#He is like rude but at least trys to do something right

[demonic0angel]

Ok! Spoiler warning ship. Where Wes explains why he hates Danny. No one will believe him that fenton is phantom.

Steph looks him dead in the eye, takes a deep breath. Then explains to him in a dead serious tone how stupid and dangerous that is, not only to the hero, but him and everyone else too.

(It's funny that you ask me this. Just wait for tomorrow lmaooo)

"I know that. I was fourteen." Wes crossed his arms and looked away, glaring at nothing. "It doesn't mean that I can't hate Phantom."

Steph raised a finger and opened her mouth, ready to defend Phantom when she paused and reconsidered. Then she asked, "If you know that it was dangerous, why do you still hate him? Did he do something to you?"

"Yes!" Wes spat. "Even though I was fourteen and stupid, you know what he would do? He would transform in front of me and gloat that no one believed me! Like, I get that he had a secret identity but he laughed in my face because he thought it was funny that everyone thought I was lying! Not even my family— my brothers believed me! I was called 'the Crazy Weston' for years in high school!"

Steph pursed her lips. As a vigilante, she understood the importance of secret identities and Wes had almost purposefully endangered the lives of others by trying to reveal Phantom's. But it was true that Wes had only been fourteen when he found out, and Danny had no right to tease him when he should've just explained properly.

"... okay, I get that." She scooted over to press against him. Wes didn't react, still looking irritated. Steph continued, "But aren't you two friends now? I guess I find it weird that you still hate him after so long, especially when you guys help each other so much."

"I don't really care about Phantom. Danny is just an asshole," Wes growled.

Steph did not voice the fact that Wes could also occasionally be an asshole.

Wes must've noticed because he went silent and then he said, "But we're fine now or whatever. I have blackmail on him that I can use and he lets me do it. I'll protect him because he's a hero from my world and because he's our King, but I don't care if I'm rude or not. He owes me for those years of hell in high school."

Stephanie shrugged and then smiled, pressing herself against him again. "Well, it's not like I can say anything about your relationship with him. I just wanted to make sure you know about the importance of secret identities."

"I don't want to hear that from you, Miss Spoiler," Wes said, rolling his eyes but he uncurled his arms and then wrapped one around her, pulling her closer to kiss her hair.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, just cuddling and enjoying each other's presence. Learning something new about each other was always fascinating. Steph suddenly sighed.

"Y'know, I don't know how I didn't realize before, but you're really petty."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know that I—"

Wes began to rant and Steph couldn't help but laugh at his indignation. In the end, he attacked her with angry kisses until she was shrieking with laughter.

Her boyfriend may be petty and vindictive, but at the very least, he was all hers.

(Note: I actually love how the fandom characterize Wes and I especially LOVE how hostile Wes can be. People don't seem to realize that they created the perfect character to be a villain bc let's not forget that since Kyle Weston is headcanoned to be Jazz's age, Wes is in the perfect position to threaten Danny's loved ones, especially with how Danny seems to tease him a lot (which is probably infuriating). I imagine that Wes and Danny have a frenemy relationship (that is a little one-sided), but they will help each other if need to be. Imo, with how the phandom characterizes them both interacting, they are BOTH in the wrong.)

[gingerteafairy]

𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 (𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

♪ highschool sweethearts - melanie martinez ♪

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warren lipka had a thing for danger.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, yandere!reader, song!fic, coquette!reader, porn with plot, language, defloration, rough sex, jealousy, insecurity, toxic relationship, unprotected piv, edging. word count: 5.3k. masterlist

Warren couldn't take his eyes off you while you were on his lap. Blinking felt like too big a risk while you were so effortlessly enchanting. The truth was, he was always a little on edge around you—a nervous energy that could easily be mistaken for butterflies. The thing was, Warren had never met anyone quite as reckless as he was, let alone a woman. Misogyny teetering on the edge, maybe.

He first saw you at the store, wrapped in the disguise of a sweet little dress, your doll-like eyes shimmering like glitter under the fluorescent lights. You were trying to steal a candy bar, but you weren’t very good at being bad. At least, that’s what he thought when he made the terrible decision to help you.

"Hey, you're being too obvious,” he whispered, stepping closer to you to avoid suspicion—something he was already used to doing. “you want some candy?"

"What kind of candy?" you asked, a playful smile curling on your lips, your gaze sweeping over his broad frame like you were sizing him up.

That should have been the first sign to turn around. But Warren Lipka was a man infatuated with danger and the delusion that he could break every rule in the world. Maybe it was the thrill of corrupting someone, being a bad influence—not just on Spencer, but on anyone who crossed his path.

"Whatever you want, doll," he flirted back, amused by how easy this was.

Without hesitation, he stuffed an assortment of candy into his jacket—he had no idea what you liked, so he opted for variety. The element of surprise was key to Lipka’s charm. Judging by the wide grin on your face, it worked.

Outside the store, Warren's gaze drifted downward, shamelessly tracing the way your legs were hugged by thigh-high white socks, ankles tilting in red Mary Janes as you turned to face him.

"Thanks for saving me in there," you said, your smile just as dazzling as the glitter around your eyes. "I was broke."

"Anytime," he replied, raising an eyebrow at you. Up close, you really did look like a porcelain doll. It was... intriguing. "But I gotta say, it’s a little weird seeing a rich daddy’s girl shoplifting."

"Daddy’s girl?" you echoed, laughing as you glanced down at your own outfit. "Oh… this? It’s just how I dress. Costs more than my paycheck, though."

"I bet it does," he chuckled, stealing a glance at the dark, empty street around you. The fact that you were wandering around this late, dressed like that, struck him as even stranger. A flicker of something protective, almost territorial, settled in his chest. "Hey, uh… look… you seem like a cool girl, so before I try anything—tell me. You underage? ‘Cause if you are, I’m so screwed."

"You’d be screwed either way," you teased, another red flag he should have noticed—but didn’t, because your sweetness had already numbed his senses. "But no. I’m grown. You?"

"I mean… this face kinda gives it away, doesn’t it?" he joked, grinning when he heard you laugh—the kind of laugh that hit him right in the ribs.

"So… we’re both adults. If it’s not too weird, wanna go for a drive?"

"A drive?"

"Yeah, in my car," he said, tilting his head toward the only vehicle sitting in the desolate parking lot. "It’s a mess, smells like cigarettes, but I swear I’m a decent guy. Promise."

"Promise?" you repeated, eyebrow arching as your eyes flickered between him and the car.

"Scout’s honor."

"Well… if you say so," you murmured, a teasing glint in your eye.

"Great." He smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to fish for the keys. "Fuck—man, that was rude of me." He shook his head. "Sorry for cussing in front of you, by the way. I’m Warren. Lipka."

"Don’t worry, I’m worse than I look," you shrugged, introducing yourself as you strolled toward his car, your presence somehow making the cold air feel heavier.

Warren got in, rubbing his hands together for warmth before starting the engine. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, raking a hand through his messy curls before pulling the stolen candy from his coat and handing it to you.

"Weirdly enough, you picked all my favorites," you mused, unwrapping one and popping it into your mouth.

As the heater finally kicked in, he shifted gears and steered the car away from the lot. "Fate, princess," he smirked, stealing a piece of candy from your hand.

"Hey! You gave these to me," you protested, laughing.

"Shipping fee, princess. Gotta keep up with the economy," he said with a smug grin, tearing open the wrapper and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. He tossed the wrapper into the backseat, hands gripping the wheel lazily. "Not sure how you can still afford to dress like that, though. What, is it for cosplay or something? ‘Cause, uh… I think that’s kinda hot."

"Oh, yeah?" you mused, resting your elbow on the window, eyes glinting as they studied him. "How hot?"

"Hot enough to make me wanna steal from your body. What do you say?" he flirted, sparing a glance away from the near-empty road.

"Interesting."

As much as Warren was enjoying this, there was a nagging pull in his chest, something that felt eerily like a trap. Maybe it was love. But love, to him, felt a lot like being backed into a dead-end street.

"I think I’m falling for you," he confessed like it was a joke. And maybe it was. Deep down, it felt like a joke.

But not to you. Your expression turned serious in an instant. "Pull over," you ordered, taking a deep breath.

"What?"

"The car. Stop it. Now." Your voice was firmer this time, your fingers pressing against your temples.

Warren swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as sand. Without another word, he veered onto the shoulder of the nearly deserted road, killing the engine. He ran a hand through his hair, restless. His mouth felt parched, like he'd downed a shot of something too strong, burning all the way down.

"What?" he asked cautiously, glancing at you. His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white. "Shit, did I say something dumb? I—fuck, sorry, I just… I say dumb shit sometimes."

You looked like you wanted to get out of the car. That’s what he thought, watching your fingers twitch toward the door handle. But then, you hesitated. Instead, you pressed your hands against your face for a few brief seconds before letting them drop to your lap, turning to face him.

"Are you willing to go far with me?" you asked, your brow creased in frustration. "Because if you’re not… you’re wasting my time."

There was something raw in the way you said it, and Warren felt a strange kind of kinship in that moment—like maybe you were just as terrified of this as he was. His thoughts raced. He exhaled sharply, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. This felt... perfect.

"Okay," he muttered, lifting his head to look at you. "You already know I’m not a good guy. Not the type you take home to your mom. Jesus, definitely not."

He rubbed his fingers through his greasy curls, blinking like he was trying to wake himself up. Then, before he could stop himself, he blurted out the dumbest thing he could’ve said: "But I’m in. Shit, I don’t know… maybe this isn’t a coincidence."

You didn’t respond right away. Your gaze drifted downward—to the floor of his car, littered with plastic wrappers, cigarette butts, and dust. The silence made Warren’s stomach clench. Were you judging him? He wouldn’t blame you. But dammit… he was willing. He was so willing to dive headfirst into whatever the hell this was. To prove that maybe—just maybe—he’d been wrong about love.

"First," you finally broke the silence, dragging his anxious eyes back to you. "You should know I’m not exactly sane."

"Neither am I," he cut in quickly, voice low, heart hammering so hard it was almost audible.

"Second," you leaned in slightly, like what you were about to say was meant to be a secret. "If you cheat me, I'll kill you.”

Red flags flashed in his head. Run. Run as far as you can. Leave this girl behind. But how could he? You were so goddamn beautiful, and you'd gotten into his head in under an hour.

"I’ve always liked danger," he murmured, and somehow, it felt like the most romantic thing he had ever said.And judging by the way your lips curled into that sugary-sweet smile, it worked.

The mood settled after that, the tension melting into something softer. Warren decided—despite the madness of it all—that he should at least take you home. After all, if he was gonna be your boyfriend, he figured he should at least be a gentleman to his princess. You were too damn cute to be just another one-night mistake.

Watching you disappear behind your front door with a little wave, Warren exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he pulled away. His fingers drummed against the wheel, his lips twitching into a dazed grin. Holy shit.

His heart was still doing that weird thing—like it was too big for his chest, like it had just run a damn marathon. The moment you were out of sight, he floored it. He needed to tell someone. Now.

Spencer.

By the time he pulled up to his friend’s house, it was stupidly late. But Warren had never really given a shit about social etiquette, and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now. When Spencer finally cracked the door open, eyes barely half-open, his face scrunched up like a pissed-off cat.

"Dude, it’s almost three in the morning," Spencer grumbled, rubbing his face.

"I met the mother of my kids," Warren announced, slapping both hands over his mouth like he had just let out classified government intel.

Spencer stared at him. Expression blank. Tired. Then, without a word, he shut the door in Warren’s face.

Warren shoved it open before it could lock, pushing his way inside like an overexcited dog. Spencer groaned but didn’t fight it—he just sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and begrudgingly locked the door.

By the time they got to his room, Spencer was already collapsing onto his bed, yanking the blanket over his head. Warren, meanwhile, was buzzing. He couldn’t sit still. His feet kept pacing, his hands flailing as he talked to himself under his breath, laughing every few seconds like some lovesick idiot.

Spencer cracked an eye open and groaned. "Alright. Talk. Get it out of your system so I can go back to sleep."

Warren beamed like he was about to tell him he won the lottery. "Met her at the store. She was tryin’ to steal candy."

Spencer blinked. Then, deadpan, "Wow. Congrats, Warren. You found someone just as fucking dumb as you." He yawned, rolling over.

"She’s not just like me," Warren scoffed, plopping onto the bed beside him, hands in his hair, like he was still processing what the hell had just happened. "She’s… crazy. In a good way. But I dunno, man… she’s just—fuck—she’s unreal."

"Loyal and nuts. Amazing. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Warren wasn’t even listening. "She’s got this whole doll thing goin’ on, like those girls you see in aesthetic blogs. Big glittery eyes, knee-high socks, tiny skirts—whole vibe, man."

Spencer peeked out from under the blanket, unimpressed. "So, she dresses like a Bratz doll and you're horny. Noted."

Warren ignored him. "She told me if I ever cheated, she’d fucking kill me, you know."

Spencer froze. Slowly, he turned his head, squinting at Warren like he was waiting for the punchline. "Dude…" His voice dropped, serious now. "That’s not good. She sounds actually insane. You could get into some serious shit."

Warren just grinned. "The crazy ones are the best, man," he said, standing up and stretching like he hadn’t just dropped a major red flag into the conversation. "I’m gonna marry her. Mark my words, Spencer."

Spencer groaned, rubbing his face. "Jesus Christ, Warren. You can’t just go around deciding you’re gonna marry a girl after—what—one date?"

"Three months and we’re naming kids," Warren corrected. “I think I'll name our daughter with her name, what you think?”

"That’s not better."

"Listen, man," Warren sighed, turning back to him, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "She’s not like other girls. She’s not like anyone. I can fix her, man. I'm telling you, be positive about it.”

The way he said it made Spencer’s stomach turn. A thick silence settled between them. Warren’s hands were shaking—just slightly, but Spencer caught it. That wasn’t normal. Warren was always antsy, always reckless, but this?This was something else.

Spencer exhaled slowly, bouncing his knee. "Alright." He didn’t like this, but he also knew Warren. If he told him to back off, he’d just double down.

So, he settled for, "As long as you’re happy, man."

Warren’s face lit up. "That’s what I’m talkin’ about!" He yanked Spencer into a hug, practically squeezing the life out of him. "You’ll meet her soon. She’s gonna love you."

"Yeah, can’t wait," Spencer muttered, already over it. He flopped back onto his bed, curling under the blanket. Warren grinned and shoved in next to him.

Over the next few weeks, things with you and Warren were… weirdly perfect. He was all in. Skipping classes. Ignoring his friends. Finding any excuse to be around you.

You seemed to know everything about him, his tastes, his likes. You were perfect, but you never let him come to your place. Never went to his alone. Always had rules. Boundaries. And at first, it was fine. But three months in, Warren needed more.You were everywhere in his head. Every fucking second. And every time you fought, it felt like his whole damn world was ending. So, after a particularly nasty argument with Spencer, Warren decided— Enough was enough. He was gonna find out what the hell you were hiding.

But Warren couldn’t just walk up to you and start demanding answers about why you were so damn secretive about your privacy. He needed advice. A second opinion. So, he made what would turn out to be his worst mistake. He went to meet up with an old friend—a girl—at a coffee shop.

And you? You were standing right across the street. Watching.

Watching the way he leaned in, nodding, hanging onto every word she said. Watching the way he smiled at her like she was solving all his problems.

"You gotta understand," the girl said, her voice soft with patience. "Maybe she's just a little shy, that's all."

Warren nodded, his brows knitting together as he tried to process it. "Could be, yeah… but she talks to me about everything. It’s just this one thing about her house. I—I love her, y'know?" His voice dropped, like the weight of those words actually scared him. His friend reached out, touching his hand. Just a small, reassuring gesture. And Warren smiled.

That was the last straw.

You didn’t even think. Didn’t care what they were talking about. Didn’t care about what kind of harmless little pep talk she was giving him. You just walked straight through the café doors, right up to him.

“Princess? What—” Warren’s lips curled into a smile, but before he could finish, you grabbed his wrist—the same one she’d touched—and yanked him out of his seat.

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder.

“It’s fine! Good luck!” she shouted back, but Warren barely heard her. You were already dragging him toward his car.

“Unlock it.” Your voice was clipped, sharp. He let out a sigh, clicking the key fob open. You both climbed in. “My place.”

“What? Wait, really?” He blinked, caught completely off guard. But he didn’t question it again. Just put the car in drive and headed straight there.

The ride was silent. Thick. Like neither of you could breathe properly. When he pulled up, you got out fast, slamming the door behind you. He followed as you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, giving him just enough space to enter before shutting it behind you.

Warren barely had time to look around before your hands went to your hips, eyes burning into him. “Who is she?”

He sighed, already knowing where this was going. “She’s just a friend.”

“Didn’t look like just a friend.” Your voice was tight, words dripping with something sharp.

“What? Jesus, she’s just my friend! I was asking her for advice—about you!” His frustration spiked, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to get ahead of the spiraling misunderstanding.

“Oh, and why not ask me?” you snapped, throwing your hands up. Then, suddenly, you let out a short, bitter laugh. A humorless thing. Cold.

“Wait—I get it now. You’d rather go talk to a whore since you can’t handle being with me.”

Warren froze.

“What?” His face twisted, voice raising. “Are you insane?!”

He took a step toward you, but you shoved him back. Hard. He stumbled onto the couch, wide-eyed. You straddled on his lap, thighs covered on the knee socks he loved on each side, eyes threading to go down and watch your panties.

“Don’t you dare call me crazy,” you growled.

“Okay. Okay.” He exhaled, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—look, you’re right. I should’ve asked you. That was dumb.”

“Dumb as hell,” you muttered, fisting his shirt in your hands.

And that’s when he saw it. That flicker of something deep in your eyes—something that made his stomach drop.

Beneath the anger, beneath the jealousy, there was hurt. Real, aching hurt. The faint shimmer of tears forming, threatening to spill and smudge the perfect eyeliner framing your eyes.

“Is it sex, Warren? That's what you're craving? Can't fucking keep your dick in your pants?” You hissed, your voice broken. “I'm a virgin. That's it. That's the fucking reason we never had sex. I'm fucking insecure and i can't stand seeing you with another girl, smiling that way, so confident and perfect. It 's all for me. It's supposed to be for me. You're mine.”

"You’re a what?" Warren blinked, like he wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

"I’m a virgin," you repeated, slower this time. For a second, he just stared. Then, he laughed.

"And I’m a good person." He shot back, grinning. Classic Warren—deflecting, making a joke out of everything. But when he saw your face—dead serious, no hint of sarcasm—the smile faltered.

"Wait, hold up—you’re serious? You… you’ve never—?"

"I don’t waste my time, Warren." Your voice was calm. Matter-of-fact.

Your shoulders relaxed, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His chest rose and fell a little faster than before.Warren couldn't take his eyes off you while you were on his lap. Blinking felt like too big a risk while you were so effortlessly enchanting.

"Nobody’s ever made it far enough," you admitted, voice quiet, but steady.

Warren’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what the hell to do with them.

"Then—why are you telling me?" His voice was different now—lower, a little rough around the edges. Like he was bracing himself for whatever you were about to say next.

"You said it yourself, Warren." You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch."You were willing. You proved it and I'm ready for you, I've always been."

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. This was too much. Too fucking much.

You—this girl, this crazy, perfect, impossible girl—you were real. And you were straddled, open for him, offering yourself like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.

Warren exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for half a second. His hands itched to grab you, pull you in, prove he wasn’t dreaming.

Then, he crashed his lips against yours in a deep, breath-stealing kiss—one that felt less like affection and more like a deal being made, a contract being sealed.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in like he needed to memorize the shape of you. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the raw, reckless certainty that he had to have you.

And in that moment, with your lips tangled and his breath mixing with yours, Warren knew—there was no going back.

The contact became more desperate, your nails ran on the back of his neck, pulling his curls. He shivered, humming against your soft lips, hands roaming all over you, the places you never allowed anyone but him. He felt so proud, worthy, a sense of value consuming his body when he felt your breathy moans vibrating on his mouth.

This was too good. You were too good. And Warren had never been the type to say no to something this good.

“Fuck, I need you so fucking much,” he murmured, hands tugging under your shirt, breaking the kiss to pass over your head and throw carelessly on the floor.

Coming back to your lips, his fingers hid under your skirt, on your ass, palming the flesh, with a softness he had never seen before, pulling it closer to fit on his pelvis.

You unclipped your bra, letting it fall on the floor next to your shoes, your fingers worked on unbuttoning his flannels while he moved you back and forth on his erection. He left your waist to pass the fabric from his arms, shoving to the ground. His hands came back to your waist, pulling you to his chest to feel your breast skin to skin, while he grasped your thighs, marking with his fingers violently.

“Warren,” you breathed, his name escaping from your lips felt like heaven. He needed more. “My room.”

It took him a second to process what you just said, his brain clouded with heat and adrenaline. For a moment, he just stood there, feeling a little stupid for being so damn desperate.

In a blink, his hand drove to your ass cheeks, grabbing it to support your body as he walked towards your room on his lap, laying you on your bed.

“Fuck,” he panted, running his hands through his hair, as it was a good way to keep the senses.

“Thank you,” You smirked, even if your face showed confidence at its peak, you felt shy, pampered by his unsaid praise. You snaked to the bed to make yourself comfortable. “C’mere.”

Warren bit his lip, nervous, as it was his first time and you were the girl showing everything about this world. No, he was the one supposed to deflower you if it wasn't weird to say.

“God…” he panted, blood boiling as he peeled off his jeans and crawled on the bed, drinking the sight of you on those damn white knee-socks, you taking off the matching cotton panties, transparent with your arousal, shoving it away.

He supported his body on his veiny hands placed on each side of your head. His muscular frame sent chills on you, being moisturized wasn't a difficult task with Warren Lipka being illegally hot in that disheveled state. Shit, he didn't even start anything.

“Warren,” you began, pushing his face closer to yours to whisper. “I want you to fuck me, hard. I don't even care about anything but this. I need you, raw. Now.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, looking at your determined eyes. “How can you be so fucking cute and say things like that? You're… shit.”

He gave up on saying anything else, devouring your lips, hands on the small of your back to pull you, his hand exploring the path to your soaked pussy, massaging your sticky folds with his fingers.

“Holy shit, you're so fucking wet,” he groaned, palming to feel it, just to get his one finger inside, facing a surprisingly small resistance to the touch.

You mewled, body shivering with his rough finger setting a pace on your cunt, curling on your sweet spot. Your hands gripping on his biceps, curling your toes. If was so fucking better than you did on yourself.

“You wanted it so much, didn't you?” He muttered, finger fucking you, chuckling at wet sounds coming out of your pussy. “Bet you fingered yourself thinking about it, didn't you?”

“Yes, yes, i did,” you confessed, groaning louder when he inserted another one, this time, the resistance increased, yet, forcing him to slow down the rhythm.

“You're so tight, suga,” he grunted, licking his lips to ghost on yours. “You saying you saved it all f’me? For your boyfriend to ruin? You're so cute doing this for me. I'm really happy, you know?”

“Yes, I did it for you, Warren,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as his fingers continued to abuse your spongy spot, the knot forming on your stomach. He took off his fingers, licking them. “No, why did you do this? Warren, I was so close.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked, hovering your thigh on his waist. “But I'll tell you something, doll. I'm still angry about the coffee shop, you know? You just showed up like a brat, then straddled on my lap like a fucking needy whore. Let's just say I'm punishing you.”

“No, please. I'm sorry,” you begged, nails digging on his strong shoulders, teary eyes, devastated.

“You don't seem so dominant now, right?” He laughed, leaning to kiss you roughly, nipping your lips, pushing back to gaze at your messy face. “If you want it so much, beg for it.”

“Please, Warren.” You pleaded, kissing his face to convince him, submissive.

He loved the sensation, he wrapped his cock in his hand, inserting his length slowly. He felt he could cry at this moment because, shit. He never felt so good in his entire life.

“You're so fucking demanding,” he muttered, hand dancing all over your thigh to slap your ass, sound echoing to your room. “Think I could forget everything with your pretty pussy?”

“No, Warren. No, i swear.” You cried out, arching your back with his hips swaying back, his cock coming out, only the tip resting on your tight entrance.

“You swear?” He repeated, pushing inside. Your velvety walls being heavenly tortured by his cock coming back inch by inch. “Hnnng, your pussy it's so good. I can see why you never shared with anyone.”

Noticing you were getting used to his stretch, he set a pace, resting his face on the crock of your neck, nipping your skin. Your nails scratched his back, trying to dissipate a part of the intensity of the pleasure. Useless. Warren had a way to use his cock.

“You angry of me?” you purred, hands moving to grasp his hands, forcing them to go to your throat. “Choke me. Bite me. Take out on me, make me your one and only.”

He hesitated, but then fingers wrapped around your neck, thumb on your soft jaw, the grip enough to cause a momentary loss of air. Soon the hand softened, but the rhythm was still impetuous, strong. Warren reached down to crash your lips to his, yanking between his teeth as he cupped your face with the same hand, squeezing your flushed cheeks, turning to the side to give him access to your immaculate neck, ready for him to mark.

“You want all the attention for yourself, don’t you? You want my friends, my time, my—uhmmm—life. You said you’d kill me but here you are, asking me to choke you.” He panted into your ear, biting the earlobe, the sound of skin clashing echoing in the room. “Then take my full attention. Everything for you.”

“Warren, I love you,” you confessed, panting as you wrapped your legs around his hips, breasts back and forth to his sight. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” he muttered, brushing his lips on yours, hips swaying faster, his hand securing you in place while the other mantained his position. “Shit, I'm gonna cum.” he warned, his thrusts beaming sloppier.

“Yeah, me too. Fuck,” you purred, body convulsing, shivering by the know sensation becoming even more touchable, til you came undone. “Fuck, I'm cumming—Warren, fuck.”

“I'm cumming so hard, fucking sorry—shit,” he groaned, burying his cock on you while he painted your walls white, slow pumps til he was finally finished. “Shit. I came. You're—shit, you're so good to me.”

He planted kisses on your face, laying by your side, pushing you to rest your head on his chest. He wanted a cigarette, but it could wait, you were panting and needy for him, anything could wait.

“If you never did it, why did you choose me?” He inquired, eyeing you, the quest for answers didn't finish, but it felt right on time.

“Warren, i need to tell you something,” you began, plopping on your elbow to see his face, hand coming to your hair. “You know, when we met at the market…”

Warren’s lips curled into a lazy grin, his eyes flickering with amusement as he leaned back against the pillows.

“Oh, that day,” he mused, a nostalgic warmth settling in his chest. He could still picture it—how you looked, how you smiled. But then you spoke again, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

“That wasn’t the first time I saw you,” you confessed, your voice light, almost nonchalant—like it wasn’t about to change everything.

Warren’s smile froze. His brows furrowed, and his body went rigid before he suddenly jolted upright, sheets rustling as he turned to face you fully.

“What?” His voice cracked slightly, his throat suddenly dry. “What do you mean that wasn’t the first time?” His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

You hesitated, biting your lip, fingers twitching as you smoothed the fabric of your shirt. Your gaze flickered away before you forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I mean… I’ve been in love with you for almost five months. I’ve been watching you.” A nervous laugh slipped out, but it didn’t soften the weight of your words. “I’m sorry.”

Warren’s breath hitched. His eyes darted across your face, searching for any sign that you were messing with him. “Wait—what?” His voice rose in pitch, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. “That’s— that’s crazy. You’re joking, right? Like, this is a joke?” He let out a nervous chuckle, but it died in his throat when you didn’t laugh with him.

His fingers raked through his hair, his legs shifting restlessly under the covers. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words came rushed, frantic. “And what about the whole act in the car? The way you acted like—like you were just some normal girl?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lower lip jutting out in a subtle pout. “I’m just… shy.” Your voice was soft, almost delicate, as if you were afraid he’d push you away. Your shoulders curled inward, making you seem smaller, vulnerable.

Warren exhaled sharply, pressing his hands against his face for a moment before dragging them down, exasperation twisting his features. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his entire brain. His knee bounced anxiously under the sheets.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking between you and the door like he wasn’t sure if he should run or laugh.

But then you took a slow, tentative step closer, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze from under your lashes. “You’re not mad, are you?” Your voice was almost a whisper, laced with something sweet, something that pulled at the frayed edges of his nerves.

Warren blinked. His heart was still hammering, his stomach still twisted in knots, but when he looked at you—really looked at you—something in him cracked.

A breathless chuckle slipped past his lips. Then another. And suddenly, he was laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He let out a long sigh, as if surrendering to the absurdity of it all.

“I never lied about that,” you murmured, eyes wide, innocent—too innocent.

Warren groaned, rolling his eyes before reaching out and pulling you against his chest. “You’re gonna be the death of me literally,” he muttered, but his arms stayed wrapped around you, holding on like he wasn’t planning to let go.

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Riddle + happy accidents + opposites attract

There are people that prefer the night life, and there’s morning people. Happy people, sad people, blue people, red people, etc,, Most people would prefer keeping a healthy distance from the olive queendom hq parking lot. In this, you are most people.

“My car! VANDALS!”

Your very own manager stands tensely in the underground lot, grumbling next to a knifed up van- It’s practical, -like something your dad would drool over- and painfully too old for him. (an easy feat, considering he’s the youngest in the office)

You consider turning the other way and walking home.

You can’t. And not because your sense of morality finally got updated-

But if you squint and tilt your head just right, for a second, he looks kinda.. Cute? Lost-cute, tutor/airhaid-cute, pathetic-cute, you get the idea. With Riddle, it hits you even deeper because this vibe is rare.

It might just be the lowlights, or the lack of rbf for once, or the “single on Valentine’s Day” hallmark phenomena, but he’s totally coffeeshop meet-cute material!

He’s staring up at the ceiling like it owes him money when you jog up, and his pupils dilate. hard. You didn’t know he had any emotion besides “angry” and “veiled angry”, but you learn something new everyday!

You don’t need to ask to know his address- it’s been the reluctant cool down spot of many post office party benders, but he appreciates the sentiment when you prompt him for it anyways.

All the hr briefings and team meetings basically leak out of your head the second your brain starts humming with the energy of mm, boy smell,, With the dull ache behind your eyes, and the caffeine shakes hitting you decide that you’ll atleast try to violate policy tonight- It’s been way too long since you’ve had a proper date (Not at the olive queendom or Minigolf, but something romantic!), and with Riddle it’s easy to guess that once you kiss the hell out of this boy, that he’ll insist on it. (Yknow, if you don’t crash your car on the way,,)

“I couldn’t ask to inconvenience one of my employees like this…”

“Good thing you’re not asking! It’d just be rude to let you pay for a two hour flyber, let me do this for you.”

You open up the passenger side of your pickup just to flick the squished fry off his seat, and you delight with how quickly his face turns from nervous first date to saw trap reaction. This is gonna be a long drive, and for once, you’re excited to hang out with a colleague!

“So, anyone special you’ll be seeing tonight?”

“Perish the thought! My work is far more important than some rendezvous,”

.

With all this driving and bickering, it makes you wonder just how he values rules. You hope he lies about his least favourite ones- it’s not like anyone would catch him! Even with your tongue in his moth, he still hasn’t stopped mumbling about queen of hearts-section 5 rule 295.

Allegedly, that rule dictates that the queen must kiss someone before the clock strikes twelve on Valentine’s Day! Being the his most benevolent employee, the car is parked on some backroad (your ears are still ringing from the lecture), some lover’s lane ass music is playing, and you’ve definitely kissed enough to fulfill the conditions.

With your hands cupping his face, and his leg across yours in the back seat, the two of you just can’t stop meeting in the middle,,

“Hah! Wouldn’t this count as ‘indecent exposure’? I’d hate for us to get arrested, queenie.”

“Not in this area. I’d say we’re far enough away from the typical public sectors to be within the law, and- you were kidding? Nevermind! We must follow her majesty’s word to the letter! I’m supposed to wish you a ‘happy Valentine’s Day’ now.”

“Yeah, yeah, c’mere!!”

Hope you guys like the new format better! It’s all thanks to my beta reader @/Echosofmortality <3

[xheksprostate]

getting sloppy drunk for the first time on accident: woo! i am going to luxuriate in the todays decadent win of the montreal canadiens, mes habs, over the florida panthers and the fact that our baby rookie baby goalie shut out said defending stanley cup champs! and also think salacious things about sam monty montembeault. olé

[joey-the-boy]

I'm mid-rewatch of The Hollow and I forgot how much I hated these motherfuckers in season one

[kavehayati]

Man I just give up.

[longagoitwastuesday]

I know Mai is sort of like the typical "kind of a bitch" female character that often has a lot of sexist tropes playing around, but for some reason... I actually like her?

[tautozhone]

cant believe i’m in a heated tense micro-argument with a teenager because she keeps saying she HATES shrek three cannot stand it but also by her own account has never seen it. she won’t say anything beyond “he hates being royal and hates being a dad big deal” and that it’s a poor quality movie. i accidentally started a whole thing because i mentioned if she wanted to watch shrek four then watching three made sense, at the very least if you’re going to shit on a movie you need to know what you’re talking about. we’re talking about shrek here though. what the fuck is happening

[rowarn]

IF YOU NEEDED ME !

simon riley/reader – 7.1k words sale of a lifetime mini series !

tags: smut, childhood best friend!simon, virginity for sale trope, unrealized feelings, soft!simon, protective!simon, virgin!reader, afab!reader, no prns for reader

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet & messy, fingering, creampie, mid-sex love confession, a little arguing but nothing crazy tbh, petnames (love, lovie, sweetheart)

; he remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. he never thought he was deserving of such happiness. but now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you.

or.

he may not have been the first man you picked to give your first time to. but looking back, you realized he was the only right choice in the end.

Meeting some unknown, shady guy out on the street outside of a seedy bar wasn’t the smartest decision you’ve ever made. Nor was it how you actually intended to spend your Friday evening. But it was the only option you had at the moment, so you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to stay put at the spot the guy had chosen despite the fact that being out on the street made you feel x10 more nervous and vulnerable. 

You could hear the loud music and chatter inside the bar every time the door opened to let someone in or out. There was a chill in the air that had you contemplating actually going inside and just telling the guy to meet you in there – you were about to give the bastard your damn virginity, the least he could be was accommodating to your temperature struggles. Plus, you could really use a drink.

A car, expensive by the looks of it, pulling up to the curb had you pausing in that train of thought. You recognized him from his profile picture when he stepped out of the vehicle – Lucas, you recall being his name. Whether that was really his name or not didn’t matter; all that mattered was he brought what he promised.

“You have the money?” you asked when he approached you, giving him a tight-lipped smile as a greeting.

“Yeah, got it in the car. All cash, I hope that’s alright,” he grinned, a sight that made a shiver go down your spine. His tone didn’t match the smile, all transactional and dull despite the glimmer in his eyes.

He wasn’t necessarily unattractive but he certainly wasn’t your type. There was a look in his eyes, one that made your skin crawl because you felt like you were nothing but a piece of raw meat in front of a starving, salivating predator. 

“We should get going,” he said, hurrying to open the backseat of his car for you.

You paused, “Aren’t we going to go inside or something?”

He looked confused, grip on the door tightening for a moment before he bursted out laughing. When he saw the shocked look on your face he sobered up, “Sorry, sorry, that was rude of me. Sweetheart, this isn’t a date. I’m just here to get what I paid for.”

“Oh…” you swallowed around the lump in your throat at the condescending tone, humiliation making your cheeks burn, “Right.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes and you quickly averted your gaze so he wouldn’t see how much that stung. Of course, you knew it wasn’t a date. This was a transaction. But you at least thought you’d get to know the guy who was about to take your virginity. You should have known better.

A man who was paying for your virginity wasn’t bound to be someone you could trust to feel comfortable around. You quietly sigh, resigning yourself to this all for the sake of some fucking money. 

You settle into the car, heart jumping into your throat when the door slams. It feels as if you’ve just sealed your fate and you can’t deny that you’re scared. 

But there’s an envelope next to you that you can see stuffed with bills and you clench your fists, trying to calm your racing heart by closing your eyes and breathing. 

You just hope this decision doesn’t cost you your life or something. You’d hate to imagine what that would do to a certain someone.

Suddenly, the car jostles. Your eyes snap open and you see Lucas is jacked up against the side of the car, a very familiar form caging him in. His scarred hands grip the man’s shirt in tight fists. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you can see Lucas is chattering frantically, gesturing wildly with his hands in an attempt to quell the angry man in the skull balaclava. 

You curse to yourself, a different kind of terror shocking through your system. Lucas is thrown to the side and you wince at how hard he hits the pavement before the car door is jerked open.

You can’t even say anything before a strong, rough hand wraps around your arm, yanking you out. You stumble once you’re on your feet, falling right into his chest. 

You try to pull away but his arm clamps down around you. 

Lucas is cursing and screaming his head off, words you don’t even bother to try and decipher because you’re too preoccupied with the masked figure that made his sudden appearance. Nerves make your knees shake and from the look of pure rage in his eyes, you know you’re in deep shit. 

Lucas opens the car door and slams it before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement before he vanishes. Along with that wad of cash that was going to be yours in just a short time. 

Suddenly you’re angry, shoving your hands against his chest to get him away from you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Riley?!” you shriek, shooting him the fiercest glare you could muster.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he sneers, “The hell were you doin’ with that prick?”

“I–”

“Don’t answer that,” he snaps, cutting you off swiftly, “I know what you were doin’. If you needed money that badly you should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern, Simon!” you cry, resisting the urge to petulantly stomp your foot.

You’re so pissed. 

Simon Riley and you went way back, childhood friends. The two of you had always been in each other's lives. Simon especially was always there when you needed him, a beacon of safety and protection. Your best friend and someone you loved to the ends of the Earth. 

But right now, you’re so angry with him that you can’t seem to think straight.

How dare he show up now, when you’re about to do the most humiliating act of your entire life. How could he show his stupid, masked face here when you didn’t even ask for his help in the first place for a reason. 

“You are always my concern,” he shoots back, scarred knuckles turning white from how hard he clenches his fists, “I have always taken care of you. You should have come to me for help instead of puttin’ yourself in danger like this. You didn’t know that guy, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Anger makes your skin hot, sweat beading on your forehead, blocking out the chill that once made goosebumps rise. You feel ashamed that you were caught in this situation – that the man you’ve known your entire life knew you were about to sleep with some random asshole for a fat wad of cash. You don’t like that he’s made you feel ashamed and confronted you with it.

“Just fuck off, Simon!” you shriek, the only thing you can think of before turning on your heel and stalking away from him.

You don’t glance over your shoulder to check if he’s following because you know he most likely is – from a safe distance to make sure you make it inside your apartment alright but far enough that you can’t get mad at him for it. Your jaw is clenched so tightly that you feel a headache radiating down your neck. 

By the time you reach your apartment, the anger has simmered and all you’re left with is a festering shame that makes tears fill your eyes. You wrap your arms around yourself and quickly shuffle yourself inside, not bothering to check if Simon is out there or not. All you want is to get a hot shower and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend. 

You do just that, letting the burning hot water scald your skin until you can’t feel any emotions except exhaustion. And then, you crawl into bed and let sleep overtake you without a second thought. 

When you wake up, it’s clear that it’s late into the afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and shining painfully bright through the crack in your curtains. You groan and roll over, slapping the bed to find your phone. 

You grab the device and unlock it, taking a moment to scroll through your notifications. There’s some angry messages from the guy from last night – cursing you out for setting him up to be jumped. It makes you roll your eyes before a particular notification catches your eye.

It’s from your bank – alerting you of a deposit. 

You sit up straight in your bed, brows furrowed before your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see your bank statement. It’s more than you needed and you know exactly who was responsible. 

You jump out of bed, not even bothering to dress out of your pajamas before you’re shoving some slides onto your feet and storming out of your apartment. 

You’re so heated that you can’t even remember the walk to Simon’s place, your mind racing a million miles a second. You storm up to the door and slam your fist on it, the hard wood making your hand sting from how hard you pound. 

The radiating tingle of pain is quickly forgotten when the door swings open. 

Simon stands there, looking down at you expectantly. He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an army-issued t-shirt that’s a bit too tight. The sleeves stretch taunt around his biceps and you can make out the swell of his pecs. It’s not very often that you get to see his tattooed arms, littered with scars since he tends to wear long sleeves most of the time. 

He doesn’t look at all surprised to see you, clearly having expected you. The apathetic look in his eyes just solidifies that you were right all along.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you cry without so much as a greeting.

He sighs, broad shoulders rising and falling with it before he opens the door wide and motions you inside. You duck underneath his outstretched arm, turning to watch as he closes the door and locks it. 

He wanders into the kitchen and you realize you can smell bacon. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by your outburst nor does he seem interested in acknowledging your question.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only solidifying how unperturbed he is by your display of anger. 

“No!” you snap, “I want to know why you did that, Simon!”

He sighs again, much louder but doesn’t respond. You stand in the doorway to his kitchen, watching him plate his lunch – which is actually just breakfast food. He places the dish on the table and pauses, looking up at you.

“You needed the money, I had it,” he offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was handling it on my own,” you say, “I-It was my problem to solve.”

“By sellin’ yourself to some prick?” he snarls, the anger he was masking coming out in a flurry.

“I wasn’t selling myself–” you refute but he slams his palms down on the table. His cutlery clatters with the action and you jump.

“I read that post you made,” he hisses, teeth bared, “There’s no fuckin’ reason you should be selling your virginity for some cash when I was right here the whole time!”

Your cheeks burn when he brings up your virginity, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “I-It’s mine to sell if I want to! I needed that money!”

“And now you have it,” he says with finality. 

He takes a seat and you stand there, fuming. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding together as your mind races to find a rebuttal. He begins to eat, taking large, fast bites that just shows how he’s been conditioned to eat quickly by the military. 

“That’s not the point, Simon,” you huff, growing less angry and more frustrated by this conversation. You were just going around in circles. 

“Then what is the point?” he snaps, snatching his empty plate and angrily tossing it in the sink. He turns to you again, a frown evident on his face, “You got the money you needed safely. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s too much money, Simon!” you cry, “I was selling something in exchange for it!”

“I care about you,” he says, “That doesn’t matter to me. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

You silently glare at him, wishing that the heated stare would get through to him. He stands unbothered, staring blankly at you with his fists clenched by his sides.

You hang your head, sighing, “I-I can’t take your money, Simon, alright? I’m already in debt and I’m not going to be in debt to you of all people.”

“You feel like you owe me, is that it?” he asks.

You nod your head, heart rate spiking when he stalks towards you. You’re close enough to smell his body wash and aftershave, a painfully familiar scent that you adore. He stares down his nose at you, brown eyes lidded and lazy. 

He reaches out suddenly, rough hand gripping your cheeks, smushing them together until your lips pucker, “Then give me a kiss as payment.”

“H-Huh?” you whimper dumbly, eyes wide in shock as his face grows closer and closer.

“It can be payment for a kiss, lovie,” he coos, syrupy sweet and soft, “Will that make up for it, then?”

The air in your lungs suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. This is a man that you’ve known almost your entire life so you’ve obviously thought about him in a romantic sense at some point. Hell, when you were a teenager you even had a crush on him. But he never once looked at you any other way than as a friend so you quickly got over it – or maybe that’s just what you told yourself. Because as you stand there, staring into his eyes, you realize that kissing him would feel like a dream come true. 

You find yourself nodding despite the inner turmoil going on in your head. Simon huffs through his nose before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. 

There’s a shock of electricity that goes through you at the contact. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the kiss, letting him take over. He works his lips expertly against yours, eventually abandoning his hold on your face in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. You gasp into the kiss when he suddenly yanks you closer, your body pressed close against his. 

He’s warm and sturdy against you, a solid form of muscle that makes you feel safe and content – just as he always has. His hands are big and rough as they grip your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he gets lost in kissing you. 

“S-Si,” you find yourself muttering without realizing.

He hums in response, chuckling when you continue to mindlessly kiss him. He pulls back, one hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat, thumbing at your jaw as your eyes slowly focus on him, “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t…” you swallow thickly around the forming lump in your throat, “I don’t know. I just…”

“Show me,” he breathes, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. 

The sweet, tender look in his big, brown eyes is what gives you the courage to grab his wrist, leading it just under the hem of your shirt so he can touch your bare stomach. You give him a shy glance from under your lashes, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want more. 

You want him.

Simon, in all his experienced wisdom, understands immediately what it is you’re aching for. His hand travels up further, pausing at your ribs, just under the swell of your breast. Your heart hammers in your chest when your gaze meets his. His eyes are lidded, long lashes obscuring his pupils but still burning into you. 

He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for any sign of hesitation as his fingers creep higher and higher. You suck in a breath when he cups your breast in his palm, squeezing lightly to feel their weight. 

A large, calloused thumb creeps up, passing ever so softly over your nipple until the bud peaks and hardens under the attention. You sigh at the feeling, new shocks washing over you that you’ve never experienced before. 

Sure, you played with yourself plenty – you had a healthy masturbation life, you’d say. But you’d always just been focused on reaching an orgasm, never on the build up. You imagine, however, it would never feel as good by yourself as it does with him.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine, lips parting as the sound escapes. Simon takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Your hands grab his shoulders, desperately clinging to his shirt as you lose yourself in the sloppy kiss. 

Drool drips down your chin – it's messy and hot between the two of you. His hand switches to your other breast to give it the same attention as the other. You tremble in his arms, overcome by the insatiable throbbing between your thighs. 

You shift on your feet, the fabric of your panties stick uncomfortably to your core. You’re so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. By the time he pulls back, there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. 

“You want more?” he asks, voice gravelly as he speaks, as if he’s drunk. You nod your head and he clicks his tongue, “You gotta tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want more, Si,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn as you admit it. 

“Let’s go,” he hums, taking your hand in his as he leads you around the couch towards the hallway.

“Where?” you ask dumbly, hoping that making some kind of conversation would ease the nerves steadily building in your chest. 

“The bedroom,” he responds, stroking his thumb over the top of your hand as if he can sense that you’re nervous, “Wouldn’t want to be stripped down in the middle of the living room, I imagine.”

“N-No,” you squeak, cheeks burning even hotter at those words. 

You’re going to be naked. In front of another person for the first time. In front of him. Simon. 

“There now, lovie,” he whispers as he shuts his bedroom door behind the both of you. He takes your waist in his hands, kneading the soft flesh there, “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m just–”

“Nervous,” he finishes for you, smiling softly when you nod, “I know. We can stop anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t want to,” you rush out, hands coming up to press against his firm chest, “Just…d-don’t be upset when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The tender way he looks at you sets your heart pounding like a little rabbit. A ghost a smile appears on his lips, “I would never do somethin’ like that.”

“I-I know, I just…” you look down at your feet only for him to catch your chin in his fingers, pulling you to look up at him.

You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat, holding your breath as he descends down. His lips find yours all over again, as exhilarating and mind-melting as the first time. 

Just the sweet, deep kiss he gives you has your nerves dissipating a bit – back to normal levels. You no longer feel the desire to flee, you just feel an intense longing and anticipation. You crave more from him.

As if sensing this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. He slowly starts to pull it up, agonizingly slow. But you’re grateful for it, it gives you time to prepare before you’re bared completely to him. You lift your arms for him, a sign that you’re still okay with this. 

He pulls it up over your head and lets the fabric drop to the floor. But he doesn’t look down, he continues looking in your eyes, softly pecking your lips as his hands cup your breasts once more. 

When you sigh and lean into his touch, he finally lets himself break the eye contact. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees how pretty your tits sit in his hands. He touches them softly, sweetly brushing over your nipples in admiration. 

“Perfect tits, lovie,” he coos, chuckling when you whine in embarrassment. 

His head descends, pink lips parting to take one of your nipples in his mouth. It’s hot but his tongue is soft when it circles and flicks at the bud. He sucks, popping off lewdly before switching to the other one. 

The sensation makes you squeeze your thighs together, imaging what that would feel like around your clit. Your hole clenches around nothing, drooling messily into your panties. The fabric was so wet by now that it couldn’t soak it up anymore, leaving it to slick up your thighs instead.

Your core ached, a feeling only Simon would be able to soothe. 

“Please, Si,” you finally break, whimpering pathetically. 

He detaches from your breast, lips wet and swollen from the worship he had been giving your now sore nipples. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing brown and you were sure that yours looked the same. 

He stands to his full height, nudging you backwards until your knees hit the bed. They buckled at that, leaving you to fall back against the bed. Simon’s bedding was soft, the scent of detergent and his own body wash filling your senses. You relax at the familiar, comforting scent, sinking into the blankets with a bashful smile on your face.

To Simon, you’re an ethereal beauty. You take the air right out of his lungs with the way you look at him.

He remembers the way you would look at him when you were children, all smiles and bright eyes. He never thought he was deserving of such happiness. But now, with you shyly covering your bare breasts, in his bed, he feels like he’s the only man deserving of you. 

He scooches you up the bed, crawling on after you until he’s on top of you. Though you’re still wearing your pants, you feel so vulnerable beneath his weight. He’s heavy and warm and he smells so good. You can’t focus on anything except for him – he’s all around you and it’s exhilarating. 

Feeling bold, you reach up and tug at his shirt. He pulls it off with ease, revealing his toned, scarred upper body. You can’t help but trace over some of the ones you’re familiar with – there’s one from a time he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a cat that you had been crying about. He fell out of the tree on the way down, a jagged branch stabbing into his upper arm and slicing it open. There was another one from when you were teenagers, some other kids jumped him and he took a stab to his shoulder trying to protect you. You kiss that one and he softens, as if he’s remembering it too. 

He’s always been there for you, an overwhelming presence that you simply couldn’t live without. The fact you’re here, in this bed, about to give him your virginity is something that you never would have expected. 

And to think, you were planning to sell it off to some random loser. 

“I’m glad you stopped me,” you find yourself whispering. 

He looks confused for a second before he hums, nodding in understanding, “I am too.”

“I-I want it to be you, Si,” you whisper, the confession leaving you embarrassed. It’s true, all this time, you realize, he’s all you’ve ever really wanted. You had just buried it deep down so you no longer felt those sparks towards him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers back, as if the two of you are sharing some secret little moment that no one else can hear about even though it’s just the two of you in this room. 

“You always do,” you respond, the words making his dark eyes light up. 

He kisses you deeply, moving his lips slowly against yours. When your hands come up to grip the back of his neck, he takes that as his cue to move down to your neck, then your collarbones, down the center of your chest between your breasts, the spot between your breasts, and finally your navel. 

You lay back, head in his pillows with your hands on either side of your head. You watch him, breathing labored as you wait for his next move. He pauses in his path, looking up through his lashes at you before his fingers find the hem of your sweats. You swallow thickly, holding your breath when he slowly begins to pull the fabric down. You lift your hips to help him, pulling your legs free while being careful not to kick him by accident. 

He keeps his gaze on you until you’re settled back down into the bed and the pants are forgotten on the floor to be collected later. Then, he looks down. 

Even though you still have your panties on, you know that the white cotton is soaked through and hides absolutely nothing from his view. 

You watch as he licks his lips, as if his mouth is suddenly bone dry. His hands are burning hot when he touches you again, sliding over your thighs to your hips. He leans down, pressing his lips against each of your thighs. 

His thumb reaches down, stretches over your pubic bone to touch the sticky fabric. You nearly jump at the sensation – someone’s fingers other than your own touching you there for the first time. Simon’s fingers.

As if he can’t help himself anymore, he tugs the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs. You squeal when you’re jostled under the force. 

He holds the material up and you’re mortified to see just how wet they are. He runs his thumbs over the crotch and you whine, drawing his attention from them. He drops them to the floor and returns his hands back to you, gripping underneath your knees, so he can spread you all the way open. 

Your hands fly to your face, covering your eyes in embarrassment at how exposed you are. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss over the top of your hands before moving back down your body. 

You peek through your fingers only to find him already staring at you with a sparkle in his eyes. He carefully spreads your slippery folds apart with his thumbs, the movement causing a wet, sticky sound to emanate from between your legs. The little bud of your clit is hard and twitching as it’s exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. When he’s sure you’re looking he leans down, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. You stop breathing as you watch a fat glob of spit roll down the surface of the smooth muscle and splatter right on your clit. 

“Si-!” your squeal of his name is cut off when your eyes roll back in his head as that sinful tongue slides right over your bud. 

Your whole body twitches at that, hands falling away from your face so you can reach down and grab his hair. It doesn’t even seem like he notices your grip, focused on slurping up that sensitive nub into his hot mouth. 

You choke out a moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as your back arches. It feels just as good as you thought it would when he was giving the same, lewd treatment to your nipples. 

He continues to suck and lick your clit until your mind is completely blank and all you can think is him. Then, all at once it stops and he pulls back, letting your bud slip from the heavenly clutch of his lips.

“You ever have somethin’ inside you, lovie?” he asks, bringing up one of his fingers to swipe through the folds of your entrance, as if to show you what he intends. 

You swallow to moisten your throat before nodding, “J-Just my fingers.”

“How many?” he asks, growing more confident in prodding at the tight little hole. 

“T-Two,” you breathe, any embarrassment you felt long dissipated in the face of true pleasure.

“Alright, lovie,” he hums, “Just lay back, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

You nod and do as he says, turning utterly boneless against the blankets. The sweat already slicking your skin despite the fact you’ve only just begun makes the fabric stick to you. 

He prods at your entrance for only a second longer before finally, he pushes his thick middle digit inside you. Your cunt is so wet and pliant that it hungrily swallows it up to the very last knuckle. You clench around it intentionally, getting used to the feeling of the foreign finger inside of you for the first time. 

It feels so different compared to your own, thicker and rougher. The sensation is so strange but you can’t say you don’t like it – in fact, it feels amazing. You already want another, feeling like one just isn’t enough to give you that unknown feeling you’re chasing. It’s like you have an itch that needs to be scratched and only Simon can do it for you. 

As if sensing this, ever the reliable one, he carefully introduces a second finger. The stretch is unfamiliar, a burn around your entrance following as he reaches the last knuckle on that one too. His middle and ring finger stuffed snuggly inside your gooey little cunt as you whine and squirm from the feeling. 

Once you’ve adjusted, he slowly begins working them in and out of you. You slick up his fingers easily, streaks of creamy white coating his skin and making his mouth water. When he crooks his fingers up suddenly, prodding at that tender little spot inside of you, your entire body twitches and the most beautiful moan rips from your chest. 

He can’t resist leaning down and trapping your pulsing little clit under the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t slurp it into his mouth like before, instead, he just licks over it, pressing it down with the muscle. Your eyes are rolled up and your mouth hangs open as you moan and moan, tugging mindlessly at his hair as he works you towards your orgasm. 

It grows and grows, the unrelenting pleasure of his fingers fucking deeply into you and his tongue lapping sloppily at your clit like a mutt driving that knot in your belly to tighten. Drool spills out around his tongue, slipping down to meet his fingers where he easily fucks it into you – the added lubrication not needed but so very welcome with how much wetter and messier it makes you. 

“S-Simon…” you pant, gasping to catch your breath as the pleasure makes it hard for you to even think. 

He glances up at you through his lashes but doesn’t offer any other acknowledgement. There’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to wring this orgasm out of your little cunt whether you like it or not. 

And fuck, do you love it. 

The orgasms you brought yourself in the deep of the night, little hands stuffed down your panties as you played with your clit and stuffed yourself with your own fingers was nothing like what you were experiencing now. Simon’s thick fingers and hot tongue were torturing your little clit until your entire body started to lock up.

You looked at him desperately, unsure what was even going through your mind besides him and how fucking good you felt right now. 

Just as you teetered on the edge of this orgasm, he suddenly changed up and swallowed your twitchy little clit into his mouth. He sucked, sending you flying over the edge with a shrill wail of his name. Your legs kicked and twitched, heels hitting him on the back as you trembled and shook through the orgasm that he eagerly fucked out of you onto his fingers. 

He suckled your clit, swirling his tongue around it until it was too sensitive and you were tearily pushing him away. When he finally released you, slipping his fingers from your cunt, you were boneless and twitching on the bed. You didn’t even try to close your legs when he pulled away, giving him the perfect view to watch your cute little pussy clench and messily drool cum in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

He popped his fingers in his mouth, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering at the taste of your cum tingling on his taste buds. As you came down, eyes closed and breathing heavy, he began pulling at his belt. 

You could hear the metal clinking as he dropped it to the floor, peeking your heavy lids open to see him pull the button of his jeans open. As he slowly pulled them down, his underwear went with and suddenly you were more aware than ever. 

His cock was something to behold. Thick and veiny, bobbing in the air where it hung – too heavy to actually stand upright. You’d seen dicks in porn before but none of them prepared you for Simon’s. Precum dribbled from the tip, creating a long, gooey string down towards the floor before it broke. 

He wrapped a big hand around himself, giving a few good strokes as he reached down to cup his own heavy balls. The hair wasn’t wild or offensive, but neatly trimmed short. 

“All good, lovie?” he asked, stepping out of the pool of his jeans and boxers so he could kneel on the bed again.

“All god-good!” you blushed as he laughed, leaning down over you to balance his weight on his elbows.

“You still want this?” he asks, hushed and sweet, 

You glance between your bodies to see that intimidating cock, drooling messily over your skin. You realize, quickly, that you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

When you voice such, he looks relieved, like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He sits back on his heels and spreads your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest.

“Hold them there,” he orders, which you follow immediately. 

Your elbows circle around your knees, holding yourself open for him as he asked. He whistles low in appreciation when your cum-slicked cunt was spread and exposed for him to prod his cockhead against. 

He swipes the tip up and down through your folds, humming appreciatively when your little hole tries to suck him in every time he grazes past it. He nudges your clit, the little bud still hard and sensitive from your orgasm but so eager for more. He couldn’t wait to grant your wish and make you cream on his cock. 

You watch him with wide eyes as he starts to push into you. Your jaw drops as you feel that burning stretch, an ache settling between your legs as he continues to sink himself into you. 

“F-Fuck, wait, Simon!” you squeal and he halts immediately. 

He’s only reached just past the head of his cock but he reaches down to pet your clit. The pleasure shoots through you, making your toes curl and your walls relax around him. He keeps his eyes on your face for any sign that you want him to stop as he moves his hips again. 

More and more of his cock sinks inside and his thumb keeps working little circles over your clit until his hips are flush with yours. Your voice breaks as you moan when you realize you’ve taken every single inch of him. 

He’s heavy and throbbing inside of you and you clench around him intentionally, forcing a moan from his chest. 

He leans down, arranging your knees over his shoulders, folding you up and pressing down on  you. He’s heavy and it makes it hard to breathe but that makes it even better – the pleasure of being speared on that fat cock and being utterly helpless underneath this man is better than any fantasy you could have made for yourself. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips back before rocking them forward again, heavy balls slapping against you as he does, “Can’t believe you were gonna give this little cunt away to some prick.”

“S-Si,” you whimper, biting your lip at the feeling of him slowly and carefully rocking his hips against yours, “‘M sorry, sh-shoulda been you all this time.”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hums, “No one else gets to love you but me, sweetheart.”

“O-Only you!” you agree, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits that spot just right. 

He can feel you soaking his cock, drippy cum lathering him up to make every glide of his cock wetter than the last. He sits back up on his knees, adjusting his grip so he can pin your legs wide open, giving him the best view of your greedy cunt swallowing his length up. 

He begins to fuck you in earnest, pulling out halfway before sliding home again - nothing like the little movements he gave you to prepare you. He was going to show you exactly why you should only think of giving him this precious pussy for the rest of your life. No one will ever be able to fuck you as good as he can, he’s going to learn your body like the back of your hand and you’re never going to be able to cum as hard as you can with him. You’ll never even want to use your own fingers again when he’s done with you. 

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, take the pleasure and take his cock. He hits so deep, prodding at your cervix in a way that aches but it only feels that much better when it’s mixed with mind-numbing pleasure. 

Simon looms above you, panting and groaning as he fucks you like he was made to. He angles his hips just right, blunt nails biting into your thighs where he pins you open, neither of you caring if he happens to break skin while he does. You don’t even register the bite of pain underneath the way his cock prods you g-spot so perfectly. 

Your own fingers would have been tired by now, no longer able to work that little spot like you need. Simon’s cock, however, is unrelenting. The pleasure builds and mounts uninterrupted, every stroke of his length sending you higher. His body moves fluidly, rolling his hips tirelessly so he can give you every ounce of pleasure your sweet little cunt needs. 

You’re creaming around him, a frothy, milky ring forming around the base every time he sinks in and becoming visible when he pulls back. It’s filthy and messy and makes your cheeks burn but Simon seems to not mind in the slightest.

“So fuckin’ messy, love,” he coos, breathy and slurred, “Look at that, pretty cunt needed some cock, huh?”

“Y-Yours!” you manage to choke out.

“What’s that?” he asks, a crooked, teasing grin on his face. 

“Y-Your cock! Only needed your cock, Simon,” you pant, reaching up to grope your own tits, pinching and rolling your nipples meanly. It hurts so good, making you clench around his cock. He moans at the sight, his pretty little virgin tormenting your own nipples.

“That’s right,” he hums, reaching a shaky hand down to thumb at your clit, “Keep pinchin’ those pretty tits, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

You nod your head, unable to form a vocal response from the new sensation of your clit being played with while he fucks you. It feels so damn good that you could go drunk from it all. Everything in your brain is slow, thoughts of only him and how good you feel are all that’s there. Your entire world, right at this moment, revolves around Simon Riley. 

He knows it too, a cocky grin on his face as he works you to your orgasm. You dangle, almost helplessly, staring unblinkingly at his handsome face as he works it out of you. 

After what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, you cum. Hard.

Your head slams back against the pillows, back arching as you cunt clasps tight around him. You cry out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he fucks you through it. His thumb keeps working your clit as it twitches and pulses under the digit, cumming nice and pretty for him just like he wanted. Just like you deserved. 

You cream his cock messily, it drips down his balls and down your ass to the bedding below. So fucking sloppy and wet, a perfect little cunt made to take his cock. 

His brows furrow, mouth falling open as his own orgasm mounts and builds. Now that your well-earned orgasm is out of the way, he can finally let go and allow himself to experience it as well.

“Where do you want it?” he grits out, teeth clenched from the ache of holding back.

His balls draw up, heavy and full. He feels ready to positively explode when you gasp, “I-Inside!”

His head falls back, the loudest, most drawn out moan you’d never expected to come from a stoic man like Simon falling from his lips. It’s deep and primal, full of nothing but euphoria as he spills into you. His load is hot and thick, drooling out of the sides of his cock as he slows his thrusts to milk the least bits of pleasure from the orgasm. 

When he comes down, he collapses. Your legs lock around his waist and he draws you tightly into his arms, neither of you caring for the way his weight crushes you. All you care about is being wrapped up in his arms where you belong. 

He pulls his neck from your chest and kisses your forehead. Then he kisses your nose. Then your lips. 

“Pretty,” he breathes, still drunk on the endorphins of the sex so his lips are a little looser than they’d normally be, “Always thought you were pretty.”

“Really?” you prompt, cheeks heating at his confession. 

He hums, “Glad you’re finally mine.”

You beam, “No one deserved me as much as you.”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world, rolling off of you with a sigh. His cock unplugs your cunt and a gush of your mixed cum comes out, making you whine. He laughs softly, drawing you back into your arms. 

You’ve never felt safer and warmer in your life, knowing in that moment that you should have come to Simon all along. There’s no one in the world who would be there for you, more willing and able than he. 

this work belongs to rowarn. do not repost to third party websites or use for character ai. reblogs welcome and appreciated!

[ddejavvu]

omg pls pls pls hotch x nerdy reader like everyone would think you’d be the perfect match with spencer, having the biggest love of reading and all things art, literature, sci-fi and all things nerdy but NOPE it’s hotch who catches your clumsy eyes and he wouldn’t have it any other way!

You're right in the middle of reading about the USS Enterprise's next big adventure when your novel is rudely whisked from your hands, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you back into a firm chest.

"You were going to fall down the stairs," A deep timbre comes from behind you, and you glance around bewilderedly to find yourself, in fact, at the entrance to the stairwell instead of the elevator. Evidently you'd been too engrossed in your reading to realize you'd gone past the elevator bay and into the stairwell, and you'd have fallen right down the concrete steps if it weren't for Aaron's help.

"Thanks." You stammer, struggling to free yourself from his tight grip, "Aaron- Hotch, lemme go. I'll pay attention from now on, just- don't let anyone see us."

"I don't care if anyone sees us right now. I care that you were so distracted that you almost fell blind down at least one set of stairs, if not seven." His eyes are stern as they regard you, but loving as the reason.

"I know! I know, I get too into it." You try prying your book from his hands but he flips your bookmark into place and tucks the pocket sized novel into his suit jacket lining, "Hey!"

"I'm confiscating this until you're back from the deli. You can have it back when you're sitting down at your desk."

"Agent Hotchner, that's hardly your right to take away a subordinate's property."

"It's my boyfriendly duty to make sure that my girlfriend doesn't plummet to her death with her nose in a book."

You're definitely stable on your feet now, and you try one more time to shimmy out of his hold to no avail, "Aaron! Someone's really going to see, come on."

"Promise me." He glares at you, a slight squinting of his eyes that makes you understand every single squirming unsub for their fear of him.

"Okay, okay! I promise." You nod vehemently, and he lets your waist go. You straighten your blazer, smoothing a hand down your trousers, "Now, can I please have my book back? I promise I won't read while walking anymore."

"You can have it back when you get back from the deli." He repeats, "You can pick it up from my office when you bring me a pastrami sandwich on rye."

"Pickles?"

"Extra. Here." Aaron fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing you his card, "Get something we can split for dessert. And you'd better not have a backup novel hidden in your purse for the walk there."

For the record, you do, but Aaron's firm glare is enough to dissuade you from using it.

"I don't! I'll be back in twenty minutes." You promise Aaron, tucking his card into your pocket and entering the stairwell on purpose this time, "Be careful with my book!"

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

♡ FEM reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[not-neverland06]

I don't know why I bite

Logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: Had Mitski’s ‘I Bet on Losing Dogs’ on a loop while writing this, now I’m sad Inspired by the isle of dogs quote “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite” BECAUSE OUCH (they’re both toxic, fair warning) bittersweet ending Summary: You've tried for so long to get Logan to accept you the way he does the others. You want so desperately to be someone who means something to him. But he doesn't want you, maybe he never has. And you both seem to be stuck in this loop of hurting each other.

You’re stability, security, but you’re never comfort. Try as you might, you just can’t get Logan to accept you. You want to. So desperately, you want to be something good for him. But he hates you, or at the very least, he can’t stand you. 

You don’t know what it is about Jean that he craves, but you wish you could replicate it. You’re not your friend, though, you never will be. And it’s pathetic, trying to change yourself to make someone else happy. You’ve never done that before. Yet, there is something about Logan that you want so desperately to help. 

You clean his wounds, metaphorically because he’s never once needed anyone for that. You lift him up after a rough mission and you remind him that the team does need him. They do love him. They want him in that uniform beside them, even Scott. 

You have your suspicions that he doesn’t appreciate your efforts. He’s never outright said anything to you. But you can tell the novelty of your kindness is wearing off. He used to brush your efforts off with a simple look. 

But he’s begun to be mean, saying these little things that you can never completely call out. A lot of what he says is based in truth. “Do you ever stop talking?” No, you don’t. You like talking with your friends, like sharing stories, and laughing together. 

“Has anyone ever told you to fuck off?” Yes, and it hurt. And it continues to hurt. “Why don’t you just shut up for once?” You can’t. You can’t because if you stop talking, if you stop distracting yourself then you’ll actually feel everything. You can’t stop talking, you can’t stop taking care of others because you cannot take care of yourself. You’re incapable of it. 

You can’t say that he’s being rude or mean. He’s just being blunt, and gruff, that’s just how he is. That’s what everyone tells you. They tell you to just ignore when he’s being a dick because he doesn’t really mean it. That’s just what he does because he doesn’t know any other way. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have placed so much faith in others. You should have just left him alone. Maybe then he wouldn’t have snapped, wouldn’t have said such cruel things to you. 

It broke you a little inside. Hearing what he really thought of you. Despite it all, despite the cruel words and harsh attitude, you had hope. You thought they were all right, that he just needed to warm up to you. And you so desperately just wanted to be something for him to lean on because you’ve never had that before and you know what it feels like to be so lonely. 

“Hey, Logan.” You step into the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge for something to snack on. “Weren’t there apples in here?” You’re talking aloud, but it’s meant for yourself. 

It’s that moment that it all finally comes crashing down. This pathetic illusion that he wants anything to do with you or your friendship. It almost makes you laugh, that this mundane moment is when you feel your heart shatter in your chest. When you get so sick to your stomach your bones ache and your limbs tingle with this odd phantom pain. 

“Could you just shut up?” his voice is low as he leans over the counter. His fingers spin idly around the neck of a beer bottle. You wonder how he managed to sneak it in here, Charles has banned alcohol. You watch the condensation collect on the cracks of his palm and shrug the pain off. 

You’re used to this. This is normal. “Right,” you squeeze past him and look in the pantry. “Sorry,” you whisper, if you speak any louder your voice will crack and that will just make everything worse. 

“You’re just always around, aren’t you?” You glance over your shoulder at him but you don’t respond. Deny it as much as he wants, you have gotten to know him. You recognize the tells. 

He’s had a bad day, he needs a way to get it out of his system. You just happened to walk into the kitchen at the wrong time. It could be anyone he snaps at, but today it’s you. Which seems to be happening more often. 

You do what you did when you were a kid, eyes forward, face flat. You keep yourself neutral, let yourself sink into that apathetic place so whatever he yells at you doesn’t hurt. “You tiptoe around me, act like I’m this wounded stray you need to fix.” 

Your brows pinch in confusion and you shake your head. Second mistake. You shouldn’t have walked into the kitchen in the first place. And you definitely shouldn’t have argued. “No, Logan, that’s not true-”

Although, maybe he has a point. You can’t fix yourself so you try and fix him. 

“I don’t know why they keep you around. You contribute nothing, you do nothing for any of us. We can’t even take you out on the field,” his voice begins to raise and you find yourself backing into the cabinets, hating the way this is beginning to make you feel. “You’re so fucking sensitive we can’t trust that you won’t just kill us all if something goes wrong! You don’t deserve a spot on this team!”

You jump back as he shouts at you, hip jamming into the corner of the island so hard you have to bite your lip so you don’t make a noise. Spit flies from the corners of his mouth, the ferocity of his voice and words are that strong. 

You take in a few quick breaths, blinking the sting out of your eyes and focusing on the wall behind him. “Get it through your thick fuckin’ skull,” he warns, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you around. Leave me alone.”

You don’t cry, you can’t cry. You don’t speak because you’re afraid of what other cruelties that might provoke. Maybe you would understand all this if you’d been bugging him when he’d already made it clear he needed space. All you wanted was a fucking apple. 

You don’t feel much of anything as you slowly nod your head, not agreeing but appeasing. He watches you with something like surprise on his face. You don’t know that he’s wondering why you’re not saying anything back. 

It’s why he yells at you when he doesn’t know what to do. You can take it, you can put him in his place. But you’re not speaking and he doesn’t know why this time is so different. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and leave, footsteps soft as you retreat back to your room. Logan watches you go with an odd twisting feeling in his stomach. He didn’t think you could be pushed too far. You seem to always just have this endless patience. 

You treat him gently, even when the others get sick of the way he processes things. Today was hard, you just happened to be nearby. He didn’t mean half of what he said. He doesn’t know why he lashes out the way he does, he just doesn’t know what else to do. 

He doesn’t like it, contrary to what the others think. He doesn’t like hurting you or being mean to you. He doesn’t know what it is about you that provokes this side of him that no one else does. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid. He can’t say what he’s afraid of, he’s never been able to admit it to himself. 

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before. You don’t know what it is about that one day that was so different. Normally, it doesn’t bother you. You’ll set him straight or give him space. But today, it was needless. You weren’t doing anything. 

You didn’t deserve to be lashed out like that, cornered and scared in the place you call home. 

It was unprovoked and maybe it finally made you see him for what he really is. A bully. It doesn’t make sense, how he can be so kind and caring to Marie. How he can help Jean and Ororo so sweetly, but can’t muster one kind fucking word for you. 

You don’t let yourself cry, even though you want to. Even though there’s a cloying, suffocating feeling clawing its way up the back of your throat. His room is on the same hall as yours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made you cry. 

You, at the very least, finally stop asking yourself what you did wrong. Instead, you start to wonder what’s wrong with him. You get sick to your stomach, thinking about all the ways you cared for him. Remembering how much of yourself you gave up to make him happy. 

He was right about that, you are pathetic. He never deserved your help or your patience. You should never have offered him any grace. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t see it sooner. This isn’t a little boy pulling your pigtails because he likes you. This is a grown man who can’t regulate his emotions and decided you were the next best punching bag. 

You take in a few deep, shaky breaths and close your eyes until you’re forced to fall asleep. You don’t want to think or feel any of what just happened.

Logan hovers in front of your doorway for ten minutes before he heads downstairs. He’s got a class to run, he doesn’t have time to wait for you to wake up, he reasons. He’ll find you later and apologize then. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize he had gone too far yesterday. Even if you could take his usual level of dickishness, you didn’t deserve it. He just didn’t know what to do around you. You made him confront so many different conflicting emotions. It’s like every time he looks at you his brain is being ripped in twenty different directions and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You’re so endlessly patient and gracious. It makes him realize he wants to be a better man and he can’t be. He resents you slightly for that. For having such a wonderful idea of what he could be, even though he knows he can never be that man.  

He doesn’t find you that day. He makes up enough excuses that he goes to bed promising himself he’ll apologize tomorrow. Which he never does. Because actually saying it would be an admittance that he knows what he did was wrong. And what does that make every other time he’s yelled at you? What does that make him?

It returns to the same cycle it always does. He waits a few days until things are cooled down and you’ll have already forgotten about it. He starts to feel overwhelmed and he goes to find you because you always know what to do. And if you don’t, then you provide an outlet. 

He spots the back of your head in the gardens. You’re with Jean and he expects the usual dirty look she gives him after you’ve both fought. Instead, she smiles warmly at him and waves. Which is odd, usually you tell her about what’s happened between the two of you and she holds the grudge longer than you do. 

You glance over your shoulder, a small smile on your lips, to see who she’s waving at. Logan sees the way it falls when you see him and his steps falter. You never do that, you always look so happy to see him. 

“Jean,” he greets curtly, eyes on you. 

She says hello and they both look to you. Normally, you would have already spoken. But you don’t, you turn your eyes to the kids. Jean frowns and turns back to him, “Everything alright, Logan?” 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You read his moods, and know them better than he does. You should have already offered to talk. Maybe he really does need to apologize. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

He says your name and your brows just barely raise in question, though you couldn’t seem less interested. “Need to talk to you.”

You shrug, “Sorry, can’t. I’ve got a meeting to get to.” You brush past him and walk back into the mansion. He and Jean both watch you go, each of them shocked by how dismissive you were. That’s never happened before. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean demands, the smile gone from her face and her tone deadly. She glares at him, clearly expecting an answer. But he doesn’t have one. Because this is something he’s done a million times and this has never happened. He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. 

He thought your absence would be a relief. After a few more days he begins to realize that he was wrong. He thought that not having someone constantly badgering him to be better and set good examples for the kids would be a relief. 

There’s no one nagging him. No one forcibly checking on him after a mission when he doesn’t need it. No one to care. 

There are chunks of his day that you would normally fill that now seem to drag on. Lunches are quiet without you constantly rambling about nothing in his ear. When there’s friction among the team and they’re ganging up on him, you remain silent. He supposes he should be grateful. 

You finally listened to him for once. But he’s angry. He always seems to be angry and he doesn’t understand why. There is so much of his mind and life that was stolen from him. He wonders if he got any of it back if it would explain why he is the way he is. 

It doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t fix what he can’t undo. He sees you with the others constantly. You’re always laughing, always happy. Like nothing’s happened. Like you haven’t cut him out of your life completely. And then, when you’re around him, it’s like a switch is flipped. 

You’re irritatingly silent. Practically a brick wall. He pokes and he prods, using every weapon in his arsenal to try and provoke a reaction from you. But you give him nothing. 

There is an ache in his chest when he sees the way your smile drops when he walks into a room. He doesn’t understand the feeling. This is exactly what he wanted. To be left alone. 

It feels so wrong. 

It happens in the kitchen again. Odd, that that’s become such an important place to you. 

Your back is to the entrance and you’re busy slicing up some fruit for yourself. You don’t hear him come in. Not until he speaks. “I’m-” you jump at the sound of his voice. Whirling around with a shocked look on your face. 

He chuckles a little at the reaction but when you don’t smile he stops. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. It sounds semi genuine. But it also sounds like it hurt him to say. “I’m sorry, so can you please just stop ignoring me?”

You shrug and go back to cutting up the fruit. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“No?” He demands. “Then why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t we eat lunch together anymore? You can’t even fucking look at me.”

You slam the knife down on the cutting board, taking in a deep breath so you don’t do something you regret. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to center yourself. “I’m doing exactly what you wanted,” you utter, voice low. 

You turn just enough to make eye contact. “I’m leaving you the fuck alone. That’s what you wanted right? I don’t think I could have misheard while you were screaming it at me.” You turn to leave, abandoning your fruit because you don’t have an appetite anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers before you can make it out of the kitchen. “I,” he stops and starts again, “I miss you. I’m not a mean person, I don’t know why I hurt you.”

You stare at him, face unflinching. You give him nothing and he knows it's what he deserves. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it-”

“Good,” you cut him off with a disgusted sneer. “Because I’m not looking to hand it out. Especially not to you. You only want me because you miss what I do for you. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You don’t deserve me.” You turn on your heel and walk away from him, unwilling to entertain any more conversation. 

This is what you’ve always done. When someone hurts you, really irrevocably hurts you, they’re gone. They’re gone from your life. From your mind. More importantly, your heart. You don’t have any obligations to entertain him or speak with him outside of professionalism. 

You thought cutting him out of your life would hurt more. But it’s like you can breathe for the first time in months. You’re no longer striving to gain someone’s approval. You’re not chasing after something you’ll never catch. 

You can find happiness within yourself. Begin to do the things you would do for him, for you. It’s a relief. And a little sobering. Perhaps, in your mission to help him, you’d burdened him with the desires you had for yourself. 

You believe that you’re unfixable. You believe there are facets of yourself that are too dark to face. That you are undeserving of love and kindness. You recognized those things in Logan and tried to force on him what you’ve always wanted for yourself. 

It was wrong. A mutually toxic relationship that never would have made it far had anything actually happened between you two. You can’t paint yourself the victim and you never meant to. It’s why you didn’t tell anyone what happened between the two of you. 

They wonder, of course, why you no longer spend lunches together. Why you no longer rush to defend him when he doesn’t need the help. Why you don’t smile around him anymore. There are questions that you deflect. Saying, you just needed space from each other. 

Your harm was a silent one. Forcing him into a mold he was never going to fit in. Despite the claims of loneliness, you can see the way your absence benefits him. He’s calmer, less likely to yell when provoked. He just needed the space to find himself. Not to have someone try and make him something new. 

You feel an ache in your chest when you think about how differently things could have been had you just let him be. If you had let things happen between the two of you naturally then maybe you really could have been something great. 

A month goes by without speaking to each other. After that day in the kitchen, he seems to understand that there’s no putting back together what was broken. It was already cracked to start with, the break was inevitable. 

You warm slowly to him. Give him polite greetings when you see him. And he smiles at you sometimes, on the jet when Scott says something ridiculous, or just in passing. It’s nice, being a stranger to him. It’s comforting. 

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

You look up from the paperwork in front of you and give Logan a small smile. He’s hovering in the entrance to the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for your permission. “Hi,” you say softly.

He takes that as the go-ahead and walks in, heading for the fridge. You listen to him rummage around before he pulls out a beer. “Where do you hide those things?” You ask, and you almost bite your tongue. This is the most you’ve spoken to each other in a long time. It feels wrong to joke so easily. 

“Can’t tell you or Wheels is gonna stop me,” he grumbles. You just nod and turn your head back to your paperwork. It’s silent for a few minutes after that. He sits a little further down the island, nursing the beer while your pen scratches across the reports your students gave you. 

He clears his throat and you glance over at him from the corner of your eye. “I,” he starts but quickly closes his mouth. “Ah, forget it.”

Your brows pinch in confusion but you decide to leave it. You oddly don’t feel scared or anxious. You don’t worry that he’s going to snap at you if you provoke him. You choose not to because you’re not interested in engaging. 

You don’t really recognize the man before you. Maybe it’s because you never tried to get to know him before you tried changing him. It causes that familiar clenching feeling of guilt in your gut. 

You know if you gave him a chance things would be different. You could be friends, real friends. There’s a reason you latched so readily onto him. There’s a familiar pain in him that’s reflected back in you. 

You stand up, shuffling the papers into a neat stack and pushing your stool in. Logan straightens up as he watches you wash off your dishes and collect your items. Before you can make it out of the kitchen he’s standing from his chair. 

He stops in front of you, hand outstretched before him. “Logan,” he greets. 

You tilt your head in confusion, glancing between him and his hand before it finally clicks what he’s trying to do. Start over, reintroduce yourselves. Actually give each other chances to understand the other. 

This all started because you shared the same pain and you resented each other for it. But you could comfort each other instead. Be pillars of stability and strength in each other’s lives instead of trying to tear the other down so you don’t see yourself in them anymore. 

You were both too afraid to face who you truly are and it nearly destroyed you. But this is a stranger in front of you. You don’t know this man, but you think you’d like to. You give him your name and shake his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” you whisper, a slight joke to your tone. 

He holds on for a second longer than he should, the breath rushing out of him like he hadn’t thought you would accept. You smile softly at him before you pass by to go upstairs. His hand lingers on your, skin tingling under your touch until you can no longer hold on. 

You don’t know what it means for you, this odd new truce between the two of you. But you won’t linger on that tonight. You’ll go to bed feeling comforted that for the first time since you’ve met him, Logan has made you happy. 

a/n: felt more like a diary entry than a fic, sorry lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always ♡

[gf2bellamy]

explanation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: an officer won't stop talking to you content warnings: annoyed spencer, light flirting between reader and spencer a/n: had to write something for glasses reid also he looks so good in this gif ohymgod also this is short sorry

You forced a polite smile, though your patience was wearing thin as the police officer in front of you continued his overly enthusiastic explanation.

His words blended together, a relentless drone that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Still, you nodded along, trying not to seem rude despite the growing urge to check your watch or glance elsewhere. 

What you didn’t notice was Spencer standing just a few feet away. He had been watching the exchange, his hazel eyes flickering between the officer and you.

From his position near the evidence board, he clutched a file in one hand, the papers inside creased slightly from the pressure of his grip.

His other hand, balled into a tight fist, remained at his side. 

It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop—at least not intentionally—but something about the way the officer leaned just a little too close to you made it impossible for Spencer to look away.

His jaw tightened as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, attempting to study the crime scene photos tacked to the board in front of him. 

But his mind wasn’t on the case.

It was on you.

On the way you shifted uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded at the officer, and the way your lips curved into that soft, practiced smile that Spencer had seen you use before when you were trying to be polite but had no real interest in the conversation. 

He knew you well enough to read the subtle signs.  

He didn’t want to interrupt—he wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate as he took a step closer. 

“I’ve already explained it to her,” he said flatly.

The monotone delivery caught you off guard, and you turned around quickly to face him, your eyes meeting his behind the familiar frames of his black glasses. 

Spencer wasn’t typically one to interrupt, especially not in such a dry way.

The officer, clearly thrown off by Spencer’s blunt interjection, shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a half-hearted nod. “Oh, uh… right. Well, if you’ve got it covered, then…” His voice trailed off as he stepped back, offering an awkward smile before retreating. 

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer as the officer walked away, leaving the two of you alone near the evidence board. “What was that about?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer shrugged, the file still clutched tightly in his hand. “Nothing,” he replied, his gaze darting to the board as if suddenly engrossed in the timeline pinned there. 

But you weren’t convinced. Spencer Reid was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them—not when it came to how he felt.

You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the faint crease in his brow, and the tension in his posture. 

“Spencer,” you pressed, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his fingers flexing around the edges of the file before letting out a small sigh. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I just didn’t think it was necessary for him to keep… explaining things to you,” he said, his words measured. "I already told you everything."

You frowned, trying to piece together the odd behavior. “I mean, he was being—” 

“He was wasting your time,” Spencer interrupted, his tone firmer now. His eyes flicked to yours, the frustration evident behind his glasses. “You already know what you’re doing. You don’t need someone like him hovering over you like that.” 

The realization hit you like a slow-moving train, the pieces falling into place.

Spencer wasn’t just irritated—he was jealous. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched him try to keep his expression neutral, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Spence,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, “were you jealous?” 

His eyes widened briefly, and he immediately shook his head. “Jealous? No, I… I wasn’t—” He faltered, his ears turning red as he fumbled for a convincing denial. 

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned slightly toward him. “It’s okay, though. It’s kind of… sweet.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing there was no way to argue without making it worse.

Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Your smile softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But you don’t have to worry—I’m not interested in anyone hovering over me. Unless, of course, it’s you.” 

That earned you a shy smile from Spencer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with relief. 

And just like that, the two of you returned to the case—but not before you caught the subtle glimmer of satisfaction in Spencer’s eyes. 

[thetangibleghost]

[song unrelated. it was just what was playing when i got in my car]

today i learned why theres violence prevention information on the back of everyones work id. Something about the environment made my immediate reaction to over hearing someone calling me special to go fucking feral. Which is funny because it was, like, a group of men and im 5'7". Would not have gone down well. not that i would ever actually resort to violence like that, i was just surprised that that was my brains immediate reaction to the issue.

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[suncoved]

BIG MAN ON CAMPUS! — RAFE CAMERON

pairing; fratboy!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary; you come to your first college party and have the worst panic attack of your life. who knew your knight in shining armour would be the captain of the biggest fraternity and the biggest fuck boy on campus

warnings ; panic attacks, anxiety, drugging, angst but like fluff!!

"Liv, i'm really not sure about this"

You're best friend and roommate looked at you with a blank stare, watching as you pulled the tight white dress down that had ridden up your thighs. She had dragged you out of your dorm only 20 minutes ago, telling you that if you didn't come she was going to wake you up with a bucket of ice water.

"Cmon babe, you made me promise i would drag you to at least one party this year. and i don't break a promise. Which also means that i promise if you don't like the first 30 minutes, then we can go home and eat 30 pounds of ice cream and pass out in our makeup"

You smiled at her, trying to push yourself through whatever anxiety was coursing through you. Liv was really a good friend, even if she was harsh about it at times, you know that she wanted the best for you.

The smell of booze and sweat hit your nose immediately as you walked into the frat house, the music blasting and the rainbow lights blinding against the otherwise dark space.

Liv pulled you to the corner of the living room, smiling brightly at you and giving you an extra tight hug. "Ok! I'm gonna go get us some drinks, stay right there and don't move!"

She had to yell because of how loud the music was, wasting no time before disappearing into the kitchen.

You stood in the party like a fish out of water, biting your lip as you looked down at your feet.

You'd like to say that you weren't that much of an introvert. I mean sure you liked to be curled up with a good book from time to time, and you were studying a bit more than healthy. But you like to go out and shop with friends, talk to new people in your classes and slumber parties on the weekends.

But parties were something you did not do. It had a combination of all the things you disliked most in life. loud music, people yelling, drinking, flashing bright lights and... frat boys.

You'd already been brought out of your shell at college, you were confident enough now to present in classes and partner up with new people on assignments, but this was pushing it.

You were a sweet girl, but naive. You didn't have enough experience with greedy men and even you would admit that you resembled a lost deer more often than you would like.

You lifted your head as you heard someone approach you, looking up quickly as you assumed it was Liv coming back from the kitchen.

But it wasn't Liv.

A brunette looked straight at you as you made eye contact with him, a red solo cup resting in his hand.

"What's a pretty girl like you standing here all alone in the corner" he stated, inching closer to you as you subconsciously stepped back a bit. "I'm Jeremey"

He reached out his hand to you to shake, only to receive a dumbfounded look on your face.

"Normally people reply back with their name, Babe"

"Oh! Sorry!" you replied flustered, repeating back your name as he grinned wide, showing his bright smile.

You didn't want to admit that when Jeremy was talking to you, you continually kept glancing over at the entrance to the kitchen, hoping that the next person to walk out was Liv, who was going to hopefully come to save you from this conversation.

"Hey, I was experimenting in the kitchen, wanna try my new concoction." Jeremy dangled the red solo cup in your face, the liquid pink and smelling of strawberries.

"No thank you. I don't drink" you replied sweetly, hoping to be polite and not upset him. "There's barely any in it, promise. Pleaseee, don't wanna hurt my feelings, do you?" He replied in annoyance.

A pang of hurt shot through you as you panicked, how could you have been so rude! Jeremy was taking time out of his day to talk to you and you rejected a drink he made you?

"Oh! no, I'm sorry. Thank you so much" you replied, taking the cup out of his hands and looking down at the liquid. He watched closely as you took a sip, your face twisting at the strong flavour of vodka.

"What do you think?" he smirked as he asked, bringing his hand up to your lips and wiping the extra liquid off with his thumb.

"Its- its great, thank you" you replied, your heart beating faster as you started to feel increasingly more uncomfortable. He watched you closely as he hinted to you to drink more, looking down at you like he was a wolf, and you were his prey.

You held back tears as you felt the room start to spin under your feet, your cheeks feeling hot and your hands shaking involuntarily. It hit you quickly that this wasn't alcohol that was making you feel like this, no, it was something else. Something much, much worse.

And you didn't want to stick around to figure out what it was.

"Um, sorry Jeremy, I need to go to the bathroom" you spoke up, using all your courage to push through the crowd quickly as he followed.

Your breath was now speeding up as you fought your way through the waves of people, your steps becoming faster as you felt the room spinning more and more, tears streaming down your face.

You didn't know where the bathrooms in this place were, but you didn't have time to think about that now.

You just needed to find Liv, or someone, anyone.

Your eyes fell on a room at the end of the hall, light spilling out of the crack where the door failed to meet the floor.

You didn't have time to think, just to act. Your balled fist made it up to the door, knocking over and over again as you looked behind you, Jeremy in the crowd but looking all over for what you assumed to be you.

You didn't even want to begin to imagine how stupid you looked, or how impolite you were being as your knocks became harsher and frantic as Jeremy came closer.

"Jesus, learn how to wait your fucking turn" a voice sounded as the door opened. you didn't even look away from Jeremy as you tumbled into the bathroom, accidentally bringing the person in the door with you.

"Yo, what the fuc-" the aggressive voice came to a halt quickly, but you all you could focus on was your breathing, which was out of control.

Your cheeks were wet with tears as you closed your eyes, bringing your hands up to your face and letting yourself sob. "I- I can't breathe" You let out, unknowing if you were talking to yourself or the person in the space with you.

You couldn't even handle your anxiety and emotions when you were in control of your body, let alone now.

That's the main reason you don't drink, because you tend to freak out to the point of no return, and this, this was much worse.

Your face was buried in your hands as the person softly closed the door to the bathroom. You didn't even register him softly moving you to sit on the toilet seat in the bathroom, kneeling down and removing your hands from your face.

You opened your eyes to see a man's face looking back at you, his features painted with worry and his body distanced enough away from you as to not upset you even more.

"Hey- hey. Its ok, what's wrong?" the boy asked, trying not to show how confused he was on how to deal with this situation. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head quickly at his statement, your tears slowly coming to a halt as your vision became less blurry. You could now see his face more clearly. Fluffy dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, soft pink lips.

"Uh, um. Wait" He spoke, breaking eye contact with you for the first time since you entered the bathroom. He started frantically opening draws and cabinets, stopping when he found a box of tissues under the sink.

"Here" you looked between him and the box he was handing you before taking it in your hands, your fingers brushing past each other momentarily.

"Thank you, i-i promise I'm not this much of a mess all the time." You replied, earning a soft smile from the man. "It's ok, it happens to the best of us. Have you taken anything, or just drunk?" He asked delicately.

Rafe didn't understand what he was feeling at this moment. Because he'd never felt it before.

Sure he could be an asshole sometimes, He was rude and got into fights on occasion, and he had been known to make girls complete the walk of shame out of his room involuntarily after a big night out, but that didn't mean he would ever leave a clearly intoxicated girl alone at a frat party.

But this, this was different. He had to know what was wrong with you, and he had to fix it. Sure you were a mystery to him and only met you seconds ago, but he wasn't leaving until he knew you were safe and sound... and had given him your name.

"I don't drink- or, at least I didn't. This boy gave me something, it tasted weird. Then I got all dizzy and now- now I can't stop crying" You rambled, sighing softly and looking into his eyes.

He gazed back at you, running his tongue around his teeth before seemingly snapping out of the trance he was in. "Did you know the guy?" He huffed, obviously agitated with your reply as he ran his fingers through his hair.

You shook your head softly, a wave of sadness running through you because you couldn't give him the answer he wanted. Tears started running down your face again suddenly as you kept repeating 'I'm sorry' over and over again.

He lifted his thumb up to your cheek, softly brushing the tears away. "Hey it's okay, Don't worry. I'll keep you safe"

He didn't understand the feelings he was feeling, He had never craved to protect someone so much, He had never been this gentle in his whole life.

"What's your name?" he asked, distracting you to hopefully stop the flow of tears streaming down your face. He felt like if you didn't stop crying in the next minute, he was going to lose it.

You answered your name to him, earning a soft smile. "I'm Rafe, it's nice to meet you." He finished the sentence with your name, sending shivers down your spine.

"Liv" You gasped, making his head tilt in confusion before you shot up from your seat. "Wow, ma. Slow down, what do you mean?" Rafe replied, holding your hips to stop you from completely falling over. You sat back down quickly in defeat, your eyes wide with panic.

"Liv, I-I came here with my friend Liv. I'm gonna scare her. I need to find her." You gasped, your voice trembling as you spoke. "It's ok, We'll find her. Don't worry, it's ok." He repeated, desperate for your face to get back to your normal expression, aka, not struck with terror.

It was obvious to Rafe through the glaze cast over your eyes, the shaking from your hands and the drooping of your eyelids that someone had slipped something into your drink.

He had hosted enough parties at his fraternity to know what insecure, probably small dicked boys, not men, can do to women. And it revolted him.

"R-rafe. I'm gonna go to sleep now" You whispered, your body finally giving out before you could stop it, his arms quickly coming up to stabilize you before you toppled over.

He bit his lip as he tried to figure out what to do, pulling your body into his arms as you didn't even stir. He was scared. So scared.

He didn't know what you were given, how much you were given, what would happen after you woke up, if you even woke up at all.

He carried you up the stairs and into his bedroom, unlocking the door and locking it behind him again. His room was the only one with a lock in the whole house, because he was damned if he was going to walk in on random strangers having drunk sex on his bed.

He rested you softly on his bed, making sure your head was comfortably on his pillow and resting a blanket over your body after taking your heels off.

He looked at your sleeping form, your long eyelashes resting on your cheeks, your hair falling softly over your shoulders and your chest rising and falling with your breaths.

He looked at you one last time before leaving his room, ignoring every person greeting him as he made a beeline straight for the living room.

He scanned over the large crowd in the house, numerous people dancing, some making out, his frat brothers doing keg stands, and one very panicked girl going up to every stranger she sees.

Rafe took no time before walking straight to the girl in the middle of the dance floor, tapping her on the shoulder. She turns immediately to face Rafe, her face struck with confusion.

"Are you Liv?" Rafe asks, earning a confused nod from the girl in front of him” I am! Have you seen my best friend anywhere? She's about yay height, really pretty, heart of gold, she kinda looks like that baby deer from that Disney movie, she's wearing this white dress and-"

Rafe stops her ramble with a quick nod causing her eyes to widen. "What? Where is she?"

"In my bed" Rafe replied, remembering he wasn't all that good with small talk. "What? What the fuck do you mean, in your bed? What did you do? I swear to god-"

"Ok, calm down. Someone gave her something. I found her in the bathroom sobbing before she passed out. I put her in my bed then came down here, end of story" He replied, starting to get slightly agitated.

The girl he now knows to be Liv quickly walks off, heading straight for upstairs where the bedrooms are. Rafe rolls his eyes before following swiftly behind her, though he's glad that there's someone out there other than him trying to protect his newfound soft spot.

Liv halts at all the bedrooms, looking expectantly at Rafe before he walks in front of her and opens his door. Liv immediately rushes to you, still passed out on Rafe's bed.

She sits next to you, tucking your hair behind your ear before placing a kiss on your forehead. "Of course, on the first party she goes to, some sick fuck roofies her and she ends up in Rafe Cameron's bed" Liv speaks, not taking her eyes off you.

"How do you know my name?" Rafe asks, not even bothering to look at the person he's talking to as he focuses on your chest rising and falling. "Ha, everyone knows who you are Rafe. And if I find out you had anything to do with her getting hurt, I'm gonna chop your dick off and feed it to you and make sure everyone on campus knows it"

It would be a lie to say Rafe wasn't slightly amused by your best friend's words, holding back his smile and keeping his face stern. "I would never do that shit. Especially not to her" Liv's eyebrow quirked in confusion at the last bit of his sentence.

She knows for a fact that you did not know Rafe Cameron before this night, let alone any frat boys. Liv could cry at the sight of your passed-out form, taking full blame and responsibility for the fact that you got hurt when she was meant to protect you.

She pulled her phone out from her purse, about to call an Uber back to the dorms for both of you. "No, I'll drive you" He stated, not leaving room for an argument

Liv nodded slowly before pulling the blanket off you, your body involuntarily starting to shiver from the cold air.

Rafe walked over to his closet, grabbing his warmest hoodie. Liv looked up at him as he raised your body softly, placing the hoodie over your head and softly lifting you up into his arms.

Rafe walked with Liv down to the road outside the fraternity house, receiving hundreds of stares from people in the crowd. But he didn't care, all he cared about was you.

He let Liv open the door to the backseat of his truck, allowing him to place you softly inside before Liv climbed in next to you, placing your head on her lap.

The ride was completely silent, barring Liv's directions to the dormitories, but she didn't miss the way he was constantly looking in the rearview mirror at you.

It didn't take long before Liv was leading the way to your dorm, Rafe trailing slowly behind with you in his arms.

She flicked the light on in your dorm, Rafe quickly knowing which bed was yours from the multiple stuffies and pink blankets. He lifted the covers before placing your head on the pillow once more, knowing Liv was going to get you changed before she slept.

"Thank you, Rafe, for looking out for her when I didn't" Liv said as Rafe walked to your door, nodding curtly in repose to her statement.

He gave you one last look before he walked out of your door, watching as Liv was about to shut the door on him after saying goodbye. Panicked he placed his foot in front of the door before it shut, forcing it open.

"C-can I get her number, please?"