#I'm just a distraction and it fucking hurts

[usedtobecooler]

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

[buck-star]

Finally thought of a scenario for Stevie!

Okay reader and Steve are stuck somewhere where they are pushed against each other. (I’m talking forced proximity trope!)

So while they are stuck and the others are trying to help the reader feels something hard pressing against her and when she moves to try and figure out what it is Steve can hardly hold in a moan ”please s-stop moving”



No move

Wordcount: 562 Words

Warning/Tags: mention of hard on, mention of smut, forced proximity, mutual pining, kisses

Divider made by me.

Your bodies are pressed against one another when the truck crashed into the container you��re in. The hard metal pressed tightly together from the force, and you’re glad that there’s still a bit of space for you and Steve to stand.

The voices of the other Avengers come from the outside of the container, and you turn your head toward it. It's still pretty dark in there except for the light that shines through the corner of the container.

Steve groans quietly when you move your body a bit. Your eyes immediately narrow, and you turn back to look at him, earning another groan from the man.

“Are you hurt? Do you—” You get interrupted by him shaking his head. You nod, tilting your head in confusion. Steve leans his head back while he tries to think about everything but his closeness and the possibility to get some friction; would he move his hips just a bit.

Your hand starts to feel numb, and you shift once more, earning another groan that sounds more like a moan from Steve. He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing before he blinks them open and looks at you.

“P-please… Stop moving your hand,” he whispers, and only when you notice the hardness that pokes against you. Your eyes narrow, then they widen when you realize what’s poking you.

“Fuck, Stevie, I'm sorry. I— do you… I can try to wiggle my hand out—”

“No, stop, please. Don’t move, you only—” he moans when you already wiggle your fingers. They stroke so perfectly against the hard bulge in his pants that he thrusts his hips instinctively forward, chasing more soft touches. “P-please, it… feels so good, but please, we can’t…”

Your eyes light up. Steve looks so fucked out, his voice hoarse, which makes you shiver. Knowing that he’s so hard because of you, because you're forced to be pressed together, makes your arousal pool out of you.

“You like it?” You ask with a soft smile on your lips. Steve’s cheeks heat up immediately; he didn’t think much about what he said before he did, especially not the confession that your touch feels so good. Steve nods slightly, his calloused hands finding their way to your waist, and he pulls you closer.

“Mhm… you— you didn’t know?” He whimpers, leaning his head forward until his forehead is pressed against yours. “You always make me feel so good.”

You hum, keeping your fingers over his crotch before you grip him tightly and make him buck his hips. “How about… we use the time in here to do some… distraction?”

“Only… if you…” he groans, his eyes darken, and a smile tugs at his plump lips. Steve tilts his head, his voice lowering. “Only if you will let me reward you later, princess.”

With that he presses his lips against yours, warm and soft when they move softly against yours. His fingers digging into your hips as he humps against your hand, groaning and pulling at your lip with a grin plastered on his face, and his eyes darken even further.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, moving his lips to your neck to leave some hickeys all over your neck. “So good, princess, take what's yours, sweetheart, take it to get your sweet reward for making me feel so good with your sweet touches, princess.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @blackhawkfanatic @bamitzzsam @kandis-mom @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories [add yourself]

[laswells-ashtray]

Soooo because I can't write this properly, so I'm entrusting you with this.

Nik hurt Price comfort.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Nikolai knows he isn't a young man anymore.

He hears men in their twenties make internet references that go over his head, they all sound like gibberish but apparently, they're humorous to surrounding 20-something year old men.

There are specks of grey starting to appear when he lets his stubble grow out and one stubborn steel strand behind his left ear that he can't seem to hide when he tucks his hair back.

But the excruciating sharp pain that spreads throughout his knee more often than not when he gets out of bed in the morning is a slap in the face to the man he once was.

Realistically he'd always known that the work he does would catch up with him but something about taking that extra minute in the morning just so that he can move without his right knee going out from under him is humiliating.

It isn't just his age, old injuries have a way of making themselves known but it would seem that the older he gets, the longer the list of pains that ail him.

Nikolai is a grown man, he can admit that it awakens an insecurity inside of him that he thought buried. Is he still good enough for John? He had proven himself many years ago but he no longer has the same vitality and agility that he had so often taken for granted.

John is a man in his prime. When did he pass his?

There are many things that a man can ponder whilst waiting to regain the full use of his right knee and yet Nikolai always seems to fall back into that swirling pool of shame and self-doubt. He has yet to find a way out of the water without letting himself drown, choking back into awareness.

One hand rests on the edge of his nightstand, holding him steady as he keeps his weight on his left leg. It's a practised routine by now.

Curling his toes into the carpeted floor beneath him acts as a source of amusement, it is one of few actions that can offer him a distraction as he waits out the aching.

John's string of curses as he batters his pinky off of the doorway is as close to a greeting as he'll receive, he believes that the phrase Sergeant MacTavish would use to describe his partner's ordeal is Fucked It.

The captain somehow manages to overcome his anguish as he approaches Nikolai, stopping in front of him and offering his knee a look of contempt as if the joint had assaulted him personally.

When will it become an inconvenience to him? A flaw that he just can't see past.

"Still playing up?"

He offers John a reluctant nod, there's no use in denying the obvious.

"Why not sit down? It's clearly worse than usual and you're only doing yourself more harm standing, give it a bit of time as you sit down then try to walk around again later."

John's suggestion is deliberately gentle and by the look on his face, Nikolai knows that he's expecting a fight. Maybe he expects the pilot to blow up at him like he has before on one of his worst days, a memory that causes guilt to hack away at what little parts he has that remain undamaged.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of their bed and pretends to miss John's obvious relief.

The other man is quick to park himself beside Nikolai only to fall back until he's sprawled on top of the duvet, fingers hooked on the edge of the mattress as he stares up at their ceiling.

"Back's fucked today. Was thinking of staying in for a bit but if neither of us are up to it then we could go for a lazy day. Bed and Bond, best way to go."

He glances down at his partner, catching the faint grimace on his face as he tries to shift his weight off of the lower left side of his back.

"Okay."

For both of their sakes, he can succumb to his desire for laziness in the name of pain relief.

"C'mere, lie down with me. Can get a catnap in if I've got a good-looking man in my bed and he'll let me use him as a pillow."

The sincerity in John's tone is almost sickening, as is the warm look as he lifts his head just to admire Nikolai. There's an undeniable honesty about the devotion that the other man dedicates to him, his very existence even in its worst state is something that John cherishes. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting them both.

So, he nudges John's shoulder and waits for the other man to settle back onto the side of the bed that he had abandoned only an hour ago before he makes the move to lie down. The pain in his knee is no longer torturous, throbbing lessened to a mere irritation.

The pilot feigns exasperation almost as well as the captain often hides it. "Flattery will gain you nothing."

In lieu of responding, John just plants his face on one of his tits and nuzzles into his chest hair.

[spencewalterreid]

If "I Love You" Was A Promise

Summary: Your mind has been unkind to you as of late, and Spencer picks up on it. He comes over to try to get you to open up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN reader

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: very self-deprecating, physical abuse if you squint (reader shoves Spencer), mean!reader but they don't mean it, mental breakdown (like... total meltdown), yelling, no use of y/n, Spencer being a sweetie, I think that's it.

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I truly do love me some angsty angst. I've been going through a gloomy patch recently and wanted to just write a super self-indulgent comfort fic. enjoy enjoy enjoy

You met Spencer a few months ago at a bookstore and you were quick friends. He’s brilliant, great to talk with, and you like a lot of the same media. However, he also happens to be an FBI profiler, which means he thinks he knows everything about everyone all of the time. You’re getting pretty fucking sick of it. He noticed oh-so-astutely that you were going through some shit, and asked under the cover of a movie night to accompany you to your house. Blindingly naive, you agreed. That’s how you ended up in front of him in a heated argument about your current state of mind.

"I don't know what you want from me, Reid! This isn't any of your goddamn business. Just because I've been distracted doesn't mean you need to give me a fucking house call!" you shout, your hands pulling at your hair to ground yourself. "This has nothing to do with you."

Spencer held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm and measured as he responded. "Okay, let's take a deep breath. I'm not trying to overstep any boundaries here."

He studied your body language intently - the way your hands gripped your hair, the tension in your shoulders. The distraction, the frustration, it was all rooted in something deeper, something that had nothing to do with their current argument.

"Tell me this," Spencer said, his tone gentle yet firm, "is there a pattern to these distractions? Have they been getting worse over time?" He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. "Sometimes, it helps to talk things out with someone else. And right now, I'm here to listen."

Spencer was acutely aware of the small, cluttered apartment around him – the scattered books and papers on the coffee table, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air. He used the familiarity of the space to center himself, to keep his focus on understanding the root of your distress.

"I'm not here to judge or criticize," he assured you, his voice low and soothing. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

In that moment, Spencer's mind raced with possibilities, trying to piece together what the hell your problem was. Was this distraction tied to a past trauma, a family issue, or something else entirely? As an FBI profiler, he knew that the key to understanding a person's behavior lay in their history, their experiences, their upbringing.

"Talk to me," Spencer encouraged gently, his tone warm yet authoritative. "I'm here to listen. Please?" He held out his hand, a silent offer, and waited for you to open up to him. Yeah, right.

"God, stop being so fucking you for a minute!" you stomp up to him, about 2 feet away, and shove at his chest. "Act like a goddamn human, for once in your life! Would it kill you? Huh?"

Spencer stumbled back from the sudden shove, caught off guard by the contact. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your hands against his chest, the bloom of dull pain. He was shocked. No one had ever laid hands on him like that before, no one he cared about at least, and especially not you.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to process the surge of emotions that flooded through him. If the breath was meant to keep tears at bay too, then maybe you didn’t need to know that.

"I... I know I'm not always easy to understand," Spencer said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know your mind works differently than most people's. But I'm trying... I'm trying to be here for you, in whatever way I can."

"Stop it!" you shout. "Stop trying to be unaffected. Stop trying to act like my fucking therapist, because you aren't! You... Don't... Know.. Me." you pause between each word, your finger in his face. "Stop trying to fucking profile me. Act like you have any sort of goddamn emotion, for once in your life!"

Spencer flinched as if struck, your finger hovering inches from his face. The harsh words hung heavy in the air between you, a bitter sting he couldn't shrug off like he might an insult from a suspect.

For just a moment, he faltered. He knows he's insecure, it's one of his biggest flaws, but he thinks maybe right now he should be. Maybe he's stepped too far. Maybe this isn't his place.

He shrugs that off just as soon as it comes. This is more important than being polite.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your frustration, your anger, your desperation. It was raw, visceral, a maelstrom of emotion he struggled to comprehend. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently lowering your finger from his face.

"You're right," he said, his voice low. "I'm not your therapist. I'm not perfect.”

He paused, words careful with his gaze locked onto yours. "But know this... I care about you. More than I can express. And I'm trying.”

Spencer's other hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the heated skin. "I may not always show it in ways you expect... but I do have feelings. This isn’t fair, you have to know that.” His eyes brim with unshed tears, as if pleading with you to apologize. He sincerely doubted he'd get that, at least right now.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to do this, because I’m at a loss.”

"Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" you scream, pounding at his chest once more before turning to dig your fingernails into your scalp. "God, you're such a fucking asshole! You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about. You've only known me for a couple of months! You couldn't possibly-" your voice catches in your throat, but you choke down a sob. You couldn't possibly love me. You firmly remind yourself he did not say that. Why would he?

Spencer stumbled back, his stomach and a twist and head spinning as he absorbed the brutal impact of your fists against his chest. He tries to keep in mind that you aren’t trying to hurt him, you’re just overwhelmed. He’s having a hard time believing it.

He reached out, trying to grab your wrists to still your frantic movements. But you wrenched away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. Spencer stood frozen, watching the scene in front of him, cinematic in its drama.

"Just because I haven't known you long doesn't mean I don't care about you," he interjects, voice tensely controlled. "You don't get to tell me what I feel or don't feel."

He took a step closer, then another, until he stood behind you. Gently, carefully, he placed his hands on your shoulders, warmth seeping into your tight muscles.

"I can't pretend to know everything you've been through. I can't claim to understand what you're going through, especially 'cuz you won't tell me anything," he sighs. "But I see you, or I'm at least trying to. I see the strength in you, the resilience, the courage.” His fingers tighten minimally in support, pausing a moment. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

That did it.

One sentence, and the dam is breaking. Months of grief, loneliness, and a lifetime of being a last priority come crashing into you all at once. Your knees buckle at the weight of it as sobs wrench your body. "Get out," you demand, but your hands wrap firmly around his arms. "Get out. Please." You shake your head. "Please, Spencer, go home." You press back into him, curling into his warmth. "You're such a fucking dick."

Spencer held on tighter, holding you up with a grip around your waist.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay, I'll go. If that's what you need."

But he didn't let go. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he knew you were steady. Not until he knew, without a doubt, that you meant it.

"Tell me this first," he pleaded softly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Tell me you know you're not alone. That you have someone in your corner, no matter what."

His arms tightened, a silent vow. "I know we're not close, I know I'm not always the easiest person to deal with. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be what you need me to be."

He stood there, holding you through your sobs. It impressed you, the resolve of him. It impressed you that he didn’t get pissed, as much as you wanted him to. You aren’t used to gentleness. You’d rather fight than stand in front of someone who’ll just let you cry.

The wails leaving your throat embarrass the living shit out of you, and you know tomorrow you'll hate yourself for it, but right now you’re grateful. "I'm sorry," you cry. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, Spencer." You empty your lungs completely with your sobs, then refill them just to empty them again. "I hate you. I hate you," you repeat, holding his arms with a bruising grip as he gently lowers you onto the floor despite his unrelenting germaphobia. He winces. "I hate you."

The mindfulness applied was the kind he usually reserved for crime scenes. He sat behind you, cradling your trembling body against his chest, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You don't need to apologize. You don't need to hate anything right now except maybe the hand dealt to you."

He rocked you gently, matching the rhythm of your ragged breaths. "I know you're hurting. I know it’s confusing. But please, don't hate yourself for feeling. Don't hate yourself for needing someone to be here for you."

Spencer's hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. He thumbed away the tears that fell in steady streams, his own eyes a pool of their own. "Hate me if you need to. I can take it. I can take anything, as long as you're not hating yourself. None of this is your fault."

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to scream and cry and rage until you have nothing left. And I'll be right here, picking up the pieces, gluing you back together.” He pulled back just enough to watch you for a moment, your cheeks burning ever hotter. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Your breath catches on a hiccup. "Don't say that," you beg. "Please," you sob. "Don't you say that to me. You don't know me, Reid." your voice is totally wrecked, you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "You don't know what you're saying, you-" your breath catches, then another, then another, and then before you know it you’re hyperventilating.

What you didn’t say was, when you say it out loud, it becomes a promise. What you didn’t say was, I trust you. To say that is to make a promise you will not keep. To say that is to promise to break my trust. What you didn’t say was, To say that is to lie.

Spencer felt a surge of panic as your breathing grew rapid and shallow, your body shaking violently in his arms. He tightened his grip, a fierce, protective hold, as if he could physically keep you anchored. A folly effort, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he urged, his voice calm and steady despite the fear gripping his heart. "You're okay, you're safe. I've got you."

He slid his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head down towards your knees. "That's it, just like that. Breathe with me. In and out. Slow and steady."

"Don't- don't- don't- d-" You tremble like a fucking leaf. Pathetic. You try to calm down enough to say this because you know it needs to be said: "Don't make- make- don't make pr- promi- promises you ca- can't- can't keep."

Spencer’s heart drops. What did he do wrong?

He didn’t quite know what to say, but he made an effort anyway. "You need to breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe through this, one breath at a time.”

You lean down to softly press your lips against his hand, still shivering. Shaking. "I'm so sorry," you whisper. "I'm sorry. This is so pathetic."

"Hey, hey, none of that," Spencer soothed, turning your face towards his. He brushed away a lingering tear with his thumb, his gaze locked onto your red-rimmed eyes. "Being human isn't pathetic. Feeling, caring, needing... that's what makes you beautifully, perfectly human."

The smile on his face is sad, but genuine. He lays his hand on the side of your head, dragging a thumb across your temple. “I'm here because I want to be. Because I choose to be. Your strength and your vulnerability, they're a part of what draws me to you. Never apologize for being who you are."

"Can you stay?" you whisper feebly. "I mean, you don't-" you hiccup. "Don't feel pressured, of course. You know what?" You force a smile, which appears hopelessly pathetic considering the salt stains marring your cheeks. "I'm actually okay. I'm so okay. You can go home, Spencer. Go get some rest. Sorry." You move to get up, but his hold tightens. He mets your gaze, his voice low and firm. "No. I'm not going anywhere. I told you... I'm staying right here, with you."

He adjusted your position, lying down and gathering you fully into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "Rest now," he murmured, stroking your hair. "I'll be here when you wake up." Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

You chuckle without any meaning. "Spencer, no. Not on the hardwood floor," you say apologetically, sitting up. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. C'mon, get up."

Spencer reinforced his embrace, not letting you pull away as he sat up slowly. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the last of their tears. "I'm not leaving you alone. End of discussion."

He stood, pulling you up with him, then guided you down the hallway, to your bedroom, then to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Spencer's arm remained wrapped around your shoulders, a constant, comforting presence.

"I'll sleep here, with you. I won't leave your side." His voice softened, a gentle caress. "Please don't ask me to go, not now. I need to be here for you.”

"Spence-"

"No," he interjects. "No. Lay down. I'm gonna get you some water, I'll be right back."

He pats the bed behind you. Sluggish, you settle back into the plush mattress, encircling yourself in the comforter, dragging it right up to the bottom of your chin. You huff.

Spencer returned a moment later, a glass of water in hand. He set it on the bedside table and looked down at you, sympathy written all over him as he observed your closed eyes and the way you had curled in on yourself, still sniffling in the aftershocks.

Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing it to dip slightly. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. You felt warm, almost feverish.

"Hey, sweetheart..." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He leaned in closer, his breath ruffling the hair he had just smoothed. "I know you're not asleep."

His hand slid down to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" Spencer's words were gentle, a nudging request. Not a demand. Never a demand. He wanted to know you were okay, but he wouldn't force it out of you. If you were going somewhere dark, he wanted to follow you with a flashlight in hand, but only if you'd let him.

"Go to bed, Spencer."

Spencer's brow furrowed, stubbornness hard-set on his face. He didn't move from his perch on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting firmly on your shoulder.

"No. You can’t go to bed feeling like this. It could cause nightmares, increased cortisol levels, and I know you’ll have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink water." He took a deep breath, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your shoulder. "Please, talk to me. Let me help carry this burden with you. I'm stronger than I look, I promise."

You smile, your eyes still closed. "You look plenty strong," you reply. "Please, go to sleep. I'm tired."

Spencer's eyes narrowed, not convinced. “Look at me. Please." When you didn't immediately comply, he gently squeezed your shoulder. “I know you're hurting, and I know you’re tired, but you can’t end the night like this.”

He paused, his posture wilting in his frustration.

You open your eyes and roll onto your back. "Drop it, Reid. It's late, I just cried my fucking eyes out, I want to go to bed. Now, either lay your pretty ass down, or go sleep on the couch."

Spencer studied your face, trying to settle the odds with himself. Accepting defeat, he finally relented with a soft sigh. "Fine.”

He slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed beside you, being mindful not to jostle you. Settling onto his back, he turned to face you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your waist. "Goodnight," he murmured, eyes already heavy with fatigue. "Sleep well."

"Can I-" You turn toward him, but shut your mouth before you ask. "Nevermind. Goodnight."

Spencer felt you shift, turning to face him. “No, what were you going to say?”

You hum, trying to decide how to phrase it. “It was nothing.”

“Here,” he offers, lifting the arm nearest you, inviting you to curl into him. He’s always so observant. Despite your thus-short friendship, he knew exactly what you wanted. You complied.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," he repeated, his hand on your waist giving a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'll be right here when you wake."

[eli-serpin]

Have a writing I did :D! I actually lost this once and had to rewrite it all.. 💔

Spoilers!

Rook had just pulled the dagger out of the elven gods body. He panted as he looked around.. he paused the moment he says the body. "Lucanis?" He asked not quite sure if it was really him, his brain took a moment to register to register the back of the man's dark hair and blue clothes. 

"Lucanis!" Rook yelled as he ran over and turned the body over. Lucanis brown eyes stared up at him, they were glazed over and looked empty, the spark from the night before was gone. 

"Please no!" He sobbed as he shook the man's shoulders. "Please not you too!" He pulled Lucanis close and cried. 

They had just lost Harding. All so they could kill some stupid fucking elven god. A false god. Harding died just to distract that God. Now Lucanis laid in his arm after he killed the god. He took all the force when the dagger his the god. It sent everyone flying but lucanis took the brunt of it.. 

"Please.." he sobbed. "Please come back.." he looked down at him sadly and closed his eyes, weakly lowering Lucanis to the ground but kept him in his arms, he felt to weak to hold him close anymore. 

Rook looked at the sky and yelled. Why couldn't have been him? He closed his eyes as he screamed at the sky.

Suddenly he jolted up right. Tears falling down his face, down the scar on the left side of his face, his breath was coming out short and ragged. 

He laid back down on his side and sobbed. Lucanis' brown sparkless eyes stared at him. His ears filled with those words that the veil put in his ears when Solas betrayed him. 

He felt a pair of hands pick him up slowly and pulled him into a warm embrace. Rook froze a bit but he let out a short breath when he realized it wasn't danger. 

He continued to sob in the person chest. He sobbed and gripped the man's shirt. He felt the person's chest rise and fall, the person's heartbeat replaced the voices in his ears, the person's clothes slowly came into view as his vision cleared. 

He slowly looked up, brown eyes filled with worry looked back at him. Lucanis. The man tilted his head, his facial features were soft. 

Rook cried again as he stared up at him. "L-lucanis?" He said through his cries. 

"Shh.. I'm here.." The mans accent filled Rooks ears and he felt himself breathe. He closed his eyes for a moment as he calmed himself. 

"I-i thought you were dead.." Rook opened his eyes to look at the man. 

"I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere in Mi amor." Lucanis spoke softly, his Italian accent flowing through the words with ease, filling Rooks ears. 

Lucanis held him close as Rook calmed down. 

"Are you ok now my love?" Lucanis asked softly. Rook looked up and him. 

Rooks eyes felt heavy as he took a deep breath and nodded. He didn't trust his voice. His throat hurt, he must've been screaming during that nightmare. 

Lucanis pulled him closer to his chest again as he laid down with Room in his arms. Rook curled up to him as close as he could. 

Lucanis' embrace felt like a comforting blanket to him. Rook slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

In the morning, Rook slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his lover. When had he come to bed? Lucanis was working late on a contract, he wasn't supposed to come home until later in the day. 

"Emmrich made food if you want to get up." Lucanis grabbed Rooks chin so he'd look at him. Lucanis' touch was gentle, like he was afraid he'd break what he was holding. 

Lucanis looked down at him and tilted his head. "Morning love" Lucanis spoke softly as he pulled Rook close. Rook sighed and took note of his soar throat. He must've had another nightmare. 

He closed his eyes again. 

"Mm.. sounds good." Rook yawned. 

[beef-brisket]

It wasn't that Lucifer wasn't listening. It was more that he was distracted. But, he still tried to rack his brain so it wouldn't be obvious.

Lucifer: Hm... that's a good theory...

Finally, he thought of a question that didn't make him look like a tool.

Lucifer: But why wouldn't he kill the person he's really after?

Adam: Hm... personal reasons? Maybe he's compensating for the fact he can't touch his real target... maybe it's someone he can't get near. Like a celebrity or someone in power.

Adam turned back to the board and looked over the photos. Each body was set up in some kind of pose, and their cause of death was like art. Bones and flesh used to create a morbid picture.

Adam: ...What if... it's a message...? Like... he doesn't want to hurt the person... so he takes it out on others. He wants everyone to know, especially the person he's really after, so he uses the bodies as a way to show that? Or... maybe he has an accomplice? Someone else that takes joy in it... that would explain the crime scenes that seem to have more activity than some...

Lucifer nods along, his eyes on Adam's hips the whole time. He swears he's listening, his eyes just wonder, that's all.

Lucifer: Hm... that's a very interesting theory, detective. I'm impressed.

Adam smiled, he's definitely going to here off about this later.

Adam: Thank you, sir. I just think it makes logical sense.

Lucifer: Good. You need to be confident, Adam. Especially is claiming something so bold as their being two people involved.

Leaning back, Lucifer couldn't help but smirk: Or, perhaps, love could be a motive.

Adam: ...Love...? Love... could work... but if we're going that route, I think obsession and need for possession fits better... huh... that's interesting, actually... obsession... but... why wouldn't he target the one he wants? A message is one thing, but pure obsession? Surely, that would be enough to make the killer go after the one they really want...

Lucifer: Perhapes, he doesn't want to hurt them...

Adam: Maybe... there has to be something in these crime scenes that will point out who he wants?

There was a knock at the door, and Angel and Alastor walked in. Alastor fiddled with a bunch of papers.

Lucifer: Ah, gentlemen, good evening.

Angel: Evening captain. Hey Ad.

Adam: Hey Ange, what's up, Al?

Alastor sighed: You're not going to like this.

Lucifer: Oh? And why is that?

Angel and Alastor shared a glance before the papers were slid over to the two detectives.

Alastor: It's not David. The DNA doesn't match.

Adam: What? But... fuck, I was so sure...

Sighing and defeated, Adam sat on the bed: I can't believe it... Steve gave us a name. How did he know what weapon was used?

Angel: Turns out this David guy has a few cousins in our police force... they've been telling him shit.

Lucifer: Unbelievable...

Alastor: Their being punished... but with the killers DNA in the system, we can keep running a matching process every few days. If they ever get arrested, we'll be able to match the DNA.

Adam signed: And if he doesn't get arrested?

Angel: Don't look so sad about it, babe. You'll catch the sick fuck. I know it.

Serial Killer x FBI Agent

Bonus points: Lucifer is the senior agent training Adam and is also the killer he's training Adam to find.

Stalking

Possessive behavior

He would (and will) kill for Adam

How did you know I love problematic!Lucifer?

Poor Adam just wants to do his job, and now he has a serial killer after him.

[epickiya722]

Seeing my boys get their cards brought me such joy. I'M SO PROUD OF YOU TWO!!! 😭💜

[lordelmelloi2]

🥲

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

I just want it to be tomorrow after work so I can get unfathomably high on edibles and turn off my brain for at least a few days

[loumauve]

work colleague (the one who I'm working on a project with, who was supposed to be showing me the ropes - which she already barely did - who is supposed to be a superior while our boss is on parental leave) told me that I need to join the team leader meeting next week "so things dont escalate again" bc apparently her temper got the best of her (she told me this herself btw, which.. jfc)

and I feel SO uncomfortable at even the idea of that thats I've been feeling sick to my stomach over it since Friday. I'm still an intern ffs, I don't get paid to do her job, which is to explain what we're doing and to explain why we're doing it. I didn't decide on making this a whole thing, and I certainly didn't sign up to take her place while she throws me to the wolves (clinic admins who are pissed that change is being introduced to how they've been running things for years)

I know I need to address it, and at least tell my boss, I feel like shit reaching out to him while he's supposed to be on leave, but if I don't push back and give in now when there's also so many other ways she's been dodging her responsibilities then idk.

she barely communicates which is the basis for working with anybody, and even when *I* reach out she barely ever replies and leaves me hanging, unable to progress in certain tasks just bc I *literally* don't know shit yet bc I've been working there for a total of two and a half months max. just.. boss guy would be happy for me to stay on but honestly that lady has as bad a temper and worse social skills than the lady who made my last job hell enough that I was out of commission for almost three years, first on sick leave and then in various rehab/therapy programs just to make it back to being able to work again.. I really don't want to go down this road again

so I guess I do need to write this all down tomorrow in a message to him and hopefully he'll at least acknowledge that this is a shit situation to put me in and have a talk with her. but idk tbh. not sure what to do if he asks me to still join that group meeting on Friday, also terrified of her reaction if he does bring it up with her, ngl

last time she got "upset" she didn't talk to me for a whole day, didn't reply to my message before I left for 5 weeks and then still didn't leave a single message to explain where to continue in our project before being gone herself for another 2 and a half weeks.. that kind of childish pettiness idk. really don't want to have to keep dealing with her

lazy colleagues idk sure it's frustrating cleaning up after them, but this kind of behaviour is as close to intolerable as things get before I need to get myself the fuck away for good

[fitzselfships]

Today has sucked so bad I need tk be in my partner's arms instead of dealing with all of this </3

[maigetheplatypus57]

having #discourse filtered out is so funny half of my dash is covered and as I click to see what shit's going on this time it's like I'm playing russian roulette but with a confetti gun instead of real bullets

[running-in-the-dark]

well. apparently I did something bad yesterday because I woke up with very very very bad pain in my shoulder/arm/upper back. I guess it's sore muscles but I don't know from what. 🙃

[filet-o-feelings]

.

[hazmatazz]

i don't know what to do with myself

[trlvsn]

can you share your opinions about trucy ??

SHE IS!!! so many things. and i feel like there is a lot of amazing content about her as a part of a duo or a family but not nearly as much content about her alone, which is unfortunate!! there is so much to unpack with trucy. she is a wise girl, of course: in turnabout trump, she is fully aware of the forged evidence scheme judging from her dialogue, meaning she understands both the plan and the complicated morals that come with it. she is a child that learnt to adapt and i wonder what normalcy felt like to her after all those years, what complications came with it. can she have that normalcy, really? while i haven't played aa5 fully, the question of the gramarye rights being passed to her lives in my mind. she is not a gramarye anymore, legally, and hasn't been for a long time. what does it feel like to her when every time the past comes back, it does with a twist and a tragedy?

trucy is so unexplored as a character that the fandom can't even decide what she would do as an adult. i've seen defense attorney trucy, magician trucy, waa manager trucy, trucy who moved out and trucy who stays. would she even know what to do?