#(pounding on the table) let him play doctor sometimes he needs to feel useful

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 15 thoughts

i'm back! i was got halfway through the episode yesterday when a storm knocked the power and the internet off so i was sadly unable to finish the ep OR post my thoughts :( but i finished it now!!!

so this episode was about "voodoo" and you have maybe been able to tell from my previous posts, but i love studying religions and belief systems. so honestly i was pretty frightened this episode was going to be all "ahhh look how scary this belief we don't understand is!" and like. haitian vodou has been one of THE biggest victims of this line of thinking. so i was pleased that the real villain of the episode was a white man abusing his power.

and yes, they did make vodou seem ~spooky~ but: i'm pleased the bad guy was a real bad dude and not a caricature of what americans think a scary evil priest would look like.

so let's jump in!

we start the episode with hearing a baby crying. which is never a good way to begin, as far as i am concerned. just not for me.

it's a wife and a husband and this husband seems evil. he snaps at his wife and from his first line i was torn between "this man is genuinely an abusive monster" or "this man is being brainwashed" and thankfully it was the brainwashing route

he screams at his wife and child until the both cry and then he sees his breakfast turn to worms.

worms for breakfast... might sound wild to you, but for a bird, that's just an ordinary day.

he then gets in his car and crashes into a tree and we see some sort of sign on the tree he crashes into....... and this is the SECOND fellow that has died working at this refugee camp....

roadtrip with our agents to north carolina!!!!

(i made a post when i was like halfway through s1 about all the roadtrips these 2 go on and how they allowed them to get to know each other, and a few people were like "um they take planes?", but my POINT ON THE BONDING STANDS and also here is evidence of a REAL road trip)

they step out and both of their trench coats are billowing in the wind. a beautiful sight.

we're learning about what has been going on at this refugee camp they are visiting, where the soldiers have been dropping like flies... they mention that there was a riot recently, and a little boy killed, and i'm thinking, maybe that kind of trauma can lead a person to crash a car or harm themselves? i realize i sound like scully as i type that!!! a real skeptic!!! but it seems plausible.

they visit the home of the new widow and she's like "well that symbol on the tree was ALSO there when the first guy died... and get this... it was on this shell my baby found!" which led to my (joking) theory that it was the baby that was doing the killing... baby witchcraft is likely super effective, compounded by their innocence to create a super critical hit... alas, this theory had no backing

but evil babies aside, she's really freaked out because her late husband's friend grew up in new orleans and says that this is the type of voodoo he saw down there, so... interesting

they go into the refugee camp to ask around, and someone grabs scully, when a boy intervenes and tells the dude who grabbed her to get lost in french and i was SO proud because i knew what he was saying... like yeah i guess my duolingo IS paying off...

(all he said was "vas-tu" but hey! i was still proud)

the child then tries to smooth talk them into buying a good luck charm and mulder buys it which had me LAUGHING... like truly he sees a child and he will support them financially.

(i thought perhaps that the good luck charm would open up and be the symbol we earlier associated with destruction and make them a target but i was wrong!!! it just was a genuine ward against evil. thank u little boy named chester)

one of the military men says that "voodoo caused a riot" and as far as riot causes go i think that is not in the top 10 most common... i'm willing to guess that perhaps it is the awful treatment people in a refugee camp receive... but sure. blame a belief system! (/s)

scully goes to look at the body of the first man that died and JUMPSCARE! his body has been replaced in the morgue with some kind of dog? it looked like a hyena to me, which raised the question: where do you source a hyena in north carolina? no answers were provided

our agents visit the man who is blamed for starting the riot- who is named bauvais, what a wonderful name that is- and he says that the symbol they found was that of the loco-miroir, a crossroads between two worlds that shows the true self. so i'm thinking, perhaps if that is the case, these men that died were being tormented because of the awful things they did to the refugees?

he also describes the dog creature in the morgue as "a warning" which hm. i mean. could be.

scully is doing some driving now, which i noted because it was unusual, and she almost hits someone! (is this why she doesn't normally drive?)

i jest, of course, because who is in the road but... the dude who we earlier saw crash into a tree? the dude whose wife and baby we visited who were mourning his loss? this man? so... he isn't dead?? this part of my notes had many question marks

i guess i assumed that they... you know... had triple checked that he was really dead...

they check his blood and there is some poison in there that scully says is in pufferfish, which are eaten in japan, and i'm like queen i love you so bad, i love that you can look at a chemical and know what fish it comes from, and where in the world they eat that fish....... truly my most beloved

it appears that this man who is newly back from the dead/never dead at all was in a zombie-like state. and mulder is going on about how there are rumors of haitian zombies- which i had heard before, but don't recall anything about- and he is basically being a Nerd

(they're both nerds. i love people who know random Stuff. it's actually a one-way ticket to my heart. no lie!)

((but as for the accuracy of their belief system, i have a feeling it is truly more complex than just the western notion of zombies- i never got to dive into african and diaspora religions in class, so fact-checking this episode is an excellent excuse for me to jump down a rabbit hole))

okay so new proposed theory: take the pufferfish poison... fake a death... but why?

they visit the graveyard to go and find the body of the first man who passed away- but a fellow who watches the graveyard notes that the body snatchers got there first. THE BODY SNATCHERS? did we skip a few centuries back? he says "the voodoo types are buying" which. um. okay.

he ends this by calling the theft of remains "uncool" and for sure. i'd have to agree with that assessment.

but in the distance we see the little boy from earlier- chester- digging about! could HE be the body snatcher? well, mulder is gonna find out!

they chase him down only to find he has a bag of a ton of frogs LMAOOO they had to get those paid frog actors from the last episode in again somehow

so they bring this child- who i think has sadly lost all of his frogs at this point- back to get some food, and this is where i lost all power and was forced to wait a whole day to learned what happened next!

but i picked up here today. this episode was giving me flashbacks to the episode eve from s1. because these two are gonna find a youth and get them a meal. and i appreciate that about them.

anyway, he says he just sneaks out and back into the camp somehow. chester says he sells frogs to bauvais. we love a little guy who is always hustling.

he ate all of his food and mulder gives him more money to go get some more and it is soooo funny to me how mulder interacts with children. it's actually deeply sweet. he is gonna make some random kid on his case smile no matter what.

(oh man. this is the type of guy who is gonna be all "come on, sport, let's go toss the ball around", huh? if he weren't too busy going about chasing aliens and almost dying, i'd say that man would make a decent father)

scully's still in logic mode, saying maybe it was the frogs who made the poison. and yeah, some frogs do in fact make poison, but i'm not sure if north carolina is where you're gonna find em. but i guess there are evil creatures in the south like pythons and black widows so we can't rule it out?

mulder leaves scully in charge of watching chester while he go sees who has been following him. a very perceptive guy. sometimes.

oh!!! it's a fellow we've seen before!! he's a private, and he was friends with the deceased, and he was the one who told the now widow about the voodoo rituals he grew up with. and he refuses to talk with chester around so they have him wait in the car

now, we have dealt with evil children on this show before, but this little dude is not giving evil vibes to me. i find him endearing. which perhaps is what the writers WANT me to think... but no. turns out he was just a nice little dude lmao.

so the private who grew up in louisiana and is now stalking the agents explains that bauvais promised the colonel who is watching over the camp that his men would drop one by one unless they are returned to haiti. he also mentioned that colonel increased "the beatings"

HUH????? he increased them? as in there were some going on before, and now there are more????

scully asks why no one has filed a complaint, and he says "none of us feel good about it, ma'am, but we don't join the marines to feel good" okay but that isn't an answer... like you know that isn't an answer... right??

he's going on about a woman back home dying before her wedding night and the doctors finding snakes in her stomach and scully is like well that sounds fake as hell. and he counters with NUH-UH IT WAS MY FIANCE. ooooh scully was gagged. like what do you even say to that. (zuko voice) "that's rough, buddy"

NOOOO chester broke free from the car.... this is always a risk when leaving children to their own devices. it does make him seem more suspicious, and i was ROOTING for him!!! mulder chases him down because remember, mulder is a track star

and then i think, is this the scene where he sees a cat that has crossed my dash before? yes, it is! a meowing is heard as soon as i wrote those words in my notes. so my hypothesis is that the boy turned into the cat. because he said he gets in and out of the camp as he pleases! and what creature could do that with greater ease than a cat?

(by the end of this episode, my theory is challenged. but it's still nice to imagine)

the colonel is being a man baby... who is shocked? it sure isn't me!!! he's furious to hear about the body being gone, and says "what kind of barbaric religion would desecrate a grave?" to which i gesture vaguely to all cases of a body being moved after being buried, which we usually understand as the work of individuals and not place the blame on entire belief systems... but i got the subtext. he's a bigot.

scully asks him about the beating allegations and he says no way, if anyone is being beaten its actually my men. and then they leave him to eat his breakfast. they clearly do not believe what he had to say

at this point i had flashbacks to the first breakfast scene we saw, and thought that it was going to turn into bugs- but it didn't! instead his food started BLEEDING. gross

so they're going back in the car to go to the motel and scully turns the key and something cuts her hand?!? it looked at first like barbed wire, but then we see it's some kind of thorny branch. conspicuously placed in their vehicle!

"let me see that", says mulder, to whom she replies "oh it's nothing", and he looks visibly annoyed at not being allowed to investigate her little hand cut. let him doctor you sometimes, scully, he needs to feel useful. also you're gonna get blood on the wheel!!!!

at this point i'm freaking out, because what kind of plant was that?! what if it's poison? what if it's the poison that is also in pufferfish and frogs and makes you see stuff?

they speed off and we see... their car had the mark beneath it!!! the mark from earlier which is associated with destruction!!!!!!

cutscene to the colonel beating bauvais. no one is shocked. but it is still a sad sight. he's asking him how he does the magic.

mulder opens the door to his room and a ten of diamonds falls out. he seems to know what this means, even though i do not, and goes to route 10, where he meets...?

DEEP THROAT 2.0?? in north carolina??? mulder says he thought their last meeting would have been their final- remember, when he told mulder to stop chasing down the people involved with scully's kidnapping, and then shot a guy right in front of him, then came back to say the bad guys were gonna search his house- remember that? seemed pretty final to me as well. but clearly not

he says that their search is faltering, and that in 24 hours everyone but the military will be denied access to the camp. mulder is pissed, and is asking why the refugees are being held up, and why are they being beaten, and he says that "those people are innocent civilians, some people in congress might have a problem with that". deep throat 2.0 points out that by the time congress makes an investigation committee, their tracks will be covered, which rings true. but damn, mulder believing- or wanting to believe- that the government will helps people says so much about his character.

so basically deep throat 2.0 shows up to antagonize him for not being on the right track and then leaves. much like deep throat 1.0.

we see scully back at the motel, and her hand is covered in spots and blood, and i wrote a "NOOOOOOO" in my notes because i was distressed!!!!

she knocks on what she thinks is mulder's door- it's door 7, i thought he was in 10?- and the door is unlocked, so she just walks in. but she hears water running, like a shower/bath, so she just talks to mulder through the door LMAOOOO i thought that was so sweet. very married behavior. talking to the husband (platonic or romantic or a secret third thing) while he showers. the private they spoke to went AWOL! isn't that interesting, mulder?

mulder...? there's bloody water pouring in beneath the door?

she busts it open, probably thinking the worst, and it's the louisiana private from before laying dead in the bathtub while water runs. which is definitely not a great thing, but at least it wasn't mulder dying in there. who, conveniently, makes an entrance, holding our first zombie man at gunpoint!!! and zombie man was holding a dagger!!! things are not looking good for him!!!

they take him in for questioning but honestly i was still worried about her hand at this point. like is anyone gonna tend to it.

we learn that... BAUVAIS IS DEAD? allegedly at his own hand. but given that we saw the colonel beating him... let's just say i do not believe it

scully's grasping her forehead, and mulder is asking what's wrong, and she's saying "i'm fine, it's just a headache", and here i made a note to psychoanalyze the fact that the doctor is unwilling to doctor herself. and i WILL have lots to say on that at a later date.

so the newly-dead-in-the-bathtub private gave his friend's wife something to give to the agents if anything happened to him. and they open it up, and it's a photo of the colonel WITH bauvais. so clearly they knew each other. but how? it really isn't answered tbh

they sneak into his office. nice. and they find CHICKEN FEET in his drawers, on top of papers from the dead privates, who had filed complaints against him. so they DID try to make things right and not just blindly follow orders like the one dude implied!

and then mulder opens a chest, and he holds up some dog tags...

but freeze! a soldier tries to stop them. he only gives up when they show that the dog tags belong to the dead privates, and that the BONES of the very first man are sitting in the chest. BONES??? i did not see that one coming. he KEPT THEM??? and he tried to play it off like someone else did it??? oh colonel you are a sick and twisted individual

and now the colonel is back at bauvais' grave, digging it up, chanting haitian creole and holding a knife. um. not great.

the agents roll up to the scene and scully is hiding her face. "what is it, scully?" he asks; she deflects with an "i'm alright". he astutely responds with a "you don't look alright", at which point i am cheering because YEAHHHH WHUMP NATION. HERE WE ARE!!!! MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!

(i mean, it's bad timing, with a wild colonel they need to go catch, but still. when you get a trope you like, you hold it dear. she tells him to go get the colonel and she'll stay in the car)

i thought that perhaps she was hiding her face because she was seeing things, and then she starts... coughing up blood?? and i'm horrified and wondering if this is real or another trick of the poison, and then her hand starts pouring water and a whole dude comes out of it, at which case i realize we are in hallucination town

and back in the graveyard, the colonel is speaking creole in a demon voice, and he moves his hand and mulder is like... stabbed?? or something??? maybe not with a knife but like psychically? he's down for the count

back to scully cam, the man who had emerged from her hand is speaking in a demon creole as well, so she grabs the good luck charm from chester and BAM! everything clears. shoutout to chester for being a real one. i noted that i knew he was a cat, and just as i typed that, a black kitty showed up on top of the car!!!!!!!!

so, now free from the clutches of evil, she runs out to get mulder, who has been lying in the graveyard.

and the FIRST THING this man says is "you're okay?"

AHHHHHH (inconsolable screaming for a really long time)

mulder, who was laying in a graveyard face down with either a real or a psychic stab wound, and after having witnessed some demon fuckery- immediately his mind goes to making sure that she was okay. oh that terrible, terrible need to protect kicking in, as natural and as undeniable to him as breathing. these two are so intertwined it's sickening. aughhhh i am tearing up typing this. what have they turned me into....

so it appears colonel wharton has been killed by the spirit of bauvais, at least according to what the viewer sees and also mulder's report, so cosmic revenge has been served. scully didn't see all this go down, however, so she just sees him in his coffin and is like ???? but again mulder was face down in the dirt so. she's probably thinking, well, who knows what actually happened

but, direct action worked: the refugees are now being repatriated! the agents ask to see the list of people who are returning and are confused because chester isn't on there. and the soldier says, oh right, that poor boy, he died in the riot a while back

HUH??????? he wasn't really there the whole time? he was a benevolent spirit who ate the french fries they bought him and maybe appeared as a cat???

i love that for him. and i'm also deeply sad to learn that he was dead the whole time. but i'm happy that he is getting to spend the afterlife hustling people and digging for frogs.

(of course, that is, if you believe the mulder sort of theory..... now, if you're scully, you're probably thinking, huh, weird that little boy lied about his name... but then again, after her paranormal nurse experience, i'm not sure she's entirely convinced that positive spirits aren't out and about. there has to be a tiiiiny part of her that holds out hope, even if it's scary)

so, the episode ends with the guy who earlier proclaimed body snatching uncool burying the colonel. and we see that- surprise- he wasn't actually dead! he was somehow also put into a zombie-like state, and is screaming as he is buried alive. ah, justice has been delivered.

overall, i liked this episode! the approach towards handling haitian vodou could definitely have been better and less exoticised, but frankly i was expecting a lot worse. i thought it was an interesting premise, i liked little chester, and there are some ambiguities- like, how did the colonel know bauvais? what put them in the zombie state? was it poison from the thorns that caused the hallucinations? if so, why would the good luck charm clear it? but they were ambiguous enough to just leave me feeling curious, rather than entirely stumped like the last episode did. because i'm still trying to put the pieces in place with that one. i was really thinking it over in the shower today.

anyway, loved their interactions this episode- loved worried mulder, loved trying to play it cool and strong scully, loved her thinking it was his room and waltzing in and reporting while he showered, loved freshly stabbed man asking if she was okay, loved mulder meeting another child and saying i'm gonna make this kid smile, loved him looking pissed when she wouldn't show him the cut on her hand, loved a corrupt military official being buried alive. a lot to enjoy here.

[mychlapci]

bit of a set of weirder headcanons but i think the autobots are fucking freaks when it comes to sex. like the cons are all rough and tough with each other but kinky interfacing comes with a level of trust in your partner that only the autobots have with each other

i feel like public interfacing is relatively accepted among autobots. you go to get your morning fuel in the canteen and sunstreaker has bluestreak pinned against the bulkhead. average fucking tuesday. oh the medibay is having a slow day with few patients, ratchet has first aid warming his spike as he's going through datapads, keeping one servo firmly wrapped around aid's waist as he squirms helplessly. command meetings have like, a 50% chance to get derailed by prowl's chestplate accidentally popping open to reveal his fat tits and jazz just starts sucking on them and then ironhide smacks optimus' panels and oh god there's an orgy now

kink nights just being a common thing among the autobots. mechs can sign up to do scenes with certain partners or just sit on the sidelines and watch it all go down.

a few of the decepticons end up defecting and they get a weird sense of culture shock with how common it is to see interfacing since in con culture that's stupid slag that only softies participate in. actually i think the decepticons would have a completely separate culture regarding interfacing. i think they would be kinky, but they wouldn't consider the bonding/emotional effects of interfacing unless they're real sappy. like interfacing is to blow off steam after a battle, not for having fun with your comrades

drift joins the wreckers and hot rod gives him the best head of his life and then when they cuddle up next to each other drift just has to fucking sit there wondering why no one in the cons cuddled after fucking because this is actually really nice. he gets bent over a table the next morning by blurr and then kup shoves his spike into drift's intake and oh primus drift is having a religious experience now with how well he's getting pounded

i'm going to beam the image of ratchet walking around the ark with his tits fully out and a pair of pretty golden chains pierced through his nozzles and a few particularly handsy bots reach over and tug on them as he passes.

-burnt ice anon

YES. i've seen some instances of “public sex normalized in cybertronian society” and i am LIVING for it. I like the culture shock aspect of it being only autobots who are so open-minded.

A recently defected decepticon just trying to fit in and adapt to the new way of living and they were wholly unprepared to just walk in on people fucking all the time. They walk in on Prowl in his office chair with Jazz slowly grinding against his spike, the sound of his valve gushing is so loud and yet Prowl just keeps on typing away on his data-pad, only occasionally wincing in pleasure. They go to the med-bay next instead but Ratchet's got First Aid sitting on his spike, and it's still weird. They're sitting in the canteen and someone just starts melting right next to them, overloading silly around a remote control vibrator while their partner watches from across the table. Optimus regularly getting jerked off under the desk during high-command meetings, he's pretty sure his side of the desk is completely stained with transfluid from below. Also thank you so much for the image of Ratchet walking around with his titties out. I bet you everyone's sick that day, and absolutely need to be admitted to the medbay and see the doctor right now. He spends the day smacking away wandering hands, though he's only playing hard to get.

hrghhh kink nights with different themes. They get to vote on them weekly. Sometimes a volunteer gets chained and strung up and used repeatedly throughout the night, repeatedly checked up so they're sure he's alright. Sometimes there's pet-play, bots on leashes being told to “go play” with the other pets (i really want to see Sunstreaker for pet-play night… Sunny letting Bluestreak put a leash on him, gritting his teeth the entire time because he's being treated like a domesticated turbofox and it's humiliating and yet it feels so damn good… Sunstreaker rubbing his valve against someone else's, while his owner coos encouragement at him). Or you have simple orgy nights, where people can just blow off steam having sex with anyone. Glory holes in the bathroom that are frequented regularly. Wrecker orgies that shock Drift to the very core but they're fun and he can't complain. And the aftercare is peculiar. They never had anything like that back in the decepticon order. 

[chrizbang]

Pairing: female reader x Seo Changbin x Bang Chan feat. Lee Felix

Genre: smut

Warnings: unprotected sex, foursome (kinda), the members have sex with each other, oral sex, swearing, anal sex, cream pie. This is very dirty.

Word count: 1.695

A/N: All credits goes to my friend @parachuuuus​ who had this idea hdfyihuasof  💖

“Do you want to fuck her, Changbin?”

Chan, 8:57 am: Can you come to my clinic today? At 9 pm?

Chan, 8:57 am: I have a new assistant and I need your help.

Y/N, 9:00 am: how am I going to help you? I’m not a doctor, lol

Chan, 9:01 am: Y/N…

Felix, 9:01 am: Can you come, please?

Y/N, 9:02 pm: bruh

Y/N, 9:03 pm: okay

“Who the fuck schedules a doctor’s appointment so late at night?” Felix asked.

“Hey, it was his idea, not mine, okay?”

You and Felix have been friends with benefits for a while. It started as an innocent friendship but it was hard to resist him since he was so handsome. Sometimes he would take you to places since he had a car and you didn’t and you would repay him by having sex with him. It was a win-win situation.

“Why are you all dressed up to a doctor’s appointment?” he asked, looking you up and down. “Are you excited to see Channie?”

“Oh, please. I know you have a crush on him as much as I do.” You rolled your eyes.

“I saw the dude one time at a party and said that he was cute and now I have a crush on him? Anyway, we are here.” Felix parked the car in front of the clinic.

“Thank you for driving me. You can leave if you want, I don’t know how long the medical appointment is going to be.”

“I think I’m going to a coffee shop nearby. Text me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling at him. You kissed his cheek and got out of the car.

For most people, going to the gynecologist was something unpleasant. Being naked and exposed in front of someone you are not close with is, understandably, disagreeable.

Not for you. Your doctor was Bang Chan, a handsome man, owner of the clinic and, also another friend with benefits of yours.

You still remember the first time you saw him. He welcomed you into his room. He was attentive and educated. You couldn’t stop blushing. Ever since, you had sex with him a few times, which doesn’t happen often since he’s really busy.

You talked to the lady at the reception and waited for your turn. You noticed that there was no one besides you in the clinic, probably because it was late.

You were excited, you shaved and you were wearing your best panties. You know that Chan was always professional but that didn’t stop you from looking good.

“Miss Y/N? You may come in,” the receptionist called you. You took a deep breath and got up, trying to keep calm.

“Hello, Y/N,” you heard him saying while you entered the room. He was sitting at the table, looking at something on his computer. When you were finally inside, you saw that there was someone else with him.

“This is Changbin, my assistant. He just graduated and he needs experience. Changbin, this is Y/N.”

“Hello,” you said, waving at Changbin, who simply nodded.

Changbin was standing next to Chan’s chair, he looked very shy and embarrassed. He was looking down and avoiding your eyes. You couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. He was a little shorter than Chan but as handsome as him. His thick arms looked like they would tear apart the sleeves of his coat. 

“Y/N, I need you to take off your pants and lay at the gynecological table, please,” Chan said.

You did as you were told, as much as you were a little embarrassed to be naked in front of them, you were also excited.

“Nice panties,” Chan remarked, making you blush.

You lay down there, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

“You can put your legs here, Y/N,” Chan suggested, touching the leg support at the table. You hesitated for a second but complied.

There you were, exposed for them.

Chan started to talk to Changbin about medical terms that you weren’t able to understand.

Suddenly, you felt Chan’s hand on your thigh. Just standing there while he talked. Sometimes he would squeeze your thigh, but all of his attention was on Changbin. You weren’t paying attention to their conversation but you were sure that you heard Chan say something along with the words “g-spot”.

“Why don’t you take a try?” Chan asked Changbin. He hesitated for a moment but got closer to the table.

“Excuse me,” Changbin whispered. You felt his cold hand touching your folds and you squirmed, startling him, who removed his hand immediately.

“Sorry,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay, it’s just that your hands are a little cold.” You assured him and Changbin went back to touching you.

It looked like he was exploring your private parts.

“Use this,” Chan commented, handing him a pack of lube.

Changbin poured some on your folds and you squirmed again.

“Ah, this is cold.”

“Sorry,” he apologized.

Changbin started to run his middle finger up and down on your lips, spreading out the lube. His finger would brush again your clit sometimes, which made you hold a moan. Then, he started to slide his finger into your hole. You looked at Chan and he watched everything closely, with a serious expression.

You wanted to laugh because it looked like anything but a simple doctor’s appointment.

“Bend your finger and try delicately pressing at the top wall of her pussy.”

“How will I know it is the g-spot?”

“It has a slightly rough texture than the rest of the wall.”

Changbin fingered you some more but he looked frustrated.

“I can’t do it,” he whined.

“Let me show you.” Chan stepped on his place and inserted his finger inside of you. It took seconds before you moaned, indicating that he found it.

“See? Keep trying, Changbin.” Chan took his finger out of you, making you whine because of the emptiness.

“Shh, you’re gonna get your reward soon,” he cooed at you.

Changbin started again, with a firmer touch. It took him some minutes but he finally found it.

“I think I did it,” he said after seeing you thrusting your hips against his finger.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned.

“Good job,” Chan praised him, making Changbin’s cheek go red.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he continued. “Do you want to fuck her, Changbin?”

Changbin’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “I-I don’t k-no-” “Don’t lie to me,” Chan scolded him. “I can see the erection in your pants.” Chan’s hands ran through your folds, collecting your wetness. “Do you want him to fuck you, Y/N?” You nodded. “Use your words,” he demanded. “Yes, I want him to fuck me,” you whined. “Get up and sit on the table.” You sat in the corner of the table with your legs hanging around. Changbin unbuttoned and lowered his pants. His dick slapped against his abdomen, dripping pre-cum. You watched while he approached you, holding on to your thighs. He opened your legs and licked his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy. He pumped his dick a few times before penetrating you slowly. You threw your head back, Changbin’s dick was average but thick. “Fuck,” you whined. Changbin immediately started thrusting on you at a frenetic pace. You tried to control your moans, afraid that the people outside the room would hear. Suddenly, you heard the sound of a belt hitting the floor. Chan was lowering his pants and freeing his dick. He got closer to Changbin and spread his cheeks, penetrating him. Changbin stopped pounding on you for a moment while he moaned, feeling Chan filling him up. “F-fuck, so good,” he whined when he started to move again. All the three of you stayed there, trying to muffle your moans.

Chan slid his hand under your t-shirt to grab your tits. “Take it off,” he growled. You took off your shirt and Chan pulled your bra down, exposing your tits. “So fucking hot,” Changbin moaned, bending over to lick your boobs, making Chan go deeper. “I-I’m gonna cum,” Changbin whispered. Not long after, he came inside of you, filling you. “Fuck, Changbin. Look at the mess you’ve made,” Chan teased. “Clean it up.” Changbin got on his knees and started to lick your pussy, tasting his own cum. “What the fuck is going on?” Felix questioned, opening the door. He went inside the clinic after noticing that you were taking too long to come back. The receptionist looked disinterested while she scrolled on her phone with her headphones on, so he went straight to Chan’s room when he heard you moaning. Everyone looked at each other, without any idea of what to say. “Do you want to join us?” you questioned Felix. “W-what? of course not,” Felix said. “Are you sure?” Chan insisted. Chan noticed that Felix was looking at this dick ever since he entered the room. “Come here,” he said, in a soft voice. Felix got closer to Chan, who told him to get on his knees. Chan grabbed his dick and put it in front of Felix’s mouth, who instantly started to suck it. At this point, Changbin went back to licking you. His tongue played with your clit until you came, moaning loudly. Chan demanded that Felix touched himself through his pants while he deep-throated him. It didn’t take long for both of them to cum. Felix swallowed all of Chan’s cum while he came in his pants. “Good boy,” Chan praised him. While you got dressed up, you noticed that Felix’s cheeks were bright red. You thought it was cute how embarrassed he got in front of Chan. “Thank you for your help, Y/N,” Chan said, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. He stayed with Changbin and they started to talk about something as if an orgy didn’t just happen in his room. You left with Felix, avoiding looking at the receptionist when you walked through the door. You sat in the car with Felix, who looked thoughtful. “Are you okay?” you asked. “When is your next doctor’s appointment? I’ll gladly take you.” You rolled your eyes and laughed. You knew the fun wasn’t over because you still had unfinished business with Felix.

[myhockeyworld87]

What Happens In Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 3

Word Count: 4,050

POV: Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: Well I’m finally at home for a night and I definitely owe you guys a story. So since I had the next part of this one ready, I dediced to post it. When last we saw these two, they had decided to divorce, and our reader had signed the papers and sent them back to Jacob. Who had forgotten to sign them. Let’s see what happens now, though I think some of you have an idea. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

What Happens In Vegas…Doesn’t Always Stay There Masterlist

It had been almost seven weeks since Jacob met you. For six of those, he’d talked to you every day, sometimes two and three times. It was just these last few days that you wouldn’t answer his calls or texts. Jacob was confused, to put it mildly. He wracked his brain trying to recall the last couple of conversations that you’d had, wondering if he’d said or did something to anger you, but nothing came to mind. In Jacob’s mind, he thought the two of you were actually starting something. Sure, it had been one of the most peculiar beginnings to a relationship ever, but the last several weeks' things had been nice, better than nice actually. He thought the two of you might have a chance at a real relationship. Of course, the distance between you played a part, but he thought the two of you could work that out; apparently, he was wrong.

 Jacob knew the moment he stepped poolside, that you were something special. The longer he talked to you the more he knew he’d been right. If he was being honest, it was probably one of the reasons he suggested marrying you, even though that marriage would be over soon. Just like lightning striking in the middle of a storm, it hit Jacob then why you were pissed. He’d forgotten to sign the divorce papers. He’d had them for well over two weeks now. Rushing into the office, he started rifling through all the crap on his desk looking for the manila envelope that you’d mailed it to him in. He was just in the process of opening it when the front doorbell rang, so back on the desk it went, as he headed to the door to answer it.

 Jacob was shocked to see you standing there. “(Y/N), what are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did. It took him a moment to recover before taking you in. There were dark circles under your eyes that made it look like you hadn’t slept in days, not to mention how puffy they looked as if you’d been crying. Jacob wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms and make whatever seemed to be causing you this much pain go away.

 “Hey,” you mumbled out weakly. “Can I come in?”

 “Of course.” He stepped aside, letting you into his home. It was your typical bachelor pad. Walls stark and devoid of any real character that you knew Jacob possessed. He led you over to the couch in the living room, an enormous piece of furniture designed for his large frame. It almost seemed to swallow you whole. “(Y/N) is everything ok?” There was concern in his eyes and you knew he was probably questioning your presence there after you’d been radio silent the last few days.

 “No.” The one-word answer was hard to push out without tears falling down your eyes. You could see how Jacob’s fingers itched to touch you and honestly that’s all you wanted right now, for him to just take you in his arms and somehow have all the answers, but he had to know the problem first. You took a deep breath trying to steel yourself for what you needed to tell him. “Jacob, I don’t know how to tell you this.” At that moment Jacob grabbed your hands and engulfed them in his giving you his support in just that simple touch. It gave you enough courage to blurt out the last part. “I’m pregnant.”

 You felt his hands slip a bit on yours at the shock of the news; his mouth working trying to form a sentence yet nothing coming out. It took a minute but he finally found his words. “Wow, um…ok…I hate to ask this…”

 This was the part you knew was coming, expected it really and you didn’t blame him at all. So, to spare him, you found yourself answering the unspoken question. “It’s yours.” He nodded but you felt the need to explain more. “I haven’t been with anyone since Vegas, and even before that, well, work was really busy, and…well let’s just say it had been over a month or longer.”

 “You don’t have to say anymore, (Y/N). I believe you.” His hands tightened on yours, the shock of everything starting to wear off. “Plus, we didn’t use protection.” It was something you didn’t give much thought to when you were with Jacob, which was odd because you’d always been extra cautious with hookups, but then everything with Jacob was different than anyone else. “Do you…do you know what you want to do?”

 This time you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “I tried, Jacob. I really did.” He looked confused, unsure of what you meant by that. “I went to get an abortion yesterday.” He blinked hard but other than that showed no expression. “I was sitting there on the damn table in a gown just waiting for the doctor to come in and then I looked around. There was this damn chart that showed what the size of your baby is every week compared to fruit of all things. It’s a blueberry by the way. A damn cute little blueberry, like the kind they put in muffins and stuff.” Why it had to be an adorable little fruit like that you didn’t know. Why couldn’t it be honeydew? You hated that fruit. Well maybe not hate, but it wasn’t your favorite that’s for sure. “Anyhow, I was just staring at that poster and looking at each week and I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.” Kind of like now, even telling him brought back all those feelings. “I started thinking about the doctor telling me that I could hear the heartbeat next week when she did the ultrasound, and I’m not sure what happened, but I couldn’t go through with it; so, I left. I’m so sorry.”

 You weren’t quite sure if you were apologizing to him or yourself. This was something you didn’t want, at least not right now, or at least that’s what you always thought. Now, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. You took a deep breath, composing yourself. “I booked a flight once I got home. I couldn’t tell you this over the phone or text. You deserved to hear it in person.”

 “Thank you for that.”

 You slipped your hands out of his, distancing yourself from him for this next part, but also pulling out the envelope you brought. “I’m going to keep the baby.” As if that part wasn’t obvious, but you somehow felt it needed to be said. “I had Aaron draw up some papers. They absolve you from any obligations to the child both financially and emotionally. All you have to do is sign them. You won’t even have to be listed on the birth certificate.” He took the envelope from your hands, glancing briefly at the contents inside. “I’m sure you’ll want to have your lawyer look it over.”

 Jacob didn’t know what to think. Ten minutes ago, he was wondering if you were ever going to speak to him again and now you were telling him you were having his child. A child you apparently didn’t want him to be a part of. But did he even want a baby? He certainly hadn’t wanted a wife, yet here he was still married to you. He should come clean right now and tell you that he hadn’t signed the papers yet. That some indescribable feeling had taken over him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to sign them anymore. And now, well, now he felt like he shouldn’t sign them. Maybe this was all some force in the universe steering his life in a different direction; a route he hadn’t planned on taking until later, yet here he was on it. “And what if I don’t want to sign them?”

 Well, that certainly wasn’t what you thought he’d say. You didn’t think this was something either of you wanted, but you couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t like the two of you had had this long talk about where you saw your life in five years. Hell, this wasn’t where you saw your life in five months, but here you were, on the verge of being divorced with a baby on the way. “Well, I guess we’ll need to figure things out then.”

 Jacob got up and started to wander around the living room. You weren’t sure if he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to sign the papers or how he was going to be part of his child’s life. “Do you want a drink or something? I need a drink. Oh shit, you can’t drink, can you?”

 “It’s not advised, but please don’t let that stop you. Though if you have a water that would be great.” He headed towards the kitchen, which gave you a chance to just breathe. The hardest part was telling him, all the rest you’d figure out. He was back quicker than you expected, a bottle of water in each hand. He handed one over to you and sat back down beside you. “You know, you can think about this if you want. You don’t have to sign or not sign them right now.”

 He nodded and pursued his lips before answering, though not how you expected. “How long are you here for?”

 “A few days. There’s a movie being filmed not far from here. I offered to drop off some of the specs for the campaign, as long as I was here, but it also gives you some time to make a decision.”

 “I already have. I want to be in our baby’s life.” You don’t know why but it felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted off your chest. It was nice to know that you weren’t in this alone. “But there’s a lot to figure out.”

 “Yes, there is.”

 “(Y/N), this is going to sound crazy, but I want you to move here.”

 Pregnancy did weird things to the body and maybe your hearing things was one of them because you were pretty sure Jacob had just said he wanted you to move to Vancouver. “I’m sorry, you want me to move here, as in Vancouver?”

 “Well, yeah but I want you to move in here, like in my house.”

 He seemed dead serious and you weren’t sure how to take his suggestion or him at the moment. “But my life and my home are in LA. That’s where my job is.” Couldn’t he see that?

 “I know, but moving here just makes sense. I’ll be able to help you then, not just after the baby is born but before as well. I have plenty of room in this house. There are three spare bedrooms; we can turn one into a nursery for the baby.”

 How could go from finding out you were pregnant to a full out plan of attack in less than a half-hour? God, it took you a day to wrap your head around it when you found out and then another to make the decision about the abortion, and even then you still didn’t figure out you wanted to keep the baby until you were sitting in the doctor’s office. Jacob seemed to be processing everything much better than you were.

 “I don’t know Jacob, just because we’re having this baby together doesn’t mean we have to live together.” Everything with Jacob was still in this weird transition phase like you went from being wildly attracted to each other, to being married, to getting a divorce, to now having a baby, and now he wanted you to live together under the same roof. You didn’t even know if the two of you would get along that great. Sure, the sex was amazing, well really better than amazing if that was even a thing, and you seemed to get along if your conversations over the last several weeks were any indication, but to live together; that could just be a whole other problem altogether.

 “Look I know it’s a lot to ask and believe me if I could, I’d be willing to move to LA. It’s not like I can just ask to be traded there though. But I don’t want you to have to do this on your own.” It was awfully sweet of him to want to be there for you, and not just the baby. You’d just assumed that he’d want to see the baby on some weekends and maybe an extended time during the summer when he was off. “You don’t realize this yet, but there’s going to be a whole hockey family here for you. That’s just the way it is in this sport.” He grasped your hands then, the gesture one pleading in and of itself for you to see his side of things. “We can do this (Y/N), together.”

 Together, it sounded so nice. You knew that if he had decided to sign the papers that being a single mom was going to be tough, but now knowing that he wanted to be there every step of the way eased some of the burden you felt. It was just hard to think about giving up the life you’d built for yourself in LA. You were already giving up so much as it was. “I get what you’re asking, I really do. I just…it’s a lot.” His thumb started to run back and forth across your knuckles, softly urging you to his side without him even knowing it. “Can I think about it?”

 “Of course.”

 “I mean we don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

 “No, we don’t.” He smiled at you. The same one he gave you when you’d been in Vegas. It gave you butterflies in your stomach back then as it did now. “How are you feeling?”

 “Pretty good, I get a little queasy now and then; mostly when I’m hungry. I’ve learned to carry crackers with me everywhere.”

 “Well, I could make you something or we could order.” The fact that he even offered scored points in your book and was definitely a check on his side of the box for moving to Vancouver, and you were kind of hungry.

 “I mean, I haven’t really eaten.” He gave you a disapproving stare and you felt the need to justify why you hadn’t. “I was too nervous before.”

 “Well, then let’s get you something to eat.” Jacob led you out to the kitchen, where he took out some chicken along with some vegetables to stick in the oven. The two of you worked side by side getting dinner ready. You were midway chopping up some zucchini when Jacob brought the baby back up again. “You mentioned something about the heartbeat. Were you able to hear it?”

 “I have to schedule an ultrasound when I get back but they said that I should be able to.”

 “Mmm.” You weren’t exactly sure what that little hum meant. Was that a good hum, or a bad one? You stayed silent waiting for him to say more. “Do you think you could record it for me?”

 Why did your heart just flutter when he asked that? Was it because he wanted to hear the baby or was it because you were realizing how much he would be missing when you went back to LA? “I will,” you finally told him, but then had an even better idea. “Though you know, I’m here for four more days. Maybe we could find a doctor that would be able to do it while I’m here.”

 His face lit up, like a little boy on Christmas morning. “You would do that?”

 “Yeah. If we can find a doctor to squeeze us in.”

 “I’ll take care of it.” He pulled out his phone, you weren’t sure if he was searching for gynecologists or texting someone, either way, it was adorable how he just jumped in at the first mention of being a part of this whole pregnancy. Again, he was showing you just how nice it would be to share this with him. Ten minutes later he had an appointment all set for you in two days.

 During dinner you talked about how you had found out you were pregnant, telling him the story of how Kennedy was the one to point out your nausea wasn’t normal and that you should take a pregnancy test. She was the only one that knew you were pregnant. You swore her to secrecy, hoping that she wouldn’t spill the beans this time like she had about a certain movie star. Surprisingly, he wanted to know everything, though there wasn’t too much to tell. By the time you got the mess cleaned up from dinner, you were starting to feel the weariness of the day.

 “I think I’m going to head over to the hotel. I still need to check in. Hopefully, I’ll be able to sleep better tonight, now that you finally know.”

 “Stay.” The word fell out of Jacob’s mouth in almost an authoritative manner, which belied the puppy dog look on his face. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean you could stay here if you wanted. Sort of like a tryout or something.”

 “You mean trial run?” Leave it to his athletic side to call it a tryout. It made you laugh.

 “Yeah. We could just take the next few days and see how we do together.” It wasn’t a bad idea. “You call and cancel the hotel and I’ll go grab your bag from the car.” He was halfway to the door before you actually agreed.

 As Jacob went outside, he contemplated with himself as to where he should put your things. Did he just bring your luggage to his room or should he give you one of the spare rooms? Despite the fact you were carrying his child, his body still wanted you as much, if not more, than when you were in Vegas. He just wasn’t sure where you saw things going.

 You were just hanging up the phone when he walked back into the house and unbeknownst to him, you were wondering the same thing. However, your head kept telling you that if the two of you were going to make this work, you needed to keep things out of the bedroom, at least for now. Jacob must have had the same thought as you, for when he came in, he said, “Here, I’ll show you where the spare bedroom is.” The room was spacious but again, it wasn’t that homey, and occurred to you that if you decided to live here, you’d definitely need to make some changes. “Did you maybe wanna watch a movie or something, or are you tired?”

 You could see he was struggling in this unchartered territory as much as you were, and while you were exhausted; you still wanted to spend time with him, to see if moving to Vancouver was even an option. “I’d love to watch a movie. Do you mind if I change first?”

 “No, not at all.” He fidgeted with the back of his neck a bit, before turning to leave. “I’ll meet you back downstairs.”

 You really wanted to take a hot shower and crawl into bed, but instead, you opted for just washing up quickly and slipping on a pair of pajamas you’d brought. It was still warm in LA, though the nights were a bit cooler. All you brought to sleep in were a couple pairs of shorts and some comfy t-shirts, thinking that you’d be in a hotel room by yourself. Now, you were wishing that you’d thought about it a little more and packed something a little warmer, if not more modest. Why you cared, you weren’t sure, considering this man had seen you completely naked several times.

 Jacob had changed into some sweats by the time you got downstairs. He had bottles of water for you both along with a pack of crackers laying on the coffee table, and you had to admit your heart melted a little bit when you saw that. “So, what kind of movies do you like? I remember you saying no horror.”

 “We don’t have to watch a movie. I know the Bruins are playing tonight and that you play them tomorrow. Why don’t you just turn the game on?” He looked surprised that you knew his schedule, but you did a deep dive finding out as much information as you could once you found out you were pregnant. He was going to be the baby's father, even if he would've decided not to be in your child's life, though now that he decided he wanted to be, the information was even more useful.

 “Are you sure?” You nodded giving him the go-ahead to watch his opponents’ play. “Speaking of that, would you be interested in going to the game? I mean I know someone who could get you a ticket on short notice?” He looked so adorable when he asked you couldn’t tell him no.

 “I’d love to.” You’d watched very few hockey games live, though ever since Las Vegas, you’d been following the Canucks, well, more like Jacob. It would be fun to see him in action.

 “Great, I can leave you a ticket or have Erik’s fiancé come and take you. You’ll love her.”

 Jacob really wanted you to jump in with both feet, didn’t he? You weren’t quite sure if you were ready to meet all his friends and teammates, but you supposed that if you moved here this would be a part of your life. “If she wouldn’t mind that would be great.”

 “I’ll text him now.”

 “Jacob,” you stopped him, just by saying his name. “Can we keep the baby our secret for now? I know Kennedy knows and I don’t expect you to keep it to yourself, but I don’t want to broadcast it either. At least until we know what we’re doing.”

 He took your hand in his, the gesture reassuring. “Yeah (Y/N), we can do that.”

 It wasn’t long before your attire got the best of you and you found yourself tucking your feet underneath you on the couch trying to keep them warm. You thought that Jacob was fully absorbed in the game, but he caught the subtle movement. “Are you cold?”

 “A little.”

 He scooted your closer to him, his large frame wrapping around yours. You weren’t sure if it was his body heat or him just holding you, but it was definitely warmer in seconds, though Jacob still covered you with a throw blanket that was on the couch. “Better?”

 “Much.” It wasn’t long before you found yourself dozing off. The stress of the day and travel wearing on you. Your head fell softly against his shoulder and you sighed in contentment.

 Jacob felt your body relax against him and he savored the feel of it. He’d honestly missed this closeness to another person in a completely non-sexual way and having you in his arms just felt right. He should’ve been paying attention to the game, scouting out his opponents but instead all he could do was watch you, even before you fell asleep. His fingers were idly stroking your bare arm under the blanket, slowly inching their way down to your wrist. He didn’t realize they’d made their way to your midsection until they were there; just lightly caressing you, scared he would wake you, but he had to touch you there. He’d been dying to all night but been afraid to ask as if it was almost an invasion of your privacy even though you were carrying his child. His child. The thought both terrified him and thrilled him. Jacob always wanted kids; knew that someday he would have them. He just didn’t think it would be this soon. He always assumed that he’d start his family after hockey was over, but here he was with a wife and child on the way. It was something he hadn’t bargained for and never saw coming. Apparently, what happened in Vegas was a lot more than he gambled on.

 taglist: @iculyrea​  @fiveholegoal​  @raysofcrosby @leafs-lover​ @sexysidney87​ @lovethepreds​  @miranda0102​  @stbluesbrat21  @perrieeloise  @mandypants95​  @hockeyunits​  @liz96893  @golfergirl1982​  @princessphilly​  @ajstylesworld​  @zinka8  @dontworrybeekappy​  @hiimana  @meishaabae​ @heatherawoowoo @beauvibaby @hockeybabe87 @leafs-forever

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[demonsandmischief]

Come Home To Me Part 5

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader 1.4k Words

Here's Part 4 and my Masterlist for additional parts

-Part 5-

The ending.

----

You liked Washington DC. You liked Sam's house and being able to see the things he enjoyed.

It was also nice that you had the opportunity to be able to walk or ride the subway to wherever you needed. Even though there was a car for you to use, you couldn't drive. Sam had promised to teach you when he got back.

The only downfall was when he had to work. Sometimes he was gone for days. Two weeks had been the latest so far. It did give you a chance to find yourself beyond your sweet soulmate, but you always missed him terribly.

For this mission, it had been five days since you had last seen him.

You took boxing classes once a week to give you something to do. You considered getting a job, but you still were very uncomfortable and wary around other people.

It was also really difficult to sleep without him. The nightmares return full force. You didn't mean to be so attached to Sam, but how could you not, given everything that you went through?

You hum to the music as you eat some cereal for breakfast. Sam's place was full of old records, CDs, speakers. It was comforting to listen to the things he liked.

Sam: Miss you.

You grinned when you read the text. He had managed to call last night, and it had been so good to hear his voice.

You: Miss you more.

You could just push the messages right to his head, but you promised yourself you wouldn't when you learned they gave him serious migraines. Not to mention you had no idea what he was up to and you didn't want to be a distraction.

The TV program you had on in the background cut off to an emergency news broadcast, and even though it was muted, it still caught your attention. You turned up the volume.

It was definitely an adjustment to be without him, but you were learning lots of new things. How to cook and clean, different kinds of movies and TV shows. It was nice to feel like a normal person doing normal things.

Everything had been good recently, but that never lasts long.

"We interupt your scheduled program to inform you of the reports of a plane hijack containing US officials, including the Vice President. The plane has since crashed over Pennsylvania and is believed to be an act of terrorism. Captain America is believed to have been helping get the plane under control, but has not emerged from the crash site. Emergency personnel are on the scene."

You watched with horror as the cellphone video played, capturing your glimmering man falling from the sky before disappearing into the dust and flames.

You turned it off as a quick reaction, your heart pounding viscously in your chest. Your stomach threatened to turn, and your spoon hit the table with a clatter.

Oh god. Please let Sam be okay.

He had just texted you. He had to be okay. You cringed as the video replayed over and over in your head.

He had to be okay because you loved him.

Your phone ringing broke through your sluggish mind and you scrambled to get to it in time. It was an unknown number, but you answered.

"Hello?" you whispered.

"It's Bucky. Sam's been hurt."

A sob left your mouth but you muffled it with a shaking hand, "Is he okay?"

Bucky didn't say anything, only adding to your worry. You didn't even know Bucky was with him, or any of the details

"Bucky?"

"He's going to be fine, Y/N," he gave a tired sigh. "I'll come pick you up and take you to the hospital to see him. Is that okay?"

You nodded, before realizing he couldn't see. "Okay."

----

Sam was pretty banged up when you got there, but he was alive and you had never been so relieved in your life.

You sat impatiently by his bedside. The doctor told you his suit had taken the brunt of the impact, but he still hit his head pretty hard. Some of his ribs were fractured, along with his right wrist. He had been very lucky.

You dried your tears for the billionth time. Where would you be without him? Sam saved your life. He was your soulmate, your home.

You had dozed off in the stiff plastic seat when he woke.

He hissed as he shifted and stretched.

"Sam," you cried, reaching for his hand. "Don't move too much. Let me get the nurse."

"It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You scared me," you whispered, feeling new tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Shh," he soothed, running his thumb over your knuckles and closing his eyes again. "I hate to see you cry."

----

The hospital monitored Sam's head injury for about a day before they cleared him to go home.

Bucky had stuck around and he drove you and made sure Sam was settled.

"Thank you for everything," you told him. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat before you go?"

He shook his head, "My girl is waiting for me at home. Let me know if there's anything he needs. You have my number now."

Sam was out cold. He was taking some medicine for the pain, and you felt beside yourself, not knowing what to do or how to help.

You had fallen asleep on the couch when you were startled awake by Sam standing over you.

"Jeez," you gasped, pushing yourself upright. "You scared the hell out of me. Why are you standing over me? Why did you get out of bed?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm sorry. You should have seen your face."

He nudged you over and sat down beside you, pulling the blanket onto his lap.

"Hey," you protested. "I was using that."

"Too bad. You have to scoot closer if you're cold. Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," you protested. The cool air caused bumps to form on your arms.

"C'mon. You can't hurt me. Get over here before you freeze."

You hesitated. "I'll just get another blanket." You stood up, but he reached for you.

"Please, baby. I just need to hold you. I promise to tell you if you hurt me, okay?" He said it so soft and sweetly that you couldn't do anything but comply. Besides, all you wanted was for him to hold you.

You sat as close as possible without leaning too much on his ribs, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his left arm around you.

He reclined the couch, and you adjusted the blanket so it covered the both of you.

It was pretty quiet, and you could feel yourself starting to go to sleep when he spoke.

"All I could think of was you."

"What's that?" you mumbled.

"When I fell, all I wanted was to come home, to be with you."

You hummed, reaching for his hand. He kissed your head.

"When I accepted Captain America, I accepted my fate. I told myself that I would be okay with dying, but now I have so much to live for."

You smiled, turning slightly to see his shining eyes. He leaned down for a sweet kiss.

"I was terrified when I saw that video, and then Bucky called me. Like I told you before, I don't want to be anywhere you're not."

He sighed, "There's always a risk. It comes with the territory."

"I know," you whispered. "And I know it'll never get easier for me, but we can handle it."

Sam nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I'm surprised your sister hasn't personally come up here to beat your ass."

He laughed, wincing at the jostle it gave him. "That's only because you were around to tell her what's going on."

You smiled, "That laugh was payback for nearly giving me a heart attack."

Sam peeked down at you with another chuckle "You're a brat, but you're my brat."

You shuffled a bit so the blanket was pulled to your chin, a warm contentment settled over the two of you. He reached over to turn off the lamp.

"I do love you, Sam," you whispered very quietly into the darkness.

He groaned playfully, "You just had to wait until it was dark. How am I supposed to kiss you now?"

You giggled, a light happiness swirling in your stomach.

"I love you, too," he said back. "So much."

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384  @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111  @loveyou5everr  @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @daddyissuesmademe @queentorresstuff @spookycereal-s

----

Thank you guys for loving this series. I've been in such a mental slump and struggled with this, so I hope it ended okay. I appreciate each and everyone of you.

[blossom-hwa]

Prologue (CHAN) - |Breathe, and Live|

And so we begin the fluff :) Enjoy single dad chan!

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: allusions to sex

Word Count: 1.7k

Chan is lost, so lost, and sometimes it feels like the walls are caving in. But he’ll make it, he knows. He has to, for the two little boys cradled in his arms who he loves more than anything he has in the world.

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

She tells him at precisely five fourteen in the afternoon, voice dead but panicked, on a crowded bus full of people, words crackling over the phone.

“Chan, I’m pregnant.”

The walls are silent. His laptop, too, since he paused the track to pick up the call. He can’t speak, can’t breathe. It deafens him. It squeezes at his head, pounds against his temples, fills his ears with static buzzing.

His vision blurs. Something rises in his throat.

Chan thinks he might throw up.

How? his mind screams. He’s always been careful, always used a condom. She takes birth control, takes the pill every morning after. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fucking make sense.

But you can never be sure, the rational part of his brain unhelpfully supplies.

The droning voice of his old sex-ed teacher back in Australia fills his mind. “The only way to be sure is to practice abstinence.”

Back then, he’d snorted quietly in the back with his friends, elbowed them and smirked and didn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the lecture. What was the point, anyway? Chan may not be as cautious as his parents – the impulse decision to stay in Korea for university, even after his family moved back, is proof of that – but he’s tried to be careful with this. Cautious, respectful, caring.

That kind of thing would never happen to him.

Somewhere, somehow, he hears her saying his name. Between the noise in the background and the ringing in his ears, it’s muffled. Disjointed.

“Okay,” he manages to choke out. “Okay.”

What else can he say?

Her voice sounds hoarse now, even over the tinny phone speakers. She’s crying, or on the verge of it – Chan’s known her long enough recognize the catch in her words that signals the lump in her throat. “I – Chan, I don’t –” She gasps. “I don’t think I want to keep it.”

It takes a moment to understand. But the minute he does, there’s only horror. Sharp, clear, precise. It pierces his chest, breaking through the foggy cloud of his brain.

He wants to scream, yell at her, how could she think of that? How could she not want to keep the child that’s depending on her?

But his sister’s voice cuts through his swirling thoughts. “No uterus, no opinion.” Hannah’s dark eyes, quiet but challenging, flash across the restaurant table, voice cutting through the debate going on across from her. “You don’t own anyone’s body but your own.”

He’d agreed then. He still agrees now.

So he takes a deep breath and tries to understand. They’re young. Stupid. He’s in his last year of university, she’s on a gap year. They’re barely old enough to function in society on their own. It’s understandable. And more importantly, it’s her body. Her choice.

Another deep breath, a bit shakier this time. He settles his mind. “Come home first,” he says quietly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Come home first. We’ll talk about it then, okay?”

There’s a sniff on the other end. “Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

The call ends. Chan sits still for a moment, staring at some random section of the wall, thinking but not really seeing. The paint is peeling. The lights are glaring. The university studio, the place he thinks of essentially as a second home, suddenly feels cloistering. Unwelcoming. It feels like some disgusting, warped metaphor for his life.

He buries his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

. . .

Chan can barely face her parents. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He really wants to tell things upfront, give them his apologies and promise that he’ll do anything to help them out, but they just look at him with smoldering, narrowed eyes. There’s no endearment in her mother’s expression anymore, no quiet pride in her father’s, as though he was another son. There’s only hatred. Disgust. Disappointment.

With a thick tongue and embarrassment coloring his face, he swears up and down that they used protection. She doesn’t say anything, just looks down with a sort of hopeless expression on her face and occasionally nods or shakes her head in accordance with what he’s saying.

They blame him. That much is certain. Privately, Chan thinks that’s a little unfair, but given that the woman bears the brunt of the pregnancy much more than the man, he lets it go. It’s understandable. After all, he blames himself a lot, too.

His parents act a little better. They’ve known him for all twenty-one years of his life, known how he always tries to treat people with respect, with care. Chan can still hear the disappointment and worry in their hushed voices over the phone, but it’s okay. It’s better than hatred.

She doesn’t want the child, she makes that clear. Her parents don’t want it either. They want to adopt it out.

On the other hand, Chan, well… it’s fucking hard. He’s barely finished with university, barely gotten started with his life. And he’s in the damn music industry. Unless he makes it big, there won’t be a lot of opportunities to sort out his life.

But he wants the child. Even though it’s going to be difficult taking care of her through the pregnancy, then making a path with the baby in tow, he wants it. He doesn’t want to give this up.

So they settle. She’ll have the baby. Once it’s born, she’ll take care of some of the bills if she can. Otherwise, Chan is the guardian.

It isn’t so bad, not at first. There’s the morning sickness to contend with, but they live together. It isn’t too hard for Chan to take some time to take care of her. They make the doctor’s trips together, and seven weeks into the pregnancy, they find out they’re having twins.

(Well, Chan is having twins. Her face screws up just the slightest amount, not in disgust but not in something nice either. Chan elects to ignore it and focuses on his own happiness.)

He works like a madman, sending off tracks to companies, submitting others for homework. He performs when he can, picking up any possible extra paychecks. She works, too, so money isn’t an issue yet. Chan also thanks all the higher beings above that she’s on a gap year, so he’s the only one adding homework to the equation.

The storm starts brewing in the fifth or sixth month, maybe. They’re having two boys, and they like to remind her that they’re there. She doesn’t feel well a lot of the time and has the crankiness to prove it. Still, she helps when she doesn’t have cramps, though she does complain about the weight gain.

But the number of nights where they’re up at odd hours only increases. The boys like to kick. Their mother wants to scream. Chan doesn’t even think he has a brain at this point – any cells up in his head have just been pounded to mush.

On one bad night, when she’s almost crying of exhaustion and the babies won’t stop fucking moving, Chan brings out his laptop. His fingers fly over the keyboard, tweaking soft beats, changing notes, composing a short little melody.

It’s rough, nothing substantial, something completely opposite from the polished tracks he makes for class. No lyrics. There’s just a simple piano melody backed by some guitar chords and it’s probably not going to do anything to help but Chan’s this close to just ripping out his hair and screaming for the entire city of Seoul to hear. He has to try something.

He almost deletes the track by mistake and has a mini heart attack, but he saves it with shaking fingers and brings the laptop over to the bed. She’s lying there, hair a mess, eyes red, but there’s some relief in her gaze as he puts the device on the sheets next to her and hits play.

It works. It fucking works. The babies slowly stop kicking, and she eventually falls asleep.

For just a moment, Chan sits on the edge of the bed and takes in the calm, soaks in the silence broken only by the track playing softly in the background. He rubs his eyes once, twice, clears the fog that obscured his vision.

Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can raise these two kids, even if he’s the only parent they have. Maybe there’s the tiniest fucking chance in the world that he can really be a good father, someone for his children to look up to and love. Maybe there’s a chance that he can really have this family.

Four months later, she gives birth to two healthy baby boys. Jisung is born first at 11:58 p.m. on September 14, while Yongbok comes next at 12:11 a.m. on September 15.

Chan holds them close as soon as he’s able, in awe of their tiny faces, their tiny limbs and tiny eyes.

How did he manage to create such life?

“Give them English names,” she says tiredly, her voice barely a whisper. She looks at them too, a bit sadly, with some care, but distantly. “They’re yours.”

A tinge of bitterness spikes in his chest, but it dissolves as he looks back into the faces of his two boys. She’s right. They are his. So he decides on Peter for the baby beginning to wake on his left arm, and Felix for the boy still sleeping soundly on his right.

She’s up and out of the hospital in a matter of days. A week later, she moves back into her parents’ home, leaving Chan standing in the doorway of their apartment, two babies in his arms.

“We’ll make it together,” he whispers, watching her car disappear down the street. “Together.”

Jisung makes a little gurgling sound. Felix scrunches his nose.

The tiniest of smiles slides across Chan’s face. Yes. They’ll make it together.

He takes a breath, then heads back inside.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Chan, he’s going to need it :/)

[ren-therose]

It Was Always You

Dr. John Watson X F!Reader (3.9k words)

Summary: You walk into 221B, knowing full well that Sherlock, a colleague of yours, isn’t there; however, his flatmate John is. In his own jealousy and anger at Sherlock, a misunderstanding occurs, and you attempt to resolve it. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, jealousy, smut 18+, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), this mans sexy hands ( dont @ me)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let me into 221 Baker Street, knowing that no one else would ever answer the door except her. When she opened it, she was taken aback to see me standing there, still in my work clothes with an envelope in hand. 

“Oh hello dear! I thought you were Sherlock. That man always seems to lose the keys to the flat. I have had to make so many copies for him. Just the other day, I caught him trying to slip his hand through the mail slot and, oh! Anyway, that’s probably not why you are here- you must be here to see Sherlock! If you’re looking for him, he isn’t here love, but you might be able to find him-”

I cut her off, grabbing her hands and pulling her in to give her a tight hug, landing a peck on her cheek as I pulled away. I loved the boys landlady, but Mrs. Hudson had a way of going on incredibly long and irrelevant tangents. She made the best biscuits in all of London though. 

“No Mrs. Hudson, I’m not here to see Sherlock....I...I-I’m actually here to see John,” I said sheepishly, looking down at the envelope in my hands. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in my own stress, and stretched the envelope out to her. “Mrs. Hudson, before I go up, I have a present for you. Two tickets to the opera, and a handsome man waiting for you there. I know he is the one that has been bringing you those gorgeous roses,” I said, looking behind her to see the vase on the entry table. Her eyes widened as she shifts slightly, stealing a glance at the flowers, as if she was checking to see if they were still there. She turned, taking the envelope and pulled out the tickets to the Royal Opera House, only to immediately shove them back in. She tried to push the envelope into my hands again, but I declined, making a surrendering gesture and backing away. We quarreled for a few moments, pivoting around the tiny entry until I finally made it up a few of the steps, asserting my dominance to show the unwillingness I held. 

“Ms. Y/N, you are quite the meddler,” she said with a shake of her head, opening the envelope once more. “...what time does the show start....my goodness! I have to change now!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. Lucky for her, my plan was already in motion.

“You have 15 minutes until the private car will come to pick you up, ma’am, but you always look lovely,” I reply with a wink. 

“Wear red!” I call back to her, as I climb the stairs to the second floor, hearing her coo as she made her way back into her flat. 

The door of 221B was unlatched, and I didn’t think John would mind the intrusion. He too would probably just assume it was Sherlock waltzing in. I opened the door to see the doctor, sitting in his usual spot, typing away on a new blog post. He had today's morning paper next to him, as though he needed to cite another source about his own adventure with the famous Mr. Holmes. He didn’t look up, but instead called out, “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight. Something to do with some new case? Or was it perhaps Mycroft? I can’t keep track of you anymore, though I’m sure you care little for my location and/or well-being if it doesn’t affect a case”. He was clearly in a mood, but it was my fault Sherlock was out. He may be a genius, but he didn’t seem to realize that Molly and I had played him. He would be busy playing with cadavers all evening. 

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack by the door, as well as my scarf. My work clothes were not usually something I would wear around their flat, but I had come straight from the university where I teach and research human behavior, attitude and persuasion. The button up blouse and navy blue skirt were a staple to my wardrobe of simplistic outfits. The only bits character I would add to my looks were my shoes. Today, I had settled on well-loved, leather loafers with a good sized heel that matched my tweed coat. I kicked off the shoes and walked behind him into the kitchen, looking for something to defrost the chill I had caught from walking across town. Or maybe it was the nerves. 

“You better not be placing any more human remains in our fridge Sherlock. I’m tired of the disembodied heads, an-and, and, singular eyeballs! It’s like they are staring into my soul...” his words trailed off. “Y/N?” he asked with a hint of fear, as well as amusement. He knew it was me, but it was hard to tell from the outfit and position I was in. I could very well be a murderer, client, or complete stranger, rummaging through his fridge. But it was me. I was bent over in the fridge, looking for cream, and I hadn’t noticed him stand and turn back towards the kitchen. As my arse stuck out from the behind the door of the fridge, I called back to him. “Do you want a drink? I feel like a tea,” I exclaimed, standing up right to look at him with bottle of creamer in hand. I could see him relax as he looked me over, checking to make sure I wasn’t in any distress. My hair was in a French-twist of sorts, but by this time of day, it usually fell around my face and would lose its form, becoming a messy blob. I brushed the hair out of my face, giving him a smile as I set the creamer down on the meth-lab of a kitchen island. I often acted manic around them, trying to control my own obsessions and addictions, but they both looked out for me. John enjoyed caring for people, especially Sherlock and I. 

He shook his head, complete with his mental examination of me. “I didn’t know you were coming over. You know that Sherlock isn’t-”

I pounded my fist on the counter, not hard enough to be angry, but enough to show my irritation. “Why does everyone think I have come to see Sherlock? Even Mrs. Hudson had assumed!” I exclaimed, walking across the kitchen. Huffily, I grabbed the kettle and began to fill it with tap water, leaning over the sink as I lifted my heels, back and forth, shifting my weight. 

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “The two of you work closely together, I just assumed that you would want to pick his brain about some new theory you’re trying to publish,” he murmured.

“Jesus John, you make it sound so salacious,” I laugh, reaching up to get the mugs. “What do you think we are doing at my office, or when we are gone?”  I had to go on my tip toes, especially since I had taken off my heels. As I reached, I didn’t notice that John had been looking over my stocking covered legs, taking in the tone of my calves as I struggled to grasp a mug. 

“Here, let me help you Y/N,” John said, rushing over to help grab the cups. I had already grabbed them, but his hands wrapped around mine, supporting the mugs and me. He was so close, my chest mere inches from his, the drinkware between us. He looked down between us, then back at me, a look in his eyes that gave my stomach butterflies. 

Before I could get ahead of myself, I stepped back to put the mugs on the island next to us. “John, Sherlock is merely a colleague with an annoyingly witty brain that can help me with my publication. I can’t stand the bastard most of the time,” I say, pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into my cup. 

“Well, that makes two of us. I just thought you fancied him, especially since you come over and help take care of the place quite a bit.”

It was true. Anytime I came over to ask them about the latest case and the actions of the killer, I found myself tidying up, doing dishes, and even making meals. But it wasn’t for Sherlock. 

“No John, that’s not why I help out,” I say tentatively. My body was facing the many bottles and beakers on the counter in the center of the kitchen, while he stood next to me, leaning his side against the counter, still looking down at me. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him. “John, it’s because I-”

Before I could finish, we hear the familiar owl-like call from Mrs. Hudson to vocalize her entrance. “Hoo Hoo! Y/N, thank you again for these tickets. However will I repay you?” the woman asks as she wraps her arms around me for a hug. 

“Oh Mrs. Hudson, consider it an early gift!” I say, squeezing her back.

“There is no holiday coming up,” John says inquisitively.

“Sometimes, there isn’t a reason, John,” I say with a little edge to my voice. “Give my best to your handsome admirer!”

“I will love, I will. See you later tonight!” she chirped as she walked out. 

“Or not,” I mumble with a small snicker. 

“Heard that!” She calls out behind her. For an older woman, her hearing can be remarkable. I laugh, and John emits a slight chuckle as well. We look to each other once more, smiling with content, though I can see John’s brain trying to solve the question of why I gave her the tickets. But before he could interrogate me, the kettle begins to whistle. 

“Tea’s ready. Earl Grey or Black Tea?” I ask, quickly moving past him to the tin. 

“I know you know what I like,” he says, arms crossed as he watches me pick out the bags. 

“I just thought I’d give you an option,” I say, bringing the bags back and dropping them in the mugs. “But I know not to ask about the sugar,” I say with a wink, a sense of my more relaxed self peeking through. I turn to grab the kettle, but John has already done so. I am standing in front of the mugs, when he comes up behind me, pouring the water from around. He is close to me, but not touching. His other hand is just barely ghosting over mine, hanging by my side. 

“I’m so sorry, I could move,” I manage to say, stepping off to the side. 

“No, no, you’re no bother,” he softly says. I can smell the aftershave on his skin, a smell I had often found so comforting. This new proximity, however, allowed me to better isolate the smell of pine, a hint of mint, and a spice I couldn’t name. 

I stirred our drinks, pulling the teabags out now that they had steeped. Adding a dash of cream to mine, I hold it the cup up, signaling a toast. 

“To knowing one another.”

“To knowing one another,” he responds. 

We clink our cups, taking a sip, not breaking eye contact. I lower my mug, breaking the stare, as I look down at the light brown color of the tea. John clears his throat, moving slightly closer as he looks down at the contents of his own drink.

“Umm..should we, maybe, er, sit?” I say, sounding as though I hadn’t just barged in there several minutes before like I owned the place.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” he replies. 

I was the first to move, coming around to his chair and sitting in the warm seat. 

“Yeah, no, get up that’s my spot,” he says, shaking his head as he comes to stand in front of me. 

“Sherlock isn’t here, why can’t you sit in his seat?” I ask, pulling my legs up into the cushion, tucking them under my bum. 

“I can, but I was in the middle of writing something,” he says, hesitantly sitting down in his friends leather chair. 

“I’ll proof it before you continue,” I say, picking up his laptop to put in my lap. He sighs across from me, clearly annoyed. I toss the paper at him. “Here, do the word puzzle or something. Sherlock can’t bother us “ordinary” people about it if we solve it without him around,” I say, scrolling to the beginning of his post. 

He picks up the pencil next to the chair, searching the pages for the crossword. As I begin reading, I can’t help but look up to steal glances at the doctor across from me, a man who is constantly overshadowed by the genius he solves crimes with. Sherlock had once told me that while he solves crimes, Watson saves lives. I wonder if he will need to save that for a speech one day, but for now, it reminds me of what an incredible man John is. He has saved my life on many occasions, probably not even knowing, though if he did, probably never taking the credit. 

“John, this might be your best entry yet,” I exclaim. Though I felt he was too humble in his writing, he did a wonderful job of painting a picture for the reader and giving us a map inside the detectives thought process. 

“No no, it was all Sherlock. He is always the one who solves it,” he says without looking up. 

I set the laptop down beside me, pulling my legs down to be crossed over one another at the ankles.

“John, you don’t think very highly of yourself and...well.... it breaks my heart. Truly. Sherlock can’t do these things without you,” I say, looking at the newspaper that hides his face. 

“Well, it isn’t without your help around here that I don’t kill him. You’re my saving grace, Y/N,” he says softly. My breathing hitches in my throat. Now was as good a time as any. He still hasn’t moved the paper, as if afraid to see me reaction. Quietly, I slip from the chair to my knees. I move towards him and my place a hand on the top of his leg. He lowers the paper, looking into my bright eyes. As he sets the paper down beside him, John sits up a bit more, leaning in to me. I straighten up, bringing my face closer to his. My hand goes to his cheek, rubbing it softly with my thumb. 

“John, it’s always been you,” I whisper. 

I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him. He leans down with parted lips, grabbing my face with both of his hands and kisses me. 

Years of knowing the two men, and all I could think of was this moment, the one I never knew if I could have. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces, one on top of the other, allowing for us to feel the buzz of our connection as it lingered on. My other hand had gone to his sweater and was now gripping it, the only thing left grounding me to the earth. As we pulled away, our eyes met, as they had so many times, and the look that we saw finally had a name: desire. 

I pulled him back in again, this time with more passion and the need to truly feel that he was mine. His hands had moved from my face down to my waist, and pulled me up onto his lap. My skirt rode up so that I could straddle him, and I prayed it wouldn’t rip (but if it did, i wouldn’t feel too bad).The feeling of his grip around my torso brought back the butterflies, as we gave sharp, open mouthed kisses, our bodies closer than they had ever been. His mouth started to trail from my mine, down to my jaw, under to my neck, causes little hiccup-like gasps to escape me. My hands were on his neck and in his hair, scratching softly to encourage this. As he came down to my collarbone, he stopped abruptly and pulled back to look at me. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked, worry clouding my face. I start to get off of him when his arms pull me back, holding me in his lap. 

“No no, it’s just...we are in Sherlock's chair,” he says awkwardly. 

“Do you think I care whose chair it is John? Besides it’s a bit better for sitting on you and I don’t think I want to get off you anytime soon,” I say smuggly, dragging my hands down to his chest. 

“Oh you like sitting in my lap,” he responds, looking quite proud of himself. In response, I rolled my hips against him, feeling him grow underneath me. I bite my lip as I lean to whisper “feels like you do too”. I lick the shell of his ear, exhaling softly. 

A low groan comes from his throat and he places his hands on my waist, giving them a pull that causes my body to roll against him once more. I shiver, dropping my head back as I do so. I don’t think either of us have done something like this since we were quite young, but the friction of it, matched with our tension we had stored for years felt so good. 

As he continued to roll my hips against his, I leaned back down to kiss him, this time, allowing for him to search my mouth. My hands went to his sweater as I peeled it off of him. I then started unbuttoning his shirt, dragging my nails as I did so. This caused him to buck up into me and I let out a yelp, grinding down against him. 

“Here,” he said, lifting me from his lap to his knee. “I want you to ride it for me, could you love?”

How could I say no? Immediately, I rocked against him, feeling myself grow wetter. My skirt was still up around my waist, but as he undid my blouse, He could see that I had a matching set of lingerie underneath. He smirked with a low growl, wrapping his arm around me again, letting my blouse hang freely as he pulled my chest to his mouth. He left love bites on the tops of my chest, suckling and licking as he pulled my bra away from my nipples. They were already perked up from the way I was still grinding onto his knee, but the moment his mouth latched onto my right nipple, I couldn’t help but pull at his hair. He moaned against my breast, causing a vibration that ripped through my body. 

“John, I’m so close, please help me,” I gasp, rocking myself in a rhythm I could barely keep. He removes his mouth from my chest, and I drop my forehead to his, as he moves his hands to take control of my waist once more. He tenses his thigh underneath me, creating a new pressure against my clit. I cry out, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck. 

“Right there John, please don’t stop,” I choke, trying to breathe a little deeper for fear I might hyperventilate. 

He plants a kiss on my lips, pulling my lip away from between his teeth. My legs begin to shake as my orgasm takes my body, releasing my fluids onto his thigh as he continues to roll my hips through it. I can barely sit up, as he lays me down to rest against his chest, drawing on my back with his finger. 

“That was so good, Y/N, you did so good for me,” he whispers. I smile, kissing his neck. His eyes flutter closed as I continue to kiss and suck at his neck. As I swing my leg off of him so that I am once again between his legs, I slowly start kissing down to his chest, licking up, and then continuing to kiss back down. 

“Jesus, love, you’re gonna be the death of me he says, a hand on his forehead as he looks down to see me biting at his pelvic bone, while my hands creep up his thighs to his belt. I can feel his hard on against my boner, and I feel bad for neglecting it during my ride, but I know how to make it up to him. Once I undid his pants, I started shimming them down him. Pulling his swollen cock out from his trousers, I can already see the beads of precum seeping from his slit. I involuntarily lick my lips, before I give his cock a slow stroke. 

John groans above me, his head rolled back and to the side, looking at me with a smile. I smile back, maintaining eye contact as I lean down to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick. His mouth parts lightly as his breathing becomes more shallow, waiting to see what I will do next. I kiss my way down his shaft, all the way to his balls, holding them in one hand while I continued to slowly pump his member in my other. I sucked at them for a moment, releasing them with a pop, causing him to buck up into my hand. I open my mouth and let my tongue drag all the way up the underside of his cock, until I reach the top. I wrap my lips around him, slowly pushing my head down as far as I could take him. His hand goes for my hair, which at this point had fallen out of my usual work-do, so that he could see my face. 

“Oh...you know what you’re doing. Keep going love,” he groans out, desperate for more. 

I begin to bob my head up and down, taking the rest of shaft in my hand. I use my tongue as well to swipe of his dick as I messily blow the doctor above me. It was no surprise to learn that he had jerked off to this very thought many times, but to actually have it happen was a dream come true for him. As I continue to work his cock, the wetness of my vagina continues to throb at the thought that he could be inside me. I can feel him getting closer as his moans become more strained and grip on my hair tightens. 

“Oh, oh, Y/N, you’re gonna have to stop love, I wanna be inside you when I finish,” he says, looking down on me, signaling our next move. I look up at him as I go down as far as I can, gagging on his dick while little tears prick at the corner of my eyes. He pulls me off of him by my hair, leaning down to kiss me sloppily. I had never seen the army doctor so disheveled before, but I loved this different side of him. I stood up to straddle him once more, and as I sat, he took his fingers and ran them through my slit. I hissed at the action, not wanting his fingers when I was ready for his cock. But he took the cum and slickness from my first orgasm and rubbed it onto his cock, preparing me for it. As I sat up, he held his tip to my entrance, looking into my eyes for the green light. I slid down onto him, my mouth gaping open with a sharp inhale as he filled me. 

“Jesus Christ...” was all he could say, as I sat with him inside me, both of us half dressed in his living room. 

I rolled my hips as I had when I first sat on him, shivering at the girth of his member. I found a rhythm to pace myself with, causing us to pant and groan in unison. As I bounced on him, he brushed my hair behind my ears, cupping my face while I braced myself with my hands on his chest. 

He slid down a little shifting the angle of him inside me, causing him to hit my g-spot. 

“Jesus, John, that’s it, right there,” I cry, rolling my hips against him. His hands move to wrap around my waist once more, as he takes control, pounding up into me. I shouted, leaning forward with one hand on the back of the chair, the other supporting his neck. Although my mouth was on his, all I could do was moan into him as he relentless hit spot that needed him most. 

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. It was a voice he used when he needed to be taken seriously and I wasn’t about to go against him. I snaked my hand between us and made tight circles are my clit, rolling against him and my hand.

“John, please, I can’t, I’m gonna cu-”

He cut me off by sitting up a bit more and replacing my hand with his. I shouted as I gripped his shoulders, riding his cock as the tension broke. I began to pulse around him as I cried out his name over and over. My orgasm ripped through me, and before I could stop myself, I was squirting on top of Dr. John Watson. 

He groaned out, “Y/n, Y/n, oh my god, good girl,” as he bucked up into me, coating my walls with his cum. 

We rode out our high, forehead to forehead, trying to catch our breaths as our eyes remained close. After a few moments passed, we opened our eyes, looking to see if what we had done was a mistake. But there was no trace of regret in either of our faces. 

“I’m yours, Dr. Watson,” I say, taking his face in my hand. He leans into me, then turning to kiss the inside of my hand. “I was always yours”. 

Still inside me, we look around. Nothing had changed, except for maybe our relationship status. 

“Do you think he will know?” I ask. 

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” John replies. 

“But do you think he will know we did it in his chair?” I laugh. 

“Not if we clean it well enough,” he says, leaning in to rub his nose against mine. 

We get up and begin cleaning, though it was hard to bend over, as my knees buckled nearly every time. By the time we had cleaned the room and ourselves up, it was nearly one in the morning. I moved my clothes into Johns room so that Sherlock wouldn’t notice if I slipped out the next morning. All the dishes had been dried and put away so that there was no trace of a guest. 

As John and I lay in bed together, waiting for Sherlock to come home, John leans over and asks cautiously, “is this why you gave Mrs. Hudson those opera tickets?”

I freeze for a moment, knowing that I had been caught. 

“I just needed her to not interrupt when I told you how I felt. I didn’t know it would lead to...well, this,” I giggle. 

He laughs, pulling me towards him to kiss my forehead. “God, I love you.”

He freezes against my forehead, realizing it was the first time we had ever even said the word love to one another, even as friends. 

I pull him down by the chin, to kiss him softly on the lips. “I love you too”.

---

A few hours after we had fallen asleep, we were awoken to the bedroom door being swung open and slammed against the wall. 

“On my chair, John?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

If you can’t tell, Martin Freeman rules my life and I have a deep and passionate love for him. I hope you enjoyed and look out for more of this because I am on a ROLL! xoxo

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed The Radio Star- Chapter 7 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: thank you all for being patient with me and for reading my series! Happy Sunday to you all and I think that if I update every Sunday it will work out fine! If school gets in the way I will let you all know! Please take care of yourselves and be happy!!

Warnings: Overall fluff, two dorks being dorks, etc.

Plot: Things start to feel better with Spencer around. Spencer and you enjoy a nice spring Saturday and Spencer gets an enticing invitation. 

Word Count: 3.1K

It was childish to want to look cute for a friend, a cute friend, but still a friend. You were trying on outfit after outfit, eyes always drifting to the black boot stuck on your leg. In the end, you settled on a simple tee-shirt and jeans combo. You wanted to admit that the tee-shirt didn’t have a slightly low v-neck, and you also wanted to admit that your hair wasn’t a beautiful mess of brush out curls. You were trying your hardest to look both casual and stunning, the way heroines did in romance novels, but the longer you looked in the mirror you felt painfully obvious.

Spencer told you he had the upcoming weekend off, and lucky for him you had another two months off, so it worked out perfectly. You tore your eyes away from your reflection, confidence falling as you stared at the clock propped up on your desk. It was twenty minutes till noon, and you had suggested a near-by cafe.

If you didn’t count the time spent with your mother this would be your first time out of the house since the incident, a shiver caressed your spine. You drew in a calming breath, eyes closing as you exhaled. You didn’t have the mental capacity for a mental breakdown today, you needed him to see that you were fine. Stable.

Your lips turned up in a nervous smile as you limped over to your purse and crutches, trying your best to keep the strap slung over your shoulder. You had called a cab ahead of time, you would’ve walked, but you didn’t want to arrive with sweat dripping down your back.

The cab dropped you off early, giving you ample time to find a place to sit and wait. The wait also gave you plenty of time to silently panic; did this seem like a date? Did you look like you were ready for a date? What if he thought you looked bad? You rubbed your palms against your jeans, sweat clingy to them desperately, so much for the cab ride.

Spencer spotted you before you spotted him, a smile taking over his face immediately, watching as you talked to the waitress with a kind smile. It wasn’t until she was gone that you saw him, waving him over with a loud giggle. Spencer felt a familiar feeling swimming in his chest, the feeling of beating wings, a small gust of wind brought him back. Spencer sat across from you, smiling wide, “Hi,”

A nervous laugh erupted from you, “Hey,” you took in his appearance; messy hair, clean face, beige slacks, and a dark blue sweater-vest. “Blue looks nice on you.” you hear yourself say unexpectedly, surprising yourself and Spencer simultaneously.

“Blue?” Spencer repeats as he looks down at the sweater vest covering his chest, a tiny laugh escaping his lips.

You feel your mouth open against your will, words spewing out, “I don’t know why I said that, I just noticed that your eyes look nice in dark blue, and the sweater-vest is a nice shade of navy,”

“Thank you,” Spencer cuts you off in a gentle tone, eyes meeting yours quickly.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered softly as the waitress made a reappearance. After having a glance at the menu, Spencer ordered a peppermint tea, and you ordered a coffee. As she left the two of you alone, you tilted your head towards the side.

“Is peppermint tea your favorite?”

“I would say it’s in the top three,” Spencer joked lightly, trying to relax under your gaze. Even if the two of you were here just as friends, the way the sunlight was illuminating your hair made Spencer’s throat tighten with anxiety. “It calms me down to drink something nice and,” Spencer noticed how fast he was talking, “Warm. Something nice and warm,” he repeated slower, calming himself down.

You leaned in slightly, “I loved the tea and the book, it was very thoughtful.” you resisted the urge to reach for his hand that was resting on the table, retreating into your seat nervously.

“I’m not a big coffee drinker,” Spencer paused, “Well, actually, I am! I just need the coffee to be extremely sweet.”

“Oh, you’re one of those.” Your voice carried a playful tone as you trailed off.

“One of what?”

“Those people. They need to have cream, sugar, and a dollop of coffee!”

Spencer looked at you, eyes wide, “A dollop?”

“A dollop, yes.”

“That’s the word you’re going to use?”

“Do you have a problem with it, Doctor?” you teased him, tension leaving as you heard Spencer chuckling across the table. The wind blew his hair into his face and you swore you could smell the faint smell of peppermint and aftershave. Your eyes darted towards his lips for a second before the waitress set a cup in front of you. “Oh, thank you.”

Spencer gave a quick thanks to the waitress, eyes staying on you as your cheeks became a tinted pink. You were looking around, eyes never focusing on one thing for too long. Something was making you nervous, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong. “Is everything alright?”

You poured a small amount of cream into your coffee with a false smile, heart-pounding inside your chest, “I’m fine,”

“You seem tense,”

“I just had an intrusive thought,” you lied as you stirred in some sugar. You couldn’t tell him about your dreams, the two of you were friends and it was the first time the two of you were together under normal circumstances. You didn’t want to ruin this, you couldn’t ruin this.

Spencer noticed the lie and let it slide as he nodded. He blew on his tea carefully, eyes peeking over the rim to stare at you. When you looked up from your coffee, he simply blocked his vision by taking a sip of his tea. When he brought down his cup, he noticed that you were staring out onto the street. He followed your gaze slowly, children walked hand and hand with their parents, the wind shook budding trees and a couple was kissing on the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” you broke Spencer away from his thought, head turning to look at you. “Sometimes I get distracted,” you explained, the light hue of your cheeks turning a shade darker. Whenever you looked at him, the only thing that you could see was his eyes, his lips. Then all you could think about was how wonderful those lips would feel pressed against yours.

Spencer could feel your eyes on him, he watched as your eyes would dip between his lips and then his eyes, repeating the movement over and over again till he felt his cheeks heating up. He convinced himself that you saw the couple and thought about him for a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for things like that to happen, and the idea of you liking him flew over his head effortlessly.

You took a calming sip of coffee, closing your eyes as you sipped the beverage, letting the warmth of the liquid warm your chest. Once you felt less flustered you opened your eyes slowly, setting down your cup with a tiny sigh. “Spencer,” Spencer’s eyes were already on you “Describe your perfect day,” you demanded gently, hands moving as you spoke.

Spencer let out a chortle, “What?”

“Tell me about your perfect day!” you urged, a tiny giggle escaping you for a second. “Do it Miss United States style,”

“A beauty pageant?”

“A scholarship program according to the movie ‘Miss Congeniality’,” Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you let out an audible gasp, feeling like a teenager. “Come on! The movie! Sandra Bullock is this F.B.I agent and she has to go undercover!” You explained desperately as Spencer only shook his head ‘no’.

Your hands covered your mouth, hiding the beaming smile on your face as you giggled. “Oh you would hate it,” you teased gently before letting your hands drop back down onto your lap.

“Do you still want me to describe my perfect day?”

“Very much so, yes!” you answered, scooting closer to the edge of your chair.

Spencer nodded a little, looking off to the side as he tried to think. Most of his days were spent chasing after murders, sometimes he wondered if he would ever have a perfect day; a day where he didn’t think about death. He clicked his tongue gently, “ I think it would be a Saturday,” he began, watching as you closed your eyes. He smiled as he continued, “I wouldn’t wake up before the sunrise and I would be able to sleep in, the phone is off, and by ten o’clock I’ve had breakfast.”

You opened one eye, waiting for him to continue, “Spencer, I need more than that.” you declared, closing your eyes once again.

“Fine, fine!” he hummed gently, fingers tapping against the table. “I’m with someone, maybe someone who cares about me?” Spencer questioned himself gently. “We’re not going anywhere, not talking to anyone, we’re just staying inside and watching ‘Doctor Who’.” He said, his cheeks burning as he watches you hold back a sound of adoration.

You open your eyes, clapping your hands together quickly. “I love that!”

“You do?”

“It’s very cute and relaxing. I imagined you in your pajamas, I’m thinking plaid?”

Spencer shook his head in disbelief, laughing with you. As the laughter died down, he decided it was your turn. “Okay, tell me about your perfect day,” he said, leaning forward to rest his head on his hand.

“Mine?” you said, motioning towards yourself quickly. “Well, I pick Saturday for my day as well. It’s wintertime and it’s snowing, not in a crazy blizzard way, but in a calming way. I would probably think about playing in the snow, but the heater would win that battle.” You played with the coffee stirrer, “I would stay inside, most likely watching adaptations of books turned into a film, before giving up and watching some ‘Doctor Who’.” you finished confidently, lifting your head to look back up at Spencer, a giddy smile on his face.

“You said ‘Doctor Who’ because that’s what I said didn’t you?”

“Don’t tell me that you think  you’re the only one who watches that show, Spencer.”

“Well, obviously not,”

“Good,”

Spencer sent you a playful glare as you rolled your eyes at him, “You stole my perfect day, Y/N.”

“No, I simply made it better,”

“Sure,” Spencer scoffed as he watched your smile fall into a comfortable grin, feeling his face doing the same.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“No, it’s my turn!” Spencer snapped back at you in a playful tone, biting his lip as he tried to think of a question. “Would you ever want to be famous?”

“Oh, Doctor Reid!” you exclaimed, tapping the rim of your coffee cup as you gave the question some thought. “No, I don’t think I would ever want to be famous.” you paused for a second, “The money would be great and I would like the recognition, but I don’t think I could deal with the paparazzi and all the drama.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with your reasoning quickly. Spencer would hate the attention and he would hate the dramatics even more. “I couldn’t do it either,”

“But, if you were famous, what would it be for?”

“Hopefully, something intellectual,”

“Like a Nobel prize?”

“Probably,” Spencer watches as you relax in the chair, feeling consciously better that you seem better now. He knew that it could have all been a mask for him, a mask to cover up how you were actually doing. He wore a mask for a while, sometimes the mask would fall and sometimes it would get harder to take off. He knew what it was like to pretend that everything was okay, to pretend that everything was going to be okay. Spencer debated asking how you were for a second, but if you wanted him to know how you were, you would tell him.

You took a long drink from your cup, silently trying to come up with more questions to ask Spencer. You wanted to know more about him, you wanted to be a good friend. Yeah, a good friend. “Are you happy that you’ve got the weekend off?”

Spencer nodded quickly as you set down your cup, “Usually the weekend is paperwork or taken over by another case.”

You bit your lip, mulling over a question, “Do they ever get to you?”

Spencer inhaled slowly, thinking about the best way to answer, “They get to all of us, but it’s the job. It’s not easy and we try our best.” he answered, feeling satisfied as your lips turned up into a gentle smile.

“I can’t help but think that you’re amazing,” you confessed sweetly, cheeks heating up instantly. Spencer could feel heat rush towards his face, feeling very hot all of the sudden. You laughed, trying to cover up your nervous fidgeting, “No, I know that you’re amazing. Especially you, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his mouth go dry, he brought the cup of tea to his lips, trying to remain calm. He wasn’t the best when it came to compliments, he would always find himself rambling and the team would send him a look. People said he was smart and that he was intelligent, but he never heard the word amazing, it didn’t seem like he was amazing. Morgan was amazing, Prentiss and Hotch were amazing, Garcia was incredibly amazing, while Spencer was just … Spencer. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

Your smile grew, teeth showing, “I can’t express how much you’ve helped me,”

“I didn’t do anything amazing,”

“Spencer, you sent me your favorite tea, and Oscar Wilde, you’re my white knight.” You said, laughing as you watched Spencer’s face grow a noticeable shade of red. You had to admit that he was your savior. He had helped you through the dark parts of the night and sometimes the darker parts of days. You knew that if you needed him, he would help you. He was amazing.

Spencer’s mind was still repeating the words ‘white knight’ over and over again, trying to make sense of it all. “Peppermint has great healing effects and tea, especially, has great benefits!” he babbled, the sentence coming out at the speed of lightning. “In fact, the amino acid that teas carry, theanine, helps with balancing your hormones as you drink it.”  You nodded quickly, not seeming to mind that he was spewing random facts.

“Did you know that ancient civilizations, like ancient Greece and ancient Egypt, used to use peppermint as medicine?” You giggled lightly. “I googled some things about peppermint tea after you sent me some,” you admitted to him cheerfully.

Spencer felt the tension in his back dissipate, finding it comforting that you didn’t seem frustrated with him for babbling. Instead, you seemed to have enjoyed it, it didn’t seem to bother you at all. He heard your laugh and found that the sound was butterfly-inducing, a giddy smile reaching his face as he laughed along with you.

---

Spencer insisted that he walk you back to your apartment, as well as insisting that walking would be good for you as you hadn’t been out of the house in a couple of days. So, how were you supposed to refuse, he won you over with the offer with those beautiful brown eyes, you were sure of it. Your crutches made a soft clicking sound every time you moved, but you were too busy listening to Spencer talk about Oscar Wilde.

This was every librarian’s dream, to have an intelligent and dreamy man walk you home as he talks to you about the symbolism in Oscar Wilde’s ‘Nightingale and the Rose’. He demanded that it’s the story for true romantics, while you argued it was a story for hopeless romantics. Whenever you said that he would say that they were the same thing, making you laugh.

As your apartment building came into view, you felt your legs become weaker, almost like jelly. “Spencer,” you muttered as the two of you stopped outside of the lobby, “Thank you,”

Spencer’s brows knitted together in confusion, “For?”

“Being with me today,” you admitted, feeling lame as he stared at you. “I already owe so much to you,”

“You don’t owe me anything,”

“I do,” you pressed quickly, standing straighter with the help of your crutches. “I owe you some much, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you motioned between the two of you with a grin, “but you did, you’ve been such a great friend and so helpful. I can’t thank you enough.”

Spencer smiled at your thanks and simply shrugged before saying, “It's what I would want if I was in your position, I’m sorry the only thing I can offer you is a helping hand.”

“Your helping hand has been the best thing to happen to me in a long time, so, again, thank you.” you conceded, your legs no longer feeling weak as you finished. Your mind reminded you gently that the two of you had been here before, in a dream once. Shoving the thought down you smiled up at him nervously, “Would you want to come up and maybe watch an episode of ‘Doctor Who’?” you offered, your voice breaking slightly due to anxiety.

Spencer tried his best not to looked shocked at your offer, every bone in his body screamed that he should accept, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or for it to be weird,”

“Why would it be weird? It will be like your perfect day,” you assured him sweetly, heart beating fast at the thought of his rejecting your offer. Spencer swiped his tongue over his lips nervously and you knew that it was probably a bad idea to invite him up. It was probably a bad idea, yes, but you found that you didn’t really care. You wanted him to be around you, you wanted to be with him, just as friends.

Spencer slowly nodded, “Okay, sure,” he settles, feeling slightly more confident as you break out into a bright smile. “Who’s your favorite Doctor anyway?”

“What a silly question, you’re my favorite Doctor, obviously,”

“No, I meant in the show-”

“I know, that was me messing with you, genius.”

Spencer felt his heart crawling into his throat as he watched you get into the elevator. You frowned at him, waiting for him to get into the elevator, “Come on, Doctor.” You urged him quickly as he shuffled into the elevator. A small thought came to mind as he listened to you hum along to the elevator music, maybe he lied earlier, maybe today was the perfect day.

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Paintbrush (Spencer Reid x Artist!Reader)

Summary: You’re an artist in DC, and a serial killer has started using your artwork as inspiration for his murders.

Warnings: Mentions murder (duh) but doesn’t go into detail

Notes: This is way longer than I planned lol. I based the chaotic-artist vibe that the reader has going on the tiktoker @/artistkatiesmall so y’all can watch her tik toks if you like chaotic energy and paint as much as i do. Oh also I tried to keep this gender-neutral but if there are any pronouns in here that shouldn’t be let me know and I’ll fix it!! I use she/her so sometimes it just comes naturally and i don’t notice. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

You were in your studio, listening to music as loud as physically possible. Your art studio is like a safe haven; the only place you feel completely yourself. Right now you’re working on your latest piece. Your art style is very “splattered paint that ends up looking like something”, which your mother had told you on multiple occasions. She had meant it as an insult, but you ended up taking the term and making it your own. She’s not wrong; you typically start your pieces by throwing some paint on a canvas and letting it take you somewhere. So here you are, slapping paint on a canvas and screaming the lyrics to your favorite song.

As the painting began to take form - you hadn’t decided what it would be yet, but you’re excited with what you have - you heard some pounding that didn’t match the beat of the song. Grabbing your phone, you turned down the music, and the pounding could be heard much more clearly now. “Y/N Y/L/N! FBI!” You quickly paused the music and rushed to the door. As you opened the door, your paintbrush (still covered in paint...oops) was tucked behind your ear. At your entrance was two men, one tall and skinny, and the other older with graying hair. “Y/N?” The younger of the two asked, his voice considerably softer than when he’d yelled through your door. You only nodded, and each of the men showed you their badges before the older of the two spoke.

“I’m SSA Rossi, and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Can we come in? We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You opened the door wider now, allowing them both to step inside your small studio. “Um, sorry about the mess, I’m not exactly the most conventional artist.” You apologized. You would've offered them a seat, but you only had two chairs in the place, and they were both occupied by piles of your various art supplies. “What is this about?”

Dr. Reid held a file in his hands, which he passed over to you as he spoke. “Do you recognize any of these paintings?” You open the file to find 4 pictures of your own artwork; portraits of various different people. One short blonde woman, one ginger man with an impressive beard, and a hispanic woman with a pixie cut. 

“Yeah, I painted these a while back...Why does the FBI care about some random commission artwork?”

“Someone commissioned you to do these?” Dr. Reid spoke quickly, causing you to look away from the pictures and back towards him. “Uh, yeah. He calls me every once in a while and asks for weirdly specific portraits.”

“What do you mean, weirdly specific? You don’t base your work off of pictures?” SSA Rossi asked you.

“No, he’s never given me pictures to work from. He just describes the person he wants me to paint. Like about two weeks ago,” You paused as you walked over to your cluttered desk, and grabbed your notepad, which was still open to the page you’d jotted down your notes on, “He asked for a portrait of a short, Asian man with bleach blonde hair, dark eyes, and one pierced ear.” You handed the notepad to Dr. Reid, who scanned it quickly. 

“What’s his name?” He asked, before handing the notepad to his partner.

“Tanner. I don’t know his last name, he always pays with cash. What’d he do?”

The two men looked at each other briefly, before Dr. Reid spoke again, “We believe Tanner has been killing the people that you paint. He left the paintings at the crime scene.”

Your heart dropped. Not only had you been in constant contact with this psychopath, but you felt like you’d inadvertently helped him. You took his money, and he killed the people who looked like your paintings. 

“I know this is shocking, but have you painted anyone else for him?”

“Uh, no, this was the most rece-” You cut yourself off, remembering something from the last time you’d spoken with Tanner. “He bought a painting of me.”

“When?” Dr. Reid asked.

“When, uh, when he picked up the last painting. I had a self-portrait sitting over there that I'd done for fun. He asked if he could have it along with the other one, he paid me extra for it-”

“What day, Y/N?” Dr. Reid placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You felt like you might pass out.

“3 days ago.”

Again, the two agents looked at each other, and their faces didn’t make you feel any better.

“Y/N, why don’t you come with us to the police station, you’ll be safe there.” You could only nod in response letting them lead you out of the studio. Before you exited, Dr. Reid grabbed the paintbrush from behind your ear, placing it on a table before you made your way out to the car.

~~~

Sitting in the police station was like torture. First of all, you were wearing your normal painting outfit: a paint-stained t-shirt an ex had left at your place, jeans that were so ripped up you could barely call them jeans anymore, and of course, socks and sandals. The cops were either completely ignoring your presence, or asking you the same questions you’d already answered dozens of times. One top of all that, they wouldn’t let you do anything besides sit and wait. You had managed to find a paper pad and a pen, so at least your doodling could help pass the time.

You’d been at the station for over an hour already, which meant your doodle was nearly perfect; you ended up drawing one of the agents, Dr. Reid. From where you were sitting, he was in clear sight, and one of the only people who was actually sitting still enough for you to draw. And, y’know, he’s the only person you want to look at long enough for you to draw. 

“Is that me?” His voice startled you; you’d been looking down at the paper and didn’t notice Dr. Reid coming towards you. You dropped the pen immediately, and moved the paper out of his sight.

“I’m sorry Doctor, I was just, y’know, bored and-” You tried to put together a sentence, but your embarrassment was getting the best of you.

“I don’t mind, I, um, think it’s kind of flattering. Can I see it?” Dr. Reid asked, and you reluctantly handed the paper over. You’d been an artist for so long, you were almost never nervous for people to see your work anymore; you have a very “if they like it, great! If they don’t, I don’t care,” kind of attitude when it comes to your artwork. But Dr. Reid was making you nervous. “You don’t have to call me Doctor by the way. Reid is fine. Or, uh, Spencer. You can call me Spencer.” He had a light blush on his face as he spoke, which calmed you a little bit. At least he’s just as nervous as you. Suddenly, as if he was snapped out of his train of thought, Spencer handed the paper back to you and cleared his throat before speaking. “We used the phone number you gave us to find Tanner, but he doesn’t have any listed addresses. Did you ever deliver paintings to him?” Behind him, another one of the agents who’d talked to you, Hotch, walked up.

���Um, no. I’d just call him whenever I finished a painting and he’d come to me.”

“Would you be willing to call him again?” Hotch asked. Your eyes widened at the idea. You’re already terrified at the notion that you may be a target for a serial killer, but calling him? Hotch must have noticed your fear, as he began to explain further, “We can track his location with a phone call, but we need some time to do it. If you’re the one speaking, he’ll probably stay on the line long enough for our technical analyst to find him.” 

You took a deep breath, before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I can do that. Can you guys give me a minute first? I need some air.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking out of the police station. Once you got outside, walked to the end of the building and leaned against the side wall. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply. You couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility over those people’s deaths. Tanner had taken your artwork, your passion, and ruined it.

“Are you ok?” You looked up to find Spencer standing in front of you, hands in his pockets.

“Not really.” You played with your hands as you spoke, not making eye contact.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” He asked, as he moved to lean against the wall next to you. 

“Shouldn’t you be inside? Y’know, you’ve got a serial killer to catch.”

“You know there are a lot of signs that someone feels guilty. Avoiding eye contact, changing the subject, lack of an appetite...I noticed you didn’t eat the snacks JJ got for you.” He was right, Agent Jareau had gotten you some snacks that you left untouched back in the station. When you didn’t say anything, Spencer continued, “Usually when I see people acting like this, they have good reason to be guilty. You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.”

“I inspired him.” When you looked up at Spencer, he gave you a confused look. “When I saw him last, when he wanted to buy that painting of me, I asked him why. He said that my artwork inspires him. If...If I hadn’t painted those people, they could still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But there’s a possibility, isn’t there? You can’t say for sure that he would’ve killed them anyways, can you?”

Spencer was silent for a moment, confirming your fears. Eventually, he spoke up. “He may not have killed those exact people, He would’ve killed someone. He’s already killed before.” Your eyebrows shot up at this, so Spencer kept talking, “We think we can connect him to two murders from a few years ago. If he had never used your art as part of his signature, it would’ve taken us a lot longer to find him. He may have even gotten away with it all together.” Spencer’s words did give you a little relief. You still felt bad for the way your art had been used, but it was a good reminder that you weren’t the murderer. That Tanner’s actions had nothing to do with yours.

“Thank you.” Spencer nodded in response, giving you a small smile. “I guess I have a phone call to make.”

~~~ a week later ~~~

You were back in your studio, getting ready for a new painting. Just as you placed your canvas on the easel, there was a knock on the door. When you opened it, you were surprised to find Spencer Reid on the other side. “Spencer?”

“Hi.” There was an awkward moment of silence before Spencer spoke again. “I, uh, saw your mural. It’s beautiful.” A small smile formed on your face at the mention of the mural. After you helped the BAU catch Tanner, you reached out to the family of the victims. With their permission, you painted a mural that was put up at the memorial down the road. The mural had been featured on local DC news channels, which is probably how Spencer had seen it.

“Thank you. I probably wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for you.” As you spoke, you moved over so that Spencer could enter the studio space. “Back at the police station, I wanted to quit art. Figured I’d finally put that communications degree to use or something.” Spencer lightly laughed as you continued, “But you made me realize that I can still do something good with my art.”

“I’m glad.” Spencer paused, and took a deep breath, and a step towards you, “Do you, uh, think we could go get coffee sometime? I mean, it doesn’t have to be coffee, we could get tea, or um, lemonade, we could get lemon-”

“Spencer!” You cut him off, with a light laugh. You found his nerves to be both flattering and cute. “I’d love to get any beverage you’d like, as long as you’re there with me.” You ran your hands through your pockets, looking for the sharpie you’d had in your hand before you’d opened the door. “Where is…” you mumbled, looking down at your pockets. Suddenly, you felt Spencer’s hand at your ear, where he pulled down the sharpie you’d placed there.

“Looking for this?” He was now standing close enough to you that he only had to whisper. 

“Yeah” You responded, at the same volume he’d used. You took the sharpie from his hand, but before he could pull it away, you grabbed it and wrote down your phone number. When you finished, you looked up to Spencer’s face, which had turned pink. “Call me whenever.”

Neither you or Spencer said a word, you just stood there, staring at each other. You couldn’t help but try to memorize every feature of his face. Your staring contest was interrupted by Spencer’s phone dinging. He took a step back, much to your disappointment, and looked down at the text. “I, uh, I have to get to work. We have a new case.” You could tell he was disappointed too.

“Ok.” You whispered. Spencer looked at you for one more moment before he did what you least expected; before you even realized what was happening, his hand was wrapped around your waist and his lips were on yours. Your hands found their way to his collar, pulling him even closer to you.

You two didn’t pull apart until Spencer’s phone went off again. “You better call me.” You said, finally letting go of him.

“I will, promise.” Was the last thing he said to you before rushing off to work. When the door closed behind him, you turned to your blank canvas with a clear idea in mind. So you turned up the music, grabbed your paints, and began to put every detail of Spencer you could remember onto the canvas.

~~~

Notes: i’ll be honest idk how i feel about this ending lmao but i hope y’all liked it

Tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac

[homoose]

Winning is a Habit

Hi y’all! Okay sooooooooo this is my first time writing fic??????? Like omg please be nice lmao. I don’t have a beta reader, so if you catch any mistakes pls lmk! I saw this challenge and the world is total garbage, so why not write our own realities????? Ok here goes!!!!!!!!!! Written for @veraiconcos fic challenge

Summary: The BAU gets called to investigate two high-profile murders in a college town, only to find that they are part of a much bigger, more complicated picture. No real pairings, although you could make it happen if you want lol ;) This is an idea I’ve seen floating around the fandom for a little while now, and I really wanted to see it fleshed out. Set around season 4 or 5.

Category: some angst, sort of fluff? I wouldn’t say it necessarily qualifies as an AU, but it’s outside of canon.

Warnings/Includes: some brief descriptions of violence/CM type stuff; mentions of rape (no details)

Word count: 6.1k

———

“Stillwater, Oklahoma,” JJ said, navigating the map off screen and pulling up the crime scene photos. “Two college seniors— Tyler Allen and Leon Williams, star football players for Oklahoma State University— both found dead the day before the playoff qualifier.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Spencer asked, thumbing through the case file.

“The ME report concluded that both boys died of acute alcohol poisoning,” JJ informed them.

Emily looked up from the file. “And the locals don’t think this could just be a case of college kids having a little too much fun?”

“Before a major playoff game? I doubt it.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Especially considering OSU’s having a record-breaking season. I’d guess the coach had players on a pretty strict lockdown.” He raised his hands and joined them in a steeple over his chest. “Showing up to a game hung-over— particularly one as important as this— would be a major conduct issue.”

“That, and there was a pretty specific message left on both victims,” JJ added, arms crossed and eyebrows lifting into her hairline.

“On them?” Rossi questioned.

JJ motioned with her hand back to the screen. Six sets of eyes moved over the photo; the words “U LOSE” scrawled in ink across the foreheads of the two men.

“Resorting to murder to win a football game?” Emily asked, eyes narrowed.

“And why use the forensic countermeasure of staged alcohol poisoning, only to backtrack and assert it as a murder?” Spencer pondered, pursing his lips.

“Whatever the reason, we’ve got two dead college students and a definite signature. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch told them, closing his case file.

⧭⧭⧭

“No sign of forced entry.” Derek walked through the entry hallway and into the living space. “Doesn’t look like there was any struggle, either.”

Rossi thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter and peered around the small space. “Everything you’d expect in a boys’ college dorm room: dishes in the sink, generic decor, general mess. Nothing that stands out.”

“Agents, thank you so much for coming.” A tall man in a dark suit stepped across the threshold of the apartment. He stuck out his hand for Rossi to shake. “Steven Barrett, Dean of Students.”

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. This is SSA Derek Morgan.” Derek nodded from his place in the living room.

“I apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. We’re dealing with a grieving campus,” Barrett said, running a hand over his face. “I’m actually on my way to speak to the Board, but I wanted to check in with you before. I’m not sure I can be of much help, but I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

“These boys were seniors, but they still lived on campus. Is that typical?” Rossi asked, gesturing around the apartment.

“Uh, yes, it is for student athletes,” Barrett confirmed with a nod. “OSU teams have demanding, sometimes grueling practice schedules. Being on campus simplifies things, allows students to get to classes and practices, as well as utilize the dining halls.”

“Does this building have security cameras?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. All of our buildings do. I’ll let Campus PD know you’ll need access to the footage.” Barrett’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and punched the button to answer the call. “Yes. Yes, I—I’m finishing up with the FBI now. I understand. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m sorry to leave you, gentlemen. Our top priority right now is supporting our students and community through this tragedy. Part of that healing process is finding out who did this to Tyler and Leon. So anything else you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Derek shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to do that job right about now.”

Rossi gave another glance around the nondescript apartment and sighed. “Call Garcia and ask her if she’s found any other cases that could be related. And let’s hope there’s something useful on that security footage.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Based on lividity and rigor mortis, I was able to put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00pm on Wednesday evening. The blood alcohol content for both boys was over five times the legal limit. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the medical examiner mused.

Emily looked over the bodies, her arms crossed. “Dr. Saraj, about how much would they have to drink for the level to be that high?”

“When drinking, the level of alcohol in our blood reaches a peak before it drops off after the last drink ingested,” Spencer supplied. “In a typical night of drinking, spread over the course of several hours, the average man can have 8-12 drinks without ever reaching lethal levels. But considering each victim weighed around 230 pounds, they’d have had to ingest approximately 180 ounces of beer or 18.75 ounces of liquor to reach a lethal blood alcohol content.”

Dr. Saraj glanced at Spencer before adding, “Look, this is a college town. Kids drink. But... to have had this much alcohol still detectable in their system post-mortem indicates that these boys drank at least the equivalent of a 30 rack, by themselves, in less than an hour.” She flipped up the first page of the report in her hands, eyes scanning the second. “And the toxicology screen also found trace amounts of ketamine.”

Spencer bent over the examining table and adjusted the wrist of one of the boys with a gloved hand. “Doctor, are these ligature marks?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Saraj agreed, nodding. “They’re relatively faint, so I almost missed them. But I found similar marks on both boys on the wrists and ankles.”

“So,” Emily said, gesturing with her hands, “the unsub doses them with ketamine to gain control, ties them up, forces them to drink lethal amounts of alcohol, and then— what?” She looked to Spencer. “Waits for them to pass out before removing the restraints and leaving the message?”

Spencer examined the marker scrawls. “Were you able to determine what the message was written with and if it was left pre- or post-mortem?”

“My guess would be it was written with some type of permanent marker, but I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Saraj said. “We’re analyzing the residue now, and I can send the report your way as soon as I have it. As for when it was written, I couldn't tell you.” She shook her head. “The one simple mercy is that these boys would have been out cold for a while before they died.”

⧭⧭⧭

“I’m so sorry. I know how difficult this is. Anything that you can tell us will be helpful in finding the person who did this,” JJ encouraged softly. “Anyone that Tyler might have had an argument with recently or who he mentioned having problems with?”

“No, no. He was—he was just your typical boy,” Mrs. Allen sniffled. “Playing football and hanging out with his friends,” she said, voice hitching. “Oh my god.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“He didn’t have time to have problems,” Mr. Allen asserted. “He spent all his free time on the field. Coach had them out there for two-a-days until classes started. He’s the quarterback. He was leading that team to the first national title since 1945.” He stood to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Some lunatic murdered my boy and you’re sitting around talking to us while they’re out there, walking free.”

“Sir, I promise you that we have some of the best agents in the country working on your son’s case,” JJ assured. “But in order to help them do their job, we need to know as much as we can about who Tyler was.”

Across the bullpen, Hotch sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Williams. “Leon was a good boy. Football was his life. He loved being a part of this team. It was the season of a lifetime,” Mr. Williams said.

“We taught him better than to be drinking and carrying on,” Mrs. Williams added.

“Can you think of anything or anyone he might have mentioned recently that was out of the ordinary? Anything that was bothering him or causing him distress?” Hotch questioned.

“He was feeling pressure about the season, but he’s been handling that kind of thing since he was twelve years old.” Mr. Williams shared an almost indiscernible look with his wife. “He got into—into the same kinds of trouble any college kid gets in. Nothing that could have gotten him murdered.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Yeah, baby girl, what d’ya got for me?” Derek held the phone out so that Rossi could listen in as they waited in the OSU security office.

“Well, my handsome knight, I wish I could tell you more but so far, I’m coming up empty with similar cases,” Penelope sighed. “Nothing that matches our alcohol poisoning M.O. or the signature. I just expanded the search to surrounding states, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Anything on our two victims?” Rossi asked.

“Now that’s where it gets interesting,” Penelope mused, tapping the fluffy end of her pen into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing. Zilch, nada.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “And that’s interesting because...?”

“Come on, sir,” Penelope scoffed. “Two young, athletic, good-looking college football stars and there’s nothing at all? Nothing scandalous on social media. No run-ins with campus PD. Not even a write up from an RA.”

Derek tilted his head in thought. “Hotch and JJ said their conversations with the parents told a similar story.”

“Okay, but no one is this squeaky clean, particularly not at a Big 12 college. Everyone has some dirt,” Penelope insisted. “I haven’t found it yet, but there’s gotta be something out there. When I have it, you’ll know it!”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Derek drawled.

“Over and out!” Penelope jabbed the button to end the call.

The OSU officer waved them over with his hand. “I’ve got it queued up to 6:24pm. You can see the boys here,” he pointed on the screen at the two victims, “entering the north entrance of the dining hall.”

Derek leaned toward the monitor. “So they leave practice, come through the dining hall for dinner. When do they leave?”

The footage sped up on the screen, then stopped. “Here. 7:01.”

“Rossi, you seeing this?” Derek slid his eyes over.

Rossi nodded. “Is there any way to enhance these frames?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “Not on this system. Honestly, the camera quality isn’t great. I’ve been trying to get them to invest in an upgraded OS, but you know—budget woes. Your analyst might be able to do more.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Derek sighed and straightened up. “She’s careful of her angles.”

“I couldn’t find them on any grounds cameras, but they pop back up entering the dorm. Here, at 7:12.”

“All three of them,” Rossi noted. He looked at Derek. “And like you said, she’s discreet.”

“They all go upstairs to the apartment,” the officer continued, “but only the girl leaves. At 8:43.”

⧭⧭⧭

“We have a witness from the cafeteria that confirms that the boys ate with a dark-haired young woman in a red coat,” Hotch said, arms crossed. “But other than those two details, the witness couldn’t recall anything else and said they’d never seen her before.”

“So we’ve got the two victims entering their apartment with an unknown woman. They’re upstairs for an hour and a half before she leaves,” Emily recounted.

Derek stood with his hands on his hips. “And in that time, she manages to dose and gain control of two boys that are more than double her size and funnel a lethal amount of alcohol into them. Now the question is why?”  

As the team converged around the conference room table, a uniformed officer entered into the doorway. “Agent Jareau? There’s a possible witness—says she might have some new information.”

JJ nodded to the team and moved to the doorway. A petite young woman stood in the center of the bullpen, wringing her hands. When her eyes landed on JJ, she let her arms fall to her side. As JJ approached, she motioned with her hand for the girl to sit at the closest desk. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I heard you wanted to speak to someone about this case. Can I have your name?”

The girl nodded. “Um, I’m Cassie. I saw the announcement you made. About the woman in the red coat. I heard you say that she had brown hair. Is that true?”

JJ cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, the witness and security footage we have shows a woman with dark hair walking with Tyler and Leon. Why do you ask?”

Cassie’s eyes darted around the bullpen, and she drew her arms tightly over her chest. “I just— um—well, I—”

“Would it help if we moved somewhere a little quieter?” JJ suggested. When Cassie nodded and stood, JJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and directed her toward an empty interview room. Cassie sat in the chair farthest from the door, and JJ sat opposite her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me about the woman? Or is it something else that’s on your mind?”

Cassie let out a long breath. “When I heard that they were dead, I— I was relieved. That sounds awful, but it’s true.”

JJ tread lightly over her next question. “You felt relieved. Why was that?”

Cassie looked directly at JJ. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder everywhere I go for the last seven months. I won’t have to do that anymore.”

“Can you tell me more about what you mean?”

Cassie took a breath and closed her eyes for a long second, before opening them and continuing. “There was a huge party in the spring. I mean, there were, like, hundreds of people there.” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “I never go to parties like that. But it was the end of the year, and my friend—well, I went with my friend. She got invited.”

“Were Tyler and Leon at this party?” JJ asked.

“Everybody was. I mean, everybody who’s somebody at OSU was there. We saw them right away. The whole team was there, but people treated those two like kings.” Cassie looked down at her hands. “We were drinking... a lot. At some point, Laney and I got separated. I tried calling her phone a bunch of times, but the party was really loud. I—I didn’t want to leave without her, but I was getting really messed up. I had a guy friend from one of my classes walk me home.” She swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Laney didn’t get back until the morning. Her clothes were all torn up, her hair had... blood in it, and she—she had a bruise under her eye.” She looked up at JJ, eyes shining with tears. “They raped her. I left her behind, and they raped her,” she whispered.

JJ reached across the table for Cassie’s hand. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. What happened to Laney was not your fault, or hers. Do you understand me?” JJ paused before continuing. Cassie looked down. “Do you know if she reported it?”

Cassie nodded. “I’m the one who went with her to the infirmary. They did a kit and confirmed it. When we went to Campus PD, they did nothing. Said Laney was wasted, and there was no one that could back up her story.”

JJ squeezed her hand. “So there was no official report filed?”

Cassie laughed coldly. “Oh, they wrote a report. I think if we ask them to, they have to. But they wouldn’t name Tyler or Leon in it. Said they didn’t want to ‘give legs to any gossip.’”

JJ’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Where’s Laney now?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “She didn’t come back to OSU this fall. I haven’t really talked to her since—” She looked at JJ. “I can’t get the image of her out of my head. How she looked when she came through the door that morning. What they did to her… I’m not sorry that they’re dead.” Her eyes were shining with rage. “People knew what happened… and no one did anything. And those two were still the kings of campus.”

⧭⧭⧭

The team absorbed the new information quietly. “So Garcia was right. They did have something to hide.” Derek’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of. Hey mama, you’re on speaker.”

“I hope you’re all sitting down,” Penelope warned. “I expanded the parameters of my original VICAP search to include the surrounding states. No hits on suspicious deaths by alcohol poisoning. However, the U LOSE signature? Seven hits across Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.”

“So our unsub’s been traveling across the South—” Emily started.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Penelope continued. “Just to double check, I expanded the search area to the continental US. Our unsub has been busy. Over 30 murders with this signature, all across the country, dating back to March 2007. All different M.O.s: gunshot, stabbing, strangulation, you name it. But all with U LOSE scrawled across their forehead in—get this—liquid eyeliner.”

“Anything tying the victims together, Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“All men, mostly white, but all across different ages, occupations, and marital statuses. At first glance, there’s no real connection,” Penelope answered.

“What about on second glance?” Hotch prompted.

“Way ahead of you, sir. I did a little digging.” Penelope shrugged. “Okay, a lot of digging—most of it legal. Every single one of these victims had at least one sexual assault allegation. Some are official police reports, some are HR complaints, some are sealed court records. But in every case, the victim’s cause of death is directly related to the details of the assault records. Women that were held at knifepoint, their attacker was stabbed to death. If they were choked, he was strangled. If they were held at gunpoint, he died of a gunshot wound. Et cetera, et cetera.” Penelope twirled her pen. “The differing M.O.s combined with the fact that the unsub kept crossing state lines kept local PDs and field offices from making the connection.”

“Garcia, can you search OSU PD records for an incident report?” JJ asked.

Garcia tapped rapidly across her keyboard. “Absolutely, sugar, when would it have been filed?”

“It would’ve been this year, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May,” JJ answered. “The victim would be named as Laney Collins.”

After a few moments, Garcia peered through her green cat-eye glasses at the report. “Mmm, I’ve got one incident report, filed on May 7th. And woof, this report is not much to go on. The responding officer wrote a whopping three sentences. According to him, Laney was incapacitated and thus was not a credible witness.” Garcia twirled her pen. “The alleged attackers, who are not named, denied Laney’s account of what happened. Because there were no other witnesses, Officer Thorough deemed that no further action was necessary.” She jabbed her pen in the direction of the screen. “And this, my friends, is why women don’t bother reporting.”

“Good work, Garcia,” said Hotch.

“There’s one more interesting detail from the report,” Garcia continued. “The dean of students signed off on it.”

“So Barrett knew about this the whole time,” Derek fumed.

“And again, people wonder why women don’t report,” Garcia repeated, ending the call.

“So our unsub is seeking justice for women she believes have been failed by the system. We’re looking for a vigilante, carrying out revenge killings,” Rossi concluded.

Derek nodded. “And she’s organized and efficient; she finished with Tyler and Leon in less than two hours.”

“She’s smart and she blends in, doesn’t draw too much attention to herself,” JJ added.

“She’s meticulous and has at least some knowledge of forensic countermeasures, considering there’s no physical evidence tying her to any of the scenes,” Spencer remarked.

“And she knew enough to keep her face off the security footage,” Emily finished.

“Rossi, Emily, and I will stay here and deliver the profile,” Hotch directed. “JJ, I’d like you to speak to the families again, see if they knew about the rape. Reid, Morgan, talk to Barrett and see what else he might be trying to keep quiet.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Makes you wonder just how many people knew what happened,” Derek considered, closing the car door.

“It’s estimated that twenty percent of student victims of sexual assault report it to their university, but less than one percent of assailants receive any type of disciplinary action,” Spencer cited, making his way toward the sidewalk.

Derek shook his head. “And so the victims don’t see the point in reporting it. Your attacker gets to walk around like nothing even happened. Cassie told JJ that she felt like she had a target on her back once they reported Laney’s assault.”

As they walked up the blacktop driveway to the entrance of Barrett’s home, Spencer slowed his steps as he noticed the front door. “Morgan.” He nodded at the door, slightly ajar.

Derek drew his gun and moved ahead of Spencer. He pushed the door slowly open and called out, “Mr. Barrett?” In the foyer were the remnants of a broken vase and a small trail of blood. “Call Hotch, let him know we’ve got trouble here.”

Derek and Spencer worked to quietly clear the rooms, one by one. Derek stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned to Spencer. As they started up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out, “Shut up! You had nothing to say before. So now, you’re just going to listen.”

Derek reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. He reached the open door where a woman stood, her back to the door. Behind her, Derek could see Barrett, sitting on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on his head. His hands were raised in front of his chest, palms facing out. Derek stopped, his gun trained on the woman, and murmured, “Laney?”

The woman pivoted her body, her short blonde hair whipping around. Derek saw tears in her eyes and a revolver in her hand. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Laney, my name is Derek. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. I need you to put the gun down.”

“No!” Laney screamed. “You don’t know what he’s done.” She shook the gun in Barrett’s direction, and Barrett closed his eyes.

Derek spoke softly. “I do, Laney. I do know. I know what happened to you. I know that he kept Tyler and Leon’s names off the report. I know that he didn’t help you when you needed it most. I know that he let them get away with--”

“Rape. He let them get away with rape. Because he cares more about reputation and football than what happens to women on his campus. They ruined my life.” Laney turned away from Derek and put both hands on the gun. “They ruined my life, and you did nothing. And then they walked around campus like they were invincible, because you taught them they were.”

Derek moved further into the room, into Laney’s eyesight. Spencer moved into the doorway, covering Derek. “Laney, look at me. I’m putting my gun away.” Derek held his hands up and then moved to holster his gun. “Doing this won’t make the pain go away.”

“How many others? How many other women did he do this to?” Laney let out a painful sob. “If I don’t stop him, it never ends.”

“Listen to me.” Derek took a step closer to her. “Killing him won’t change what happened, Laney. It won’t. Believe me. I know how you feel.”

“People love to say that when they’re trying to shut you up. How could you possibly know how I feel?” Laney spit out.

“Someone hurt me, just like they hurt you. And nobody was there to help me. No one was there to listen.” Laney froze, eyes shifting to meet Derek’s. “I wanted to hurt him, Laney. Wanted to make him feel the same pain I felt. I wanted him to suffer.” He moved another step closer. “I know that those men hurt you, and I know that he let them get away with it. And I am so, so sorry. But you’re stronger than anyone knows, Laney. You are the only person who has the power to help others who didn’t get justice. I have a friend who’s spent her whole life helping survivors, and I know she’d love to talk with you.” He took another step. “You are the only person who can stop it from happening to someone else. You can make sure he’s held accountable for what he’s done. But if you pull that trigger, you can never go back,” Derek warned.

Laney looked at Derek, his hand outstretched, wordlessly asking her to give him the gun. She looked at Barrett, crying and silently begging her to show him the mercy she never got. “I wish I’d been the one to kill them,” she whispered.

The gun dropped out of her hand as Derek stepped forward to catch her. He kicked the gun into the doorway, and Spencer recovered it. “I’ve got you,” Derek said, helping Laney out of the room. “Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Spencer moved to lift Barrett off the ground and helped him into a chair by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer caught a flash of red below the window. He stumbled over Barrett, nose almost pressed to the glass as he stared out. The woman froze, eyes locked on Spencer’s. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at her, bewildered. By the time his brain caught up, she had already disappeared from view.

Spencer turned and raced down the stairs, clinging to the railing as he nearly missed a step. He burst out the front door into the driveway, sprinting around the side of the house. He heard Derek call his name, saw the other SUVs pulling up, but he kept running. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the backyard, and then spun in a full circle, eyes frantically scanning the perimeter.

Hotch approached from the side of the house, gun drawn. “Reid! Are you all right?”

Spencer took a last look, scanned from east to west. “Yeah, yeah. I just—I thought I saw—I thought I saw something.” He shook his head. “Barrett’s inside. He’s got a head laceration, but he’ll be fine.”

Hotch lowered his gun and nodded. “And Laney’s not our unsub. So we’re back to the beginning.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Strauss is asking us to head back to Quantico.” Hotch pocketed his phone and looked at the team. “We’ll move the cases to our watch list and flag the signature for hits in VICAP. From what we know about the unsub’s behavior, we know she’s no longer in the area.” He gestured to the evidence board. “Our best course of action is to keep the profile in our periphery for now. We can do that from the BAU. It’s late. Go to the hotel, get some rest. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’m absolutely starving.” Emily slipped into her jacket and headed for the door. “Anybody want to hit up that 24 hour diner?”

Derek and JJ quickly agreed, following Emily from the conference room. JJ turned back, eyeing Spencer. “You coming, Spence?”

“I’m just really tired.” His voice lilted up, almost a question. “Next time, though.”

JJ gave him a look but didn’t press him. “Have a good night, Spence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gathered up the case files, not quite ready to put them away.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer’s eyelids felt heavy as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. He really was tired. He blamed the exhaustion for what he thought he saw through the window at Barrett’s. His fatigued mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He practically floated into the elevator and up to his room. Sliding the room key through the slot, the door beeped open and Spencer stepped inside. He flicked on the light and dropped his bag on the floor, loosening his tie as he walked toward one of the sling back chairs sat by the window. He paused just before he reached the chair, his gaze lingering over something on the desk. A note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary.

623.

Spencer lifted the note with two careful fingers. “623?” He turned it over, looking for the rest of the message, but the paper was blank other than the number. He lowered the note, and his eyes landed on a small plastic card where the paper had rested on the table. Not just a card. A room key.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer stared at the door of the room. Room 623. He turned his head and slowly looked up and then down the hallway. He took a breath and raised his hand to the door. He knocked in the familiar rhythm: five knocks, pause, two knocks. He pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any movement inside. When he heard nothing, he knocked again; the same pattern, but a little louder. He listened again. Nothing. Spencer felt a bead of sweat creep down the nape of his neck. He thought about turning around, about walking back down the two flights of stairs to his room and getting into bed.

Instead, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. As he lifted the card with one hand, he used his other to raise the strap on his holster. He held his breath as he swiped the card through the slot and heard the beep of the lock. Drawing his gun from the holster, Spencer slowly turned the handle of the door.

The room was mostly dark. Only the yellow glow of one of the bedside lamps illuminated the space. Spencer stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Again, his mind said to turn around. Yet his feet carried him further into the room. He could see now that the sling backs were facing toward the window. There were two glasses from the mini bar on the table between them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” a familiar voice mused.

Spencer startled and then swallowed audibly, a cartoon character realizing he’s in serious trouble. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You can put the gun away,” she continued. “Really. Come sit down, Reid.”

Hearing her say his name sucked all the air out of his lungs. He closed the remaining distance between them, staring dumbly at her perched in the armchair. She gave him a small smile, warm despite the nervous energy in the air. “Hey, Reid.”

“Elle.” Spencer sunk into the chair across from her. “I—I thought I was seeing things. Earlier. At Barrett’s.”

She studied him quietly. “This hair is a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer blushed, smoothing down the hair at the nape of his neck. He quickly dropped his hand. “It was you then.”

“What was me?” Elle asked innocuously.

“You were at Steven Barrett’s house today. In the yard.” Spencer folded his hands to keep from wringing them. “You were wearing a red coat.”

Elle lifted one of the glasses to her lips, taking a sip of the clear liquor, ice cubes rattling. She swallowed and gestured to the other glass. “Have a drink.”

“I, um, I don’t drink anymore.” Elle raised an eyebrow. “A lot has happened since… the last time I saw you.” Spencer smoothed his hands down the tops of his thighs. “You were there today. Elle, did you—are you…” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

Elle ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She was quiet for a long time. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, but stayed quiet, waiting. Elle set the glass down.

“Do you remember that night in Dayton? In the hotel room?” Spencer looked at her pointedly. Elle let out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to; of course you remember.” Their eyes met. Spencer felt she was looking right through him. “You told me that I’d won. That because Garner was dead, and I was alive, I won.”

“Elle—” Spencer started.

“You asked, Reid. This is my answer.” She screwed the cap off the bottle of gin. Pouring the remainder of the bottle into her glass, she continued, “It took time, but I started to feel safe in my own home again. I could close my eyes without seeing his face. I could take a shower without bringing my gun.” She downed the rest of her glass. “When I killed Lee, I gave that same freedom back to the women he’d raped. They could exist in the world knowing that he would never hurt them, ever again.” She smiled ruefully. “And it felt… good. It felt right. And after years of having watched people be destroyed by monsters… I don’t know. It was just something I had to do. To bring that freedom and that safety back to other women who had been hurt and broken and alone. To destroy their monsters.” Elle looked at him then, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve. But the answer to your question is yes.”

Spencer took a breath and asked, “Why’d you put the key in my room? You could have just… disappeared.”

Elle shook her head. “I chose this. I knew what I was doing and what it would mean. Most of the time, I’m fine, great even. Because being able to give these women justice is the greatest gift. But with this work, you can’t really keep anybody close. No holidays or birthdays. No dates or girls nights.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen. What the boy genius would do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, that’s a first.” Elle smiled, but Spencer could see apprehension in the rigidness of her shoulders, in the slight bouncing of her leg.

“I should probably arrest you,” he considered.

Her leg stopped. “You probably should.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. He ran his fingers up to the crook of his elbow, ghosting over the scars there. His mind raced from memory to memory: Elle on the train car; Tobias Hankle standing over him; Elle in the hospital bed; the needle in his arm; Elle in the hotel in Dayton; the click of an empty chamber.

“Elle, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you that you’d won.” She was motionless, staring at him. He continued, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. To be consumed and overcome by a memory.” Now it was Spencer’s eyes that shone with tears. “I didn’t know that the trauma could… fester in your brain like an infection that you can’t get rid of. I don’t know if winning is even possible after something like that.” He rubbed his hand under his eye and cleared his throat. “It was an awful thing to say. And I’m sorry.”

Elle tipped her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “All’s forgiven.”

Spencer reached out and gently grabbed Elle’s hand. “I’ve been so tired recently. I thought I saw something through the window at Steven Barrett’s house. But when I did a perimeter check, I didn’t find anything.” Elle dropped her head back down and turned to look at him. “We’re headed back to Quantico in the morning. We’ll, um, be keeping tabs on VICAP hits on the signature.” Spencer gave her hand one soft squeeze before standing. He let a small, bittersweet smile move over his face.

He made it to the door before he heard her voice again.

“If I asked you to stay, would you say yes?”

Spencer swiveled back to look at her, the door just barely open. Elle’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyes were dark and wide and full of storms. “Just for a little while longer?”

Spencer turned and moved his eyes up the length of the doorway, considering. He heard Elle let out a breath. His own breath stuttered. He closed the door softly. He put his hands in his pockets and turned back to her. “I’ve got a little while.”

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Trying To Balance With A Part Of Yourself Missing

Summary: Thor bargains with Odin on Loki's sentence, and he wins. Loki is moved with the Avengers to fix his past mistakes. But Odin's term changes everything, and Loki's foe is not their mistakes, but their self-image.

Warnings: each chapter has individual, the work in general is pretty dark

Notes: When a dialogue of Loki is in bold, he is speaking English. And when a line is in italics without a dialogue, it's an intrusive thought.

Chapter 5: The Doctor

Chapter summary: Banner takes Loki for the tests.

Warnings: Language, gender dysphoria, gender dysmorphia, internalized racism, intrusive thoughts, needles, blood, medical themes, mentions of child neglect [not on screen], mentions of self harm [not on screen]

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This time, Friday wakes them up, reminding them of the appointment with Banner. Loki groans and drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom, it's better to get rid of that smell, at least for as long as it can hold.

At least Loki doesn't have to look at their body as they wash themselves, an advantage of blindness they didn't think of until now. Still, being forced to touch all the time is unpleasant and uncomfortable to no end. And trying to wash his hair without scratching his hands on the horns or his claws scratching his scalp is a task unimaginably difficult.

Loki now understands why Jötnar run around naked, wearing a shirt with these horns is almost impossible. But, they must hide the chest plate, at least from everyone but Thor. And Banner, after the examination. And, shit, he probably has to take breakfast with them…

They sigh and glance at the mirror, only to make sure they don't look so much for a mess. His appearance is acceptable, so he takes the now charged earpiece and walks away, wearing it as Friday starts instructing.

A hand touches their shoulder, making them flinch away. Thor, the owner of the hand, mutters something, probably an apology, but he can't hear it thanks to Friday. They take a breath out and smile at Thor, muttering a good morning. Thankfully, Friday stops talking.

"How are you feeling? You look…" Thor trails off, trying to appear as polite as possible.

"F-f-feverish? It's fi-fine, just-just a b-bad day," he brushes off, suddenly glad that he doesn't need Friday's translations.

"But, you're ill," Thor argues, making Loki sigh.

"I'm not-not, it's a bad d-day," they answer.

"Loki, you can't fool me. You're unwell, why don't you admit it?" he groans. Truth be told, Loki rarely admits any weakness with ease. As long as one can walk, there's no need for whining, Odin had said countless times and Loki never stopped obeying.

"I d-d-do. It's a b-bad da-day," he speaks slowly and as clearly as possible.

"Loki, you're having a fever. It's not just a bad day, and you are allowed to admit that you're ill. Please," Thor begs, actually begs. If Loki wasn't so pissed off, they'd be touched.

He pulls Thor closer, mostly to maintain some secrecy. "I am on m-m-my pe-pe-period," they hiss, watching as Thor's last brain cell comes to life.

"Oh… well, this explains the irritability of yours, brother. You know your patience always runs low these days," Thor nods, all matter-of-factly. Loki has to take deep breaths and remind themselves again and again that murder is a convicted crime, and they should not get locked up in a Midgardian prison. Or any prison, anytime soon.

Luckily, Thor remains silent after that. The only one who breaks the silence is Friday, reminding Loki that he can't eat before a blood test, or the results will not be accurate. Fine, they didn't really feel hungry anyway.

Perhaps, if you skip today's food entirely, you'll lose that disgusting bloating of yours. He tries hard to not grimace at the thought. No, they have to remind themselves, it will leave after a few days, it always does. Just do the damn tests and then eat, it's not that hard.

When they reach the kitchen, Loki can feel eyes on him and a mix of confusion and irritation in the air. Alright, just stay quiet and it will pass.

Wanda mutters a good morning, her magic swirling around her like some form of shield or blanket. Loki repeats the wish, forcing a smile. They don’t know which is worse, the jealousy building up or the guilt over the last time they listened to that feeling.

Thor helps him find a chair in the bright chaos, and even pulls it. For fucks sake, they're not unable to sit on a fucking chair! He tries to prove it by being the one who adjusts it on the table.

"Morning, dude. How're you feeling?" a man asks, Wilson. Just by his voice, he sounds kind, less judgemental.

"Fine, thank you for asking," they answer, plastering another fake smile (one of the best skills being a prince has given them).

Still, Wanda is seeing through it and attempts to find out, by using a simple mind invading spell. One that makes the base of Loki's skull feel ablaze. As loud as he can, he thinks of the word stop, making Wanda pause and retreat, her curiosity replaced with shame.

Then, a conversation occurs. Loki doesn't want to take part, but the combination of the voices and Friday's translations is overwhelming, making his head pound. Friday catches the message and stops translating, but the voices are still too fucking loud. Loki sighs and decides to just take a sip of water, and see if it'll help, but it turns to ice before it touches their lips. But fuck, he's thirsty and in pain.

A hand touches their shoulder, and they jump up, turning around to see a short person dressed in purple. "Are you ready for the tests?" He asks, Banner. Loki nods and gets up, pardoning himself before walking away.

"Are you okay?" he asks, making Loki groan.

"Wh-wh-wh-why does e-e-everyone ask me-me if I'm okay? I'm f-f-fine!" they snap, stopping only after feeling Banner freeze.

"I asked because you looked like you were about to start crying over there. No offence, they can be loud sometimes, but you didn't seem like you were taking it well," he answers, half expecting his skull to be crushed. But Loki is just ashamed he didn't hide the pain better.

"N-n-n-none t-taken. Noise is not exactly we-we-we-welcome, and I used to to-to-tone it down w-w-with spells. Now, I c-c-c-can't," they explain, just beginning to collect themselves.

"You know, you can ask Friday to deafen, if you use the earpieces. It helps," he suggests. Loki nods, happy with the silence that they fall into. At least Banner doesn't feel like he has to talk all the time, even though he's nervous. He's still afraid of him, even though it's not necessary any more.

The lab is a fucking bright room, Loki has to cover their eyes and let Banner navigate them, after lowering the lights.

During the examination, Loki comes to realize that Asgard and Midgard are opposite when it comes to healing. First, Banner promises secrecy, any information stays private until Loki asks for a leak, or in a life or death situation. And then, he just asks about everything and listens to the answer. No doubt, no comments and no painful examinations with leeches or smelly potions that make people’s skin pink. Well, the examination on light sensitivity was painful, and Loki swears to piss on the grave of whoever thought a flashlight in the eyes is a good idea, but the rest were fine.

When he was young, Odin would not easily believe Loki, no matter what. The times when they were forced in hunts that were leaving them in the healing wing for weeks or feasts until they faint on their plate due to fever are uncountable. The show would usually begin with Loki faking the illness because he’s lazy, come to its climax when Loki would be deemed delicate and weak while being tossed in the healing wing and the parade of hypocrisy would end after Loki returns to his chamber only to be forgotten there. Loki learned two lessons from this. One, if they can stand up, they're not ill, and they shouldn't bother other people with whining. And two, if he's truly ill, it's wiser to deal with it on his own than let others draw conclusions.

The change feels so odd, yet it’s so welcome.

Until the time for the blood test.

"Just follow my instructions, I'll make it as painless as I can," he promises, and then instructs Loki to lift their sleeve and show the armpit, the non-dominant one. Loki doesn't show his nervousness, and tries to appear as cold as possible when he reveals the hand, and everything he's done to it. Banner doesn't comment and doesn't show pity, but his skin grows just green enough for Loki's eyes to notice.

The other instructions were easy. Clench the fist, breathe in, breathe out and relax the hand. Banner is surprised to say the least when he sees the tube filling with blue liquid instead of red, but doesn't comment.

Do you think he could bleed you dry and be done with this shit show? Loki hitches a breath and clinches their stomach, stopping when the sound of something breaking and a hot pain blooms in their arm. Did he freeze the tube and break the needle?

Banner fetches something from a table and grabs Loki's hand, muttering something about getting the needle out. Loki hisses from the pain, and manages to freeze Banner's glove, but he still covers their hand with gauzes. The white starts turning blue and freezing in some parts, Banner is about to do something about it but Loki hums a no.

"Do you want to try again?" he asks, Loki could feel how he was expecting a negative answer. But he nods a yes and covers his right hand, so he’ll uncover the left one and clench. This time, they don't dare looking at the needle and mentally play some random songs for a distraction. Banner tells him to clench again, and then gives him some cotton to press in the hole before he vanishes behind some machine.

"What were you humming?" Banner asks, making Loki's face go ablaze.

"I… em… a song," they mutter, and mentally berate themselves for the lack of words. Banner laughs, but not out of malice. And he hands over a paper box and a bag. Loki stares at him and tilts his head, but Banner tries to brush it off as "something that's always done when someone gets a blood test". As if Loki is also a fool, apart from blind.

They're about to get dismissed and leave when Friday tell them via the earpiece that Banner will ask questions when he sees the test results. Loki sighs, it's better to be the one who tells him, right?

"Ba-banner, about th-th-the te-te-te-test, y-you may so-see some… abnormalities in th-th-the tests. It's n-normal, yet-yet-yet uncomfortable," they trail off, feeling confusion on Banner's side instead of clarity.

"Would you mind being more specific? I need to know what to ignore,"

"Hormonal, m-mostly… on, em…" he groans in frustration, feeling like an absolute fool, "on me-me-menstruation hormones… and y-y-yes, I kn-know wh-what it implies. B-but, d-don't tell anyone, only Th-th-th-thor knows," they get it out, waiting for a myriad of feeling emit from Banner. But he just makes a small oh sound and hands over another paper package.

"I guess you'll find them easier than tampons. If you finish them, just come to me. Don't try to steal Nat's, you'll be disappointed, and possibly earn a chinned tooth," he smiles, but Loki can sense the warmth from saying Romanov's name. Love, he concludes, what a complication when towards your co-worker, from what he's heard.

"W-w-w-we're done?" they raise an eyebrow and look down at Banner, glad he doesn't look afraid. Interesting, just enough inspection, and he isn't afraid any more. What a gullible scientist.

"Friday will find anything we missed, and she can help Tony make you some glasses, if you decide you want them, or inspect the brain damage from the other guy," he answers. Loki nods and is about to turn around, before thinking twice about the answer he got.

"W-w-wait, wh-wh-wh-what brain d-damage?" they blink. Apart from the nightmares, thoughts, flashbacks, headaches and general fuckery, his brain works perfectly. Well, perfectly might be an exaggeration, but the Hulk hasn’t done anything.

"You're telling me you walked around with a dead ear since the Attack and didn't notice?" Banner is now the one to raise an eyebrow.

"I w-w-was in so-so-solitary c-c-confinement until y-y-yesterday. Not much to h-h-h-hear," they explain. But… he should have heard Thor coming today in the corridor…

"Yeah, your left ear is dead, or the nerves getting messages from there to your brain. You can thank the other guy, and there's nothing to be done," he isn't exactly mild on announcing another damage on this throughout fucked up body, but it doesn't exactly matter. So, they just nod and go back to hiding under their sheets, but this time they make Friday play some music, just to cover up the silence.

~~~~~~

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @the-emo-asgardian @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress @weirdfangirl2416 @darkacademicfrom2021 @nicoistrying

[degenerate-yandere]

Yandere Tomura Shigaraki x Nurse!Reader - Trust

A/N: So this is based on a request I recieved asking for Kai, Aizawa or Toga with a nurse reader. I liked the concept, but I couldn’t really inspire myself to write it for those characters, so here we are. Enjoy! It has come to my attention after rereading this, that it is complete garbage. I apologize in advance.

TW: Stalking, yandere, mild descriptions of violence, implied kidnapping, slight NSFW

“Please, just trust me.” Your hands gently pushed against his shoulders, the muscles within tense and stiff. You couldn’t bear to meet those crimson eyes, so intense in their disdain as they bore into your skull.

“I just-” You gulped, hands moving to your lap, fingers nervously fiddling with one another. You wished for nothing more than to be consumed by the mattress you were perched on, the one now occupied by the disheveled stranger.

“I couldn’t just leave you there.”

-

You’d found him lying in a pool of his own blood in the alley beside your apartment complex. His breathing, heavy and slow, a product apparent of anger rather than agony. You raced to his side, trying your damnedest to compose yourself and assess the grotesque scene before you. Deep lacerations littered his body, oozing with a vile red. He growled a raspy ‘fuck off’. You shook your head in response, refusing to compromise your integrity as a health professional by leaving someone to die so indignantly. Skeletal fingers inched closer to your exposed wrist, before a wave of pain left it limp against the reddened concrete. You began pulling your phone, digits trembling as they tapped the screen. 

“It’s okay - everything will be okay.” It was a reassurance to you as it was as much to him. “I’ll make sure you get an ambulance -”

“No!” He growled, violently jolting toward you. His nails bent against the cold floor. The snarl of his voice was quiet, but the reverberations it sent through your body was indicative of its presence. Suddenly, his eyes lost their terrifying conviction, his head collapsing to the ground.

The next hour or so was a complete blur. A frantic application of every medical precaution you knew was employed. Each cut was carefully tended with concise professionalism. You were somewhat relieved by his lanky stature as you precariously dragged him to your apartment, although you could only chalk up your newfound strength as a result of your adrenaline-induced frenzy. By the time you gently laid him against your bed, you were completely exhausted.

-

“So... please.” You finally worked up the courage to meet his glare, a decision you almost immediately regretted. His scarred face was rigid in its expression of contempt, his gaze unblinkingly accusatory.”Please just stay a little while, just until I know you’re okay.” His face softened slightly at your pleas. He scratched at his neck, pangs of pain from his stomach sporadically eliciting flinches.

The man’s voice was gravelly, Its sudden sound almost making you jump.

“Fine.”

-

The next few days were surprisingly pleasant. Sure, Tomura was a little rough around the edges, but you were certain he warmed up to you. You’d serve him soup which he never failed to completely devour. Every day you would tend and redress his wounds, a process of which you swore made his cheeks redden as your fingers brushed against his bare abdomen. You had offered him free reign to entertain himself with your collection of video games, which somehow ended up in an in-depth conversation about the state of the contemporary industry which ran well into the night. It was charming, seeing a man so gruff and cold have such normal interests. 

Tomura showed a genuine effort in getting to know about your life. Whether or not he actually cared was uncertain, his face always etched with a slight frown. He seemed less than enthusiastic to receive your reciprocated interest in him, however. He’d grunt, giving one word responses to questions that required more complex answers. Your inquiry into what he did for a living was met with an apathetic shrug of his shoulders, any questions about his family warranted a dreadful glare before he continued with whatever he was doing. When you inevitably asked about what got him into such a dire situation in the first place, he only responded with a rumbled hiss;

“Just taking care of some pests.”

You’d once made the mistake of complaining about how the constant villain attacks were leaving you completely overworked, wishing those heroes would help you catch a break. The comment itself was lighthearted in intention, but garnered an evening of tense silence from Tomura.

You shuffled into your apartment after a particularly exasperating day. To your surprise, the lights were off, and stillness permeated the air. Tomura was gone. All he’d left behind was a ripped piece of paper, reading ‘Thanks’, accompanied by a hastily written phone number.

-

You made an effort to keep in touch with Tomura. The two of you added each other on the various online games you frequented, regularly finding time to play together. You did find it odd that now and then he’d give you a different phone number to contact him with, but you were sure he had his reasons. Tomura was surprisingly more eloquent and out-spoken through messaging. You supposed that the lack of face-to-face contact really helped an introvert like him to open-up. Despite his enigmatic short-comings, it felt like you were getting to know him, the real him. He would send you cute in-game gifts or messages, and regularly shot you texts asking how you were.

Your relationship to Tomura was unfortunately sidelined, however, when you came home one day to find your door unlocked. Your belongings were haphazardly strewn about on the floor, cupboards left open with their contents thrown aside. Whoever left your home in such a state had no concern with hiding their presence. You were completely shaking, nearly on the verge of tears. The final straw, the detail that made you crawl into the fetal position and sob, was the evident absence of many of your clothes, including your more intimate garments. Whoever this person was, this sick fuck, could come back at any time. You shuddered to think what they’d do if you were here when they did. So you booked it, walking as fast as you could to the nearest police station.

The ordeal left you terrified for weeks. The few days following the incident, you stayed at a motel out of dread from the persecutor returning. Your restrictive income, however, was a factor in your inevitable return. What followed was sleepless nights filled with paranoia, anticipating an intruder at any moment. You loathed the idea that some creep was getting off to your clothes like a pervert. The cops were frustratingly useless as well, giving you no hope of ever finding the culprit.

Your fear was made tangible in every facet of your life. You swore you felt a presence, a burning gaze assessing every movement, as you made your way to and from work. Things always seemed out of place around your home, but you could never quite trust your own suspicions. This suffocating fear was completely fucking with you.

The dark circles under your eyes and the tired complexion of your face didn’t go unnoticed. You were sitting alone at one of the cafeteria tables, nursing a coffee between your hands. Your appetite wasn’t what it used to be.

“You good, buddy?” An enthusiastic voice snapped you from your tired daze. One of the doctors, a younger man, shot you a charming smile, and you offered a weak one in response. He sat beside you, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay? You’re not lookin’ too good, (y/n).” You scratched the back of your neck, a forced, exasperated laugh slipping from your throat.

“I’m okay, really.” You assured him. The young man’s hand gently gripped your shoulder, his smile softening.

“(Y/n) it’s okay, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tears threatened to prick your eyes as you averted your gaze.

“I-it’s just.... I feel like someone’s following me whenever I walk home and I’m-” Your hands clenched the fabric of your uniform tightly, and subtle tears dripped down your face. “ - I’m really scared.” You felt awful dumping your problems on the young physician. But his warm smile and sincere eyes betrayed his utmost compassion.

“What about I walk you home? I don’t think my place is too far from yours.”

You nodded weakly, barely holding back the sobs of relief that threatened to pour fourth. 

The man made well on his promise, meeting you outside the hospitable after your shift. For once in what felt like an eternity, you felt at ease. The trip was filled with unsubstantial small talk, primarily on the man’s behalf, but it was a comfort against the usual crippling silence. The night was warm, streets abuzz with soft blankets of light. You were lost in your appreciation of the urban beauty, a privilege you had long forgotten. A reassuring squeeze against your hand pulled you back to reality, your face flushed as the doctor held your fingers between his. He let out a lighthearted chuckle.

“Feel better?” 

Your lips quirked in response. 

“I do. Thank you.” You stopped abruptly at your complex, hesitantly drawing your hand from his. He beamed a toothy grin.

“Well, I think we should do this again sometime. I’m glad I could help you feel a little safer.” 

You nodded in agreement. “We should. Thank you again, your my hero.” Your compliment was met with a light chuckle. He nodded toward you.

“Well, your hero will be around whenever you need them.”

-

Your eyelids dipped as the television blurred in your vision. You were emboldened after today. There was hope that you’d get through this whole ordeal, you only needed the right people to help you. For once, you felt like you could let your guard down. You’d indulged in a hot bath, and cocooned yourself in a shell of blankets, content to fall asleep in front of the television, as you had done so many times before.

A fierce pounding on the door stole your attention however, forcing yourself to squirm out of your makeshift nest. The knocking only increased in intensity as you lazily walked toward it. You hesitated, fingers lingering on the doorknob. Whatever brought about such ferocity surely can’t be good. Against your better judgement, you carefully pulled it open.

Tomura was standing in the hallway, his face contorted into a visage of pure loathing. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching with spilling rage. His left hand was clenching and unclenching repeatedly, straining every bone in each finger. The other hand held a clear plastic bag, filled with what you could only guess was ash.

“Tomura?” You were taken aback. He looked so unhinged, contempt radiating from every pore of his body.

Without warning, he stepped in and pushed you aside. He swiftly slammed the door shut, and you heard the tell-tale click of the lock mechanism. You were completely stunned by the absolute speed and decisiveness of his actions. He stomped toward you, his breathing reminiscent of the first time you met.

“(Y/n)...” He spat, clearly trying to restrain himself from screaming at you. He was hovering directly above your form, his hot breath dusting your face. You couldn’t move, every muscle tensed and immobile with complete dread.

“Why...” A rumble resonated within his chest.

“...Have you been ignoring me?”

For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied that you’d never even thought about playing video games. You seldom used your phone, and you hardly wanted to drag Tomura into this mess.

“I-I’m sorry Tomura I’ve just been going through a lot right now.” Your voice was quiet, losing any authority in the presence of Tomura’s insurmountable rage. Before you could react, four fingers were placed around your neck. The sheer pressure of each tip displayed a strength you didn’t know he possessed. His fifth finger was hovering just above the base of your neck.

“LIAR!” Tomura yelled, shots of spit coating your face. Your breath was erratic and irregular, your throat choking on the deafening sound of your rapidly beating heart.

“You’re a little slut, you know that?” His voiced seethed with toxicity. Your eyes frantically darted across that chapped face, trying to convey the utter confusion you felt.

“You lead me on, and then go jump on the dick of some fucking NPC?” Tomura brought the bag up to your terrified face. “Can you guess who this is, huh? Don’t you recognize that little piece of shit?” 

Your head shook violently. You had no idea what was going on, no idea what he was insinuating and no idea who this monster was before you. It couldn't be your Tomura, you refused to believe it.

He scoffed in response, bringing all five fingers in contact with the bag. Your terror amplified ten-fold as the plastic crumbled into dust and scattered across the floor. It was starting to all click now.

“T-Tomura, di-did you-” His fingers pressed deeper into the flesh of your throat.

“You’re lucky I like you so much, (y/n).” His now free hand began to play with your hair. To your dismay, he leaned in, pressing his nose against your scalp. The smell of your shampoo - the smell of you - was utterly intoxicating. His body physically relaxed, his breathing grew measured and subtle. 

Tomura’s gaze turned to the television, a wide smirk growing on his face. You rarely ever saw Tomura smile, and in hindsight, you were glad. He looked demented, terrifyingly jovial. A small, resonant chuckle erupted from his chest.

“Well, look at that ~” He moved his four digits to grip your chin, turning your head to watch the broadcast. The news anchor recounted a massacre of heroes at the hands of ‘the league of villains’, their leader of which was presented on the screen: It was unmistakable, that mop of light-blue hair.

You felt like the world around you was crumbling away into ash. You’d helped save a criminal - a murderer. And now, you were at his mercy. You felt tears torrent down your cheeks, chocked sobs escaping that dry throat.

You turned to face him, his smirk widening at the sight of your precious misery. His tongue made quick work of your tears, reveling in the taste of the salty liquid.

“Don’t cry. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now, don’t you think?” Tomura’s hands snaked around your back, making sure to keep one finger raised above your shirt. He didn’t want to see you exposed for him just yet.

His chapped lips met your forehead in a chaste kiss, making sure to inhale as much of your scent as he could.

“Don’t worry, (y/n). All you have to do ~” His breath assaulted the shell of your ear, his voice becoming a mocking whisper.

“Is trust me.”

[springday-aus]

Superpower!AU with Hyungwon

—

Group: Monsta X

Member: Chae Hyungwon

Genre: fluff, romance, small [very minimal] angst

TW: car accident - don’t worry, no one died 

Type: Bulletpoint AU 

Word Count: approx. 2.8k

→ Inspired by the AU Prompt: “I know you can read minds and I really like you so I’m constantly filtering my thoughts—stop making fun of how I think of fighting giraffes, it’s my go-to when I think about you shirtless” 

so Hyungwon has the power of telepathy

how he got it was rather odd

he wasn’t necessarily born with it—it kind of came to him

despite what people might think, it wasn’t radioactivity

it was actually due to an accident

when he was young, there was a minor encounter

basically, there was a car and semi-truck incident

next thing he knew, his parents were in critical condition and he was being rolled into the ER for surgery

when he woke up, he was in his hospital bed and the ventilator was hooked up to him

he heard the voices of the nurses and the doctors, but their mouths weren’t moving

originally he brushed it off since he hasn’t fully recovered and his vision kept going in and out

but once he did recover… he could still hear them

luckily, his parents were okay

and that was how he was able to confirm his new-found power

he was able to hear theirs first and it was…. insane

he was freaked out, his parents were freaked out 

once they calmed down, they tried to figure out what to do—they eventually came to the conclusion to just let it happen

they can’t control that so they might as well figure it out together 

at first, it was uncontrollable, so he heard these voices whether or not he wanted to hear them

it was always loud and his own thoughts were never heard in his own head

oh, the amount of migraines he’d gotten from a young age…

but, don’t worry, he learned to maintain it as he grew up

now, he’s able to listen whenever he looks at someone and concentrate a bit more

he’s got a better control of it, but it also means he has to be careful as to where he looks bc he doesn’t wanna listen in on someone’s private thoughts

he’s always been getting in trouble when he was trying not to get in trouble when it comes to his telepathy

that tends to happen a lot in general though

because you’re hearing a lot of thoughts that you’re not trying to hear

which is why music became a good route of distraction

at first, the monsta x boys made fun of him for not getting airpods, but, after telling them about his telepathy, they understood why he got those big ass headphones

but, we’ll get to them later

anyways

bruh, high school was extra rough on this man

can you imagine hearing all of those thoughts? especially of hormonal teenage boys?

nasty

anyways

I like to think that this is why he sleeps so much

when he first got it, it was very emotionally draining for him and he slept like twelve hours at a time

unfortunately, he got into this habit and now he can doze off if he zones out enough

he slept a lot in high school, considering that he was trying not to hear his teacher’s thoughts and the other students and focus on the lesson and would end up falling asleep on his desk and then getting in trouble with the teachers

again, it’s that whole getting in trouble without meaning to get into trouble

so anyways

his family are the main people who know and god

the amount of family tea he’s gotten from his parents’ thoughts

while he does hate being able to hear all these thoughts without a choice, his favorite is the family gatherings and reunions

homeboy could make a tv novella with all the information he’s got on his family

because his immediate family are the ones who know, whereas his cousin that’s like twice removed doesn’t, but that’s justifiable

also, his parents have to be careful when they’re talking about him or his younger brother tho

(Hyungwon: “dad, am I not your favorite?”

his dad: “I don’t have have favorites”

Hyungwon: “the lies”)

other than his family, his long time friends also know, i.e. the monsta x boys

I’m talking long term because he’s so comfortable with them and Hyungwon was stupid and let it slip

Jooheon: I know we agreed on Chinese but I kind of wanted pizza

Hyungwon: “we can get both if you want”

Jooheon: “get what?”

Hyungwon: wait a second

oh, whenever they play games, Hyungwon uses this telepathy to help him cheat

and Changkyun was suspicious of how Hyungwon, the guy who falls asleep 20 minutes into a movie, had such good gaming tactics

his suspicions were confirmed when Hyungwon told them but they all also lowkey were confused and didn’t believe him, altho it did fill in a few of the gaps

like how Hyungwon gives perfect gifts for people that they can actually use

and how he can easily solve issues before they can even become bigger issues

there were just bits and pieces that came together and he did get to prove it

Kihyun: “what am I thinking about?”

Hyungwon: “I don’t think you would want me to say it in front of our Minhyuk here”

Kihyun: …… “okay, you pass”

but revealing this also means a lot of questions

especially from Minhyuk, who’s bouncing around and is curious as to how it works

and isn’t like always being verbally asked

like, the questions will just pop into their heads and Hyungwon hears it

actually what he hears is

Minhyuk: can he hear animal thoughts?

Minhyuk: do they speak English? or do they speak in that animal sound?

Minhyuk: should I ask him? or am I going to be bothering him?

Minhyuk: okay, try to be casual and slip it in and-

Hyungwon: “I can only hear people’s thoughts, now can we please get on with the meal?”

Minhyuk: oh right he can hear mine

Hyungwon: “YES I CAN HEAR IT PLEASE BE QUIET”

Wonho: …. “what’s going on????”

this is why he favors you compared to the others

you’re curious, but not like super curious like Minhyuk

but it’s also because your thoughts are the most hilarious ones

it’s primarily because you censor a lot of your thoughts with other thoughts and they are….. eccentric

there’s a reason tho

long story short: you like him

you two are basically childhood friends

you met in middle school and woke him up before he could get in trouble and it was all history from there

it wasn’t until around the college years that the feeling hit you like a ton of bricks

and when it did hit, you were lucky Hyungwon wasn’t around to read your thoughts

because……... oof

he went from that kid with acne that you used to spray water at to keep awake

to a handsome young man that makes your heart pound so loudly in your chest

he had told you about these powers of his about a year into college, when he realized you weren’t going to disappear from his life so easily

but also because you were thinking about how the fbi is definitely listening in on your conversations because you got an ad on instagram about those sleeping bags that make it look like you were being eaten by a shark and he HAD to make a comment

Hyungwon: “dude what the fuck”

You: “what?”

Hyungwon: “how bad is your anxiety that you’re worried about the fbi agent in your phone?”

You: …… **narrows eyes** “I didn’t say anything about an fbi agent”

Hyungwon: ah shit, here we go again

anyways

that’s just a small glimpse of what Hyungwon has to hear

your thoughts were hilarious to tune into, to the point where Hyungwon listens in when you’re daydreaming and it’s like his news for the day

and it only got worse (at least for you) because you were constantly censoring your thoughts after your self-discovery of your feelings for him

you two were studying in the library one time for finals and he got real close to get a good look at the textbook to see where you were

and you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was

but when he looked at you

you immediately switched your thoughts to think about that time Wonho choked on his ramen noodles

Hyungwon: “why are you thinking about Wonho choking?”

You: “because it’s funny?”

Hyungwon: …… “fair point”

and so now, you have something to turn to each time an incident happens

whenever he says something that makes your heart flutter, you think about Ted Bundy’s yellow buggy

whenever he makes you unconsciously jealous, you think about fat cats sitting on glass tables

you have something for everything

and Hyungwon has no idea because you’ve gotten so fucking good at hiding it

until one day, you were out with the boys, trying out this new restaurant that opened beside the river

Jooheon talks about how nice it would be nice to go to the beach sometime

Shownu tries to start plans and says y’all could plan a barbeque and make a whole trip out of it

but then Kihyun whines, saying he’s not ready because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a month

Wonho: “you haven’t gone to the gym period”

Kihyun: “better than me living there like you do”

Wonho: “and who’s the one with the abs?”

Kihyun: “son of a bitch”

that got you thinking

Hyungwon? on the beach? that means he’s just gonna chill on the side

but that also means….. a shirtless Hyungwon

Shownu: “what do you think (y/n)?”

You: “nothing, absolutely nothing”

Hyungwon looks over at you with a knowing look in his eyes

You: “what?”

Hyungwon: ………….. “why are you thinking about fighting giraffes?”

Minhyuk: “.... is that really what (y/n)’s thinking?”

Changkyun: “dude”

You: “sorry for thinking about the zoo?”

Hyungwon: “we were talking about the beach, why were you thinking about the zoo?”

You: god, I wanna die

Hyungwon: “well, are you going to die before or after the beach trip?”

Shownu: “we need to keep track of the body count, (y/n), this is important” 

sometimes you also wonder why you like him when these moments occur

but then he gives you that smile and you think to yourself

it do be like that 

and because you all are trying to plan out the beach trip, you couldn’t stop thinking about…. shirtless Hyungwon

therefore 

starts up more thoughts about fighting giraffes ensue

and more teasing on behalf of Hyungwon to you

Hyungwon: “do you wanna go to the zoo instead???? is that why you keep thinking about these giraffes????”

You: I. want. to. die.

Hyungwon: “you’ll die if you join the fighting giraffes—oW OWW OKAY I’LL SHUT UP”

the nonstop teasing for weekkkkkksss

until he finally asks you, the day before the trip

Hyungwon: “seriously, are you upset that we went out to the beach instead of the zoo?”

You: ugh, this whole ass man keeps making fun of me for thinking about fighting giraffes, this is your fault for being so fucking attract-

You: WONH O CHOKI NG ON RAMEN

Hyungwon: “WHOA NO FINISH YOUR THOUGHT”

You: NO

You: WONHO. CHOKING. LALALALLALA-

you avoided him for the rest of the day and filled your head with more censored thoughts

so he couldn’t hear anything else

and he didn’t

homeboy was left so confused because

he really likes having you as a friend but

having you as a partner would be so much better

he’s liked you since high school

hearing your thought process and little quirks

he grew fond of them

he knows it’s really invasive, but, in his defense, he was still learning to control them

and he found himself staring at you more and more, accidentally hearing your thoughts

one thing he really hated about his power is that even when he’s just taking in your presence………… he can still hear it even if he doesn’t try to

but anyways

he was sure of his feelings, but didn’t wanna push anything until he was absolutely sure

and now just might be that chance

so, after ducking him the entire day, which is hard to do when he’s trying to find you the entire day

(it’s not that hard considering all he hears from you is “FBI AGENTS GET OUT”)

(at least, that’s what you were trying to think so he doesn’t hear anything else about how you were going to explain yourself)

and he manages to catch you when the boys set up a bonfire and there’s no other spots…… except the one next to Hyungwon

which he totally, 100% did not plan

;)

anyways, you try to distract yourself by focusing your attention the marshmallow you have roasting over the fire

whereas he’s trying to read your mind, but it goes to waste as your attention is solely focused on the marshmallow

hence the tune of IU’s Marshmallow being played in your head

some of the other guys leave the bonfire, either to take a nightly beach stroll or to sleep 

and that left you, Hyungwon, and a melting marshmallow that you were trying to keep from completely burning

before you could flee though, Hyungwon speaks up

Hyungwon: “what? no fighting giraffes?”

You: “I will hit you with a flaming marshmallow”

you thought about it for a second tho, why did you think about fighting giraffes?

the boys were talking about the beach and then they talked about the trip

and the beach made you think about a shirtless Hyungwon

…………. shirtless Hyungwon

FIGHTING GIRAFFES

Hyungwon: “wait what”

You: fuck

You: “fuck”

and then your worst nightmare happens

he starts laughing

You: “sssttttoooppppppp”

You: “it’s my go-to when I think about you shirtless, okay? are you satisfied?”

he keeps laughing

Hyungwon: “do you like the image that much that you have diverted your thoughts from it?”

You: bitch

Hyungwon: “I heard that”

You: “I KNOW YOU DID” 

there’s a bit of a lull and you try to focus on your marshmallow again, but the heat on your face isn’t from the fire alone

Hyungwon: “don’t be embarrassed”

You: “I’m embarrassed because it’s you, idiot”

Hyungwon: “why?”

You: because I like you

Hyungwon: “how dumb of you to think I didn’t feel the same way”

you turn to him

You: really?”

Hyungwon: “yeah really”

Hyungwon: “your marshmallow is burning”

that’s not the only thing burning 

you both assumed that was the night that you both agreed to date

the next day, were the boys shocked that the two of you are dating?

not exactly

bc they knew Hyungwon liked you for quite some time and also the fact that whenever one of them did think you were cute….

let’s just say Hyungwon’s mouth said idc but his eyes said he could murder them and get away with it

also he trusted you enough to tell you about this secret of his, so there was definitely a high chance he was going to develop romantic feelings for you anyways

*cue a sad Minhyuk in the corner somewhere*

KIDDING

or am I

anyways

there isn’t much change to your relationship

other than additional cuddling and pecks here and now

altho there are a couple of changes

your thought processes are more clear because now you have nothing to hide but

they are also unclear because it’s like

Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hyungwon. Hy—

he also tries more and more not to hear your thoughts, but sometimes it’s hard not to hear them, especially as he openly stares at you more and more

but then again, because of that, he’s gaining better and better control of his powers

he lowkey does use it when you get into arguments because it gives him a better understanding of your perspective and that allows him to provide his and it opens up more communication between you two, even if you don’t have telepathy

also he tried to make up for it by saying everything he’s thinking

that was a very bad idea from the start bc you got annoyed really quickly

but you also kind of sympathized with him

You: “I’m sorry you have to hear my thoughts all the time”

Hyungwon: “that’s not your fault”

You: “but that’s not yours either”

he loves being able to talk to you about these things bc it really feels like someone’s in his corner

you try to understand him better and make things easier

whether it’s getting him better headphones

or distracting him with your own obscure thoughts

I’m very sure that anyone who dates Hyungwon in general is going to nap with him so…

many many naps with him with lots and lots of cuddles

you both take care of one another, physically and mentally

especially since you know he isn’t the type that opens himself up to many people

and hearing all of these thoughts, yours and others, must be exhausting for him 

anyways in this household we love and protect Chae Hyungwon bc homeboy is just tired and needs a break 

[trillian-anders]

s’mores

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity, 

word count: 1.8k

description: chef!au; you and bucky have a bedtime routine

just a taste masterlist

“What is that?” Bucky stepped up from the couch to help you at the door, the fifty-pound box you were trying to slide across the floor. You grin up at him,

 “A firepit.” 

 Now that the inside decor was mostly taken care of you were slowly piecing together something for your small patio. You’d been bringing home cushion covers, string lights, a crate for blankets. “For when it gets cold.” You tell him. But he was happy to let you do whatever made you happy. And this seemed to make you really happy.

 It was an odd day off for him. After giving Sam a few days off for him and Wanda to travel upstate to a bed and breakfast for their anniversary he pushed Bucky to take some time off for himself. The only problem with that was, you’d been busy all week.

 It was the end of another quarter, a big project that Stark was trying to launch, some app that you didn’t really explain too much to him about because it was mostly for corporations to see what quality of workplace they were creating. It had something to do with hours of work, versus difficulty of work, versus pay and formulated a score. And with this score it would show you how to improve the quality of work for employees.

 Needless to say, in testing, Tony had given you a raise among many others.

 But it took up a lot of your time.

 Which is why he was so surprised you came home with the firepit anyway. The two of you were listening to music and sitting outside, Bucky on the ground while you sat on the cozy deep outdoor couch that you’d given him heart eyes over when you’d originally gone shopping for outdoor furniture.

 “Can you hand me that screwdriver, right there?” He asked, holding his hand out for you to hand the tool to him, which you did, while also letting him take a sip of your old fashioned. His own long since finished but hadn’t quite gotten up to make another. “Thank you.”

 You were anxiously waiting for him to finish. A pile of sticks off to the side you’d already collected along with a couple of large branches you’d snapped and what was left of the briquettes from the grill just in case it wasn’t enough and beside you on the coffee table he’d pushed out of the way, marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers.

 He flipped the metal base over, pushing himself off the ground he moved it a comfortable distance away while you sipped on the strong drink, admiring the view of your boyfriend bending over in front of you.

 “What do you think?” He asked. You grin up at him,

 “It’s perfect.” You stood while he went inside to make more drinks, laying the dry sticks and branches on top of the briquettes, using old newspaper from the move to stuff in the sides and light. The sun was just setting, the outdoor string lights flipping on their timer. You hum contently and stick a marshmallow on a skewer. You twisted it around in the flame until it was bubbly and brown, pulling it out as soon as Bucky joined you back outside.

 You held the melty fluff to him and he wrapped his mouth around the marshmallow, pulling it off the skewer before sitting down. Munching happily while he handed you a drink.

 “Thank you.” You grin at him, a sweet marshmallow and bourbon kiss. Next time the marshmallow was melted and you smushed it between the two graham crackers and a couple squares of chocolate, happily taking a bite while Bucky pulled the blanket across your laps.

 “This was a great idea.” He mumbled over a mouth full of s’more. You sip on your drink, a pleasant buzz going through your body, leaning back into his chest as you worked on your second s’more.

 “How do you think Sam’s doing?” You ask. It was a Friday night after all. The first Friday night that Bucky hadn’t worked since the restaurant opened. He kept glancing at his phone in worry. Like maybe Sam would need him. He was also checking the numbers, sales. A 10k hour.

 “They did a 40k lunch today which isn’t bad for a Friday lunch.” That was busy. So they were hoping to do another 50k at least for dinner, “But we are looking closer to 75,” Bucky was worried but he knows and trusts Sam to handle it.

 “Maybe you should have taken off during the week.” You take a sip. “You’d be able to relax more.”

 “Yeah, but you’re not off during the week.” You sigh, leaning further into his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you squeezing you to his side.

 “Still… it would have made you worry less about what’s going on in the restaurant.” He pulls his skewer from the fire, blowing on the marshmallow that had caught fire and he popped it into his mouth.

 “Maybe.” It’s so comfortable. The silence. The radio still playing softly in the background as you both get lost in the flames. Both chocolate bars gone, Bucky munched on graham crackers and the two of you finished off most of the marshmallows. He tasted like sugar and bourbon. A soft kiss on your cheek and then on your mouth, soft fingers tilting your head towards his. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” His tongue is soft, slow. Bucky liked to savor everything, even kissing. His fingers brushing your neck made you shiver. Your lips parting in a soft moan against his. His other hand comes to your leg, tapping it gently before helping you straddle his lap, the blanket falling around your hips, his fingers tracing figures down your back while you slowly kiss. Your fingers finding his hair, scratching gently on his scalp.

You broke for air, resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him as he hugged you to his body. You could almost fall asleep. The smell of just him, clean and masculine. The warmth between you. Work had been so stressful this week and you’d looked forward to spending the entire weekend with him. It was the only thing that made you make it through the workweek. Truly. And this hug, those sweet kisses, this closeness, it was giving your brain a much-needed rush of serotonin and you could feel yourself growing drunk with it.

“I love you so much.” You mumble into his neck, the fire warm on your back.

“I love you too baby.” He rubs your back for a moment, “You wanna go to bed?” A soft nod into his neck. “I’ll put this fire out, go ahead, I’ll meet you up there.”

He wasn’t far behind, meeting you at the sink to brush his teeth. You look at him in the mirror, watching him brush, to which he gives you a silly look, moving back to let you spit into the sink and grab mouthwash. A minty kiss after.

You change into some sleep shorts and an old t-shirt, rubbing lotion on your legs and moisturizer on your face while he changes and washes his face.

Bucky had this skin care routine, and he was very diligent with it, but then again his skin was very nice and clear for working in a kitchen and sweating for 75% of his time. The next part of the nighttime routine was probably the hardest.

He would sit next to you on your side of the bed and you’d take the medicated steroid cream given to him by his doctor and rub it into his left arm. The first time you’d done it you didn’t ask how it happened, “I can’t reach fully on my back.” He said. But he applied this cream every day to give the skin its flexibility back. It was stiff and hard to move sometimes. The tattoos he’d gotten, “They did more harm than good.” The inky swirls and Aphrodite herself, he’d gotten them before he went to war. The full sleeve. “There was an accident,” He told you, “It was friendly fire.” What almost blew his arm off was, of all things, friendly fire.

Against Doctor’s orders Bucky enraged the flesh more by going back to his tattoo artist and having the guy fix what he could on the healing and mottled flesh. “I was a dumb kid,” he said, “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Joining the war. “But they just chew you up and spit you out, thank you for your service and sorry but you’re going to be on the phone calling trying to get help every day for the next however many years of your life.” And it hurt you. It hurt you that he’d gone through this. Trying to get the military to pay for his hospital bills, the corrective surgeries, all the pins and rods in his arm. “I’ve got more metal than bone.”

You did what you could, rubbing the steroid cream into his arm, massaging the sore muscles he’d never complain were sore, working the joints of his fingers and massaging it into his back. The heel of your palm digging into his left shoulder at the knots that would form there from the stress on it. A kiss to the back of his neck and you went to wash the cream off your hands.

When you return the covers are turned down, Bucky already scrolling through the sales app on his phone. “He’s fine.” You scold him, climbing into bed. “Put your phone down.” Bucky sighs and darkens the screen, placing it on the end table.

“I know he’s fine…”

“You need to relax.” You softly kiss him, cuddling up into his side. “Sam can handle it, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about all that,” He jests. “He’s terrible at multitasking.” You roll your eyes, the room partially dark save for the light coming from the cracked door of the bathroom. A must for Bucky.

“You’re terrible at multitasking.” You mumble into his chest.

“That’s not what you were telling me yesterday.” Your core pulsed at that, the memory drifting back. You lift up to glare at him, a cheeky grin on his face. “You’re so beautiful.” He licks his lips, “Did you know that?”

“You’re a suck up.” You scoff, burying your head back into his chest, “Did you know that?”

“I love you baby.” His fingers tracing patterns on your back, your eyes beginning to find that tiredness you’d had on the patio.

“I love you too.”

[passivenovember]

@liglitterbug asked: 

Has anyone asked for 53? (crawling through your window to go get ice cream) yet? Because that screams Harringrove to me and I would LOVE to see your take on it, please! (if you have time/inspiration) <3

a Friend for the End of the World.

Billy’s, like. Halfway through Little Women when Max knocks on his door, and. Okay. It’s not like he slammed his way through the house with a fire itching under his skin and believed for even a second, that.

The world could be his. Just for while. 

He settles roughly, at first, into the Alcott novel. Like a brick hitting the bottom of the sea--slowly, heavy and thick with the inertia of words that ignite something that feels.

Pink.

Inside his belly. Billy doesn’t have the wherewithal to make sense of it so he, just. Clamps his eyebrows around the liquid sunshine in his veins and loses himself in the story. 

After Starcourt the world ends, but. 

It doesn’t sound like the poems said it would. The bang and the whimper and the conclusion that, after things catch on fire and smoke rises with the sun, silence will fall over the Earth. 

Billy remembers waiting for Hawkins to sleep.

Watching Max and Mrs. Byers and. Steve. Landslide all around them to fix what had been swept away by a misjudgment in the Earth’s ability to keep itself from cracking open.

And Billy, he feels like an exposed wire. The center of the universe molding itself around the breath before the curtain falls and the audience leaves, and.

He waits for night to fall.

It never does. The overture is played out of tune, again and again, and the world turns faster than before, the sounds leak from everywhere. All at once, and.

Billy feels. Doesn’t know how to... 

It’s never as simple as asking for silence. For peace. When his mind makes too much noise, or. When he can’t get the sound of Neil coughing up smoke to stop bouncing off the walls. 

The ambiance that comes with. Sharing space, sharing your life with someone, used to be Billy’s favorite in all the world. Back when the incandescence of his mother folding laundry could be heard through the crack in his door while pirate ships bled past the boundary of the page and took him somewhere new. 

Billy likes to think of his life as intermissions between lovers. Before Starcourt he was asleep and now. He’s never waking up again.

Max reading to El, or.

Susan making dinner.

Even Neil flipping through the channels, it. Reminds him of burning cities.

Billy wears earmuffs. Everywhere. The ones that block out the sounds of the earth crying, but. Do nothing at all for the reprise burying itself in his bones. 

Steve brought them to the hospital when Billy wouldn’t stop asking about the end of the world.

So Max knocks on the door. 

And Billy thought he made himself clear. With the nonverbal shit, like. Slamming the front door open and brushing past the dinner table and slamming his door shut.

Locking himself in. He thought it was crystal clear, that. You can’t keep shoveling dirt into the grave without stopping to pray for rain. She pounds on the door again but it’s too loud. Always too much.

“What, Max?” And his voice is softer, these days. To balance out the symphony playing all around him.

“Steve’s here.” She says, and.

The earmuffs don’t actually block anything out. Billy can hear the battery die in the car down the street, and. He can hear Max shuffling on the other side of the door one-two-three, one-two-one, like a waltz. A tiny dancer. 

She has the most. Distinct footprints in the sand. Billy held onto that when he was bleeding on the floor. 

He pads over to the door and tugs it open, wincing at the sharp sting of. 

Soundsoundsound

Hammering against the walls in his head. Billy squints, shielding his eyes. To block the noise as if it were rain. 

“Tell him I’m not home.”

“Your car’s in the driveway, dumb dumb.”

“Well, tell him I’m busy.” Billy moves to close the door, but. Max sticks her foot in the jam. 

Folds her arms and gives him this look, like. He’s supposed to have a big realization about something. About the way he’s acting. Hiding in his room all the time with the blinds pulled taught against the sun. 

You’re acting weird.

He knows. He thinks it’s okay.

Billy shrugs like. Spit it the fuck out. And Max rolls her eyes. Billy can hear the shift of muscle, he can--

“Too busy to see Steve?” She says.

And okay. 

Billy picks up on why that might be weird. He shrugs again--there’s a throbbing, like. The beat of a drum. Just outside, on the lawn, or right at the back of his skull. 

Billy can’t tell and he doesn’t want to know, so.

The door falls shut once more. 

--

Being with Steve is like getting the instruments to play a song instead of just. Wailing out of tune for the audience to throw tomatoes.

He makes everything quiet. Just by running his fingers through Billy’s hair the world is made new. Starts over with a whimper instead of the rest, but. 

Sometimes Billy can’t breathe. 

Or his eyes will close when they’re wide open, and he can’t see anything but snow twirling against a gray sky, or like.

Veins turning black and smoky with rot. Disease and Ice. Barren fields the end-- 

Steve says the Earth has healed itself once more. That the cracks have been mended, and the ground isn’t coming apart under their feet.

So it’s summer.

That’s what Steve says. “It’s summer, baby.” let’s go to the lake. 

Billy looks up from his book. Fifty pages left in Little Women--at least an entire afternoon, once he picks up the second, and. “You want to go to the lake?”

Steve sort of. Rolls onto his side, next to Billy on the quilt Mrs. Harrington made when he was in the hospital. He looks up to the sky, the clouds and the sun. 

Steve has a daisy between his fingers. Billy doesn’t know where it came from, but then Steve is smiling. All soft, like. A stretch of grass just before sunset. He sticks the daisy between the pages of Billy’s book, and. Closes it., takes it away. He sits criss-cross-applesauce until his knees are pressed against Billy’s leg. 

Steve tugs the headphones off, so. 

The sun hits Billy. Burns every part of him. 

“You seem like you need water.” Steve says.

And he is the only person who makes the Earth contract, So Billy tucks his hair behind his ears with shaky fingers. Keeps his hands there, holding his own face until things quiet down. 

He breathes in, sharp and then slow, when the tears start to fall. When Steve reminds him to be gentle with yourself, baby. That’s it.

It takes five minutes for Billy to figure it out.

He needs water, like. A flower whose roots have gone frail. Or a boy who longs for home. Billy opens his eyes to Steve watching him, counting breaths on the watch he had made special.

For Billy, and his.

Bullshit. The panic attacks and the sensory bullshit, and. It’s summer. Billy feels the air get choked from his lungs when Steve takes his pulse, because.

“You go.” He whispers. 

Steve looks up from the watch and then back down again. “You still have ten more breaths, come on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ten more big ones, okay. Just to be safe.”

“Steve, I’m fine.” Billy smacks the watch down. Away, so. He can. Think. Billy scrubs at his face just the wrong side of too hard. Too abrasive, and there’s a drum beating somewhere down the hill when Steve tries to grab his wrist. 

Again, to. Play nurse Maid. Steve kisses his palm once--twice, and.

“It’s summer.” Billy says. 

Steve winks. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

It. Is, Billy thinks. With the smell of Lilac and Honeysuckle. Afternoons that give way to skies full of fireflies and Steve’s hair turning blonde in the afternoon light, it looks. Like a work art, like. A page from a book. 

His favorite in all the world. Billy tugs his hand away from Steve’s lips, tucks his hair behind his ears again, and. Steve looks worried.

Always worried, like. He’s waiting Billy will snap in two. 

“I want you to go to the lake.” He says. Because he’s tired of seeing that look.

Steve blinks wide, owlish eyes at him. “I want us to go, Bills, that’s why--”

Billy shakes his head. Suddenly the drum falls. Silent. Steve sits frozen, suspended in time and space while the symphonies play out of tune. 

“You aren’t my doctor.” Billy says.

“I know--”

“And you aren’t my therapist.”

He expects Steve to. Say something, or stop looking like the ground is splitting open between them, when Billy charges on.

“Or my housekeeper, or any of that shit, Steve. You’re. A twenty year old boy, you should be. Out with your friends for the fourth of July not taking care of your invalid partner who can’t make it through the day without breaking down in tears.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.” Steve says, and.

It means now. And it means always.

Billy stands to grab his book. 

--

He leaves his earmuffs on the blanket in the grass. 

Thinks about calling and. Begging Steve to bring them over, drop them off because his head is spiraling rock formations and earthquakes let loose in the heartland. 

After dinner it hurts.

When the fireworks start to explode. Bright light and heat burning a wound into his chest, or a breaking his bones to crumbling dust. Each explosion is like child birth and pulled teeth and gunshot wounds playing a libretto behind his right eyebrow. He tries to read but the snow falls all around him--

“Hey dipshit, we’re going to watch the--” 

Billy doesn’t try to hide the tears, and.

Max doesn’t bring them up. She presses an ice pack to his forehead and wonders if. She should call Steve. Call him home.

Billy wants to say yes.

Wants to call Steve himself, but. “Go have fun, kid.” 

And the wound only grows.

--

He has four pillows on his head when the window slides open. That’s why he doesn’t hear the scattered footfall until there’s a weight on his bed, and a pair of hands rubbing his back.

One hot, one cold. 

He frowns. “Hands are cold as dick.”

Steve chuckles, fingers digging into the muscle of Billy’s neck in a way that has him soft. Huffing against the sheets. “Sorry, I brought Ice cream.”

Billy peeks out from under his fortress to Steve peppering kisses along the base of his skull.

“What time is it?” He grumbles. 

“8:30. Go to sleep.” Steve muffles against Billy’s hair, and.

“How come you’re here?” 

Steve holds out the earmuffs, cherub face scruffy and apologetic and so, so beautiful. “Sorry it took so long, I wanted to give you space, you seemed like. You needed space.” 

He pulls the blanket up around Billy’s shoulders, even as he worms around to sit up. Get a better look, and. Apologize. 

“Look, Stevie--”

“You shouldn’t be sitting with a migraine like that,” He says firmly. “Doc says three glasses of water, two Tylenol, and--”

“Rest, yeah, I.” Billy feels like smiling. For the first time in days, he. Wants to smile. “Thank you.”

Steve nods. Like he’s disappointed. Eyebrows wrinkling as he fiddles with the cracked leather headband. 

Billy looks at the pint of cherry crunch leaking a puddle onto the mattress. “So you brought ice cream, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. What else do you bring after a break up?”

And.

Billy feels like shit. “Steve I didn’t mean that--”

“I know.” He says. Soft, like a confession. “I’ll always dream of you, you know that?” Billy’s heart kicks into overdrive when Steve leans forward, slipping the earmuffs against his head, and.

Putting the world to sleep.

[thisismandee]

You’re my PainKiller (Spencer Reid x F!Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1.6k

Content Warning: None just straight up fluff

Summary: After the case Y/N and Spencer have their Doctor Who night. This is just a straight up fluff chapter with “friends” Something warm before I get into the heavy.

We were on the way back from the case. It wasn’t necessarily a hard case. Don’t get me wrong every case was hard, just some took an emotional toll on us more than others. This was a case that had the best possible ending. The unsub was caught and brought it, while the victim was able to get out alive. This was the best case possible. Granted the pictures of the past murders were still haunting, but the way you coped with it was that he was off the streets and the world was just a little bit safer. 

you were sitting on the couch reading a book, when you noticed Spencer over at the coffee station. Of course he was getting coffee even if it was later at night. you swear that kid was 80% coffee, it made up his veins. And you wouldn’t even call his coffee a ‘coffee’. It was more like a pound of sugar was a drizzle of coffee on top of it. 

He started heading towards me on the couch. He had two cups in his hands. When he approached the couch he handed me one of the cups. you were apprehensive. Don’t get me wrong you loved coffee but not once the sun went down. you took the cup and noticed he had just gotten me water. you let a smile spread across my face. He knew me so well, and it did make my heart flutter.

“Thanks” You took a sip out of the cup. 

He sat down right next to you. You could feel your legs touching and the warmth radiating off of his body. You had to admit he was your comfort. You felt at ease when you were around him. 

“What are you reading?” He asked as he pointed over at the book that was in your hand.

“Don’t make fun of me.” You blushed and flashed him the cover of the copy of Romeo and Juliet you were reading. “I was going through books in the back of my closet the other day and I found it, so I decided to open it up and reread it.”

“You know they both die right? It’s like the worst love story in history.” Spencer said, smirking. You could tell he was holding in a small laugh.

“I said don’t make fun of me” You hit his arm with the book. “I am sorry, but sometimes it is okay to read a CLASSIC play, even if the love story is a little shotty.” You looked down at the book. You could see just how well loved it was. The spine was on the verge of breaking in multiple places. Some of the pages were dog eared from where you left off, and notes were scribbled all over the margins. You were a hopeless romantic and this was one of your favorite plays.

“I just want to make sure that you have a realistic expectation for love. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken.” Your heart felt warm from his words. “Especially when a guy doesn’t propose to you after one day.” He gave you a side smile, and you reciprocated with another whack of your book. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder as you continued to read your book. He sat there and sipped on his coffee and looked over the case file, to prepare himself for the paperwork that needed to be done when we got back. You didn’t realize it but all of a sudden your eyes became very heavy, and before you knew it you were asleep.

***

You were jolted awake as you felt the jet land on the ground. You were still leaning on Spencer, however, now there was a cardigan around your legs being used like a blanket. You recognized this cardigan it was Reid’s. You sat up on the couch and handed him his cardigan back. 

“Hello Sleepyhead” Spencer said to you, as he took his cardigan.

“Shit you had to wake up right now. I was just about to take a picture of the two of you and send it to Garcia.” You heard Morgan say from his seat. You looked over at him and just flashed your middle finger towards him. Rossi laughed from his seat right next to Morgan. “Hey sweetheart don’t get mad at me, you were the loveirds that were cuddling on the couch for all of us to see.” You just rolled your eyes at Derek. You swear him and Penelope were the top people to ship you and Spencer together. “Pretty boy didn’t seem to mind you getting close to him.”

You looked over at Spencer and he had a huge shit eating grin on his face. “Don’t you dare feed into his fantasies.” You scolded him. He just kept that smile on his face. “I will cancel our plans, and you can kiss your Doctor Who buddy gone. Good luck finding someone that will want to watch it with you.” Spencer's smile faded.

“Morgan, stop with your fantasies. She just fell asleep, we weren’t ‘cuddling’” Spencer yelled over from his seat.

“Sure you weren’t” Derek smirked and looked away. He would never believe you when you said that you and Spencer weren't together. You had thought about it, but nothing really happened.

***

You had just gotten back into the bullpen. Hotch had looked over at the clock and noticed the time it was late.

“Everyone, it’s late, go ahead and get home and get some rest, but be ready for work tomorrow.”  He said with a smile that only Hotch possesses, and he headed to his office. 

You walk over to your desk and grab your car keys that are in your second drawer down. You then walk over to Spencer’s desk where he is sitting and jingle your keys in front of him.

“So what do you say genius, are you ready for a Doctor Who marathon for the night” You say to him.

“When am I not ready for a Doctor Who marathon. Can we stop at my apartment before we head over to yours I just wanna grab some things?” He smiled as he slings his bag over his shoulder. You nod your head and you both head out of the bullpen and are ready to head out.

The car ride to Reid’s was filled with music and obnoxious singing. As you pulled up to his apartment you sat in the car as he ran up to his apartment to get his things for the night. You already knew what he was grabbing. On nights were you and Spencer had to go to work the next day you would just have, for lack of better words, sleepovers. Contrary to popular belief, that was all they were, sleepovers, and nothing happened except sleeping and hanging out. Spencer would take the couch and you would sleep in your room. 

You looked over at your dashboard, it read 8:03pm. You saw Spencer walking down the stairs from his apartment and opening up your car door. 

“Hurry up Spence. At this rate we will only be able to watch like two episodes, and I was really hoping to get more episodes in.” 

“Oh calm down, let's be honest you will get through one episode before you fall asleep.” He teased you, but he wasn’t wrong. You rolled your eyes as he buckled up and you drove off to your apartment.

***

You walked into your apartment and went right to your bedroom to get out of your clothes from the day and change into your oversized shirt and sweatpants. You then went to the kitchen and got some popcorn and a huge cup of water. By the time you got to the Livingroom Spencer was already in his dino pants and his CalTech sweatshirt. He was sitting on the couch with his feet up on your coffee table. You noticed that in Spencer Reid fashion he had his mixed matched socks on. You couldn’t help but smile.

You plopped down on your oversized chair that you had right next to your chair. And flipped on the tv. 

“Are you ready?” You asked and looked over at him.

“I will be once you give me some of that popcorn.” He said as he held out his hands. You rolled your eyes and decided to put the bowl of popcorn on the end table that was between you two. You watched as he stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Go on, I am ready now.”

You laughed and clicked on the Doctor Who title. The show started and you curled up in your chair.

Just like Spencer called it before the first episode was even over you could feel your eyes closing. 

“Hey you should turn off the lights.” You say quietly from your chair, essentially admitting defeat.

“Why? Are you tired? Are you falling ASLEEP Y/N?” Spencer mocked you as he stood up and headed towards the light switch. 

“Whatever genius, just turn off the light. I’m going to set an alarm on my phone.” I grabbed one of the pillows from my couch and curled back up on the chair, and set an alarm on my phone for the morning. 

He flipped the lights off and headed back towards the couch, but before he sat down he asked, “Aren’t you going to head to bed?”

“No, I think I am comfortable right here.”

He grabbed two blankets from a basket I had in the corner of the room that was full of blankets. He took one and threw it on the couch where he would be sleeping, and he took the other one and draped it over me. This small action made me feel completely warm. I couldn’t help the blushing and I closed my eyes. I heard Spencer turn off the TV and lay down on the couch. Before I knew it I was out like a light.