his shoulder, mouth gaping open with a constant string of curses and pleads. Much like with his fingers, the initial burn mixing with the pleasure is the perfect mix as the head of his cock gently breaches your warmth.

“You’re so fucking wet and tight”, Bucky moans against your neck as you take inch after inch of him until you’re stretched and full of them both.

The first orgasm with both of them fucking you at the same time is enough to nearly have you passing out again as you continue to squirt until there’s a small puddle on the floor.

The second orgasm has every nerve in your body feel as if it’s burning with pleasure. You’re entirely limp in their arms, but they’re holding you up with firm hands on your thighs and waist. By the third orgasm, you were hardly coherent as both men finally joined you in that blissful state, their cum filling your used holes and dripping into the puddle below.

It was hard for you to stay awake as they carefully cleaned you with warm wash clothes and fresh clothing. You’re thoroughly wrapped in their arms as the three of you settle into the centre of the bed.

“I’m so happy to be yours”, you admit tiredly before sleep takes you.

[cycat-carisi]

Spent

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Summary: IDK...shameless smut? Basically, reader wakes up from doing the do and she's ready to pounce on Steve again.

Tags/warnings: Smut! 18+ ONLY. NO MINORS. Established relationship, p in v, slight breeding kink if you squint I guess.

Words: 1127

A/N: *runs and hides*

Fic below the cut or on AO3

Consciousness pushes through heavy sleep as you slowly rouse awake.

"Have a good nap, baby?" a voice jokes softly. "You conked out for a few minutes there." Propped on an elbow at your side, Steve peers down lovingly at you through disheveled chestnut locks.

The room is dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the window of your shared home. You stir again. There is a stickiness between your legs that brings you back to reality, reminding you of what took place not even a half hour before. As your thighs part, you feel more seep out from your core, sending an immediate rush of heat scorching through your veins.

Steve loves when he wears you out. He loves to watch your lashes flutter shut, unable to stay awake after a passionate round of lovemaking. He adores how peaceful you appear when you curl into his side, feeling safe and loved enough to fall asleep in his arms.

But Steve also loves nights like this where you awaken even hungrier for him than before.

Whether it is the memory of him pinning you to the sheets or the fact that the evidence of your lovemaking still fills you, that brings upon your reinvigorated passion, Steve has no idea. But one thing he is certain of is that your desire reignites his within, too.

Eyes darkening with a smile playing upon your lips, you waste no time shaking off the jittery feeling that comes from short naps and quickly capture Steve’s lips with your own. The kiss is hot and needy, all tongues and teeth. You push Steve's shoulders into the mattress and straddle his hips.

The sensation of him springing to life between your thighs makes you moan, and the mixture of his previous release and your rejuvenated arousal makes him slick against your folds.

Except, you aren't done with his mouth just yet. Your lips burn hot against his while your fingers tangle in his already messy tresses. The sensation pulls a low moan from his throat while his hands sear heat against your waist. Steve then glides them higher to cover your breasts, squeezing and kneading, thumbs circling your nipples. The sensation tingles, sending goosebumps scattering over your naked body, heat pooling low in your belly.

You exhale deeply as he continues his ministrations, your combined breaths morphing into pants. Fueled by lust, you begin grinding your hips down against Steve, earning you yet another needy moan.

It's all too much.

Hastily, you reach between you, lifting your hips just enough to take a firm grip on him. His own hips jerk in response, and he kisses you that much deeper.

"Need you, baby," he gasps against your lips.

"Then, I'm yours," you grin, aligning him with your entrance.

You steady yourself with a hand on his pecs as you slowly sink down. You bite your lip at the stretch, eyes screwing shut. A warm hand sweeps to caress your back, a small gesture of comfort amidst the fervent passion of the moment.

Greedily, you take every inch, fully seating yourself against his pelvic bone. You watch as Steve glances down to where you're connected and groans loudly. "You take me so– " but you cut him off by clenching your walls around him.

His darkened eyes fly to yours, amazed by your boldness. "I know," you mouth cheekily. But this time it's Steve's turn to interrupt. His wide palms grip the flesh of your bum, and he lifts your hips. You sense the exquisite slide of his length within your heat, and your eyes widen, fearful that he's going to pull you all the way off him.

However, Steve is just as much a tease. With hazel eyes locked onto yours, his grip on you tightens, halting his movements once he barely remains inside you. His legs then shift, and you release a desperate gasp, completely aware of what's coming.

"Yes," you beg through unsteady breaths, gaze still focused on his.

And that's when Steve's hips surge upwards. The move knocks the breath from your lungs. He enjoys the way your eyes flutter shut in complete bliss.

"Yes! Right there!" you cry out again and again as Steve sets a steady pace, rutting up into you. Each time he hits the one spot that makes you see stars.

The white mess from earlier stains his length as he fucks it back inside you, and you swear the sight of it causes Steve to shove his hips just that much deeper when they slam back up into yours.

"I'm so close," you whine into Steve's ear, that familiar coil winding tighter in your belly.

"Me too, baby," he reciprocates, "just hang on a little longer for me."

For him, you would do anything. Desperately you cling to the edge as he continues to make love to you. Your lips find the underside of Steve’s jaw, mouthing desperate kisses along his freckle-dusted neck, trying to edge him towards a shared release. The move causes his chest to heave beneath you as his hips pick up their pace. Now every movement sends him knocking against your spongy spot at a punishing rate.

Suddenly the coil snaps. You cry out his name, slipping over the edge as you spasm around him.

Steve’s response is immediate, driving his hips impossibly deeper inside you. Your body keeps him locked in place as he spills into your heat for the second time this evening. Swiftly, he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his as subtle involuntary kicks of his hips allow him to ride out the remainder of his high.

Finally, Steve stills. His hands smooth down your back, and he places soft kisses into your neck. His heart pounds against your chest, uniting the two of you in yet another intimate way. Steve strokes your damp hair behind your ear as you push yourself up on shaky arms. A dopey, blissful smile meets your gaze as you peer down at him. You duck back down to press your lips tenderly to his, soft, contended sighs filling the space between you. “Love you, babe,” you whisper against his lips.

“Love you, too,” Steve murmurs in return, voice laden with fatigue.

You smirk, raising yourself up on outstretched arms once again. “Oh no, did I tire you out this time?”

Through heavy eyelids, Steve can’t help but grin at your quip. “I guess we’re even, sweetheart,” he chuckles warmly before rolling the two of you on your side and tucking himself into your loving arms.

Quietly, you run your fingers through his dark hair, and it’s not long before Steve’s breathing evens out. Completely spent, he drifts off to sleep while you place delicate kisses against his forehead.

Fin.

Feedback is loved ♥

[emilys-bangs]

Hydrangea Number 29 “you should be out doing the things everyone else your age is, but instead you’re here. with me.” Unit Chief Emily. Age Gap. non established relationship but reader has a crush on Emily.

The uc Emily brainrot is real. Make it stop. (I don’t want it to stop). Anyway lol thank you for requesting! Join my celebration here <3

Tags: bau!reader, age gap (no mentioned age difference), power dynamics, too much tension for 800 words

Word count: 0.8k

“That’s everything for last week’s case,” you say, balancing a collection of files on the edge of Emily’s desk. The wood underneath is hardly visible from the sheer amount of case files on its surface. You’ve organized them—first by completeness and then by priority—but they spill and lean on each other, wilting out of their stacks.

“We just need the coroner’s supplemental for the last victim to close Tuesday’s case.” You continue, fixing a leaning stack.

“I’ve been asking for it. The morgue hasn’t called?” Emily asks, fidgeting with her pen. You’re entranced by her slim fingers wrapped around its length, the bones shifting smoothly under her skin as she plays with it. 

You look away, clearing your throat. “I can call them for you.”

“No, you’ve done enough. It’s late anyway…” she trails off as she looks down at her watch, her brows raising. “8:20. I didn’t know it was this late.” She reaches up with her hand, presses her fingertips to the skin between her brows and rubs languid circles, as if smoothing away a throb. Light pools on the dark spill of her hair.

“I’m sorry for keeping you. You can go now, thank you.” She says primly, as if you hadn’t volunteered to help. As if you haven’t been doing so for the past month.

“No worries.” You wave it away, eyes hungrily tracing the slope of her neck while you can, her gaze still angled away. “I think you’re mostly done for this week—except for the budget justifications Cruz has been asking for.”

Emily looks up, done with her rubbing. She goes a little still, looking over you with newfound intensity. “You know, you should be out doing the things everyone else your age is, but instead you’re here. With me.” Her tone is almost casual—she certainly throws the words around slowly enough, rolling them around on her tongue as if she’s trying to get a taste for them. Her face doesn’t betray her either; she’s just listing an innocent observation, as mundane as the weather, but the knowing gleam in her eyes makes your heart squeeze off a few quick beats. “And I know it’s not because the paperwork makes for nice company.”

Your neck goes hot. Under her sharp eyes, you fight against the urge to scratch at it, your nails instead finding the inside of your wrist. “You age yourself up an awful lot.” You say, hoping she can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “The things everyone my age is doing aren’t all that different from the things everyone your age is doing.”

Emily’s brow arches. “You’re sweet.” She says lazily. “But partying all night and…bending and twisting myself into impossible positions—is that what the kids are doing these days?” Suddenly there’s a grin, each one of her teeth gleaming. “That’s not exactly doable. You do know I’m in my forties, don’t you?”

Tension pulls taut, a vibrating wire between you and her. The air thickens in your lungs, crowding your airway with each blink of her dark eyes.

You swallow. “I do.”

“And you’re…”

“Not unreasonably younger.” You say defensively.

Her lips tilt up. “Don’t worry. I don’t see you like I do Reid.”

But she still doesn’t see you as an equal. It’s obvious even now—too much softness in her eyes, too much amusement, bright dancing light gleaming at you through the flutter of her lashes. As if you’re a stumbling puppy she enjoys watching over. 

Your hands are slick, heart fluttering in its cage.

“How do you see me?” You ask, a desperate rasp in your voice.

Emily’s smile flickers. She leans back in her chair, bathing herself in the warm light flowing from her desk lamp. “I don’t think you want to open up that can of worms, love. Go home,” she juts her chin to the door, “I’ve got this.”

Love.

Your head spins.

You almost don’t see it when Emily stands, her hand suddenly on your arm. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate this. I do, really. But I’m a big girl,” her smile is small, just distracting enough that you almost don’t notice her nudging you to the door, “and you shouldn’t waste away in this place. Loosen up a little. Go have fun on the weekends. It would be a shame for you to stay trapped here with me.”

Your mouth drops open, indignation on your tongue. 

“Nope,” Emily hums softly, before you can speak. “None of that. Go home and relax. Think of something other than work. Consider it an order, yeah?” She murmurs, her hand on the small of your back slowly pushing you past the threshold of your office.

You tense when you realize, a little belatedly. A fog has settled in your head, clouding what little semblance of judgment you still have intact.

“You’ve never disobeyed me an order.” Emily muses, voice like warm honey. “You’re not going to start now, are you?”

No, you’re not. But maybe, you think as she inches the door closed, you should.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco@jareavsheavn

[sttoru]

can we get a pervert toji? as nasty as possible :3

“ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ! ”

ෆ note. yehahshsbe yeeass please i love perv!toji.. :3 actually any perv!character s my weakness hehdhen i went a little wild writing this oopsie this is so detailed ohmyogddd anyways….. this post contains smut, proceed at own risk !

ෆ tags. perv!toji x female reader. somnophilia, age gap (reader early 20s, toji mid 30s), panties stealer, m! masturbation, daddy kink, implied threesome, cunnilingus, breeding (talks of pregnancy), manhandling, overstimulation, size difference, cum play, boob job, name calling (slut), cervic fucking, mating press, calls you ‘baby, little girl, doll’, uhh anyway toji’s just a big pervert who gets turned on by anything. includes compilation of seperate, small drabbles.

toji, whom you wouldn’t have guessed was a pervert of any kind at the start of your relationship. your first intimate experience with him went as expected; it was soft and slow vanilla sex. you were just getting to know each other’s preferences in bed, so for the first few times there were almost to no signs of toji’s sexual perversity. all you remember was him being the dominant one. nothing more.

but oh, there was so much more to that. it was just hidden from your view in the early stages of your relationship. you didn’t have any knowledge of what toji was doing behind your back or what his actual thoughts were during the times you’ve been intimate.

toji, whom you didn’t know wanted to get straight into business from the very beginning of your sex life; to have your wrists pinned above your head, his hips slamming into your small cunt and molding it to remember the shape of his big cock. toji needed to see your helpless body moaning, screaming, crying and drooling from underneath him. but he couldn’t achieve that just yet; he needed to take it easy on you at first—to build up the trust between you two in bed. especially because you weren’t as experienced as he was.

toji, whom could only count on his imagination to fulfil his secret desires. he does this whenever you’re staying over and are asleep in his bed next to him. the entire apartment would be dead quiet except for toji’s muffled grunts and the faint wet sounds of him jerking off underneath the blanket.

you’d be in deep slumber with your back facing him and he’ll pleasure himself at simply the sight of your body. the older man loved just how vulnerable and innocent you seemed in your sleep—leaving your figure open and accessible to his view.

the strokes on his cock would get faster each time his eyes land on the shape of your ass. toji always imagines how it’d look when he’s giving you backshots, how the fat would jiggle with each thrust or smack of his hand. he wants to see your plump ass bounce back on him and maybe even have it covered in his cum.

toji, who sometimes stops palming himself just to turn your body around to face him. that way he can have a great view of your tits and fantasise of putting his cock between them, having the pair swallow his entire length once he squeezes them together. he’s never talked to you about it, but he will one day when you’re ready to explore more kinks and stuff in the bedroom.

toji, who keeps a pair of your panties in a secret drawer. those are his special panties, aka, the ones he uses to jerk off when you’re away. he’s done the filthiest of stuff with them; he has sniffed the insides-as if the scent of your sweet cunt lingered on the fabric- he has wrapped the cloth around his thick cock and even came multiple times all over it. he always imagines it being your pussy that he spills his load in; not his fist nor the panties.

toji, whose switch gets flipped the moment you (accidentally) call him ‘daddy’ in bed. it slipped from your mouth in the heat of the moment and the older man had to stop all movements to stare down at you— the scarred corner of his lip twitching and eventually forming a full on smirk.

not only that: it was like his entire demeanour changed. toji got more arrogant, cocky, confident and especially more dominant ever since then. that slip up of yours was the reason toji decided to let go of any restraints and just fuck you like he was always meant to do: nasty, dirty and roughly.

“yeah? mhh, fuck— say that again f’me, little girl— c’mon. if ya won’t, i’ll pull out and leave y’r cunt empty, so you better hurry up.”

toji, whose libido only increases with age rather than the opposite. you’d think dating an older guy in his mid 30s would mean that he’s going to be less sexually active. well, toji was your living proof that that wasn’t the case.. at all. he gets his dick hard just by seeing a tiny bit of your cleavage, never says ‘no’ to fucking you no matter where or when and has so much stamina that he can go on until you’re passed out. sometimes you’re fucked so full of his cum to the point that it’s impossible to push it all back into you— the white liquid just keeps leaking out of your poor pussy no matter what.

it makes toji super proud whenever you’re passed out on the bed, body still twitching and quivering in your sleep whilst he finishes himself within a few more pumps. he’s proud that he still has it in him and can last way longer compared to you, who’s still young and full of energy.

“aww, poor little baby— fucked ya right to sleep, hm? c’mere.”

toji, whose secret drawer slowly piles up with raunchy pictures of you in all kinds of comprising positions. most of them are images taken from his point of view which he captures between videos. some of them are of your ass with his dick visible between your folds, others are pictures of your fucked out self— the state which toji thinks you look the most beautiful in.

his cum dripping from your cunt, your hair a mess, sweaty skin glistening under the dim light of the room, cheeks stained with your own tears; that afterglow was something toji liked to admire. that’s why keeps those memories in his drawer (but also to masturbate to them when you’re not around, of course).

toji, who’s on cloud nine whenever he gets the chance to drown your fertile womb in multiple loads of his hot cum. he was already over the moon once you told him he could hit it raw— but then you were begging him to cum in you? that man was not going to stop at just one round. that was set in stone.

the mating press is his favourite position since it allowed him to penetrate you deep— pink tip almost painfully hitting your cervix over and over again. toji also likes it because he can get to see your pretty face whenever he shoots ropes of his potent seed inside of your womb.

toji, who’d never admit it out loud, but desperately needs to see you grow a little belly full of a new life. one which you carry with you everywhere— even whilst attending your college lectures. he can’t get the image out of his head; you wearing those skintight shirts or materinity clothes that show off your swollen stomach. he’s gonna be so proud walking next to you on the streets, knowing you’re his baby mama.

“mmh, shit— gnna fuck a baby into you, yeah? haah,, wanna see you carry my child ‘round and have you be my baby mama. hmm, you’d like that? i knew you’d do, slut— i bet everyone at y’r college is gonna know who knocked you up.”

toji, who has dirty fantasies of sharing you with his agent. he’s never thought about it before, but there was one single moment that changed his mind.

shiu visited his place once to discuss a business deal and you coincidentally were over at toji’s as well. you were kind enough to serve the two men a meal while they were discussing something which you didn’t understand. you sat down and joined them anyway (much to shiu’s dismay since it was confidential information he was sharing, but toji insisted you’d stay or he won’t take on the job. he could be petty every now and then.)

toji’s mind began wandering to some dirty thoughts as he looked at you, peacefully sitting between the two men, your fingers playing with toji’s out of boredom. your lover was instantly intrigued by the idea of having you sandwiched between shiu and him—your holes stuffed with two cocks at the same time. or just you sucking toji off while shiu was pounding your tight pussy. that alone made toji’s dick twitch in his pants.

once shiu was gone, toji wasted no time and pinned you against the wall near the front door— kicking his sweatpants and underwear away whilst his calloused fingers pulled your panties to the side;

“c’mere, lemme put that cunt to use— did y’know how close i was to jus’ fuckin’ you right in front of him? to let him see how good of a girl you can be f’me? mhmm, might even call him back so he join us.”

toji, who eats pussy like an absolute madman. he’s obsessed with eating you out and making it messy—his spit and your body fluids are always all over his lips, chin and cheeks when he’s done with you. one moment you’re chilling on the couch in your shorts and in the next you’re arching your back as toji’s head was nestled between your thighs.

he’d moan and grunt against you, his voice creating vibrations against your cunt which only adds to the pleasure that his mouth and tongue were giving you. toji’s nose would rub against your wet folds, his big hands holding your thighs apart while his tongue was lapping up all that it could. he definitely sniffs your pussy as well from time to time;

“mmm— aw, gonna cum already? do it, wanna taste you so bad, wanna see you cum all over my tongue. c’mon, you can do it—mhmmm, yes you can. do it for me, doll. cum for daddy. give it to him.”

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SURVIVAL. featuring sniper mask.

↻ sniper mask is a good man… right?

tags : outdoor sex, misogyny, manipulation, creampie, spanking, fucking to survive (not really but he says it is), wall sex, orgasm delay, slight mask kink, god complex!sniper mask, implied dubcon // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sighs and screams and sobs all over the place. i didn’t actually get down to watching high rise invasion until recently and now i suddenly need sniper mask everywhere and anywhere all at once. poor guy is SURROUNDED by women who he can’t have (and i could change that :p) i know we aren’t quite done with this event yet but i want to thank everyone for all the support i’ve received!! follower numbers have soared and i feel more motivation than ever <3 keep liking n reblogging to help a girl out, and enjoy this one !! i love you all and here’s to almost 800 followers !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

ever heard of the saying ‘boys will be boys’? it’s massively toxic, and mostly used to excuse the inappropriate actions of boys (or more predominantly, men), especially in situations where said boy (or man) is deemed respectable for the most part. 

for the most part, SNIPER MASK is a respectable man. of all the girls he’s come across in this realm, he has made it his duty to protect them because he knows that as a man, it is up to him to ensure women’s safety. he may even call himself a feminist, but that may be a step too far. 

that’s because what sniper mask is doing now is very very far from what anyone would call feminism. in fact, he’s acting in accordance to the famed statement, ‘boys will be boys’, except he considers himself a man. and as a man, he has a right to feel manly urges. 

lying to a vulnerable girl such as yourself isn’t very respectable of him, but it’s been ages since he’s had a good fuck, and he can’t deny himself after everything he’s done for all the other ditzs in this realm. he’ll apologise after, he promises, but for now, he can only focus on the way your cunt has him in a death grip. 

“m-mr. mask…” you’re pathetic. he told you that you needed to do this to practise building stamina for future disputes, knowing full well that his stamina is fine, and you won’t be getting involved in combat if he had anything to do with it. you’re just such an airhead, so dainty and fragile and easily scared by the stupidest things, and it would pain him to leave you all alone by yourself. 

“i know, sweetheart, but we need to do this. it’s necessary to ensure your and my survival.” it absolutely isn’t, but he’s telling you that to keep himself warm and snug inside your cunt. he has you pressed up against the wall of one of the abandoned high rises, far away enough from the rest of the players to make sure he doesn’t get caught. 

your eyes flicker into the back of your head as your hands brace against the wall, bare nipples pressed into the brick through your torn shirt. “s-shit, ‘m gonna cum—“

sniper’s hands grip onto your hips hard, gloved fingers staining your flesh with fresh bruises as he pulls you back on his length repeatedly. “can’t have you cummin’ yet, angel. you have to hold it. stamina, remember?”

your eyes widen as you remember what he said. you have to hold out for as long as possible. do as he says because he’s a mask and you’re just a human, and a weak one at that. his experience surpasses yours tenfold, so he knows what’s best for your survival, right? 

so you hold it for him, cunt clenching down tightly and hands forming into fists as you squeeze your eyes shut. he isn’t making it very easy for you; his blunt cockhead hits your cervix head on with every thrust, and his hands periodically crawl around your torso to play with your nipples. to add on to the sensations, it’s beginning to get a little windy out, and the cool breeze brushes against your agitated clit, causing small streams of wetness to spurt from your depths with every thrust. 

you want to give up. you wish you could just give up on this whole stamina building exercise and let the masks kill you, but sniper’s cock feels so good, and if he doesn’t let you cum soon, you might lose what little brain cells you have left. 

“i know you want it, doll, but y’gonna have to be patient, okay?” his deep voice rattles through his mask. “gotta hold out f’me. gonna make you a great fighter, okay?”

“y-yes sir,” you whimper, gasping when his gloved hand comes down on your ass with a slap! 

“good girl. turn around f’me.” he unsheathes his cock and watches you struggle to turn around on shaky legs, back now pressed to the wall and thighs slightly parted as your tits spill out of your shirt. you look like a mess, eyelids drooping and lips parted gently, and he wonders why oh why you haven’t caught onto his scheme yet. 

you, on the other hand, are confused for different reasons. you can’t even see his face, for crying out loud, so why do you want him to keep fucking you so bad? thoughts of stamina building or whatever fly right out of the window as he presses your waist back up against the wall, pulling your leg around his waist before lining his tip up with your hole. 

“you can cum for me this time, doll. i think it’s about time you felt some real pleasure.” there he goes again, helping out poor little girls like you down on their luck. 

he even has the audacity to smile to himself under his mask as he watches you convulse from orgasm, your tiny hands squeezing his biceps and eyes rolling into the back of your head lewdly. he follows not too long after, his grunts as shallow as his thrusts as he spurts rope after rope into your twitching cunt. 

does he feel bad for cumming inside? not really. girls like you are only good for one thing in a place like this; to be good, compliant little cumdumps for respectable, hardworking men like himself. 

PREVIOUS : LUCKY GIRL ft. daichi sawamura NEXT : SWEET TALK ft. choso

liked that? check out the WE’RE SO BACK main masterlist.

© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Omg! Love your biggest fan!! Are you still updating it? Like, where the world finds out it's them!? Can you imagine the chaos!!🙊

I don't think the world could find out with absolute certainty, there will just be rumours for the rest of their lives. It would be too damaging for their careers, family and probably their relationship too. But...there can be a little chaos.

Your Biggest Fan {3} || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, anal, angst WC: 2.4k One || Two || SMAU || Three

The Matriarch: We need to talk. Bring Lando.

The text left you cold inside and it was quickly followed with a dinner reservation at the yacht club. It had been two weeks since you deleted the Only Fans account. You had panicked when a picture of some unknown sub-reddit user showed up on your FYP, tagging Lando in it first and then you. You hadn't thought about how deleting it would come across to the people who had seen it.

"Relax, our faces were never seen," Lando assured you as he read the text message from your mother. "It's just, what's that word lawyers use?”

"Objection?"

"No," he snorted. "Heresy, herosy...hearsay, that's the one. The rumours will blow over, they always do.”

“Except these aren’t rumours, that was actually us.” You paced the room until he grew dizzy watching you and caught you around the waist, pulling you onto the couch with him. You squeaked as you fell back but his strong hands steadied you into his lap, and his beard tickled your neck.

“You’re stressing and I know just how to get you to relax.” The gravel in his voice and the hard length pressing against your ass had you wriggling closer and you leaned back so he could reach your lips. 

“Come on then, big boy,” you murmured against his lips as you dragged his hands down your body and between your thighs. “Show me what these magic hands can do.”

He chuckled darkly in your ear and ran his fingers over the seam of your jeans, pressing the material over your clit. “My fingers, my tongue, my dick. It’s all magic, babygirl.”

You used Lando as an escape, the orgasms he gave you freeing you from the compulsive thoughts that plagued you. He grounded you when he swept you off your feet, hooking them around his waist as he ground into you against the hallway wall. Impatient for more than just your kiss, he dropped to his knees and dragged your jeans down your legs. By the time you made it to the bed your legs were trembling and Lando’s chin glistened with the evidence of your orgasm. 

“Still stressing, love?” he teased as he pushed your knees back to your chest and paused a moment just to feast on the sight of your pussy begging for him. 

“Like you would not believe,” you giggled, “but you’re getting there.”

He curled two fingers into your cunt and pumped them a few times until they were coated in your juices. “I think this will definitely take your mind off things,” he rasped as he teased your ring, gently probing you one finger at a time. “You gonna be a good girl for daddy?”

“Mhmmm,” you moaned as your tight muscle relaxed around his thick fingers. “Fuck that feels so good.”

“Just you wait,” he chuckled before reaching into the bedside drawer. The squirt of the bottle made you jump and the cold lube ran down your slit and over your ass, making you shiver at the change in temperature. “I’ll warm you up, babygirl.”

Lando ran his cock through the gel, his shaft teasing your folds until the tip rolled over your clit and you moaned at the sensation. “Haven’t even put it in you yet.”

You were going to tell him to hurry up when he pulled back and lined himself up with your ass. Slow, shallow rocks of his hips pushed the head against you, the swollen tip slowly spreading you more with each little thrust and you sighed at the heavenly throb beating in your core.

“More,” you begged as the thickest part of him pushed through the resistance and he froze. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, babygirl, just take it slow. I’m still going to fuck you real good.”

His thumb circled your clit as he kept easing himself deeper, pulling back slightly before driving forward. Your breath lodged in your throat when your bodies met, his hips hitting your ass, and his fingers gripped your thighs tight enough to leave bruises while he bit his lip.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Feel fucking amazing,” he moaned. 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the fullness of having him seated inside you but they quickly opened as he retreated from you almost completely before pumping his hips forward. “Holy fuck,” you cried as he dragged his cock along your tight walls, the sensation unlike anything your toys had given you. It was pure pleasure. “Harder, daddy, I can take it, please.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as he couldn’t think clearly enough to remember to be gentle. He had the same need you did and he was happy to give you everything you asked for. “Take it, babygirl, you take my cock so well. Look at it stretching your hole, feels good, don’t it?”

You could only moan incoherent answers as liquid fire ignited on your skin, a feverish flush spreading from curled toes to ears that were ringing. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the pressure grew and Lando grunted as your walls tightened even more. You didn’t think you could peak any higher until two fingers curled into your cunt and found your g-spot too.

A scream tore from your throat as your body arched up beyond your control. You were a puppet and he was the puppetmaster playing with you. 

“Keep coming, keep coming,” Lando growled as his brows pinched together in concentration. “Want to feel you rain all over me, babygirl.”

His wrist worked his fingers over the magic spot and your cries fell silent as your mind shut down. The lightning that splintered your vision short circuited your brain and your breath shuddered with each spurt that gushed from your cunt.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he surrendered himself to his own release, filling your ass with his cream. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lando drove his McLaren to the yacht club that even he couldn’t get a membership for. Even in Monaco his McLaren stood out among the supercars but in the valet parking at the club it was just like every other car there. He hadn’t quite grasped exactly what being an heiress meant until that moment. It was one thing for him to never worry about affording a spontaneous holiday to a luxury island but he was just starting to realise your parents likely just bought the island.

For once, he felt a little out of place. He wished he could grab his hoodie from the car but there was a strict dress policy so he had donned a suit he usually saved for awards or galas.

"Did we drop you on your head, young lady?" your mother said the second you stepped into the private dining room, a ringed finger pointing to the two empty seats. "Only Fans, really?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," you lied as you sat down, Lando pushing your chair in before taking his seat. "You shouldn't believe the rumours."

"You think I don't know what your birthmark looks like? I gave birth to you." She turned her glare to Lando. "And you, how dare you put my daughter in that position."

He bit his lip and glanced down while you had to hide your laugh behind your hand. "Which position was that, mother? There has been quite a few."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "I should have sent you to Saint Katherine's Boarding School when I had the chance."

"Probably, but just imagine what trouble I could have had with a priest." You laughed as Lando pinched your thigh under the table. Reaching over to his thigh, you traced the inside seam of his trousers higher until he snapped his legs together and your hand was pinned between them.

"Enough, your little rebellious streak is over. You've had your fun but you need to stop now," she snapped. "Your father wants you in Switzerland where he can keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, you can't tell me what to do."

"I can if you want to keep a roof over your head, or have you suddenly got a job to cover your expenses for life in the real world?" You shrugged nonchalantly while Lando took a sip of his drink, but she continued. "Or will your boyfriend be happy to let you drain his bank accounts?"

Lando placed his water back on the table and draped his arm over the back of your chair, his fingers teasing the bare skin in your shoulder. He had been tempted to keep you tied to his bed when he saw the gown you wore, you had looked absolutely divine he wanted to drown in you. "I'm happy to provide for her," he admitted honestly. “It would bring me great pleasure.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you grinned wickedly at his double entendre. “I’m sure my face, or at least my last name, could make enough on Only Fans to cover our bills.”

Your mother’s face dropped and she fidgeted with the delicate gold chain your father bought her. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t know. You kind of started that anyway,” you shrugged. “How did you find out anyway?”

“It is our business to know what is happening in this family, in case of damage control. When those photos came across my desk…I have never felt so embarrassed.”

You cringed at the idea of her seeing even the most tame stills that could have possibly been taken and you covered your heated face in your hands. “Tell me about it.”

“Good, at least you can feel some kind of remorse. That gives me hope you’re not completely ruined beyond repair.”

You rolled your eyes as that ‘remorse’ quickly evaporated. If only she knew how ruined you were only hours ago when Lando was buried balls deep in your ass. You should have recorded it for all time's sake. “I guess I am fixable, yippy, so can we go now?”

“No,” she said as she reached under the table and pulled out a stack of documents. “I need you to sign these.”

You took the papers and saw it was an amendment to your trust fund. “What’s this?”

“That is your future and it is for you to decide what you do with it.” She took a sip of her favourite Bordeaux wine before continuing, the same tactics she used to fill you with dread when you were growing up. “Sign the documents and your trust fund and inheritance remain yours, but-”

“Here we go, stipulations,” you groaned. “Go on, what are they now?”

“Three rules. One, if a single new nude photo comes across my desk, then this gets burned. You will have nothing. Do you understand that? The clubs, the cars, the plane, the yacht, the apartment. Gone.”

You sighed and gave her a small nod as you reached into your handbag for a pen. “Yes, mother.”

“Two. No nude videos, private or otherwise. No streaming on Only Fans or any other porn site.” 

You didn’t correct her on the fact it wasn’t strictly a porn site. That probably wouldn’t go down very well so you kept your lips shut and nodded as you opened the cap off your fountain pen.

“I understand, no fun on camera.”

“This isn’t a joke,” she sniped.

“I know, I was serious,” you huffed as you reached for the dotted line. 

The nib rested on the thick paper, the cerulean ink staining the fibres as you started to sign your life away. “Three. You end this relationship now.”

The cursive lettering shot off the page as you tore your hand back. “No.”

“It is non-negotiable.”

You snapped the cap back on and shoved the pen in your bag. “Exactly, I am not signing that.”

“Don’t throw your life away for a boy, especially one that wants to treat you so…revoltingly. You are degrading yourself, honey.”

Lando’s hand had slipped away from your shoulders and you caught it before he could bury it in his pockets. “Don’t listen to her, I don’t.”

“And look where you are, hmm.”

“I could agree to everything else, but not that. I love him more than the clubs, the cars, the plane, more than anything you can offer me.” You rose from the table with your handbag, throwing a handful of cash on the table knowing it would piss her off. She loved to flash her unlimited black card.

Lacing your fingers with Lando’s, you smiled at him before sparing one last look at your mother’s pained face. “Just so you know, it wasn’t his idea. I was degrading myself way before he subscribed to my channel.”

“Is that supposed to endear me to him? Knowing that you were acting like a whore and he still decided to date you.”

“That’s enough. You don’t talk to her that way, it doesn’t matter how you are related,” Lando snapped as he tucked you into his side. “Come on, love, let’s go home. I’ll take care of you.”

“Here, you can keep it all.” You plucked your keyring out of the bag as you passed your mother’s seat where she remained frozen. She made no move to take the key to the apartment and the car that had been bought with your trust fund so you placed it on the empty setting where your father should have been. “Maybe one day I can lose the family name too.”

Lando grinned at the idea of replacing it with his. “How does Norris sound?”

You tested the name on your tongue as if you hadn’t already imagined spending the rest of your lives together. He was your forever person, you had known that for a long while. With a skip in your step you left the private dining room and all but raced out of the club. You tugged your hair out of the styled updo before tugging Lando’s tie off and capturing his lips while you waited for his car to arrive.

You were breathless and needy when you finally broke apart, the valet drivers looking away with pink cheeks. “Y/N Norris,” you hummed as you unbuttoned his top three buttons and bared some of his tanned chest. “I like it, big boy.”

His head dipped close to your ear as he growled quietly. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now. I would very much like to bend you over the hood of my car and fuck you when you say that.”

“What? Big boy?” you teased, giggling when he shook his head. “I love you, perv.”

“Love you too, babygirl.” He took his car key from the man who had climbed out and slapped your ass with a grin. “Now get in the car before I get us arrested.”

[berrryparfait]

.☘︎ ݁˖ you belong with me

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: zayne, caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier x fem!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: he's in an emotionally-abusive relationship with his girlfriend. what a waste—you're the one he truly has feelings for. 「leave her. you deserve better.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: angst, micro-cheating (LI with reader), mentions of emotional abuse and cheating (girlfriend on LI), forbidden love, pining

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: what a shame – lizzy mcalpine, you belong with me – taylor swift

✧ a/n: don't worry guys, they'll find their happy endings eventually <3 lmk if you'd like a full-length !!

ZAYNE never speaks about her much. But you know she’s cheating on him. You’ve seen it yourself, the way she mysteriously disappears with Dr. Hemmings in the middle of the day. It kills him inside, and you ache for him. Why does he choose to endure such unfaithfulness—such disrespect? But you know it has to be more complicated than that. He’s an earnest man, one who would avoid hurting those around him at all costs, even if that cost is his heart. You find solace in the fact that he has a friend in you, someone he knows he can rely on. “What are you doing, Zayne?” you ask him one night while on break. “You know they've been sneaking around.” He exhales slowly, breath fogging in the cold winter air. “It’s not that simple. She needs me.” Poor Zayne. Always so empathetic, always so forgiving. You hate it. “Your mind’s been twisted into thinking that…” He looks away then, almost afraid to meet your gaze. “I know. Just…give me some time, okay?” You inch closer to him, your arm brushing against his. “Don’t make this about me.” The thought of him breaking up with her just because you told him to rubs you the wrong way, and you cringe. He stares at you then, intense and grounding. “You know it’s about you.”

CALEB isn’t the type to take anything too seriously—though you really wish he would. He brushes her “midnight escapades” off as “meetings with friends”, though his car’s dashcam tells a different story. You’ve always been his closest friend, his only childhood friend. Maybe he doesn’t want you to worry. Or maybe he’s trying so desperately to convince himself that there’s nothing to worry about. The very first time, she’d come back to his college dorm drunk and smelling of another man’s cologne, and he hid in the bathroom throwing up all night. “She just likes to have fun, Pips,” he tells you, and the certainty in his voice enrages you. How could a person take advantage of someone who loves them like that? “She’s cheating on you. Leave her, Caleb.” He scoffs at your words and tries to act nonchalant about the heaviness of truth settling over him. Tension punctuates your phone call, crackling and alive. He’s surprisingly silent now, so different from his usual, carefree self. What has she done to him? “I don’t have anyone, Pips. I’d be all alone here.” Your eyes well with tears, and you hate that you can’t reach for him right now. Your palms hurt from the emptiness. “You have me.” You both sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the night, phones pressed flat to your cheeks.

RAFAYEL will never admit when he’s hurt. It just isn’t in his nature to be outwardly vulnerable like that, except maybe with you. He claims that it’s just a casual relationship—one he’ll eventually move on from. But you can tell by the way he sighs and laments that he has feelings for her. It’s also clear as day that she’s stringing him along, using him for temporary pleasure and getting off on the fact that he’s deeper in than she is. She tosses him aside and stands him up almost every chance she gets, and your stomach twists each time he says he doesn’t care. You can’t decide which is worse; the fact that he’s in love with her or the way he pretends not to be. “You like her, Raf. Admit it to yourself.” He ignores you, mildly annoyed. “Nah. I’m just passing the time.” A few awkward seconds pass. “...Well, I think you deserve better, for what it’s worth.” He raises an eyebrow at you, his defiance slipping. “Maybe if better landed on my doorstep tomorrow, I’d chase the opportunity.” His words sting, but you know he doesn’t mean it like that. He could never hurt you, not on purpose. Sometimes you even wonder if the only reason he’s never tried anything with you is to save you both from unnecessary pain. “Sorry. I’m working it out,” he whispers, averting his gaze. You manage a small smile and nod. “I know.”

SYLUS is naturally dominant. Intimidating. He’s never been one to cower from a fight or bow to others—which is why it hurts you all the more that he’s stuck in a relationship with a woman who treats him like shit. The way he makes excuses for her. Defends her. Puts up with her repeated offences—all for absolutely nothing in return. He’s not docile around her, but you can tell she’s really done a number on him. She’s turned him into more of a begrudging guard dog than a boyfriend, and it destroys you to see him like this, a mere semblance of his past self. “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” Your words shock him, though he’s been worn out beyond emotion. That something between you has grown palpable, tangible, and you know he feels it too. “I need you to understand, Kitten.” He sounds pained, damaged. Exhausted. “I know it’s been hard for you. You have no idea…” You stare at the ground as hot, pathetic tears threaten to spill. He angles your face up by the chin to meet his, a look of promise and hope stealing his otherwise grave expression. “Wait for me. I’ll find a way out of this mess.”

XAVIER is quiet, reserved—his sentences saved for those smart enough to listen. Now, even those precious sentences have become a rarity. He doesn’t laugh anymore, those adorable crinkles in the corners of his eyes gone from existence. She manipulates him, treats him like a little puppy who would do anything for her—and knowing him, he would. Though you know it isn’t his fault, you sometimes wonder why he can’t just fucking leave. Why does he feel the need to stay by her side, to love her? It’s an act of betrayal in itself, against his own heart. He stormed out of his house once, clearly frazzled and trying as best as he can to reel his emotions in. “What happened this time?” He shuts the passenger door and stares straight ahead. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.” You take your hands off the wheel and spin around to face him. “You can talk to me, Xavier. I’m always here for you.” His misty blue eyes meet yours, and the air stills for a moment. “Yeah… You are. I’m glad I have you.” And though your heart squeezes painfully, hope fills you warm and fuzzy.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》