#I barely get enough sleep anyways so it won't matter

[manasurge]

✨✨✨✨I can't focus on anything✨✨✨✨

I'm doing that thing where I'm just sitting in silence for hours without realizing it until it's time for me to go to bed and I DID NOTHING AGAIN. This is so FruSTRaTINg.

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[bi-writes]

i'm a big fan of your writing! can i ask what made simon want to mail order a bride in the first place? thanks <3

mail-order bride

he's tired of staring across his dinner table and seeing nothing but empty space.

it isn't something he had thought about in the before. he's spent a long time shifting between different cots, collecting sand from faraway places and counting the bodies he dropped with tally marks against his boots.

there's a picture he keeps tucked into his vest, but he won't take it out. it sits heavy there, an invisible wall between himself and the outside world, a reality that he chooses not to believe. if he doesn't look at them, he won't think of them, and if he doesn't think of them, maybe he can pretend they were never even real.

they all have something outside of here. his sergeants are too pretty and too outgoing to stick around; they're social butterflies, and simon has seen the shuffle of pictures of some pretty girl that gaz can't stop staring at, and soap never shuts up--whenever they have a signal, he's somehow got a phone call with his cousin's stepfather's little sister, or it's his second cousin's brother-in-law's birthday, and he's got to wish him well since he missed his art exhibition last month.

even price has a pale circular shadow that is stained onto his ring finger.

it's not his fault, is it? it's not his fault he was dealt the worst fucking hand. it wasn't his fault he was born already two feet into the grave; it couldn't have been his fault that he can only get a good night's sleep when there's screaming in one ear or the rattle of a battlefield over his head.

it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault.

the cigarettes taste bland today. they're old, stale, and he can taste the bitterness already, but he lights it anyways, flicking ash into the ground, scrunching his nose until he gets used to the bite of it.

there's a shadow at his side, and he turns to snap at them, assuming it's johnny and his incessant nagging, but he holds his tongue when he realizes it's his captain.

he's got a warm cigar in one hand, and he leans against the concrete wall beside him, sighing deep, the kind of pensive weight that only a captain can bear.

price looks tired. he needs to go home.

"boys invited y'out, didn't they?" price asks, and simon chuckles lowly.

"'m olready 'ome," simon murmurs. "'n i can get piss drunk oll on my own 'ere."

price shrugs.

"ya haven't taken leave since you joined my team, simon," he says low. "can't have that. you know it."

simon shrugs.

"can try and make me go," simon tells him. "but y'know i won't leave."

"i'm not asking, simon," price says firmly. "'m telling."

"doesn't matter," simon takes a long drag of the cigarette, holding it in for a second too long before letting it out slow. "got nowhere ta go."

his captain is not blind. simon's on a one-way road, and the end of it stops at the end of someone else's gun. men like simon, the ones who have nothing to lose, they're dangerous. they clear rooms outnumbered thirty to one because no one thinks they can. they hit targets from thousands of yards away because it's the only place that never changes. they kill and sleep peacefully because the blood of a stranger is far cleaner than that of someone they know, of someone they love.

they'll never leave because war is familiar. they don't want to go home because home isn't something they know. they're nomads, taking with them only what they can carry, because the rest is baggage and an emotional weight that they aren't strong enough to carry.

but it doesn't mean men like simon don't want. it doesn't mean they don't wish for more. it doesn't mean they don't think about using their teeth for something other than baring them to show their dominance, their aggression, their insecurity.

simon's a protector. the way he shoves his men behind him says so. the steadiness of his voice over comms when the op goes to shit. the ease of his hand when he ties a tourniquet. the split second that simon never wastes, the way he uses his body as armor and the look he gives his men when they're scared. simon's died twice before, and the look in his eyes tells them that this isn't it, that this isn't death, because he'd fucking know--he'd recognize it if he saw it.

simon's unrelenting. his past, his trauma, it's tried to beat him into a shape that will bend and snap, but its obvious simon is not made of lead--fuck, he's an entire block of unmovable steel. he does not give when compressed, he does not crack when the strength of him is tested. simon's fought too hard to live to let a gun terrify him, he's endured too much torture to flinch when someone sinks a blade into his chest.

but he knows, simon knows, that there is something missing. he fought hard to live, but for what? he's endured, but what the fuck is there when he lays his head down at night?

simon's a lover. he tries so hard to convince himself that he's always been this way--alone, drifting, lost, but it's a lie. simon knows what it's like to want. he knows what it's like to look into a crowd and hope you see a familiar face. he understands wanting to pull that string taut, but he also understands what it can do to you. what it can take from you.

he understands what you can never get back.

he thinks this is a bad idea. he crumples the note paper in his hand that had the address scribbled onto it, tearing it, staring up at the house in front of him. it's quaint, a lovely little house in the outskirts of london, with a red chimney and overturned planters in the yard. there's a weathered wooden door, a porch step that needs fixing, and when he kicks open the door, he grimaces seeing a carpet that need's replacing.

"the fuck am i doin' 'ere?" he whispers to himself, sliding his mask off, running a hand over his face. his heart is pounding, but he's not sure why, but he catches his reflection in the window. what looks back at him terrifies him--he can't do this.

he makes his way back outside, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. he takes a seat on the steps, lighting it, and as he takes his first frantic drag, he sees the torn pages of the note still on the ground. he picks up one end of it, running his thumb over the crumpled paper there, smudging the pencil scribble there.

she needs you

it's written in price's ugly handwriting, letters all tilted to the side and barely legible, but he still can read what price didn't write--and you need her.

but simon doesn't need anyone. he barely needs himself, barely can take care of himself. this won't help him--he can't help anyone, he isn't the kind that can be this kind of thing for anyone. he's stayed in the service because at least this way, he can die with honor, he can prove them all wrong, he can at least be remembered for what he could do and not by what was done to him.

his touch is ice. his heart is buried too deep under his ribs; no one has seen it since he could finally register a memory. his face, the skin he wears--he's not a pretty man, he's a forgettable one. he isn't gentle, he isn't capable of it. he can't forgive. he's so quick to anger, likes to snap his teeth, and he cannot be the kind of thing that they all expect him to be.

he does not love himself. he will not love himself. so he cannot love another.

there is a certain kind of satisfaction he feels when he fixes the porch step. once abandoned, once a nuisance, and now it functions as intended. he feels the same kind of thing when he rips up the stained carpet, and he feels it again when he watches the seeds of the thyme leaves grow as they rest in a pot above the sink.

things once forgotten serve a purpose. with effort, they can be used again. they don't have to be replaced, they can be open anew, they can live again and breathe deeper and see through the lens of a different perspective.

when you climb the porch steps the first time, he thinks about the board that doesn't wobble any longer. when the door shuts behind you for the first time and you take off your boots, he thinks about the new carpet that warms your toes now.

and when you lay next to him for the first time, under the covers of the bed he's made, he reaches over and slips a few fingers around your wrist, thumbing at the base of it and swallowing hard when he feels the pulse of your heartbeat. it beats, warm and steady, to a beat familiar, one he knows. his heart has not been hiding under thick bone and the tar of his own blood.

it's here now. under your skin. and now it's home.

[luveline]

Ok what about a lil fic of Remus being snappy with his gf leading up to the full moon? Just some angst and then fluffy ending with them reconciling

thank u for ur request! —remus says something he shouldn't before the full moon, and later campaigns for your forgiveness with affection and a confession. fem!reader, 1.2k

Remus lays on the couch with his forearm pressed to his eyes. It's the day before the full moon, and he feels the hours approaching like a death sentence every time. You hover in the doorway, watching, unsure of how to help. He gets the same every month (or rather, every cycle). 

Irritable. So anxious he can't breathe properly, let alone enter conversation. 

You hate seeing him like this. Your Remus, who spends every moment you're together trying to make sure you're as happy as you can be. 

Cautious, you round the sofa to crouch by his face. You hold out your hand, trailing a gentle fingertip down the length of his arm, tripping over pinched skin ridged by scars. He's beautiful no matter what, but he gets insecure about how he looks every full moon. You know he thinks he's a monster. You've no way to prove it to him beyond this. 

"Hey, handsome," you say softly. "I know you're not hungry, but I made dinner anyway if you feel up to it. And I know," —you drop your voice to a near whisper— "I know you're not in the mood, but I'm here. I can sit here and stroke your hair in silence all night if that's what you want, my love. I'll do whatever you want." 

"Then leave me alone," he says. 

Half snap, half firm defeat. You wince at the ire in his voice. It won't ever be nice to have someone you love speak to you like you're getting on their nerves, but you know what it is he's facing. You know this is hard for him to cope with. You can forgive him for everything if he makes it through this in one piece. 

"Okay. I'm sorry. I love you, Remus." 

He turns his head toward the sofa cushions. 

You leave the room with a heavy heart. In the kitchen, you try to eat, but every mouthful makes you feel sick, your eyes welling with tears as you chew. You're hurt, he's hurting, and this really, really sucks. 

The smell of dinner starts to amplify the nausea. You grab your plate and carry it to the back door, scraping your leftovers straight into the rubbish. You wash your plate and leave it to drip dry on the draining board, your eyes burning. You sniff, wiping your nose in your sleeve. 

You're hoping desperately that Remus will come around before bed, but he stays where he is. Thinking he's finally found sleep and wanting to leave him to that blissful reprieve, you creep through the living room and down the hallway into the bedroom. Tears fall as you change into your pyjamas. You're so tired that you barely have time to cry yourself to sleep. 

You're not sure how much longer it is when you wake. A familiar hand cups your cheek. 

From the warmth of your skin, he's had his hand there for a while. 

"I'm so sorry," Remus says. 

You don't know how he knows you're awake. He must have been watching you long enough to spot the difference. Honestly, you're not sure you want to see him yet, because you love him so much, and it breaks your heart to be at the end of his disdain even when you know the cause. 

You struggle to see him in the dark. 

"I should never have spoken to you like that." 

Your eyes close of their own accord, exhausted and sore from crying. "You didn't mean it." 

"I wish you'd shout at me," he murmurs, sliding his hand over your ear. His thumb draws along the shell of your ear. 

"I'm too tired," you mumble. 

Remus' head shifts closer to yours. Sharing the same pillow, his hand falls to your shoulder, his arm wrapping around you, a firm bicep pressed to your front. 

You let yourself lean into it. His breath warms the space between your brows. 

"It's no excuse, but I… I can't think of anything else but the pain, sometimes. I get so angry about it, because I'm–" He stops short, swallowing audibly in the otherwise silent room. "I'm scared. But I would be a hundred times more terrified if I didn't have you, knowing you're there for me, unflinchingly, before and after it happens, it helps me get through it. It's not fair that you give me so much peace and I just… 

"I'm sorry, dove. I don't mean to take advantage of your… heart." He says heart like he's been winded. He hadn't sounded finished, but everything stops at that word. 

You force your eyes open. He's looking at you with an unspeakable amount of love, kind to keel you over if you were standing. His eyes are pitch black in the lack of light, irises melded with pupils, giving him an even sorrier gaze. You raise a sluggish hand to his where it rests behind your back and pull it back to your face. You miss his touch. 

"I love you," you say. 

"I know," he says, his jaw tensing in an attempt to stage off tears. "I love you, too." You watch them collect in the corners of his eyes, following one as it slides to rest in the dip of his nose bridge while he lies on his side like this. 

"So don't be sorry." 

"But I am sorry. I can't fathom why I think it's okay to treat you that way." 

"You don't think at all, Remus. I'm not being flippant, but you're busy worrying about the worst of it." You shake your head gently. His hand twitches against your cheek. "I don't blame you." 

"I know," he utters. 

You stare up at him as he sits enough to tower over you. His smile is sorry, in love and ashamed. You want to tell him how it doesn't matter, that it's okay, but you're thinking maybe you need him to say it first. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Remus, you only told me to leave you alone." 

"I need you to know that any other time, you're all that I want. You're everything. I couldn't ask for more than you. Please don't think I'm cruel," he pleads in a whisper. 

You lift your chin incrementally. "I'd never think that." 

His apology kiss is coddling. Like he's worried he'll hurt you, like he's holding back, he kisses you like you can't handle more than a chaste press of the lips. 

"I love you," he says into it. 

You lift your head to kiss him harder. You love him, and you won't break. You can be exactly as strong as he needs you to be, so long as love waits at the end of the night. 

"I love you." A huff of a laugh escapes him. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Caution has his joke falling flat.

You nuzzle your cheek against his, knowing you'd forgiven him just as soon as he'd snapped. "If you let me stroke your hair. Did you eat your dinner?" 

"I'll eat it tomorrow," he says. A white lie, you both know, but he slides down further under the sheets so you can reach his head. 

You card your fingers through his hair until you've both fallen asleep. 

[rayne-astrophile]

i think i'm getting into another fandom :"D

Mashle x Reader Headcanons

When they were sick for the first time after getting into a relationship with you

Mash

Bro doesn't realise that he's sick

You have been pointing it out since morning, but he doesn't want to listen

He rarely gets sick, after all

So when he finally accepts the fact that he's actually sick, you help him get into bed

Nothing much happens, he's obedient

Until you give him medicine

He throws up after eating a pill

"T-Too bitter...."

You have to mix the medicine with the cream puff

At first, he'll be like "???" because the cream puff tastes like the medicine he threw up

But he finishes anyway, because it's the cream puff you made for him

After that, you give him another one to make up for that trick cuz you feel bad

He'll ask you to cuddle with him in his bed

He's a large teddy bear

The next day, he's already well, but you get sick because of the cuddle from last night

He'll ask Lance to help him take care of you ❤️

Lance

This man refuses to accept the fact that he's sick

"I'm not sick, I never get sick, I can't get sick because Anna needs me-"

"Anna will be upset if you don't take care of yourself."

And on the bed he goes

Nothing much to do, he can take medicine well

But he can't take it when you want to feed him porridge that you cook for him

"Stop, I'm not a child!"

"C'mon, this is the only time I can be romantic with you!"

After an argument that you barely win, you get to feed him

His cheeks are red when you reach out a spoonful of porridge, but the delightful smile on your face makes him eat anyway

It's true, both of you never have romantic moments together

He always focuses on healing Anna, and you respect that

You don't complain at all, and he's definitely grateful for that

For not leaving him because he puts his priority on someone else instead of you

Welcome to reality guys, family matters more than lover

That's why he doesn't mind it when you stay with him the whole day

This moment is the only time he spends with you, with you alone

Before, whenever he gets sick, he's always by himself

So when he has you, he's so grateful

For your love and patience for him

The next day, everything went back to normal

Both of you will act like usual, like friends do instead of lovers

Except for the fact that he always stands by your side instead of being beside Mash, Dot or Finn

It's a small change, you barely noticed it but you do anyway

And that just makes you love him more ❤️

Rayne

He knows that he's sick

The moment he wakes up, he knows there is something wrong with him and figures that he has a fever

But man doesn't care

He has a job, and he doesn't care about himself

But he has you, and you care for him

At first, you don't notice it

But when your hand accidentally brushes his, you can feel that he's burning

But he's quick to deny it

"Rayne! You're sick-"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You force him to rest, but you know how he is

You give up and ask Wahlberg to give Rayne a one-day break, and he immediately agrees

He knows that lad needs rest too

So you come to Rayne, the wide grin on your face makes him furrow his eyebrows

"I asked Wahlberg-san to give you a one-day break. So let's rest!"

He sighs

"You're truly a stubborn one, aren't you?"

"You are, too!"

But he knows, that is one of the reasons why he falls in love with you

He lets you take him back to his dorm and tuck him to bed

You tend his needs; food, medicine and check his temperature from time to time

You never leave his side, and he doesn't complain

When the class time comes, he lets you go. He thinks he's not important enough for you to skip classes, so he tells you to go to class

You did go to class anyway, because you know he won't be a brat and get off the bed until you're back

After the class session, you go back to his dorm to check on him

When you arrive, he's sleeping

He looks so cute in his bunny blanket

You try to not make a sound, but when you touch his forehead to check on his temperature, his eyes snap open, startling you

He immediately sits up despite your protest

"I made some notes for you. You can catch up with the syllabus later, but you need to rest now."

He's grateful that he chooses you to be his partner

You make him a porridge and he lets you feed him without a word

This makes you happy, because you never have such moments with him

Rayne is a busy man. He never really has time for you, but you understand

So you treasure this moment so much

After feeding him, you tuck him back to bed and put a damp towel on his forehead to ease the temperature

When you think that he's sleeping, you play with his hair while sitting beside the bed happily

Little did you know, he's awake all along

He likes it when you play with his hair. It's soothing

When the night comes, you ask his roommate to switch with you for a night

At first, Rayne says that it is unnecessary, but you are his girlfriend, you have the right to be worried

You sit on a chair beside the bed, telling him about your day

He listens of course. This is the only moment he can spend his time with you, after all

Then, when you're getting sleepy, you rest your head on your palm as your elbow rests on the bed as you talk to him

He notices that you are getting sleepy

"Come, get on the bed." He offers

You had done everything for him today

You tend his needs, go to class, and stay by his side without break

He doesn't even know if you take your meal or not

So sharing a bed with you is the least he can do

At first, you refuse because you don't want him to be uncomfortable

But when he insists, you happily agree

You would take as small space as you could on the bed as you're still worried that he might get uncomfortable

But then he grabs your hand and pulls you into his embrace, shocking you

"Rayne...?"

He rests your head on his chest as his warmth engulfs you

"Don't talk. Just sleep,"

You try to raise your head to look at him, but he pushes your head back against his chest

But you can hear his heart beating fast

"....I'm sorry I can't spend time with you." You hear him mutter. "I can't give you attention like any other boyfriend does. I can't even spare a glance at you some days. Yet you're still here for me," You can't help but feel your heart ache at the vulnerability in his voice. You take his hand from your head and hold in yours as you raise your head to look at him. "I told you I love you, didn't I?" You smile softly at him. "It doesn't matter if you don't have time for me or if you can't give attention to me. I choose to love you." He can feel his heart skip a beat as you grin. "And you can't stop me from loving you, you should know that."

He shoves your face back to his chest as you let out a muffled 'oof'

You can hear his heart beating faster, making you smile

Oh, how you love this man

You wrap your arms around him and giggle

"I guess I need to wait until you get sick again to get your affection like this,"

"Oh, shut up."

I just love this man so much

[corollaservant]

Lotus // Choso x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: He was supposed to have his brother's undivided attention. Until he invited you over for summer break. Since he loves him that much, you're the one who's paying. (5.8k)

Warnings: 18+ dark, dubcon/noncon, humiliation, college, f.masturbation, use of "nii-chan" from Yuji, obsession/yandere brother, degradation, violence, dacryphilia, breath+impact play, dom!choso, reader gets a sunburn but it's mentioned 1x? and only as feeling pain

A/N: yk how everyone always makes Choso the nerdy, creepy, virgin perv? well i kinda want it reversed (he has killed people btw) [ao3]

Choso loves his family. That's why he doesn't like you.

Seriously, couldn't his brother not bring you over his place for summer break? He gets it, Yuji is young and can never say no, his best friend turned him down for a summer course and Choso guesses you were his second choice. Though Yuji would never tell him that. Or you for the matter. Choso can't wrap his head around why Yuji likes you so much. He knows his brother, no actually, he loves his brother so he knows it's not some crush otherwise Yuji would've shyly approached him and confessed. It seems like his brother just genuinely has a great time with you and that pisses him off. You're loud, that's fine, so is Yuji. But Yuji’s smart, caring, sensitive. You on the other hand... you break things on your way, stumble, laugh obnoxiously and make a mess in his clean kitchen. You're insufferable. So of course, Choso scoffs and rejects Yuji's offer at first.

"She's not coming over, Yu." He tells his little brother, "This was supposed to be our bonding time, remember? I planned out both weeks for us." Choso was excited—he really was. Getting to have his brother around was the best thing that could've happened to him. He'd take Yuji to the movies, carousel, beach, for beers; ok, no, he laughs, he'd definitely get them in a club, maybe a casino? Some strip show? Yuji was an adult now and Choso couldn't wait to listen to his college stories; though he knew there probably weren't many, judging by how nice his brother was. Really, a very likeable kid (adult, he corrects himself).

Yuji begs him. Tells him you'll help around the house, says you've never travelled before, you don't have any plans and you won't cause trouble. It's when Choso starts doubting himself. Ok sure, Choso isn't young per se, but he's definitely fun to be around, right? Does his brother seriously not think he's cool enough anymore? Would he be sad if he said no? He can't stand the thought of making his brother sad. Not because of him, that's certain. This is why he now has you in his house strutting around in flimsy shorts and a barely covering shirt, puffy eyes from your sleep and messy hair. On his kitchen counter asking if there's coffee. He scoffs.

"I made some. For Yuji. You can get some yourself.” He's been up hours ago, went for his run and excitedly waits for his brother to wake up. But now you’re there. Choso couldn't wake Yuji up, he practically spoiled him anyway he could, sleep was no exception. However, you and Yuji unfortunately do not share the same schedule so he is cursed (because blessed would be a euphemism at best) with your presence.

"Alright, damn." You groan, ever since you got there, he seems constantly pissed off with you, but you just woke up, you’re groggy and in his house so you can't do much but yawn. You walk past him, he's too absorbed in his phone, not bothering to look. 

"When do you think Yuji will be up?" He asks, as the smell of coffee suddenly makes you feel alive again.

"Oh I don't know, I'll wake him up soon, we'll go for a swim today." You giggle, you'd been so excited to go to the beach, swimsuits were the first thing you packed. Yuji told you about this beach he wanted you to go to, you’d promised to bring your polaroid and take pictures.

"No, you're not." Choso lifts his head up as he puts the phone down. "Me and Yuji have plans today. You can chill here, we'll be back before 9." It’s sharp and sounds non-negotiable as you stop in your tracks.

"What plans? I didn't know—"

"Why would you? This is our day, you guys can hang later or whatever." But Choso is already pissed. Like actually pissed. If you don’t know then…hadn't Yuji told you or were you just that dumb? He weighs in on the latter. Regardless, he can't argue with a girl his brother's age.

"But I–" You try to protest, as you stand next to the counter, your mug in your hands and you haven't even taken a sip when you’re cut off.

"I'll go wake him up now. Oh, and wear some proper clothing, will you? You've taken this family trip way too seriously." He spits and heads upstairs, leaving you dumbfounded. Coffee suddenly doesn't make you feel that alive. 

-

Yuji is sad. Sad because none of you want to compromise. Choso arranged for them to rent bikes and tour around town; the boardwalk along the seafront was ideal for the activity. His brother had always been athletic and loved the idea so Choso had contacted the shop owner to rent in advance. He knew he was creepy, who the hell rented a bike a week prior? It’s not like they wouldn’t find one. Still, the store closed at 4 PM and it was already past one (Yuji and his sleep) so they’d have to hurry. He’d prepared lunch and was excited for some brotherly time. As for you? Choso honestly didn’t care. You could go for a walk for all that mattered, it’d be four hours at most, you’d be fine. But then there was you, reminding Yuji of the impulsive promise he gave you twelve hours ago. The truth lies in the middle. Yuji mixed up the days—could you blame him? You and Choso bombarded him with plans and ideas meanwhile the poor boy only wanted to rest and enjoy his vacation. So he’d told you about today, when he’d promised Choso days ago. 

‘’Guys, I’m so sorry.’’ Yuji frowns as you both look at him. ‘’I promise, we can do both! One has to call it off so we can do theirs tomorrow.’’ His eyes gleam like usual, but he looks anxious. Probably because he knows both of you. 

‘’But you promised me first.’’ Choso speaks, he doesn’t sound condescending, he’d never raise his voice at his baby brother.

‘’Yeah, well he promised me yesterday!’’ You retort childishly. It’s like a race you two have, who will answer first, a competition, who can win Yuji over.

‘’Please don’t fight, we can do both, come on now, who wants to do their activity tomorrow?’’ Yuji sighs, looking across the kitchen table. He’s the youngest, but he sounds like a kindergarten teacher at the moment.

‘’Yuji, what do you want?’’ Choso emphasizes. Good, that should give him his answer, he thinks.

‘’Yeah, Yuji, why don’t you tell Choso our plan is waay more fun?’’ You consider sticking out your tongue but one look at Choso and you keep your mouth shut.

‘’You know I can’t choose! I love both.’’ He pouts. ‘’Don’t make me do this, can’t you guys figure it out on your own? I’m serious. I’m sorry…” Yuji’s eyes fall. Choso can tell and he suddenly feels responsible. Not for his plans, no. For seeing a sadness cross his brother's face. His heart aches seeing him so passionate to end this stupid debate, so caring, never wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings. He deep down wishes he came first. Choso’s older now and he realizes he can’t continue; a sigh leaves his lips as he speaks up. 

‘’It’s fine, Yu. Be back soon.’’ He backs off. Again. He has to put up a front for his brother. He doesn’t bother giving you a glance, as he exits the kitchen. He wonders if he’s ever despised someone that much before. To the point of choking them…no, not that. That’d be too nice for you. You deserve an agonizing death. He imagines your body stretched out on a medieval rack as your limbs crack one by one. You hadn’t been there more than a day and you were already fucking up his schedule. And in his own house, too. As if dressing like some whore wasn’t enough, seriously what ever happened to modesty? In his head his thoughts make sense, a stranger meddling in his newly amended relationship with his brother. Did you even know how much he cherished him? The lengths he’d go to protect and be there for him? This summer break was supposed to be more than a brotherly reunion. He wanted to be Yuji’s friend this time. He bets you don’t even know what it’s like to have no one around. 

He might go for another run, he considers. You’d be gone within a week. But even when his thoughts subside, he still thinks of ways to put you in your place for good.

-

By the time you’re home, polaroids in your bag and salt on your skin, Choso is pacing up and down the living room. It’s 8:30 PM and Yuji hasn't texted him since noon. 

‘’Where the hell were you, Yuji?’’ Choso completely ignores you as he looks at his brother, who is licking off a half melted ice cream and flaunts a newly acquired tan.

‘’Did you get a sunburn?’’ Choso’s anxious, damn it that kid, always failing to reapply SPF.

‘’I’m fine, nii chan.’’ Yuji laughs, as some ice cream falls on the floor. ‘’I’ll go take a shower or do you wanna go first?’’ He asks you.

‘’She can go first.’’ Choso tells him and you’re taken aback.

‘’Really?’’ You sound surprised. There’s no way he’d ever be kind to you, you knew that seconds after you met him. 

‘’Yeah, want to have some time with Yuji, before we head out.’’ He sounds casual as he brings a wipe to clean Yuji’s ice cream. His back muscles flex under his compression shirt, he looks kind of messy, had he worked out again? Unruly hair falls on his eyes as you try to tear away your gaze.

‘’C-cool.. I’m going upstairs.’’ You announce and leave, stumbling on the first step. What did you think of right now? 

Choso’s bathroom is spacious and allows you to take your sweet time rinsing salt and sunscreen off your skin. Yuji may have not been sunburnt but you couldn’t say the same. Your skin aches as you lather your back and thighs, were you sunburnt everywhere? You make a mental note to apply some moisturizing cream you brought. You had a good time with Yuji, he told you about his best friend’s summer course (financial crime, corruption and money laundering— dude sounded weird) and not being able to make it, how they’d meet and how his relationship with Choso had drastically changed in the span of a year. Yuji didn’t even know about Choso and took some time to warm up to him. As his brother, that is. But Choso was the best brother he could have, he told you. You had trouble believing that. Choso’s demeanor was far from.. best. You sigh remembering your brief coffee encounter. How he’d looked at you above his phone, his cold eyes with tired bags under as his long hair fell on his face, unruly and..sexy. What? Why do you think that? Your mind goes through images like a film projector—his long torso peeking under his compression shirt as he stretched and accidentally revealed a v-line and a happy trail. You feel a sting as water falls down the drain; the lotus and white tea fragrance from the body foam he has envelops your face. You close your eyes and think of him in more…compromising scenarios. Behind you for example. Strong arms snaking around your waist as he presses against you, droplets falling between you while his mouth latches on your neck. A muscular, veiny hand finding your chest and caressing gently…only to move to your lower belly and lazily circle around the entrance. You fight the urge to let a soft moan as you imagine him teasing. Yeah, he’d definitely tease your slit up and down, pecking on your neck until you begged. ‘’Choso..please! J-just one finger!’’ and he’d laugh, mouth contracting on your delicate neck and rubbing around your clit. You’re getting yourself off, what the hell are you doing right now? But could you really blame yourself? You never thought of Choso like that but you do now so you can’t question it further. You let a finger slip slowly inside you. It’s wet and fills you up well—not as good as you think Choso’s thick, calloused fingers would, but it does the job. You wonder how good he’d feel and you’re getting yourself off only by picturing his fingers. You’re suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. 

‘’Aren’t you done yet? It’s been half an hour. Get out.’’ Choso growls behind the door, you remove your finger and quickly gulp down. 

‘’I’m almost done.’’ You faintly say, shit, the man you had fingers in your cunt for, interrupted your daydream…of him. You quickly rinse off excess shampoo and exit. God, you needed to get laid instantly. 

-

When you come downstairs, Yuji is nowhere to be found. Choso is sitting on the couch, the TV plays a show he doesn’t watch as he scrolls on his phone.

‘’Where’s Yuji?’’ You’re wearing Yuji’s old T-shirt from when he was a gamer and skater and nothing under it. In your defense, it’s long and covers almost up to your knees. He doesn’t turn around.

‘’He left. Sent him off to meet his friend, his parents dropped him off.’’

‘’What friend?’’ As far as you knew Yuji told you all his friends were busy with summer courses.

‘’His best friend, Megumi, don’t even know that?” He sneers. Megumi? The money laundering guy?

But he—

‘’He’s not staying long.’’ He has to be joking. 

‘’Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to meet him, Yuji told me–’’

‘’Why should I? Yuji needs time with some real friends. Told him you felt sick or whatever.’’ 

‘’Are you serious? Why would you do that? Where are they?’’ You can’t believe this guy, first he treats you like a pile of shit, then he’s nice to you by offering you to go first…wait. Did he send you up first so he could convince Yuji to go out without you? Could he be so shitty?

‘’Oh my fucking God, that’s why you told me to shower first didn’t you? What did you even tell Yuji?’’ This guy is unbelievable and you fight the urge to rip his hair out from the back. 

‘’Does it matter? He’s already gone. Serves you right.’’ Choso sounds relaxed, like he just stated tomorrow’s itinerary. 

‘’And what am I supposed to do here, huh? God, you’re so fucking annoying, I swear I’m texting Yuji right now.’’ You realize your phone’s upstairs and before you can turn around, a strong palm grabs your wrist forcefully.

‘’One more step and you’ll be spitting blood.’’ His eyes burn as you feel the pain from his grip.

‘’Let— go...’’ You ask, more like beg as he throws your hand away, it burns, partly due to the sun but also from the pressure of his grasp. 

You slowly drag your feet to the kitchen as you think of ways to hurt him. You hate this guy, you simply exist and he decides upon making your life living hell. Sure, he doesn’t do anything dramatic but he’s constantly interfering with your friendship. Yuji wants you there, he acts like he’s some unprotected child and constantly monitors him. You grab a glass from the cupboard as you feel the words slip out your mouth involuntarily.

‘’Yuji doesn’t like you.’’ You lie and before you even have the chance to have a sip, the glass soars in the air and falls with a loud thump, shattering in a million pieces as you’re turned to look at him. 

‘’What the fuck did you just say?’’ He spits. He scares you, you think, the way he’s hovering; he seems really angered.

‘’I said–’’ You can’t continue. Because he slaps you. On your face. With his palm. And it hurts so badly, you feel tears prick at your eyes, your wrist hurts and you can’t move around— each time the burn catches up to you. 

‘’Why don’t you say that again?’’ He goes on, he has not moved and still waits for your answer.

‘’S-stop..!” You muffle, as you bring a hand to your face, you want this resolved immediately, you’re kind of defenseless, since your phone’s out of your reach and you are alone. He also is extremely strong and it doesn’t help that you anger him, his muscles tense and you notice the veins on his neck pulsating.

‘’Useless bitch.’’ He hisses, ‘’Yuji doesn’t like me? Look at you and your pathetic self. You think he likes you? Yuji likes everyone, wake the fuck up. At first I thought he fucked you, cause why else would anyone want to hang out with you?’’ Choso is fed up with you. Fed up with being nice, fed up with compromising. In all honesty, he’d probably be fed up with anyone but Yuji, but you’re just the cherry on top. Did you seriously think you could try to contact Yuji? The fact you even dared to speak on his name angers him even more. And that’s why he continues while you break down slowly. 

‘’You come here, in my place to hang out with my brother. Dressing up like some common cockwhore and you know what? I really wouldn’t give a fuck, but taking him away from me? Did you two have fun at the beach? You wanted him to fuck, yeah? Otherwise, what are you even good for?’’ He goes on to bring a hand on your cheeks, squishing and bringing your mouth to open like a fish. Tears that welled up in your eyes now fall sideways as he mocks. Your back slams against the counter, you think you feel your feet touch glass splinters as you tremble. You ache everywhere and he keeps going. 

‘’S–ow-’’ You manage, you can’t articulate coherently and feel nauseous. 

‘’Wanna speak up?’’ His mouth twitches but he still isn’t fully smiling. He has to hide it for now. Each moment that goes by, he feels an immense pleasure. It’s like he takes out all his anger that he kept inside the previous days and he doesn’t want to stop. Not when his palm moves your pathetic face left and right, like he’s viewing some artifact. In the insanity of it all, he feels his cock hard. He is unconsciously rubbing on your t-shirt (Yuji’s t-shirt) and your face looks oddly pretty, puffy cheeks adorned with tears and wide pleading eyes. 

‘’L-uh- oh’’ You try to speak out and he gets exactly what you’re trying to communicate. 

‘’Y-Yu- i’’ You call out his brother's name. Seriously, it's like you’re asking for it.

‘’What about my brother, huh?’’ A hand is removed as more air fills your lungs. You sob. You feel searing pain in your chest, among all other body parts— fingerprints sit on both of your cheeks. 

‘’Y-Yuji— is.. he..is not..’’ You can hardly keep up, he is in close proximity and your tailbone hits against the counter from the way he has his body pressed onto you. A hardness pokes at your belly and you think that this wasn’t what you had in mind in the shower. He is aggressive and looks like he won’t back off soon.

‘’Not what? Speak the fuck up.’’ 

‘’N-not like this.’’ You cry. You can’t understand how these two are even related. Yuji’s a sunshine, the kindest soul you’ve known, of course he wouldn’t want to fuck you, he just felt sorry that you didn’t have plans and offered up some company. He’d do it for anyone. You were naive at times but you knew it was the reason you were there. Yuji couldn’t say no. He must’ve also not been aware of his brother’s rage otherwise you wouldn’t find yourself in this position. 

‘’You’re right.’’ Choso takes you out of your thoughts. ‘’He isn’t. But I am. It’s your lucky day.’’ His left hand is on the counter behind you, so there goes your chance to leave. To your left, there’s an exit. You could run. But your eyes betray you and his palm abrasively pushes your left shoulder back. 

‘’Don’t even fucking consider this.’’ He says as his knee nudges yours to the side. You’re standing the whole time and the rough poke makes your legs buckle—you almost fall but you’re brought to stand upright as he lifts Yuji’s shirt.

‘’Shit, wearing his shirt and everything, as if you’d ever be good enough to be his girlfriend.’’ He mocks, but his eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your chest as you wriggle under him. 

Choso is determined this punishment exceeds medieval torture. And you should definitely look on the bright side, you’d enjoy it by the end.

‘’Finger yourself.’’ He orders and your eyes widen. 

‘’W-what..’’ You tremble. He raises his right hand and you flinch but he goes on to move a strand stuck on your lips.

‘’Stop playing deaf. Touch your cunt like you did in the shower. What? Think I didn’t listen? That’s the type of nasty whore you are.’’

You can’t do it. You can’t— so he does it for you. His right palm brings your hand in between your open legs as you feel your own palm push against your entrance. He touches on your middle finger and slowly brings it in between your lower lips. He slips in your finger, which has to contract by the pressure he’s applying but his rough hand touches you too and you cry.

‘’C-Choso.. s—stop..’’ He moves your finger up and down your pussy, which lubricates steadily the more something’s thrusted inside it and then decides to stick his finger too. You gasp as it fills you fully and he finally breaks out a smile, seeing you cute and vulnerable like this really makes his cock hard. Your pretty eyes beg for him to stop but he can’t; it’s too good and you’re almost enjoying it already. 

‘’That’s right. It feels good, doesn’t it? Bet you were thinking about Yuji in the shower, weren’t you? It’s okay, I can show you how I fuck too.” Choso wants to turn you around and stuff his cock inside you without protest but that wouldn’t count as torture so he has to suppress his strained urge. He’ll make good use of that nuisance of a mouth you have first.

Both hands are removed from your cunt, slick trickles down your forcibly open thighs— the position makes your hips automatically open and buck up and you’re panting, scared and embarrassed that your body betrays you. Choso’s face is flushed, a red scarring which you hadn’t seen up close, seems even more crimson, as he gets you off the counter and pushes your elbows down. You’re dropped on the floor, right in front of a long bulge—you can pretty much expect what’s to follow but still make a timid effort.

‘’Cho–Choso, please..’’ but before you know it, his sweatpants are removed and you’re cut off by his cock in your mouth. Salty precum lingers on your tongue—not long, before he starts thrusting his hips in your mouth, fucking your face. You choke and gargle; he’s big and his girth squeezes around your palate as he hits the back of your throat, “Fucking finally..” he groans, “..good for once.” He praises, as if you make some conscious effort. 

He suddenly pulls out—spittle falls down his cock as he grabs you by the roots of your hair. You must be a funny sight, plush, swollen lips, puffy eyes, a wet, anticipating cunt and precum staining his brother’s shirt as he brings his face closer. Something urges him to kiss you. He wants to taste your desperation. He brings his mouth on yours, it’s wet and he pushes his tongue inside, he can taste the fluids as you cry. 

‘’Kiss me.” He says and tries harder. This time you comply, his tongue searches your open mouth as you follow his lead. His right palm rests on the counter behind you, trapping you in an embrace, which oddly enough creates a heat in your core. His mouth, despite the forcefulness, feels soft and you aimlessly try to close your legs in hope the nasty feeling goes away. You smell his scent, it must be his shower gel, lotus…and something else you read on the label but can’t remember now. You let tears fall from your eyes as you try to inhale only through your nose— mouth too occupied being devoured by him. 

Choso loves kissing you. He thinks to himself you are perfect, in your own way. So pretty with your mouth distracted and your legs open. For him, only. Yuji would be off limits after that. Not that you’d approach either one after, he guesses. Your kisses only make him eager to stuff your cunt more, his cock aches by the minute, that’s why he lifts you up. You’re so pliable, he thinks. He manhandles you and all you’ve said is a couple broken ‘’please’’. Did you actually want this? He considers the possibility, he isn’t unattractive in the slightest.

Your shirt has to go. He knows it’s Yuji’s but that doesn’t matter now that it has his precum on it. He finds himself wondering whether he fights internally against Yuji or you right now, seeing how he feels a pang of jealousy towards his little brother. But the idea is crazy so he brushes it off hurriedly. Your soft, squishy tits rise and fall to the pace of your anxiety. 

‘’You have pretty tits, does this hurt?’’ He asks as he slaps across your nipple, the skin around burns tenfold and you cry out.

‘’...h-hurts..’’ You yelp and he feigns sorrow.

‘’Aww, sorry, let me make this feel better. We’ve neglected her for some time, haven't we?’’ He looks at your cunt— glistening and lovely, ready to be defiled as he brings a thumb to play with your clit. 

‘’Spit.’’ You’re not that wet, what? It’s okay, he will change it.

You shyly gather spit and let a small glob fall down his digits as he pumps two fingers abruptly inside. Three strokes and your cunt starts drooling, he enjoys the sounds. But more than anything, he enjoys your tormented face, fighting to admit the pleasure you’re getting. His rough thumb circles around your clit as you’re forced to touch behind his neck to not fall off, you grip down his nape, failing to conceal your moans. 

‘’Cho-choso..mhm’’ You whine, brokenly, it pains you to feel so good, so fast. You don’t want this. You don’t.

‘’...Already squeezing down like some slut huh..’’ It takes Choso a lot of strength to not cum in the air like some loser, he’s delayed this too much and now you look irresistible, being fucked by his fingers on his counter. While you cry. And his brother’s out. 

‘’-Mm- Cho- Choso.. stop!’’ You moan, feeling close to an orgasm as he pumps faster and circles the nub simultaneously. Your fluids stain all the way up to his knuckles and if he keeps this up, you’ll probably coat his palm entirely.

‘’---f-fuck Cho–’’ He removes the fingers just before you can give in to the feeling— you pant frustrated. 

‘’Enough. Let’s test out how well that cunt feels… for a slut like yourself.’’ You want to protest, want to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, but that’s clearly not an option. In a split second you’re turned over, thrown across the kitchen table, your limbs are stretched out and the direct contact makes you wince, as you clash with your chest. Choso admires the view. He spreads your legs out and you look ready to be fucked into oblivion.

He gives his stiff cock a couple thrusts, his red tip leaks his precum and he groans before his cockhead bumps with your entrance. You moan and he hasn’t even entered you yet as he brings a hand on the curve of your ass and smacks it. 

‘’Stop being so desperate, it’s embarrassing.’’ He sighs as he rubs his cockhead across your slit.

‘’P–please Cho–Choso..’’ You moan, understanding that you have it bad. ‘’W-want you in me...’’ You can’t even lie to yourself at this point, you’re pent up and need him. The rest of unresolved feelings is something you’ll deal with later. 

‘’Fucking needy slut, maybe Yuji was right bringing you over here. Gonna get fucked by his bro like some passed around whore? Want him to stuff you too?’’

‘’N-no! Choso! P–please- ugh.. need you..only you!” You beg as you move your hips, your dignity dissolved a long time ago. 

Choso mumbles something under his breath and pushes his cock to slide in your creamy walls as you moan—desperately. His cock is large and it hurts way more than his fingers, he hasn’t bottomed out yet but you already feel suffocated.

‘’Ch-Choso!’’

‘’What is it, slut? Be patient.’’ He huffs, but he isn’t patient himself as he prods at your cunt deeper, you’re way too tight to take him, squeezing down the entirety (or at least most of what can fit) in your little hole and he has to sigh. Your back muscles contract as your helpless hands tug at the table while he thrusts deeper and deeper, he brings his torso close to yours so he’s next to your hair, which he removes.

‘’Does that feel good? You take me so well for a common whore, baby.’’ He whispers on your neck, you shudder and cry out. 

‘’Mhmagh- Cho-Cho! Y-yes..feels s-so good! Don’t stop! Cho–’’

‘’Are you fucking stupid? Don't…don’t tell me what to do.’’ He straightens himself and grabs your hips. His cock lunges in your cunt, he’s poking at what feels like your cervix, when he slaps your reddened ass. It should appall you, it should make you wince but he notices your pussy tightening and clamping down. So you’re enjoying this? What a nasty fucking slut that you are. 

‘’C-Cho– i ughn I’m cumming fuck!’’ You sob and he fastens his pace. You’re overstimulated, overly teased and over the edge. Your hands scratch against the table as his palms hold your head firm and to the side, he pushes you downward and thrusts his cock in and out, each pump making you gradually lose eyesight until you do… fully. Your vision darkens completely and you blink rapidly as you let go screaming.

‘’C-choso aagh!’’ But he doesn’t listen, his head’s too clouded with the need to fill you up, the need to have his cum seep out your hole as he grabs Yuji’s shirt next to him, rolls it around and hangs it over your neck. You’re being lifted—your back is arched upward, the angle is excruciatingly painful; you’re too sensitive and his cock slides way too deep.

‘’Shit– don’t have much to say now, huh?’’ He asks but you’re choking and fighting for air, your ass bumps against his groin and he needs about three thrusts and a hard final slap on your flesh to finish. 

‘’Fuuuck–shit, r-right there, stay the fuck up!’’ He orders, but it’s not like you have many places to go as you feel a warmth filling you up; it’s funny, you’ve never had anyone come inside before. His load spurts and trickles out and he lets go of the scarf made on the spot, falling on top of you.

He slowly slides his softening cock out and doesn’t tell you another word while his chest rises and falls on your back. He can’t lie to himself, you were too nice. The softness in your shivering skin and sad eyes was too kind. Maybe he shouldn’t have been that hard on you, slapping you like some fly. He clears his throat as he climbs off you. You remain laid out, you seem passed out or freshly dead—you sport multiple marks and semen falls down his counter.

‘’We have to clean up before Yuji gets back.’’ You can barely register what he says but you make out the ‘we’ in the beginning. At least he acknowledges your existence, you think as you try to find your friend’s shirt. 

-

When Yuji returns Choso tells him you’re asleep. He can’t let him know he was cleaning bodily fluids off the kitchen counter. Yuji doesn’t ask more, he is excited to let Choso know about Megumi’s course and Choso listens, though he’s tired. By the time Yuji wakes up, you’re gone, having left a note behind that you ‘’didn’t feel well and changed the flight tickets.’’ When he tries calling you, you don’t pick up and he tells Choso.

‘’I’m sure she’s fine.’’ Choso made breakfast— it’s biking day, the sun shines and Yuji actually woke up earlier than expected (11 AM). His house feels silent, empty in a funny way, almost like you left and took its joy with you. Yuji is visibly upset but Choso reassures him everything’s fine.

‘’Yeah… I guess you’re right. You did say she felt sick yesterday..’’ He reminds him. Did he say that? Well, Choso thinks, it definitely sounds better than letting his little brother know of the sickening things he did— your punishment for daring to be his friend. Maybe he wasn’t lying to Yuji when he said that.

‘’I’ll try again later.’’ Yuji smiles. His voice doesn’t have its usual excitedness but Choso will work on it. He doesn’t have much time. 

‘’We’re still going, right?’’

‘’Sure.’’ Yuji smiles half-heartedly as he stands up.

He heads upstairs and Choso picks up the breakfast plates and puts them in the sink. He stands right at the spot he had you pinned twelve hours ago—defenseless and crying as he slapped you, facefucked you, fingered, choked and ultimately humiliated you. He knows the excuse that he made you cum and the way you looked at him barely holds up. Even if you liked him, it wasn’t right.

He is suddenly overcome by a wave of inexplicable emptiness. It’s a vicious cycle, he thinks. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. He would have driven them away from Yuji in an effort to have him to himself. Then Yuji would be sad and he would feel responsible. It wasn’t ever really your fault. Yet, this wouldn’t have happened if you never showed up. It would have benefited all three. Maybe this was never a cycle; the loop would require equal components. You were a labyrinth, a complicated, long path and Yuji was the center. 

[shaunamilfman]

Dating Rhiannon Lewis HC's

pairing: Rhiannon Lewis x reader note: she's my pathetic, desperate, clingy gf so get your own.

Throws out an ily on the third date and tries so pathetically hard to play it off. “I love youR SHIRT. It's such a nice shirt.” Before running off to the bathroom to hide. She's so smooth. Pacing back and forth in front of the mirror for ten minutes before she manages to gather enough courage to come back to you and pretend nothing happened.

Keeps score of who’s texting who first and how often. It doesn’t stop her from still texting first, though.

Cannot ever get her hands out of your hair. She's so fucking gentle about it, caressing your hair and gently scratching at your scalp with her nails. Won't go near your hair on her bad days. Running her fingers along the back of your neck instead of your scalp. Fingers flexing like she wants to touch it but won't. Just doesn't trust herself not to hurt you. 

Always makes the house so fucking cold when you sleep over so you're forced to cuddle with her for warmth. Her ass is running around the whole house opening windows and creating drafts in the twenty minutes she has in between your text and when you arrive. Oh, also, all the blankets are in the wash but hers. So sad, guess you'll just have to share. Mysteriously, all of your long-sleeve shirts have disappeared too. Weird. 

Makes you do those stupid couple quizzes in magazines.

Rhiannon “We have food at home” Lewis. Once the initial excitement about having people to go out with dies down, she comes to an important realization: the more the two of you are out, the more you're exposed to dating options that aren't her. That's just not allowed. Doing anything and everything she can to keep you at home short of telling you to get your ass back inside. 

God forbid you try to go out somewhere without her. Why would you need to go see your friends while she's stuck late at work? Who's going to walk with her to the bus station? She starts asking so many questions about it, sounding so hurt that you eventually cave and don’t go. It’s not blatant manipulation, not when it’s you, but it’s usually enough to have you rethinking the whole thing anyway.

So jealous, but won’t directly say anything about it. Just starts holding onto your hand tightly with this strained look on her face.

She always misplaces your things when you're going out, or just if it suits her better. Your car keys? She hasn't seen them. The shirt you were going to wear that she doesn't much care for? You probably lost it. Here, she found her personal favorite of your shirts, though. You’ll find the other shirt mysteriously hung back up neatly in your closet the next day, like nothing ever happened.

Rhiannon wearing your shirts when she knows you're looking for them to entice you to stay home. Laying back on the bed, pouting up at you. Long sleeves that her hands just barely peek out of. “What, are you looking for this?” Making you give her a kiss if you want your shirt back to go to work. Maybe even two if she’s feeling greedy.

Tries to fix all your problems for you the second you mention them to her.

So incredibly clingy. If you're with her, you're with her. Sitting on the counter, talking to you while you cook or while you take a shower. You step out, and she's holding the towel out for you. Makes a show of breathing hot hair on it and pretends she was keeping it warm for you. You wake up every time with all four of her limbs wrapped around you, no matter how the two of you actually fell asleep.

She texts you about the weather all the time just as an excuse to talk to you.

So incredibly sensitive. Bottom lip trembling and tearing up because you said you weren't sure if you'd be able to make drinks with her coworkers tonight. Her ass trying to play it cool all like, “That's fine 🥺.“

Detailed plans for any outing she takes you on.

She plays those like little girlfriend games all the time. The like, "Would you love me if I was x, if I did y, if z happened?” Just hours and hours of it. It starts off so innocent and teasing, but it ends up getting really serious and real specific. “Would you still love me if I, like, killed someone? Accidentally. Hypothetically, of course.”

Gets really drunk one night and starts trying to get a concrete list of breakupable offenses. Pulls out this like color-coded Excel file of info with terms and conditions and shit. She takes this girlfriend stuff seriously, bro. Debating the details of it like she’s making a contract.

Stalks your socials all the time.

I just know Rhiannon pulls those like "ten tricks to keep a man" shit they have in those magazines on you. Goes down it in a list deciding what you react the best to. Tries maintaining eye contact for a freaky long time until you finally call her out on it. Insists that it’s not what she’s doing, but you realize she’s hidden all her magazines from you the next day.

Double, triple, quadruple texter. You better not fall asleep on her, or her ass will be knocking on the door within a few hours.

She likes to surprise you with dates, but she’s so horrifically bad at it. She gets nervous and ends up asking you a billion different questions about things you like, that by the time you get to the date you’ve basically already planned it all for yourself anyway. Rhiannon looks so proud of herself that you can’t bear to say anything about it.

You catch sight of her search history over her shoulder one night, and it’s like twenty variations of “What to do on a date.” / “What to say on a date.” / “Where to go to dinner in…”

[kikidoesfanfic]

Run away with me

For the prompt 'go, see if I care' for @steddieangstyaugust some misunderstandings and making up, feat. Wayne Munson, local voice of reason/mediator.

ON AO3

-----

It was regular Thursday when Eddie got the news that Corroded Coffin had been picked up by a producer. And Steve was excited for him, over the moon even, but it's only been three days since then and everything's changed.

He's still happy for Eddie, he is, he just assumed... well he shouldn't have assumed, is the thing.

They'd been packing, ready to move into an apartment they'd found in Indie, Robin getting ready for her first year of college with Steve and Eddie trailing behind. They were looking to get out of town anyway, wanted to stay close enough for the kids, but to still be out, and they were days away from leaving. Pivoting to Chicago wasn't that much work, they hadn't signed for the apartment yet, and Robin understood. Robin pushed him to go in fact, she'd be in a dorm room for the first year, and 'Chicago is barely a three hour drive away Dingus so you both better visit'.

He thought- it doesn't matter what he thought, apparently.

"And anyway the only place we could find on such short notice only has two bedrooms, so I'm bunking with Jeff." Steve pauses, marker in hand hovering above cardboard where he'd been about to label their kitchen things, a mismash of items donated by their little Upside Down family. "But, the walk to the studio is really short, and there's a lot of bars and venues really close to the apartment, and it has a parking space, so it could be worse."

"Wait go back, you're bunking with Jeff?"

"Well yeah, Gareth snores like a chainsaw and Frank sleeps like a log, so it makes sense to stick them in the same room so Jeff and I don't lose our minds." Eddie is a picture of nonchalance, not even looking at Steve.

"Right," Steve says, capping the marker, "because that makes sense."

"Yeah, and Jeff's parents have given him a little cash for furniture and stuff, and Gareth's mom wants to drive up with a moving van since mine will be full of all the band stuff and mine." Eddie says, and he's so happy, and Steve wants him to be happy, he does, so instead of voicing any of the questions he feels practically clogging up his lungs he says:

"Sounds like you have it all figured out."

And Eddie smiles big and bright and seemingly oblivious to anything Steve is thinking, perhaps hadn't given Steve a second thought at all when faced with his dream job. He uncaps the marker again, starts writing kitchen in big wobbly letters when his stupid hand won't cooperate and keep still.

"Oh hey can we have some of the kitchen stuff? I don't want to make the boys get everything for the new place, you know?" Eddie says, offhanded and flicking the cardboard flap on his way past to the couch, flopping down on it in the picture of ease.

"Sure, do what you want," Steve says, and he can hear how tight his voice has gotten, Eddie must be able to as well because he sits up from his lazy sprawl on the couch to look at him closer. Steve doesn't want to be looked at closer. He needs to get out for a while, go calm down so he can come back and be a supportive... is he even Eddie's boyfriend any more? Just a friend? Eddie sure as hell hasn't mentioned even visiting after apparently deciding he's leaving Steve behind, so maybe this is his way of getting a clean break. "I need to..."

Where was he even going to go? He's been living in the trailer with Eddie and Wayne since just after Eddie graduated, all his stuff is either here or in boxes in the Henderson's garage waiting to be driven to fucking Chicago.

"I have some stuff to drop at Robin's, I'll be back later." Steve walks out, gets in his car and drives away before Eddie can question that Robin isn't even home right now, off with her parents at her aunt's place for a last big family dinner before she leaves.

He doesn't know where to go. It's not like he can take this to any of the kids, Robin isn't here, maybe he should just get some of his boxes from the Henderson's and drive up to Indie alone like Eddie was going to just drive off alone to Chicago. But that's stupid, because even if he did drive up to Indie, signed for the apartment, moved his boxes in, it's not like he could afford the place alone.

Which just. Did Eddie even think of him at all? He knew they could only afford the place together, didn't even ask if Steve found a new place or, or if Steve had any plans.

Steve pulls over when the road gets fuzzy and he realises he's crying.

***

"Where were you?" Eddie asks as soon as he's back through the door.

"I went for a drive"

"Why?" Eddie asks, and Steve can't look at him.

"I needed to think"

"And you couldn't do that here?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." A pregnant pause follows, where Eddie just stares at him.

"Is this about Chicago?" Eddie says and something in Steve just. Snaps.

"Fuck Eddie, of course it's about Chicago!"

"Well sorry if that wasn't the first thing to come to mind, I thought you were happy for me!" Eddie says, immediately matching his energy.

"I was. Am."

"You said was. What changed then?"

"Just, did you consider me at all? Even a little bit?" And it hurts to ask, because Steve desperately wants the answer to be yes, but with all the evidence in front of him...

"Of course I did, but this is my dream Steve, for me and the guys, this is our big break." And that's- Steve can be okay with that, he wants Eddie to achieve his dreams, that was never in question, but.

"What did you think I was going to do, then? You haven't even asked." It comes out more wounded than Steve wants it to.

"I asked if you could take care of the apartment and you said yes!" Eddie sounds exasperated, looks it too when Steve meets his eye instead of some vague point over his shoulder.

"Yeah because I thought you meant- you know what fuck this, I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"This," he gestures between them, "the fighting, because you don't care, and I'm done sticking around where I'm not wanted."

"Oh my god Steve nobody said you were unwanted. Just because I didn't turn down the opportunity of a lifetime for a relationship that hasn't even made it to a full year? What exactly is there to think about?"

"You know what, Eddie? Screw you, go, see if I care!" Steve wrenches open the trailer door hell bent on getting the fuck out of there before he embarrasses himself any more than he already has, but his path is short lived.

"What is all the yellin?" Wayne says, stepping into the doorway and effectively blocking Steve's exit. "I can hear the two of you goin at it from the drive."

"Oh it's nothing Wayne, Steve's apparently been lying about being happy for me, about going to Chicago." Eddie chirps, and Steve rounds on him, angrily swiping the tears off his face because no. He's not making this Steve's fault.

"That is not what I said."

"You may as well have!" Eddie shouts, and Steve is about ready to shove past Wayne manners be damned because he wants to be anywhere but here right now.

"Alright, that's enough, the both of you. Sit." He puts a hand on Steve's shoulder, pushes him toward one of the dining chairs and points at the couch until Eddie sits back down. There's a loaded silence while Wayne scratches at his chin, thinking.

"You've been excited about Chicago all week, even when Eddie wasn't here to see it, what changed?"

"Found out today I have no reason to be." Steve says, and he knows he's being stubborn but god if he isn't feeling like he has the right to.

"Oh except for your boyfriend living his dream or doesn't that matter? I-"

"Edward Munson you get your ass back in that seat and your mouth buttoned." Eddie wisely sits.

"Why've you got no reason to be?" Wayne asks Steve

"Because Eddie is going to Chicago." Wayne nods but it's slow, eyes narrowing.

"Gonna need a bit more there, son." It's the 'son' that does it, makes Steve's lip quiver before he gets control of the traitorous thing.

"Eddie's going to Chicago, he asked for some of the kitchen things, he's sharing a room with Jeff and an apartment with the guys."

"Ah. An' where are you supposed to sleep?"

"Indie. Apparently."

"But I didn't-" all it takes for Eddie to cut himself off is Wayne holding up a hand.

"You'll get your turn in a minute, kid," Wayne says, placating. "Now, did you not talk about Chicago?"

"He asked me to take care of the apartment, I thought he meant talk to the landlord and tell them we weren't coming. He knows I couldn't afford the place alone, he heard Robin say we both better visit, he just. He didn't even consider me going with him and that's worse. He didn't ask what I was gonna do even thinking I wasn't going, didn't even think... he just said that he doesn't need to think about a relationship that hasn't made it to a year when he's making decisions." He breathes out a hastily measured breath, "so what am I even doing here? Take the kitchen stuff Eddie, take all of it for all I care I'm-"

"Okay, alright, let's simmer down." Steve nods, resigned, and slumps back in the dining chair. "Ed, you wanna tell me what's goin on?"

"How was I supposed to know he'd want to come to Chicago? He never said anything-

"Because I'm your bo-"

"Hey now, he let you speak, you let him speak." Steve huffs out another sigh but doesn't interrupt again, his arms come up to cross over his chest, instead ending up somewhere around hugging himself.

"He never said anything about coming with me, how was I supposed to know he wanted to? Robin is in Indianapolis." He runs a hand through his hair, looks over at Steve, "was I supposed to just assume you were coming with me?"

Wayne gestures at Steve and then steps off into the kitchen, grabbing down mugs and setting up the coffee machine, leaving them to it.

"Considering you knew I was going to stay in Hawkins if you did, in the first place? Yeah Eddie, kinda thought you would."

"Well... I didn't think of that."

"Yeah. There's a lot you didn't think of. Look, it's fine, and I am happy for you. I just thought when you saw your future with your dream career and whatever I was still in it."

"You are, of course I want you to come with me!" Eddie says, standing and taking a few steps closer.

"Then why didn't you say that? Plan for it at all?" Steve throws back with a burst of movement as he gets to his feet as well.

"I thought you WANTED to stay with ROBIN!"

"Well I WANTED to stay with YOU!"

"GOOD, THEN DO IT!"

"MAYBE I WILL!" Their chests are heaving as they both stand across from each other, table still between them, Eddie's eyes dart down to Steve's lips, so Steve wets them with a quick swipe of his tongue.

"I'm gonna go ahead an' guess you don't need me anymore, so I'm gonna take a shower. You kids get all your business out while I'm in there."

"Yessir," Eddie says with a salute, not taking heated eyes off of Steve.

They still need to talk, but after feeling pretty insecure about their relationship Steve isn't going to say no to a little physical reassurance, lets Eddie pull him closer by the hands.

But instead Eddie surprises him, a quick peck to the lips is all he gets before their foreheads are resting together, hands swinging back and forth either side of them.

"I'm sorry, we should have talked about it, I was just worried that you wouldn't want to come and didn't want to hear you say it. Or worse for you to come and then resent me for it. It won't happen again." Eddie's big bambi eyes are wide and imploring, close to Steve as he is, and it's really rather unfair. "And I'm sorry about what I said, I was just..."

"Defensive," Steve supplies.

"Yeah, that. I... panicked. A little. You're pretty much all I think about Stevie." Steve kisses him for that, has to, really, before pulling back.

"I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have assumed you'd know I would go with you, I'll say it with words next time. Right away."

"So you'll come? It'll be a bit cramped until we can find our own place, you'll have to share with me and the guys."

"Of course I still want to come, if you want me to?"

"I just asked if you wou-"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just being," Steve shakes their hands where they're still joined at their sides.

"Steve, come with me to Chicago, run away with me, please?"

"I'd come with you anywhere," Steve says, sincere, and Eddie's face contorts and smooths a few times. Steve sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today but at least this time it's more fond, "Eddie."

"Oh come on, you walked right into that one, you'll come with me anywhere?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Anywhere except for in a room shared with Jeff, yeah." Steve kisses him on the tip of his nose, pulling away to go pour their coffee.

"Hey wait, no, I think we need our own room actually. Who's Jeff? A band? What's a guitar?" As Eddie continues, his laments getting more and more ridiculous while he drapes himself over the kitchen counter, Steve brings up his mug to hide his smile.

Yeah sometimes he and Eddie are idiots about this stuff, but it's okay with him as long as they're idiots in it together.

[thesmutsideblog]

Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

[whumpitisthen]

Masterlist

Whumper approaching Whumpee and Whumpee just knows. They can see it in Whumper's eyes, the fists by their sides, the way they stalk right at them — they messed up. They messed up and now they will be punished.

"Sorry, I'm sorry — !" — is all they usually manage to get out before they are slammed into a wall or dragged to a corner and beaten, tortured, then it's mostly just begging and cries.

Whumpee stops asking what they did wrong. They just say they are sorry and take their punishment without fighting. Clearly they did something wrong, and no matter how many times they plead and try to do better, they never get good enough for Whumper. Why even ask? They barely answer half the time anyway.

Sometimes it just pisses them off more. 'You apologised and you don't even know why? You're not sorry; not yet. But I can show you.'

Whumper stops waiting for the moment Whumpee messes up eventually. They decide on the spot, whenever they feel like Whumpee is ready to take some pain, and walk up to them, schooling their expression and squaring their shoulders, signalling that it's time. They don't need an excuse, Whumpee won't even ask for one, and they shouldn't need one anyway. They will be hurt, and as long as they keep taking it so well, they have nothing else to worry about. The less they complain, the better.

And it gets worse, worse every time. It was just beatings to begin with, bruises and a little blood, then there were blades, a whip, broken bones, drowning, burning, electricity. Stress positions so they hurt even when they are alone. Less food, less sleep, less decency. They tried to be as good as they possibly could, to an embarrassing, humiliating degree they didn't know they were capable of, and it worked sometimes. They would be hurt all the same, but they got told they took it well, and they weren't being handled as roughly, and it felt like time would pass a little faster. There is less anger, and a little more fondness. Gentler touches as well as painful ones. Cooing as well as promises of pain. They have no choice but to get used to it.

And they'll apologise every time, even when nothing is happening. They quietly mutter a sorry when they touch them, when they flinch, when they look them in the eyes, when they have a bad thought, when they forget they apologised already. It doesn't make it better, but it has yet to make it worse, and there must be a reason they get hurt, there has to be something there, something they are doing wrong all the time. It can't just be for no reason.

Sometimes they apologise to themself. No one is in the room, no one can hear them, but they mutter a sorry anyway. Just in case. Just in case the space between these four walls thinks they aren't being sorry enough. They apologise to themself, but they can't forgive themself. It wasn't always like this. They weren't always stuck chained in a little room, waiting for pain. They were free, once. They were only beaten, then let go. They were allowed dignity, however hard it is to believe, even when they pissed off their captor.

But they messed up. They messed up so many times. Even if they could do everything perfectly, even if all their mistakes would magically be forgiven, it't far too late now. Whumper loves them like this. They love how well they take pain, how used to this they have become, how easy it is to scare them, how little power they have over what happens to them. They won't let them go now. They will never be good enough. And they will never forgive themself for that.

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumprince

[goldenchunkycat]

Somnophilia with Neteyam

[Ok not doing a oneshot but here is the somnophilia thing @devilish-mirage and anon]

In aged up!Neteyam’s eyes you're the prettiest woman (after his mother of course). During day time, when he has nothing to do, he would love watching you do your thing. Let it be fishing, dancing, or whatever is your hobby, you're just really pretty when you're doing an activity that you like. Sometimes you get angry at yourself or at other and you frown. Neteyam think you're cute when you do that. But in all honesty? Neteyam could kiss the ground for you.

So imagine when you're sleeping next to him ? So peaceful ? I think that the thought of being comfortable enough to share your bed with him would excites Neteyam. Despite being mean he's a praiser, and I kinda feel like this type of person get sexually arouse from knowing that their other significant is comfortable around them. At least Neteyam does. Anyway. There's night when Neteyam would come back late from the hunt. You would already be sleeping. So the guy would climb on the bed, gush over your cuteness, and then open your legs for him. There's no 50% with the blue boy, it's either 0% or 100%, and he would easily flip from 0 to 100.

Obviously, you guys talked about it before. Lemme tell you that after you had this discussion he fucked you hard. Boy was too excited ♡ He waited some time before doing it because he wanted you to forget about it. Going back to Neteyam fucking you while you're sleeping.

First of all he would be very careful and gentle, he don't wanna wake you up, where's the fun in that ? He would gently remove the cover and stare at your body for a good five minute. He's so infatuated with you. Then he would keep the unnecessary touch to the bare minimum. Just enough fo you to be able to take him but not much so you don't wake up. He would definitely finger you or eat you out first, depends on his mood, but again, he would be very gentle and take it slow. He would absolutely love it if you whimper and moan silently, moving around while trying to be comfortable in the sheets. Sometimes he would stop what he's doing to take a look at your face and he would be even harder - if that's possible - if you're getting hot and bothered. But sometimes he would be relentless and carry on his ministrations because he just want to dip it and then cuddle you. Once you're prep enough he would finally give in and fuck you. Again, it would depend on the day. If he's feeling very horny he would lay you on you back and fuck you missionary because he wants to have a look at your beautiful breast, if he's feeling cuddly he would lay you on the side and take you from behind - big spoon thing you know ? And if he wants to take risks he would lay you on your stomach, grab your hips and thrust into you from behind. No matter what position he put you in, he would come if he hears you call his name while your sleeping. You would be mad and a tiny bit aroused when you wake up because the man just let his cum drip from your hole. In his defense he said that you thighs looked pretty covered in his cum ♡

Small scenario suggested by @devilish-mirage:

When Neteyam and some hunters came back to the cave where his people were spending the night, everyone was sleeping. It was dark outside and, judging by the smell that was remaining in the air, everyone ate and went to sleep.

The hunter made his way towards you, who were sleeping in the depths of the cave, and watched your sleeping form a frown on his face. You both agreed to slip out of the group tonight to indulge your desire for each other somewhere in the forest . You were traveling for a week now, to meet another clan, and during this enormous amont of time nothing happened between you two. Nothing. Not even a blowjob. You even forbid him from making out with you when he tried to take you when the Na'vis were well ahead of you two. He was mad. So why were you sleeping when you finally allowed him to fuck you ?

"No Love, I won't stand for it..." he murmured while crouching down, removing the fur from your sleeping body.

"Neteyam, where did you put the meat ?" a voice murmured a few feet away from them.

"The cave above this one." Neteyam answered softly while he laid you on your back and put the cover over the two of you.

"Which one ?" another voice asked after some time.

Unbothered, the boy kept on taking off your bottoms as he laid his body on top of yours, trying to feel every inches of your skin against his. "Left one."

Eventually, they stopped asking him questions - not that he was bothered by it anyway. Looking at your sleeping face, he smiled and kissed your forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours, the other hand massaging your private part.

"So pretty with your eyes closed..." he murmured, kissing your eyelid. "She really thought that she could go to sleep and leave me like this ?" he laughed quietly, genuinely amused by your forgetfulness.

Slowly, he slipped one finger into your cunt, waiting a moment before adding a second. He worked his way into your pussy, keeping an eye around him. Everyone was still asleep, unaware of the fact that their favorite warrior was fucking his girlfriend while she was sleeping. And you were still asleep too. You flinched, moved, shivered, whimpered, but you never woke up; you were a heavy sleeper.

"Today's hunt was pretty good." someone whispered from a corner of the room. "Neteyam caught a good amount of prey."

"As usual." another boy laughed as he shifted in his cover. "What do you think, Neteyam ?"

"Yeah today was..." Neteyam paused and glanced at your sleeping face as he entered a third finger in your pussy. "Very good."

Your mouth parted and, just-in-time, Neteyam pressed his lips against yours, silencing your moan.

"I can't have you making those pretty sound with everyone around..." Neteyam whispered in your ear, removing his fingers from your vagina. As he was about to turn you on your side, a silhouette loomed over you. Discretely, Neteyam rolled his eyes and after adjusting the cover on you two, turned around towards the person who was disturbing him at this hour of the night.

"You forgot an arrow in the forest, I'll just put it here."

"Sure, thank you." he smiled as he adjusted his position in order to hug you from behind, not caring that the man wad still standing next to you.

"I've never notice it before but your arrows are way more lightweight than ours. What kind of wood did you use ?"

"Oh. Hum. Can we talk about it tomorrow ?" he laughed, looking embarrassed, faking guilt on his face, "I'm just really tired..."

"Yeah sure ! I'll go to sleep too. Good night."

"Good night !"

Neteyam waited for the man to lie down in his bedding and, once no was roaming around the area, turned his attention back to your sweating body. The cave was crowded so the air was thick and hot and Neteyam's ministrations did not help at all.

Carefully, he lifted your head and slipped his arm under it, covering your mouth with his slender fingers. His other hand traveled down your body, gripping and lifting your thigh. He positioned the tip of his cock on your pussy before eventually thrusting slowly. Whenever he was fucking you in your sleep he was always attentive to the sounds you were making and the way your body reacted. He did not wanted to wake you up, if you were sleeping it meant that you were tired. So he thrusted in and out at a slow pace. He was making love to your body.

Due to the slow pace he was fucking you to, he waited a good amount of time until he felt that familiar feeling in his lower belly. He muffled his moans in your hair, gripping your thigh a little harder. He lifted his head and looked at your face - again. You were frowning and pouting, your eyes tightly closed, and he was able to tell that your mouth was agape as puff of air was hitting his palm at irregular intervals. You were so pretty. So he came, silencing his cry by bitting your shoulder. Your upper body moved away from his at the feeling of his little fangs on your skin but you remained peacefully asleep, unaware how Neteyam used your body to get off.

Huffing, Neteyam released your thigh and slide in fingers on your still connected private parts (?), smiling when he felt his cum dripping around the base of his penis. He removed his hand from your mouth and put it in your hair, stroking it in a lazy way as he adjusted his hips and fell asleep, his cock still inside of your pussy.

Masterlist

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hellooo

As per usual, I'd like to ask for some arsonist Neil/firefighter Andrew, I'm still stuck on Neil's whole ass gay panic to Andrew calling him cute. Also, the firemen light structure thingy was very funny because the pic totally looks like it could be Neil's

Anyways, thank you and have a good week : )

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 238)

The call ends and Andrew rolls onto his side to get snuggly-warm in his nest of blankets and pillows. His best adult purchase, he thinks, is this bedding. He smushes his face into one of his pillows and lies there in the dark on the verge of slumber. But, just as he's about to fall asleep, his brain suddenly comes to life and he replays the call in his mind. Did he call 10 cute? Andrew thinks for a moment. Yes. He fucking did. What the hell's the matter with him? Andrew isn't the type to call anyone cute.

He lets out a sigh. Evidently, half-asleep Andrew is the type.

10 didn't call him on it. He must not have noticed. Good, good. Andrew wriggles a bit deeper into his cocoon and goes to sleep.

-

Andrew spends much of the next afternoon pondering a possible gift he could get for 10. He knows it's not needed, but he'll be damned if 10 gives him two presents before Andrew's gotten him one. (The gift basket full of chocolate was the first, of course. Andrew misses those stupid little cookies.)

But it's hard to pick out a present for someone he barely knows. Actually, he knows 10 quite well. He knows about his terrible past and his night terrors and love of fire. He'd guess he knows 10 better than anyone. However, the arsonist hasn't got any (non-arson) hobbies or interests.

Andrew likes to think himself a good gift-giver. Sure, they're usually practical ones. But they're good. The problem is, as far as he knows, 10 doesn't need anything.

See, last year Andrew bought Renee a new backpack. Hers was falling apart, so Andrew scoured the internet and found a duplicate. She loved it.

And for the station's Secret Santa, he drew Wymack's name. So he bought him a nice cushion for his chair. (The old man was constantly complaining of back and hip pain. Andrew fixed it.)

Last Christmas, he and Aaron hadn't exactly been close enough for gifts. Andrew had considered buying him a new remote for his Xbox, because he'd been complaining about it during their calls with Nicky. But he didn't want to shell out that much for a man who hated his guts. So he didn't.

The only other gift he bought last year was a pair of noise-canceling headphones for Kevin, who'd been struggling with the nosiness of planes and team buses. Until Andrew fixed it. (He likes fixing things.) Oh. Speaking of Kevin, Andrew really should thank him for the sweater. He won't. But he should. The asshole. How dare he know Andrew looks good in green before Andrew did. Bastard.

In lieu of a thank you, Andrew sends Kevin the photo he took of last night's outfit. Less than a minute later, his phone nearly vibrates off the table. Renee looks up at him, concerned.

"Everything okay?"

"It's just Kevin."

"Ah." Renee nods and looks back down at her crossword book. From the look of it, she's only got a few left. Maybe he should get a new one and leave it laying around the station. Andrew makes a mental note to do just that and picks up his phone.

Kevin Damn. See, I told you. I fucking told you that would look good on you. Is this the first time you've worn it? I think you could try it with jeans too. And a smile. For fuck's sake, Andrew. You look like the most bored person alive. But good. Really good. I love being right. It's a hobby of mine. Are you not going to answer? Asshole. Andrew Excuse me for taking thirty seconds to reply. Some of us have actual jobs, Day. Kevin Exy is my job. Andrew Exy is your disease. Kevin Which I get paid for. Do you like the sweater? Does this mean I get to buy you clothes now? Andrew Do whatever you want. If you buy me something, I might wear it in three years. Kevin You suck. But you really do look good in that, Andrew. It suits you well. Andrew Stop flirting with me. Kevin I'm not flirting with you, idiot. By the way, Jeremy also says you look nice. Jean thinks you should get those pants hemmed. Andrew Are you going to get opinions from all your teammates? Kevin No, just the ones I live with. Where are you going? Have a date? Andrew It was last night. Went over to Aaron's to 'meet' his girlfriend. Kevin Oh. Do I need to post bail or...?

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

In that case, maybe this is a premise that isn't too complex and gives you more to work with but is still fun and interesting: either Bucky or Steve, for some reason one of them begins to sleep walk into the kitchen and stuff himself, ending up still being full in the morning and not knowing why, and instead of waking him up or trying to stop him or babysitting, the other makes him protein and weight gain shakes with butter and whole cream milk and ice cream and cake mix and acts surprised when they start putting on weight

this case

I think you'd be into this, Bucky kind of sleep walks/kind of has dreams about food and gains that way

I love that idea, though. Sleep walking to gorge yourself is so underrated! I haven't seen much of it, and I certainly could stand to see more 🫣

We'll go with Bucky being the one stuffing himself in his sleep with Steve's encouragement just because I'm in the chubby Bucky mood today and because

Warnings for unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the cut, stuffing/weight gain, tight clothes, weight gain denial/excuses lol, etc.

The thing is, Steve's a morning person. He likes to get up and see the sun rise over the tall Brooklyn buildings as he weaves in and out of them on his run. The sky turns such pretty colors, and it's endearing to watch his city wake up despite its claim - as part of NYC - of never sleeping.

So, it makes sense that Steve is in charge of breakfast - he's already been up for hours. He slipped out of bed while Bucky snoozed for a while longer, he sprinted through his run, and he showered all before Bucky rises to see the day. So, he might as well start on breakfast, too. Bucky won't be functioning enough to be trusted with hot pans and sharp implements for a few hours just yet. And this way, he can get up to the smell of food. It's nice for him.

Steve is all about the niceties in relationships and he would do anything for Bucky, but, he does find it easiest to just double what he makes for himself in the mornings. It can't hurt to make twice as many protein pancakes, salty sausages, protein shakes, fluffy eggs, and yogurt parfaits as he would for himself, right? It totally doesn't matter that Bucky stopped working out cold turkey after they both retired. He still has his enhanced metabolism. It just won't matter. He'll plow through the heavy calories anyway 'cause he's got to feed his hungry body.

And he does, at first, plow through. His body doesn't change noticeably. Neither does Steve's, for that matter - Steve is still working out, though. It's not until Steve starts being jostled awake in the middle of the night a few months after they officially retire, settling into a new routine that things begin to get weird...

That's all it is in the beginning, not too weird - Steve's body rising from REM to a light slumber every few nights in the middle of the night - but a little weird nonetheless.

When he half-wakes, he assumes Bucky's getting up to pee, so he drifts right back to sleep. Then, when Bucky's weight makes the mattress beneath Steve dip again, there's no telling how long it's been. Steve went right back to sleep! It couldn't have been that long, though.

...He didn't pass out while Bucky wandered slowly into the kitchen to mindlessly, unconsciously shuffle around until he found the fridge, opened it, and stuffed his face for close to an hour before his body finally forced him to stop. His sleeping body steering him back from the decimated refrigerator all because his stomach was so stretched it started aching like it might split open.

His dreams finally echoing the sensations of reality. Images in his mind of becoming a floating balloon, barely holding onto its string, about to fly away or about to burst after one too many bursts of air when being blown up. Or, dreams of becoming a bowling ball lumbering down the lane, about to hit a pin, and anticipating the satisfying collision - that heavy crack of his round body against it.

That would be super weird if that was happening!

That's not happening.

Steve is just a light sleeper, and Bucky's living up to his age. He's becoming an old, retired man who has to get up in the middle of the night to pee. That's all. (And it's kinda funny and very endearing.)

That's not all...

It gets weirder. Not too much weirder because they're both enhanced super soldiers with appropriately super metabolisms, so, sure, food starts to go missing around the house, but whatever, that's fine. They have friends over sometimes. Plus, they both eat a metric fuck ton of food. It makes sense that things go quickly - occasionally, even, seemingly overnight.

What's weirder than mildly strange food-whereabouts-mysteries are the clothing mishaps that begin to show up.

Bucky does most of the laundry now that Steve's picked up almost all of the cooking, and he swears he hasn't fucked with it so... why don't any of his clothes fit like they should anymore?! And it's only his clothes! Bucky washes their clothes together, so there's literally no excuse for just his to grow tighter and tighter.

Maybe his clothes are just envious of Steve's? Steve's are tight enough as is - really, they couldn't get tighter if they tried.

So, Bucky's clothes could just be catching up?

Or maybe he's mistakenly putting on Steve's shirts sometimes, and that's why his tummy starts hanging out of the bottom? A sliver of skin between his grabby waistbands (that are sitting too low these days) and his clingy shirts. Every time he raises his arms, his tummy is exposed. He wakes up in the morning, and his shirt has rolled all the way up to his pecs. He showers after breakfast and he struggles to jump and shimmy into his jeans. But then the day ends, and it's even harder to get out of his jeans. His sweatpants aren't much better. There's something wrong with that damn washer or the dryer.

Steve and Bucky have two different people come over and look at it and neither one of the technicians can find something wrong with it. Bucky knows the truth, though. And he starts to wonder if it's cheaper to replace the whole washer/dryer unit or give in to the evil machine's wims and purchase a new wardrobe.

Weirder than haunting machines with ulterior motives that will not obey their masters, leaving Bucky without anything to wear, are the sounds that start happening at night. Steve is a light sleeper, but he also finds it easy to fall asleep again - perks of being a soldier (one of the only). So, Steve wakes up enough to hear whatever the shit that is from other parts of their apartment, but then he falls right back asleep before he can get up to investigate. He's retired Captain America - he has a damn good security system, and someone would have to be a little more than stupid to think he won't be able to defend himself and his hubby even half-asleep and delirious. They're fine. He can relax and sleep.

Those noises, though, they're weird -

Little scuffles like feet skimming across the floorboards or drawers opening and closing.

Groans that might be the floorboards creaking (Steve's pretty sure the floor doesn't creak here, but both Bucky and him are pretty light on their feet usually), or they might be someone making that noise. Groaning.

Smacking sounds like someone chewing with their mouth open, lips wet, accompanied, of course, by chewing.

Whimpers when Steve finds himself waking up, especially late at night. That's definitely a person, maybe even a person hurting? A person really, uh, not hurting? 😳

The alarms never go off, though. Maybe they have mice? Steve doesn't see any droppings or other evidence of little critters, but that has to be it. It's the only explanation. That, or the apartment building is just settling - creaking and groaning in the night. Maybe the tenants above them are night owls? Maybe they're graveyard shift workers, if it is the person/people above them? And that’s why those noises are happening? It could be a ton of different things. It doesn’t have to be anything at all, Steve is no stranger to nightmares and those sounds could just be spillover from those. Stranger things have happened.

The weirdest yet is the new complaints Bucky develops as a retired superhero - a “normal” civilian.

First, he starts to complain here and there about feeling unrested despite not dealing with nightmares anywhere near the level he used to. He maybe has one a week, maybe one every other or even going two, nearly three weeks without. So, it’s not that. He seemingly sleeps fine, he only has those intermissions at night that seem, to Steve, very short-lived. Yet, still, he ends up napping during the late afternoon often. (Another retired, old man habit that Steve manages to find very endearing.)

Second, he starts to complain about feeling kinda… weird. Bloated, maybe? He’s a super soldier and has been for many, many years. He’s forgotten what tummy aches feel like and what it’s like for his body not to agree with something as trivial as food. But… his belly keeps gurgling. Like, all the fucking time. And it hurts sometimes, too. It depends on the day, though. Sometimes, his tummy hurts when he wakes up in the morning, gurgling and groaning, apparently desperate for food despite how bloated he looks. Sometimes, his tummy hurts in the evening, though. He eats like normal - big meals and big snacks and absent-minded bored nibbles from the fridge - but then suddenly his body feels kinda funky. Bloated or gassy. Achy or grumbling.

His tummy is just being strange!

Could he possibly be developing a food intolerance even with the serum? He's supposed to be perfect! Ugh. Why does it have to happen to him?

Bucky pouts enough - and his tummy rumbles up enough sound to keep fill Steve’s ears - that Steve makes up his mind to camp out one night. Really, the inciting incident is not one of Bucky’s belly aches with his stomach making itself known not only by pressing itself out of his too-tight shirt but also by growling loud enough to overpower the movie playing on their TV set that evening despite Bucky’s attempt to fill his bottomless appetite with a multi-course dinner and several helpings of dessert. The incident revolves around the creme pie Natasha brought them from a different night than one of Bucky’s more and more common belly aches.

The creme pie was special, something improbably smooth and light but still satisfying. Some Russian kind of pie that only Nat knows where to get and will bring back from her longer missions. Both Steve and Bucky eagerly were looking forward to having a slice, but…

It disappeared overnight.

And, okay, they both really have no idea what happened to it (even the pie tin is gone!) but Bucky’s clothes were looking especially small and Steve had the sudden remembrance of Bucky as a chubby-faced kid with hand-me-down clothes he was outgrowing already, standing in his kitchen absently, having wandered out of bed during one of their million sleepovers. Steve had to hold his hand to take him back to bed. That was the first time their fingers ever interlaced. So, it only happened a handful of times when they were really tiny kids, but Bucky has sleepwalked before.

Now, maybe he’s started again?

Steve needs to know, so, he stays up one night, pretending to be so engrossed in his book that he just can’t put it down. Bucky drifts off after a long while and stays asleep for an even longer while than how long it takes for him to fall asleep in the first place. Just as Steve is beginning to think it’s hopeless and nothing is going to happen, his imagination has clearly been playing tricks on him and it’s just his nightmares being projected into the real world, Bucky wakes.

Or does he?

His breathing doesn’t change. He just sits up suddenly without acknowledging that Steve is still up reading when, normally, if he actually woke up and found Steve still awake, he’d pout and whine and make grabby hands to be cuddled, simpering until he came to bed. He doesn’t do that, though. Steve holds his breath, not wanting to disturb this sleepwalk. He’s too curious to know where this will end up - better than any book he could bury himself in.

Bucky doesn’t stop at sitting up - he gets up out of bed and starts down the hall. After enough time, Steve slips out of their bed, too, trailing far enough after him to not wake him but close enough to see what he’s up to.

Steve is somehow both shocked and not at all shocked when Bucky wanders into their kitchen - he’s not even fumbling, his sleeping body knows the path too well, he’s done this a lot and it’s obvious.

Obvious in how his hands are certain as they pull open the fridge and find the drawer he wants for cheese and meat, unwrapping Babybel circles of cheese and stuffing them into his mouth and tearing open a package of pepperoni and swallowing handfuls; obvious in how he eats and eats and eats, more than just a heavy snack of cheese and meat, pushing through without stopping to worry about how his stomach starts to distend, growing bigger and rounder and fuller; obvious in how his clothes fit with the waistband of his sleep pants get crushed underneath his big tummy, curving into a smile, struggling to accommodate his fluffier hips and fuller belly, and how his supposed-to-be loose sleep shirt isn’t, it clings to him so much that Steve can see the entire half of his tight and tighter belly along with the shadow of his belly button through the fabric even in the low light, illuminated just by the fridge.

It’s obvious. This is happening a lot.

There’s nothing weird going on but this. The shifting at night? There’s an easy answer to that. It’s Bucky getting up to go and feast. All of the missing foods? They’re sitting in Bucky’s big, getting bigger belly. Clothes that don’t fit like they should? Bucky’s not doing anything to the laundry and it isn’t the machine's fault as they thought (they owe the washer and dryer an apology), Bucky’s just outgrowing them - eating himself out of his wardrobe. The sounds at night? Not mice. Mice aren’t heavy enough to make those sounds anyway. Bucky certainly is heavy enough, though. Especially these days if he’s always eating like that. Asleep, messy, and unashamed as he stuffs everything within reach into his gob, swallowing it down until Steve can see his pulse throb in his drum-taut, shiny gut where it hangs out of his shirt. The unrested feeling? Bucky isn’t resting as much as he should. He’s working. Just look at all that sweat as he keeps bulldozing through calories instead of sleeping peacefully. His body is fighting to keep sleeping right now, not drifting happily through dreamland. The upset belly? Yeah. No shit. It just can’t handle all this food. His stomach isn’t groaning and gurgling in hunger, it’s desperately trying to push through all the food he shoves into it.

Oh.

And there’s something about all of the weirdness that is so weird it’s tripped and fallen into arousal stirring within Steve. It’s, just… interesting.

He looks different, retired, and it’s a good look. Happier, shinier, and chubbier, soon-to-be fatter.

It’s so interesting and new, capturing Steve’s attention so intensely, that the next morning (sleeping only a few hours between waiting for something to happen and then watching it happen) Steve springs out of bed earlier than usual. He doesn’t spend the extra time going for an extra long run, though. He spends it cooking.

After his conscious’s unintentional feast last night - his unconscious’s intentional feast - Steve is really fucking curious to see how much Bucky will be able to fit inside himself. Now, Steve knows his tummy is complaining of being too full, not too empty, but he still wants to see it fuller. Overflowing. He wants to gauge Bucky’s capacity and then push to exceed it. Just to see. It has nothing to do with the dreams he had last night of even softer, more plush flesh that overwhelms Bucky’s frame and leaves him looking so round and big. Plump like a cherub - a nice belly, thick limbs all the way down to wrists and ankles with rolls, and, of course, including pretty rosy cheeks.

Steve whips up a storm, cooking and baking himself, and ordering food straight to their door.

Everything he can think of. Anything Bucky might want. He needs a buffet because if he’s eating the same thing, he’ll get tired of all the same flavor, he needs variety to keep going when he’s awake and can mostly taste what he’s eating - if Steve’s lucky, Bucky will scarf down the food so fast he won’t be able to taste it, all that will happen is puffing that big belly out even more. Leaving him soooo bloated.

And pretty soon Steve has bagels and cream cheese, pop tarts, oatmeal, pancakes, eggs scrambled and boiled and sunny side up, protein shakes, buttered toast, yogurt, fruit, waffles, oh, also chicken and waffles, sausage, muffins, hashbrowns, scones, biscuits and gravy, cereal and whole milk, cinnamon rolls with enough thick and sugary frosting to make Steve’s teeth hurt just looking at them, smoothies, and more.

Bucky is so sweet yet grumpy in the morning, half-awake and bleary-eyed, that he does not question why their dining table and countertops are covered with food. He simply accepts Steve at face value when he says Bucky’s belly started wailing before Steve even woke up, so he figured he’d be hungry and should make a “little bit” bigger breakfast than normal.

Bucky plops heavily down into his favorite dining table chair and starts work.

He steamrolls through the food, carving a path through the overladen table, leaving nothing but scraped clean plates, a few chicken bones, egg shells, and empty cream cheese containers in his wake.

He starts strong but after a while, Steve standing there in a stupor watching his every move, Bucky begins to struggle. He pants quietly at first but his breathing grows heavier and heavier just like his tummy that looks poised to burst out of his sleep pants and shirt. The seams are straining, little holes appearing at the sides of his shirt. He’s so round and overdue looking that Steve can see the bottom of his belly - and, wait, when did his gut get big enough that there’s a bottom to his tummy?

He’s so round and overdue looking that Steve can see the bottom of his belly where all his stretch marks have found a home - double wait, though, when did he get stretch marks? And is that his sleepless delirium talking or are they getting bigger and redder right now? Just from eating so much in one sitting? They look… hot.

Steve’s getting hot just staring at them, clawed into his belly where he should be soft but he’s all tight like this. All that food churning inside him, just barely contained by his stressed skin, a big, heavy pile of calories trying to be worked into more fat to cover up just how full his stomach is with soft layers of belly fat but… Bucky’s making his body work for it.

He’s not just panting now, he’s groaning and sweating, too. He’s having a hard time but isn’t questioning. He’s just doing.

Surely he knows what he’s doing, right?

“Uh,” Steve steps toward the table, “Buck?”

Bucky looks up from his single-minded focus on eating. Consume. More. Gorge. Swallow everything in sight.

His eyes are totally glassy. At first, Steve thinks he looks poised to cry like he’s pushed himself so far that it hurts, and that might be the case, but, really, it’s that same glassy, fucked-out look he gets when Steve’s shoving something else inside him. Usually, the other end but, oof, also sometimes shoving things into his mouth. Steve has an absurd thought of ordering a pack of Twinkies just to have the same shape. He has to cut himself off before he completely loses his train of thought and nerve.

Rushing, totally embarrassed, Steve explains what he did last night and, thus, explains what’s happening to Bucky’s clothes and body to a mostly out-of-it Bucky. He’s food-drunk but he can still think, in short bursts, between gulps of coffee so sugary and creamy it may as well be a milkshake.

His slow thinking is evident as he says, “well, what we should do? I don’t wanna, like, be locked in the bedroom so I can’t get out at night, that’s…”

Steve shudders, yeah, that’s way, way too controlling for him to be comfortable with. He doesn’t want to be anything like the terrors of Bucky’s past. He doesn’t want to lock him in their bedroom. He doesn’t want to chain him to bed, either.

But…

"What do you mean? Do?" Steve blurts.

"Well,” Bucky looks down at himself, specifically at his middle, pushing hard up against the edge of the table and the arms of his chair. A blush suddenly covers his sweaty face, “I'm gonna get fat, Steve! We gotta do something,” Bucky accuses himself through a mouthful of food. Steve’s a sorry bastard, though, ‘cause it should be disgusting, but it isn’t. His dick goes zing! like it’s taken to doing every time Bucky eats or comments on his tummy feeling funny or his clothes not fitting. He swallows, and Steve feels disappointed. Now he’s the weird one. Wonderful. “...fatter,” Bucky adds in a mumble. For someone who’s so concerned about getting bigger, he’s sure doing a good job going that way, stuffing more into his mouth. He has hardly slowed down.

So, Steve lets himself be bold, "and?"

"I-" Bucky sputters, surprised.

"You don't think I like you like this, Buck?” Steve reaches out, putting a few fingers under his puffy little chin, almost a double already. He wants to look at him. Those doe eyes and soon-to-be dough face and body… if he keeps going like this he’ll get there. Nice and plump and soft as over-proofed dough. The thought leaves Steve to lick his lips, his voice going low and rough, “you look fat, yeah, but you're hot as fuck. Look at you,” Bucky’s eyes flash down, but Steve won’t let go of his chin, squishing that bit of fat there to see him blush darker, “look at how nice and plump you are. You look well taken care of. Retirement is a good look, sweetheart."

Bucky makes a sound that’s scandalized.

“I don’t mind buying more food or clothes to keep you fed.”

“Oh?” Bucky’s breathing is back to that heavy panting, but now, it’s caused by arousal, not being overloaded on food, and still going.

“Of course, not. I’ll even buy another fridge if you want, one just for your midnight appetite if need be.”

They both shiver at that, the idea of Bucky’s belly growing so big and demanding that he can empty an entire fridge into it at night, then get up in the morning and eat more. More, more, more. How fat can he get? How can Steve push his waking and sleeping appetite? How soft, how out of shape, how retired can he look? They both want to know.

[luveline]

if you felt comfortable would you write the KBU au with steve and reader during/just after the birth of avery? 🥺

kisses before dinner —you and steve have a baby. mom!reader, 1.1k

Just like that, Steve's a dad. 

He wonders if he's supposed to feel different, and he does in little ways. Exhausted, worried, and unbearably happy —the kind of happiness to make your ribs hurt— Steve is feeling a hundred layers of emotion right now, but it isn't his emotion that takes centre stage, it's yours. 

You've been stiff with panic since your contractions started, and while that panic turned to happy tears the moment they laid her on your chest, you're looking at the baby like you're terrified of her, stiffness returned. Genuine fear. 

"Come on," he says softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "She's not half as ugly as we worried."

She's beautiful. Steve's legs hurt after all these hours of standing by your side, and he can't bear to look away from the baby's face, her face, and it doesn't matter. You're his priority. He juggles these two things as he assumes he'll be juggling them for the rest of his life, happily if clumsily. 

"Please smile, honey," he says. 

You relax almost imperceptibly with his murmuring. "I am smiling." 

"You're grimacing. Ten dollar word." He crouches and steps back enough for you to see his face clearly. "Are you happy? Like, truthfully?" he asks, knowing 'truthfully' isn't a word he says. Accusing the new mother of his child of lying feels a bit dick-ish, though.

"Of course I'm happy." 

"It's okay if you're not happy. I'm not happy if you're not happy, I'm–" 

"Steve." Your smile is sad in a way, but your eyes aren't half as scared as they were. "I am happy, I'm just worried. No more trial run… I'm a mom." 

"You're a mom." He doesn't mean to say it with the world's cheesiest smile. "I didn't know they made 'em like you, I would've started chasing moms years ago." 

You laugh. He's always loved your laugh because it's yours, and it couldn't come at a better time, not even when you were pushing. None of them sounded as happy as this one. "I'm a mom," you say, still laughing. 

"I know." He leans in to dash a kiss against your cheek. You perk up at the attention, so he does it twice more. 

“This is gonna be so fun,” you say. 

His heart rears to explode. Steve puts one hand on yours under the weight of the baby and the other behind your shoulder. “Just don't let me drop her,” you say.

“My hand’s already there.” 

“Okay. I love you. Are you sure?” 

“Don't freak out.” He thinks so many things in that moment but the loudest is, aw, my girl. “You're good, babe, I love you. This is gonna be fun, just like you said. We're gonna love it.” 

Steve sits on the side of the bed and holds you like that for a while. You relax at the support and watch the baby's little face in sleep. She has the most dainty face Steve has ever seen in person. She's so, so small. He kinda thought she'd be bigger considering the whole nine month gestation period and all your aches and pains, but she's perfect. He could fit her in two hands. 

“Avery,” you say. 

You picked it out together ages ago. Seeing her now cements it. “Avery,” he repeats happily, failing to resist the urge to touch her face again. 

You need time to recover and thankfully, the nurses and doctors haven't rushed the process. You're clean but in pain, and Steve gets to hold the baby by himself while you change. 

“Can I help?” he asks, watching you wince. You barely want to stand. 

“No, just hold her.” 

“She won't break if we put her down. She's safer in the bassinet anyways,” he says. 

Your eyes spark with panic as he goes to stand, so he sits, and he chews his cheek raw while you struggle into fresh clothes. 

A knock on the door startles you both. “Hello? Y/N? Steve?” Robin's scratchy voice echoes through the door. Her excitement is unmissable. 

“Yeah, Rob!” 

She opens the door carefully but enters the room less so. There's so much stuff hanging from the crooks of her elbows she can hardly carry it. “Hey! Oh my god, hey! Is that her? Of course it's her. Is she okay? She's okay, are you okay?” She turns her gaze on you. “Holy shit, do you need help?” 

You've only got a couple of buttons to do and the waistband of your pants to cinch, but Robin immediately drops all of her things to help you finish. 

Steve shares his first private smile with his very first daughter. “She's not always like this,” he murmurs. 

“How are you feeling?” Robin asks. She sounds treacherously concerned and overwhelmingly happy. 

“Maybe she is,” he adds. 

“I'm okay, Robin,” you say, reaching for her hand. “It hurts worse than people say. But it's over now.” 

“Thank Jesus!” Robin finishes her buttoning and ties a deft bow with your drawstrings. “Come on, mom, let's get you back to bed. Jesus, Steve, you couldn't have helped her?” She's mostly kidding. 

Steve lifts Avery. “She put me on baby duty.” 

Robin almost trips over her bags trying to get to him. “Steve,” she says, as though this one word should be enough for him, planting herself by his side. It's been a long time since he bothered trying to put boundaries between them, he doesn't even want them, he's proud as he can be as he lowers the baby to give his best friend ample view of her. While she looks, he lifts his gaze to you where you limp back to the bed. 

“Oh,” he says, “Rob, are you ready to hold her? Meet your niece. Arms out.” 

Robin stammers but holds her arms out. Steve transfers Avery in her swaddle carefully as careful can be. “Hold her head, okay? Lean back.” 

“Wait, you made this look easy. Steve–” 

Your eyes are wide as he stands and turns away from the bed. “Steve,” you say. 

“No more saying my name in this room, it's banned,” he says, putting his hands under your arms to make sure you're steady where you stand. You stop walking, pain in the line of your mouth. “Come on, honey. Let's get you back to bed.” 

Your eyes shine with tears, but you don't cry. You use his arms to push back up onto the bed and shuffle slowly into position before you put your arms out. He leans in for a hug. 

“Oh, Steve,” you say with a laugh, all soft and warm, having found the only exception to his new rule, “I wanted the baby back, honey.” 

“I know,” he sighs. 

[poppy-metal]

Oof and Patrick finally confronts you one day. Demanding answers.

"Cmon, princess, we fucking live together. The least you can do is bitch me out to my face instead of with your eyes."

"You've always annoyed me, Patrick. You know that." Are you gaslighting him? Maybe. But you barely understand what you're feeling, what are you supposed to say?

"you want to know what I think?" And he doesn't wait for an answer. "I think you're angry at me because it's safe. Youre scared Tash will turn on you again if you ever express your anger at her. And Art has those puppy dog eyes that make him impossible to be mad at anyways."

"Oh yeah, and that night in the bar has nothing to do with it."

"There it is. You're pissed I was picked first." You want to slap him because it sounds so petty when he says it. "But do you really understand why? Because I do."

"Oh, you do?" You snap. "Please, enlighten me."

"Because I'm like a fucking lost dog and they know it. They could've said anything, done anything, and I still would've been there. And as much as you might think youre in the same boat, Tash has never seen you that way." A pregnant pause. "Tash never believed you would actually come back to her. Art always knew I'd come back."

toxic polycule has my heart im gonna bleat like a lamb

hating patrick because his leaving hurt the worst - you could reason why tashi and art did. it was in arts nature to run and repress and tashi had blocked everything out after her injury. it didn't make it okay but it made sense in your head. but patrick - you'd shared your pain with him. you'd shared your body. you thought you might be something someday maybe. later down the line because you were both so reckless and self destructive.

"its whatever, patrick. i get it - we were a distraction for eachother. and now that we're dating them there's really no need for us to interact. i don't give a shit who picked who first -"

"bullshit. it's always fucking stung that they chose eachother over you. and it fucking hurt when you thought they chose me over you too."

you dont want to talk about it. last choice. its what you were, no matter how you spun it. in this love square of four you were at the bottom. they'd be fine without you. you'd agreed to start dating art and tashi tentatively - but you still held yourself at a distance from all of them. you refused to move in. refused to let any of them call you their girlfriend. you had your heart to protect. a relationship of four? it wouldn't last. and you'd be the first on the chopping block.

"sure, patrick." you say. "okay."

its tiring to argue.

he searches your face. his eyes are annoyingly intense, and it feels like he's peeling back your head to look into your brain. unspooling your thoughts.

"i missed you." patrick has the ability to soften his voice in such a way that it makes your heart jerk in your chest. your bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. "i thought about you. i think about you. it fucking sucks you won't talk to me."

you close your eyes. you remember a night years ago when his lips had pressed against the back of your neck. holding you after sex - and it was the first time you'd slept together without talking about art or tashi at all. and it felt good. you thought you might be enough for someone, finally. that maybe he saw you and wanted you for you, and not because of the pain you shared.

stupid. he just wants you now because you're close and its convenient. it's more convenient if you're all sleeping together and there's no tension and you're all happy and its all sunshine and rainbows and no one is thinking about when this all will end.

well, you had to be that person. because you refused to be blindsided.

"it was just sex, patrick. we were scratching and itch. you dont need me to scratch it anymore, and i dont need you either. we can be civil, but its not deeper than that between us."

you can see the flash of anger in his eyes at being dismissed. you dont think to process it as pain. you doubt you have the power to hurt patrick zweig at all.

[kissesforsatoru]

Hello,

Can I ask for some yandere Mikey Sano headcanons?

pairing : mikey x gn!reader

summary : general yandere hc’s for mikey

⤷ cw : NSFW 18+, general yandere themes, violence, threats, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships.

– mikey is the kind of yandere that would fall for his darling just by them doing the simplest thing for him. maybe you ran into each other and felt so bad that you offered to cook him some food as an apology. he's not really interested at first, and quite frankly, he couldn't care less that you ran into him. he understands it was an accident, there's no need to go to such lengths to apologize for something as little as this. but whatever, you keep insisting and mikey knows draken would be disappointed if he denied someone just trying to be nice.

– so, as he sits in your kitchen, waiting for you to finish cooking, he can't help but watch you. he observes you carefully, trying to understand what kind of person you are. if you're dumb to be inviting a stranger in your home, or just genuinely naive. and then you set the food in front of him and start to explain how you usually eat alone, and that you really appreciate him for allowing you to cook for him. there's a sad smile on your lips that he just can't ignore, and a feeling of want over comes him--he wants to know you, he wants to protect you, he wants to have you.

– and oh god, once you have mikeys interest, it's over for you. the second he decides he likes you, you're his. it's as simple as that--if he wants you then he has you. nobody can refute him, certainly not you or your family that doesn't even care enough about you to enjoy a meal with you, not even draken can control mikeys urges towards you.

– and mikey absolutely is not patient. he won't wait for you to come to him, and he won't try to win you over or manipulate you, he just takes you. he genuinely thinks you're his, so he thinks he has the right to you.

– he's very clingy, like suffocatingly clingy. you're never allowed to leave his side and he always has to be touching you. he likes to have you in his lap specifically, but he's okay with you holding your hand or having his arm around your waist--holding you so tightly against him that you can barely even squirm, let alone leave. he likes to cuddle you, and if he could, he would just sleep all day with you tucked nicely in his arms, or with his head on your lap so that you can gently run your fingers through his hair. he really loves it whenever you do that.

– mikeys also incredibly possessive. if anyone so much as looks at you they're a dead man. you're his pretty angel, no fucker should get the privilege to look at you. and if some dumbass has the gal to try and take you from him? shit, rip to them cause i honestly think mikey would actually kill them without hesitation. but his possessiveness means that he's also very strict with you. you can't do anything without asking him first, and you're especially not allowed to go anywhere without him. he needs to be able to protect you at all times, and he can't do that if you're off with family or friends, or if you're decide to do something dumb without his knowledge. but that's okay sweetheart, all you need is him anyway. he'll give you everything you could ever want, so just stay with him, kay?

– to mark you as his he'll probably make you get a tattoo. most likely his name so that the proof that you're his is literally ingrained into your skin, but that bonten tattoo would also work for him. other than that, you'll be covered in hickeys all the time. mikey can sometimes get lost in thought while he's sucking on your pretty skin, far too engrossed in leaving his mark on you to realize that you're squirming uncomfortably cause your skin is so sore. and no matter how many times he tells you he's sorry and that he'll try and be gentler next time, he doesn't mean it. he likes seeing you covered in his marks, and he loves kissing your sore skin better afterwards too.

– mikey would absolutely adore you, especially in bed. he takes his time showing you how much he loves you by kissing every inch of your body, and he'll definitely make you come on his mouth a couple of times before he even thinks about fucking you, and he does all of this while telling you how perfect and precious you are to him, you're his everything and he's gonna make damn sure you know it. he can't ever have you doubting his love and adoration for you. when he finally decides it's time to fuck you, you'll see stars. he's so attentive and hits all of the right places that make you scream and writhe, and goodness, he fucks you so good you probably won't be able to talk properly afterwards. and his aftercare is top tier too. he carries you to the bathroom and leans you against his chest while he bathes you, kissing your skin where it's sore and rubbing you soothingly. god, you're so well loved by him.

– but as much as mikey loves and cares about you and wants to keep you safe, if you ever defy him or try to run away, he will take care of this behavior thoroughly. he doesn't like doing it, but he will hurt you. slaps, punches, cuts, bruises--he'll do it all as long as you learn to listen to him in the end. he also doesn't mind isolating you or depriving you of basic necessities like food and water, and you definitely won't be getting his attention during a punishment. i really don't see this happening at all because it goes against everything, he's worked towards with you, but if you do something really terrible, he'll act like a heartless bastard towards you and call you really disgusting, degrading names to make you feel absolutely worthless. it's not pleasant or something you'll easily be able to ignore.

– just be good though and he won't have to do any of that. you can stay his pretty little lover that he adores, and you can stay right by his side forever as long as you obey him.