#JOSH YOU GENIUS

[hibiskooks]

Oh Lucy really fucked me up 🫠🙃

[crinkle-eyed-boo]

The way the Dagger is highlighted PLEASE. In the country he GOT IT IN.

[redmyeyes]

Jonathan Bailey and Josh O'Connor | Vanity Fair Hollywood Issue 2025

[boy-oneder]

"Till, where's the door hole?"

Source: Tumblr | Insta

[hype-old-posts]

the fact that sai starts with good day and ends with redecorate will never stop breaking me

[starkilightz]

do twenty one pilots only know how to make good music?!!?!?!?!?!?!

[f0linasahl0]

more things about the livestream experience before i go completely insane.

(warning: this is going to be a long one)

1: why is [bishop] lisden's favorite song mulberry street and why is [bishop] sacarver's favorite (if i remember) the outside or stressed out....i just want to throw that out there

2: i absolutely adore the piano spread whatever thing tyler does before he goes and raps to migrane. i dont know what its called but when he runs his hand across the piano, it was good. how did he make it sound so good and musical...

3: why is the shy away livestream version the only livestream version that is on their official "the story" playlist??? i keep thinking about that (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3roRV3JHZzaU_kQ4-7uv-ahPbFabFmRW)

4: also thinking about how they cut off holding onto you before the outro. basically all there was of holding onto you was the "entertain my faith" part...thinking about the lore THERE. how a "good day dema" ad cut off the ending as well then they talk about how happy they are !! then how it goes to mulberry street after dan LISDEN says its his favorite then how it goes so blurry BEFORE THE AD??? ----"entertain my faith" sounds something like he..wants more from the religion but they cut him off from continuing the rest of holding onto you..like he got in trouble or something? i dont know man

5: "dema is bringing you this music collection that is vibrant with saturation"... "dema wants you to enjoy this collection"..."i just felt trapped before having this collection" ... "contentment"...."now that youve heard some of this collection you must be just like us, completely saturated"..."sometimes i close my eyes to try to escape...you know you cant escape sally...yes i know!" PROPAGANDA

6: why is he holding and grabbing his head so much. past the literal deadpan ass stare hes got through the majority if not all of the experience (like even while doing his little dances you'd think he'd be smiling during...), why does he grip his head so often-- i talked about this before but like what are they doing to him man he like grips his head in almost pain so much

7: also thinking about what the lore implications of jenna and debby being in this...because im pretty sure its shown jenna in levitate is a bandito i only assume debby was one too. why are they there?? were they caught too? or did dema make clones of them to use against josh and tyler?

8: "i cant wait to see you again"

9: ”in a world where this is as good as it gets…we miss you. we really do.”

10: also can we discuss the "CONTROLLED by" dma org and good day dema??? this photo is blurry as hell but CONTROLLED BY! not PRODUCTION OF! specific word choice..also dma org...dmaorg.info...why are clancy's letters posted on a website thats directly correlated with dema...letters from his time inside as well as time outside...can we like talk about that--like other than the obvious showcase that they have his letters and are using them to lie to the people, why are they going through dmaorg?? if clancy isnt directly with dema why are they--why are they going through there???

11: the whole cutscene before lane boy "there was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest and the responsibilities of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. once a task was taught and understood, our obligations timely, and it felt secure knowing tomorrows duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. we all worked to represent our bishop with honor knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency....why do i kneel to these concepts? tempted by control, control by temptation. stay low, they say. stay low," then the direct contradiction of the redecorate rap he inserts, “with the bells and the whistles scaled back like an isolated track, and he feels trapped when he's not inebriated fair to say he's fairly sedated most days of the week. he might have made it if he lived on a different street. i repeat, scaled back and isolated he says he likes an open schedule but he mostly hates it if you're running to his room, take a breath before you break-in put your ear up to the door, tell me can you hear him saying?” using clancy's letters to show praise to dema then clancy (tyler) directly contradicting being like "no i hold zero praise for this city" and saying how hes isolated and sedated when hes not preforming--how he ALMOST made it out. how if he lived A LITTLE closer to the walls he wouldnt be there right now-

12: the way the old songs are "SCALED BACK AND ISOLATED" ???? A SCALED BACK AND ISOLATED TRACK????

13: the way ned is missing in chlorine when he was such a big part of chlorine

14: AGAIN this shy away version. one-why is it so important to the story, two-the 9 chairs for 9 bishops around the table, three-i fucking love the guitarist by josh i love his energy, four-THE WAY HE BREAKS A GLASS WHEN TALKING ABOUT BREAKING THE CYCLE IN HALF???, THE SCREAM !!!! so many things

[so many things you guys]

15: the fucking bishop ass dancers to stressed out....can we discuss that too. ALSO HOW THEY DRAG HIM TO THE NEXT STAGE FOR STRESSED OUT?

16: "but remember you should- *cut off*" YOU SHOULD WHAT SALLY SACARVER????

17: also firstly, how beautiful the ukulele part was...it was so gorgeous, also the transition was amazing. though past that, can we talk about how fucking sad he looked on that little boat with his uke? was that a mock to his escape attempts? to him singing to an empty sky in trench? singing to the banditos as they boat someplace safer? like...

18: THE MOCKING OF THE BANDITOS WITH THE FUCKING JUMPSUIT/HEAVYDIRTYSOULD PART?? why would dema do that? why would the bishops actively make josh and tyler look like the banditos if it wasn't just a mock? they dont like the banditos i thought why would they have them dressed up like that? like torchbearer bringing the torch to the stage and the look josh has on his face-then tyler also being in a bandito outfit. like--it has to be mocking his attempts. mocking the banditos or SOMETHING

19: heathens being in the livestream makes me think a little too but i dont know. "all my friends are heathens take it slow, wait for them to ask you who you know. please dont make any sudden moves you dont know half of the abuse."

20: also first, what was that alarm that was sounded before never take it? what happened there? second, the lore people have posted about never take it and how it was about the bishops? the way it was played while the alarm was going off and it was almost messier filming...

21: HIM ENDING THE LIVESTREAM WITH "nobody's coming for me" and his deadpan look (sobbing)

22: again, bringing up sally sacarver and dan lisden. sacarver and lisden being bishop's names and hosting this livestream. then showing directly how the bodies they are controlling are deteriorating as the show goes on. "The rules are that you can only seize or control a dead body, and only for a short while."

23: also just the heavydirtysoul part. starting to think about the: "I tricked Nico into taking me outside the walls. I created a fiery diversion. I escaped." i just keep thinking about that and:

24: "we've come for you, we've got people on the way, no chances, none at all" the way this is direct quotes from dan and sally, who are bishops, and it is also direct lyrics (or close to direct lyrics) from no chances. it just keeps cementing itself on everything ive already thought about

25: past just the livestream experience what is with josh and the bucket hat lol. i love it but like.-

26: "you ask me if its real, i see your shifting eyes, you dig in your heels, i dig my hole to die" also wondering why the "live from the outside" version is here rather than the original.-is it important

27: his little dances are my favorite thing-

28: CAR RADIO...car radio. thats it thats the point. just the car radio part is everything to me--its giving old car radio performances and im living for it. though also old car radio performances? did they put it together like that on purpose?

29: NEVER TAKE IT HAVING A BURNING CAR HOLY SHIT FIREY DIVERSION? LMAO just how close he is to the camera during this too...so many thoughts

30: "...you know you cant escape sally...yes i know!" IS THIS LIVESTREAM SHOWING CLANCY AND HOW HE DIDN'T ESCAPE EITHER?? SHOWING THAT HE HAS BEEN CAUGHT AND IF HE CANT ESCAPE, THE NOTORIOUS CLANCY, THEN YOU CANT EITHER???! SO MANY THOUGHT!!

[sorry for how long this is-]

DID THIS SHOW HOW MANY THOUGHTS I HAVE HERE. im going insane like i keep thinking about the lore implications of this goddamn livestream. i have more points (i will make a essay list whatever for it all so i don't go any crazier) but this is already a lot for one post. just wanted to like...throw this out there. i know some might be a stretch but please just hear me out. just hear me out :,)

[misiahasahardname]

whoever typed this (me) should explode right now

[lenacopperleaf]

JOSH MANSON

[thestarlightforge]

WHY DID YOU LEAVE THIS IN THE TAGS OP 😂

not arguing with a girl with big brown eyes whatever you say beautiful

[glitterdustcyclops]

an assorted list of delightful bits from the episode

the absolute sibling energy of mike, ify, & siobhan the entire time, from siobhan going "STOP IT I'M GONNA GET IN TROUBLE" when "grant" gets spaghetti all over the podiums to her being so fucking annoyed that mike and ify got points for buzzing in when they didn't know the answer while ify twerks at her, mike very kindly getting handing a duck to her and ify being like "sike all these duck points are MINE"

of course, zac oyama playing grant as the Huge Klutz Idiot™️

bdg and his sassy little ponytail as the podium inspector

SUNGWON as fixitman78 (and everyone in the game changer audience *immediately* joining the #fixitmanfanfam)

the return of kaylin mahoney as the PA of all time

josh ruben doing the absolute most as the creepy clown roscoe + ify trying to out-creep him every time he went to pop a balloon

the perfect taskmaster-esque cutaway to the shelf full of ducks when sam asks them to give him a duck the second time (+ mike chiming in with "mallard" twice)

"just take the shelf off." "well it's not really--" *slides the shelf off the brackets* "oh."

siobhan bribing everyone throughout the episode

the fucking ladder

mike saying the lines along with everyone else on the fourth run

ify's "i got a box strategy" and then "do you have a box? i only deal in boxes."

"by the end of this i will know how to play the piano"

"you're the tobacco industry?"

ash, and nico, and kaylin, and then everybody doing the wenis

the wenis is a dance

everybody is a genius

who knows it in advance

"WE'RE CHANGING THE GAME!!!!"

[detectivestucks]

Brat Taming

18+ Content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Modern AU Kakashi is your arrogant and creepy step brother. One night while your parents are out of town you come home from a night of partying only to find Kakashi in your room, ready to make you pay for all your cheeky comments

Warnings: NSFW, NONCON, Stepcest, Toxic Kakashi, brat taming, oral, fingering, unprotected penetration, choking, anal play, facial, hair pulling, harsh spanking, under age drinking.

Word Count: 4.6k

Anon Ask

When your mom married Sakumo three years ago you thought your Clueless fantasy was about to come true. Your new step brother, Kakashi, was stupid hot. He was blessed with a gorgeous angular face, deep brown eyes, thick silky silver hair and a mouthwatering scar over his left eye. He loved to walk around the house either in fitted muscle tanks or shirtless with only loose gray sweats, showing off his chiseled frame. On top of that he had big masculine hands with perfectly manicured fingers that you would daydream about grazing your most sensitive areas. He was going to be your Josh and you were Cher waiting for him to fall madly in love with you. 

Only it turned out he was a complete and total ass.

Soon after your parents got together he had been accepted to Harvard and loved to lord over everyone what a genius he is. You quickly grew a distaste for the prick and got cheeky whenever he felt the need to remind you of his superiority. 

Currently you are a freshman in college starting your second semester at UMass. You chose to live at home to keep your mom company since you didn’t like the idea of living in a tiny dorm room with some random roommate you didn’t know. Kakashi on the other hand, just got kicked out of the dorms last semester and was finishing his Junior year at home with you and your parents. 

It turns out you were not the only person he liked to mouth off to. He got into several arguments with many of his dorm mates and the RA. Eventually he was banned from on-campus housing and now you were left to suffer through daily interactions with the world's most annoying step brother. 

Always his insufferable self, recently Kakashi has been extra creepy. He seems to have forgotten what a shirt is and rarely had one on his back. Sometimes you thought you caught him palming himself out of the corner of your eye and you would catch him staring at you when you get ready to go out with your friends. Most annoyingly, sometimes he’d hang out in your bedroom when you were trying to get ready for bed.

“Can I help you?”

“Just making sure you’re not so brain dead that you forgot how to put on pants. I know it can be hard for some people.”

“Oh is that so? Cause I was just making sure you didn't forget how to shut your mouth. I know it can be hard for some people.”

“Careful, now. You should really mind who you’re speaking to that way.”

“Sorry, I don’t take kindly to creeps who think I’m too stupid to put on pants. Is that why they kicked you out? Cause you were trying to show girls how to put on their pants?”

Kakashi furiously charged up to you and got right in your face. You were scared but you weren’t gonna show him that. Instead you glare at him. 

“Watch it kid or you’ll find yourself in a world of trouble.”

“Threats don’t work with me big bro. Try again some other time.”

Angry, he left the room. Closing his door with a snap. 

It had been like this for weeks. His unwelcome presence always looming around. You hated the way he looked at you. It was like he was hunting for a reason to tear you down. Whether it was your degree, your ‘public university’ education, or your slutty outfit choices. The guy needed a life. Most of the time you’d quip back but sometimes you just didn’t have the energy and instead roll your eyes. Tonight was one of those nights. Sakumo and your mom were out of town on a romantic getaway so you were going out while Kakashi tried to lord over you as the ‘man of the house.’

“Ah you going to see your boy toy? You know you’re never going to get a respectable man dressed like that.”

“I’m not going to see any boy toy, I’m going out with my friends.”

You see him give a smug smirk at your answer

“Besides, it’s not up to you if I’m looking for a respectable man or not. Maybe I’m not looking for one at all.”

“So just looking to be a little whore. I see how it is.”

You glare at him before rolling your eyes.

“I’m out. See you later, loser.”

You catch Kakashi’s face paint in fury as you leave. He hated how you constantly try to undermine him. He hated that you were such a brat. And he truly hated how no one ever put you in your place. 

********************************************

You loudly came home at 2am from partying with your friends. You were a little inebriated and stumbled to the kitchen to get water before heading upstairs to bed. You make your way up the stairs, tripping over your high heels. You get to your bedroom and when you turn on the light you see Kakashi already laying in your bed. 

“Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“I have no problem. I’m not the one getting home at 2 am after a night of underage drinking.”

You were hit with a wave of sobriety at his words. If he told your mom, you’d be screwed. Seeing your expression, he knew he had you cornered. Kakashi stands up and walks past you as if he’s leaving the room, putting himself between you and the door before changing his mind and closing it.

“Remember when I said you should watch it?” 

He turns to you, taking a step forward. You begin to stumble backwards towards the bed.

“You’re such a filthy brat” he spits.

You continue to stumble backwards, your heels slipping off your feet. 

“And there's nothing I love more than putting a brat in her place.”

Your eyes widen in fear as you see a dark smile stretch across his face. Calves hitting the bed, you fall down to the floor and Kakashi weaves his strong hands into your hair, pulling it back so you’re forced to stare up at him. Your mind hazy, you begin to realize exactly how he imagines putting you in your place and it causes you to tremble. 

He tugs down his sweatpants and pulls out his length. Its weight slaps you in the face with a heavy thud. You flinch in his grasp but his fingers tighten in your locks as he begins beating you with his manhood.

“Drunk little girls like you don’t deserve to brush their teeth with a toothbrush. They only get to brush their teeth with cock. Now open that brat mouth for me.”

“No!”

Kakashi spits on your face. “I said open”

In your outrage you open your mouth about to hurl an insult at him when he shoved himself between your lips and pushed your head all the way down to his stomach. You were gagging and retching around him. You pushed against his thighs with all your might but your pathetic drunken arms were no match for his robust muscular physique. 

“That’s it. Choke on my cock you twerp.”

He groaned as he feels you constrict around his tip in an attempt to swallow air. Your eyes were tearing up from oxygen deprivation and your entire body was rigid in your struggle. He roughly pulls you up and down on him, pummeling your throat with a manhood much too large for your mouth. You feel your jaw lock as you open wide, tears falling freely from your eyes. 

He pulls you off of him and slaps your drool and tear drenched face. 

“Look at you. Just a little slut swallowing me so good. It seems college has at least taught you how to swallow dick so I guess your tuition has been put to good use.”

Your chest is heaving as you gulp down fresh air, seeing two of him with inebriated eyes while the pain of your hair being pulled registers in your hazy mind. 

“Again.”

He plummets into your mouth once more, fucking your face while you choke. Drool dribbling past your lips and down the front of your dress. He threatens you,

“Don’t even think about running to mommy. I’ll tell her all about how drunk you were and how you came onto me and you’ll be grounded and not allowed to see your little friends for the rest of the semester. Got it?”

He shakes your head with the hand grasping your hair. You whine ‘yes’ with a full mouth as you cry out from the pain. He retreats from your throat and you cough while he shoves you face down on your bed. He bends you over its edge, ass facing him. You desperately bring your hands to the back of your head, trying to pull off the hand tangled in your hair. He pushes you down into the mattress with force majeure and you sob from your dishonorable predicament.

“Resisting is futile little sis. This is what happens to brats who don’t know their place.”

He pulls up the skirt of your mini dress and yanks down your strappy thong. 

“Who are you wearing this slutty underwear for, huh? I thought you weren’t going to meet up with any boys” you hear a hum of amusement from his chest. “Did you wear this for me?”

“Fuck off” you choke.

“Ah, you see? You shouldn’t have said that.” He spreads your legs and brings his hand up to forcefully slap your sex. You yelp and flinch. 

“This is the very attitude I was talking about sis.” He slaps you again, this time harder.

“Someone’s gotta beat this out of you.” He slaps you again, this time with significant strength. 

Kakashi catches some arousal dripping out of you when he removes his hand from your folds. He lets out a chuckle. “Seems like you’re enjoying this.” 

His words burn you with embarrassment and reignite your struggles till he plunges his fingers inside of your gummy cunt. You gasp at his uninvited intrusion. He feels around, stroking in and out, coating his knuckles in your secretions. As he toys with you he hits your sweet spot and an involuntary groan spills past your lips. 

“Oh, you like that, huh?”

You shake your head ‘no’ but when he does it again you moan once more, walls tightening around his fingers. He pulls out of you and spanks your cheek causing you to cry. 

“You’re not supposed to enjoy it brat.” he snarls before sinking his fingers into you again. 

He maliciously milks your sweet spot, driving you to a crazed state. You struggle to refrain from moaning but if you fail and a cry slips past your lips be brings a heavy palm down on your rear with so much force that the red handprints quickly turn purple. He repeats the torturous process till you are thrashing in his grasp and he has to pull you up by your hair to pin you down on the bed with his body weight on top of you to stop your struggle. 

Kneeling on either side of your arms, weight on your chest, he can see the mascara run down your cheeks. He swells with pride seeing you made messy by his hands. He shoves himself back into your mouth. You kick and try to push him off of you but he has no patience for your misbehavior. He reaches behind himself and gives you a slap between your legs. 

Your resulting squeal vibrates along his shaft. A pleasured growl rumbles from his chest so he continues to reach around, beating against your cunt while he thrusts in and out of your mouth. 

Your fingers begin to dig into him, scratching up his legs as you desperately try to get him off of you. He rips himself from your mouth and grabs you by your wrists.

“You wanna play rough, sis? I can give you rough.”

He gives you a shit eating grin as he leans all his weight on your restrained wrists and uses his knees to spread your legs. You feel the heat of his length rub against your folds as he gets his body into position. You quickly realize you’re losing the war and he’s going to get exactly wants. You squirm and wiggle your hips trying to stop him from sinking in. In his frustration he pulls down the top of your dress and slaps your tit. You feel the sting as your arm goes to his chest but he quickly recaptures your wrist.

“Stop moving” he warns

“Fuck you loser!”

“Gladly”

The most sickening smile splits his face as he sinks himself deep into you. A loud groan is pushed out of you as he shoves your organs out of the way with his fat cock. 

“Wanna say that again?” he croons in your ear

You look up at him with doe eyes, not ready for how he is about to tear you apart and shake your head ‘no’

“That’s what I thought.”

He glides into you slow and deep, making sure you feel every vein as he violates you. He loves watching your eyes go wide every time he bottoms out, pausing to feel the full effect of him stuffing you. You whimper and groan stretched more than you thought possible, helplessly trapped. There was no running, no way out. You were alone and defenseless.

Nevertheless you struggle under his weight, trying to free your wrists. Annoyed by your incessant struggle he decides to bring them above your head and pin them together, freeing up his hand so he can grab your nipple, squeezing it between his index finger and thumb. You squirm as he applies pressure. 

“Keep resisting and see what happens” Kakashi threatens as he pulls up with your bud trapped in his pinch. You draw breath through your teeth, the pain consuming your thoughts. Not even registering that he hasn’t stopped rutting into you the entire time. 

“Gahh!”

“Understand?” You’re so focused on the pain in your nipple that all you do is whimper. “Answer me!” he barks with a twist of your nub

“Nggh! Fine!” Your eyes are screwed shut. You begin to open them when he releases your captive bud but you flinch when he slaps your tit again. 

He grabs your face, smushing your cheeks together. 

“See, I knew you could follow directions. That’s a smart girl”

You loathed him but you couldn’t help how your walls were restricting around him. His size massaged your sweet slit in such a gratifying way. Your body completely betrayed your mind. It seemed completely out of touch with the gravity of your situation. He left you breathless, your lungs forgetting how to breathe, as he pummeled into you. 

Anger on your mind, you watched him as he watched you. You pan over his stinging brown eyes, his angular features, and the mole that sits just below his drool inducing lips. He was hot and you hate him all the more for it. 

Disgust written on your mug as he studies you, anxiously waiting to watch you break. He picks up a little speed and you groan into it. You immediately regret the noise when you see a smug simper stretch on his face. You try to give him a glare but he hits you with a particularly sharp thrust and your face betrays you as your mouth falls open and your profile softens from pleasure. 

“I knew you were just a weak little slut.”

“Shut up.”

He slaps your face. “Wanna try that again?”

You attempt another glare at him but he thrusts up into you in a way that hits a sweet spot and you mewl for him.

“Ah! Thank you, ah.”

His chuckle makes your stomach twist as you realize what you said. 

“Ahh, she has manners.” condescension thick. You truly hate him.

He continues to thrust against the same spot making you pant under him. You cry pleasured screams from the sensation. He kept going, enjoying the view of you coming undone against your will. 

The sounds of your submission were getting a touch too loud. Trusting that you would behave, he strips off his shirt to reveal his well defined muscular frame beneath. He balls up the hem and shoves it in your mouth before returning a hand to your wrists, obediently still crossed together, waiting to be restrained again. 

You hated how good it felt. The recognition of him pleasuring you made you feel slimy on the inside, and desperate to get him off of you. He was your brother. Your arrogant asshole of a brother, yet he had you panting and crying beneath him. He was such a sick fuck. 

He gains speed. Beginning to bang the headboard into the wall. The sound thundering through the quiet night. Good thing the parents weren’t home to hear you cause he was beginning to lose his composure. He had been so careful to conceal his hunger but it was evident in his eyes that he was wild with lust. You sing into your gag, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. His unrelenting pace, his careful aim, and his grunts combined into a euphoric melody that had you spasming around him, calling his name through the gag. Your body stiffened as the orgasm tore through you.

“That’s a good brat. See how good it is to behave?”

You dumbly nod your head as the aftershocks course through your system. He strokes slowly allowing you to fall limp before he barks at you again.

“Get on your knees” he says, lifting his weight off of your wrists. He helps you flip over on your stomach and his hands pull up your hips so they are aligned with his pelvis. You attempt to support your weight on your arms when he pushes your head back down, roughly shoving you into the mattress. 

“Brats get fucked like whores. Lift your slut face off the sheets and there will be consequences..”

You cry out as you obey his command. He pushes in just the tip and you anxiously close around it before he pulls out again. You hate the way you whined from how empty you felt. He pushes in just a little deeper before retreating again, toying with you to prove his point. This time when he begins to line up his tip you rock your hips all the way back so he ‘s buried inside of you. You hadn’t anticipated how the angle would overstimulate you and you gasp about to pull away but his hands grab your hips and hold you steady. He begins to chuckle. 

“Such a twerp, complaining about something you did to yourself.”

You loathe yourself for how you sought him out just now. He was assaulting you and you were practically begging him to fill you. It was all a game to him and your pathetic response was exhilarating.

He  brings his hand down on your backside that was already bruised and purple from his earlier battery. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, cries muffled by his shirt. He strikes you more. Every time you try to tuck your tail under to avoid the abuse he pushes down on your back. You were not running away from him. You were a mouse trapped in the maze. 

He begins to ram into you, the plush tissue of your behind rippling violently as his hips collide into you on repeat. Your fingers spread and grip onto your duvet for dear life as he bullies himself deep into you. 

You can’t handle the feeling. He’s too big! You lift yourself up trying to change the angle, trying to find relief, when his formidable hands sweep across your neck and choke you. He pulls you up just enough that your arms couldn’t reach the mattress and your entire body weight was supported by his grip on your neck. His hands sink into your trachea with every plummet into your slick cavern. 

You claw at his hands on your neck, trying to get under his fingers to lift the pressure from your windpipe so you could breathe. Your attempts were futile. Eventually your hands grip his wrists, giving up on being allowed to breathe.

“I told you not to lift your face. Here I thought you were learning your lesson.”

Seeing the gag start to fall out of your mouth, he lifts one hand off your neck to stuff it deeper before returning it to your throat. You spasm around him, tears spilling from your eyes, back involuntarily bowing, allowing him to push against your diaphragm. He knocked the wind out of you without allowing you to catch your breath. His cruelty leaves you putty in his hands, pliable and bending to his will. Gushing around his girth, broken and winded.

“Now you’re starting to get the picture.”

Pleasured cries permeate through the fabric in your mouth. He doesn’t plan on letting up any time soon either. He’s enjoying the view too much. Your glutes shake with each thrust while they’re spread wide open. He hones in on your puckered rear when he remembers what he found when he was snooping in your room. 

He pulls out of you and grabs you around the waist, pulling your back into his cut chest, possessively holding you so you can’t run away as he drags you across the bed where he can reach into your nightstand drawer. He pulls out your tiny black plug with a blue gem on the end. You look over and through your dazed state you realize what he grabbed and you start to protest. 

“No, no, no, no” you say through the cloth.

He shoves you down pulling your hips up once more and shoving your face back into the bed so your cries cannot be heard. His spit falls onto your rear, pooling over your sphincter where he pushes down on the tapered tip of your plug. You begin to wail.

“What’s all the fuss for? This is your’s, is it not? I thought whores liked having their holes stuffed.”

You tried pulling away but his grip on your hips tightened and he slammed back into you enjoying the friction of where the plug encroached on the space in your tunnel. 

You looked so beautiful with the blue gem protruding out of your dirty hole. He was definitely going to do this to you again. He was going to make you beg him for it once he was done putting you in your place. 

The thought of you coming to his room, plug in place, to get another taste of his fat cock made him ravenous. He rails into you using every drop of athleticism he has. You start to scream and go dizzy. His heavy balls slap into the bundle of nerves swelling between your legs. Eventually they swing into you with so much voracity that you twitch with each stroke of his hips. Your face began to melt into the mattress from his pounding and you are certain he will break your neck from the force. 

He flips you over, pushing your hips up so your knees are by your face, ass high in the air. He stands on the bed and sinks himself between your lips, thrusting down into you with all his might. Abdominals flexing with each thrust, passionate grunts bending you in half. The impossible positions shredding what was left of your once tight pussy. 

“Take it little slut.”

He can see the helpless tears leak from your eyes as you feel every inch of him being swallowed up by your soiled cunt. 

“Fuck Kakashi” you moan between labored breaths. 

He smirks. He had you just where he wanted you. He only needed to push you over the edge. He reached down and begins whirling circles around your clit. You shriek and knock your knees together. But his silky chuckle cuts your mind like a knife. The fucker was laughing at you. You squirm but your current position was so compromising you couldn’t move. He plays with you rubbing more vigorously. You scream and holler under him unfamiliar with such intensity as this.

“Ple-Pl-ease” you dumbly whine. 

“Please what, sis? You’ll need to speak up”

“M-may I c-cu-mm?”

He pounds into you without relenting. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that”

He was such an abhorrent ass but the heat in your lower belly was boiling over and you needed to release. You try to phish your voice from the back of your mind but it’s swimming and the way he drags along your ridges while swirling your sensitive bud has you desperate for him. 

“Gah! Please l’me cum!”

The glint in his eyes sickened you but you didn’t have the strength to care as he readjusted his stroke to pound into the sweet spot he found earlier. Your entire body convulsed under him as you had the most intense orgasm of your life. 

Kakashi, pleased with his successful session of taming you, feels his own gratification on its precipice.

He pulls out of your quaking cunt with a slap to your sensitive clit causing your hips to fall to the mattress with a cry. Your destroyed state was erotic. Helplessly shaking, sweat all over your body, dress bunched around your stomach, hair knotted and messy, ass still plugged and tears drenching your face. His fingers seek out your hair to hold you still while he paints your face white. 

“That’s a good girl. Take your reward.”

You tremble in his arms. When his seed can no longer shoot from his tip and simply oozes from his slit Kakashi presses himself against your lips. You part them slightly to give it a kiss leaving him to shutter from sensitivity. 

“Yes, very good”

He brushes your cheek with his thumb pad smearing his cum along your skin. You look up at him pathetically and he smiles down on you. 

“There we go sweet sister. That’s much better.”

You make a little whine that he finds so precious. 

“Go clean yourself up little one.” he pets your head before pulling on his sweatpants and tucking himself away. “I’m going to bed. Feel free to join me if you want.” 

He grabs his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder before lacing both hands together behind his head as he walks away. 

Your lip quivers as you entertain the idea, realizing you were hopelessly hooked.

Shakily you get up, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and walk naked to the bathroom. Kakashi glances over from his bed as he sees you through the crack in his bedroom door before exhaustion lulls him to sleep. 

He wakes up a half hour later to your weak-willed body slipping into his bed completely naked. He opens his arms, letting you settle into his chest before he closes them around you. You exhale with a small sigh and in your mind you know you would be yearning for the next time the two of you are home alone so he could tie you up and brutally defile you again. 

He plants a kiss on your forehead, mind flooded with gratification at finally breaking you down into such a needy state. 

He reaches down between your cheeks to see you kept your plug in tact. He gives it a small tug and you look up at him with a whine. He nuzzled your nose and whispers to you in his silky smooth voice before gently pressing a kiss on your lips. 

“Such a filthy brat”

Masterlist

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 5: His very own lighthouse

genre: honestly who even knows at this point - angst, fluff, comfort, EVERYTHINGGGGG

word count: 5961

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: things are happening too fast– it's been nine days of this madness and, once again, everything just seems to continue to spiral. but sometimes, in the midst of all the darkness, you find some light, and that is enough to make you keep going.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: sorry for the delay on the update, but it's finally here! I'm excited to see this story evolving! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“Knock, knock.”

The hospital smells of rubbing alcohol and plastic and it’s all a really weird experience. On one hand, you have kids books, three or four that you managed to get from the store before Spencer got you out of there. On the other, you have flowers with a card signed by both you and the boy genius that couldn’t come with. Very last minute, Spencer had gotten a call from Agent Hotchner and he had to go to the office, but he had been kind enough to drop you off to see Officer Kaper. s

“Miss Y/L/N!” He smiles from where he’s laying in bed, daughter tucked under one arm and wife by the other. “Sweetie, this is the nice book lady I told you about,” The baby girl eyes you up with that shy nature you love some much in kids. It’s a quiet kind of judgement that you fly by with a smile, slowly approaching and turning the books towards her. 

“The book lady brought more books!” You whisper, trying to keep the energy in the room positive, but not too excited. Spencer had said this was a minimal injury case– apparently Officer Kaper was at home when the break-in happened and he kept his wife and daughter safe, but had gotten injured while doing so. Stabbed, to be more precise. And although you can’t see the stitches, you can see the large bandage around his torso. Gulping, you look away, finding that his wife’s sweet smile melts your heart. “Hello. It’s really nice to meet you, I’m Y/N… and I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, no,” His wife smiled, shaking her head before coming to you and grabbing the flowers so delicately. “You have nothing to apologise for, this is not your fault.” She takes the books too, smiling at the silly little drawings in the cover before giving it to her husband.

You’re not really sure what to do in there, with this family that looks oh so happy despite the circumstances. Have you ever been that happy just to be around someone? 

Yes. 

“Y/N, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

There is a tired drag of your feet underneath you, but you still smile, giggling at the dramatic reaction when he sees you in your dress. “Oh stop it,” You mumble, applying a final layer of lipstick before turning to him and saying, “I’m ready.” 

“And I’m the luckiest man alive,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead sweetly before opening the door to go call the elevator. That is the kind of man he is– someone who likes to be prepared for everything, who predicts what will come his way and plan accordingly to be two steps ahead. At first, it’s impressive, seeing how ready he is to deal with whatever life throws his way. It makes you puff your chest proudly and say ‘that is my man.’ But then it feels a little bothersome, really, not being able to have a thought to yourself without his curious hands prying it open and public. You can’t have anything just yours, because Josh wants everything to be his, and suddenly’y he is not your man, but you are his woman. And that doesn’t sit right with you. 

For now, though, when everything is great and amazing, anything he does has you smiling; even if your feet hurt in the too tall heels, even if your can’t breathe right in the too tight dress– you smile. Because Josh likes you smiling and you love Josh when he likes you. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the universe.”

“The entire universe?” He mumbles, smiling and pecking your lips with a calculated kiss that doesn’t blur your makeup. 

“The entire universe.” 

“That’s a big, big universe you’re talking about…”

Later on, you’d find out that even though yes, the universe is big and so much of it still goes undiscovered, sharing it with him makes you feel very, very small. 

“How is Officer Kaper doing?” Spencer asks once you step into the car. You look at him with an empty look in your face that makes him sigh. You’ve been like this since the news broke last night, alienated from your own self, and he hates it– he hates seeing the light in your eyes dim and the way your lips struggle to stretch into a smile. “Y/N?”

“Sorry,” You mumble, shaking your head to try and get your jumbled thoughts in order. “He’s uh, he’s okay. The nurse said he got lucky, which I don’t really see how, I mean, he was– he uh, got stabbed. With a knife. So not really lucky of him, in my books.”

“But he’s okay,” Spencer repeats, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours, and you’ve never held onto something so tightly like you did then to his hand. “Y/N, he’s okay. In the mean time, I’ll be in charge of your protection. The higher ups have deemed this an active case now that someone’s got injured and–“

“Wait, what?” Your head snaps to look at him, eyes wide. “Was it not an active case before?!” 

“Not officially,” Not even his soft voice can make you feel better. “It was for me and my team but… not for Strauss. That’s our section chief, she’s… complicated. Bureaucratic.”

“And there is nothing in the fucking FBI bureaucracy about considering a case of an innocent civilian being stalked by a serial killer active?” Scoffing, you pull your hand away from his as if his touch burned your skin, suddenly too aware of your situation. “What? Are they waiting for me to die or something? For her to finally get me? What the fuck, Spencer, why didn’t you tell me this before?” 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He says quietly, eyes glancing at you for a fraction of a second before moving back to the traffic ahead. “And I still don’t. It’s going to be okay, I pro–“

“Don’t,” You say through gritted teeth, head swimming in the growing amount of information you are struggling to process. “I know you mean well, but please don’t promise me anything, because I… Spencer, right now, you’re the only person I trust, and if you promise me something you can’t keep, I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

The craziness of it all doesn’t escape you. When you were a kid, dreaming of fantastical adventures, this surely wasn’t what you had in mind. Spencer, as cordial and gentlemanly as he is, is not the perfect prince you hoped for and you, all tears and judgments, are far from being a princess. This is real life; it’s raw, and burning, and stretching, and painful, but it’s yours and you are determined to make something out of it. And whatever it is that you are making, this can’t be it. You refuse to let this be the one big event that forever determines the rest of your life. 

Takes you a little while to notice that you’re not quite going to his apartment, and your heart flutters. The thought of those beloved green walls used to make you smile. It was a glimpse inside the world of Spencer Reid, your favourite customer– of his plants, his books, his odd addiction to the colour purple showing in the smallest of details, in the pillows, the blankets, the place mats left and forgotten on his counter. The excitement is still there, though, and you will do virtually anything to keep it alive, but… but just like his walls, that spark of giddiness inside of you whenever you enter the place now is smaller. Faded. Muted. You feel guilty, admitting that yourself, and that guilt morphs into something akin to embarrassment. Sitting next to you is a man who is doing everything and anything to try and keep you safe, and yet, you just can’t find it in yourself to be as positive as he seems to be. Hope might be the last one to die, but eventually, it dies. You wonder if yours was just never there to begin with. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, looking at him for a brief second. There is a lot going on right now, specially between you two, and even looking at him is hard. Whenever you do, eyes lingering on his sharp jaw or his messy hair, you remember yesterday. You remember his hands holding you close, and his breath hitting the back of your neck. You remember how you felt, all warm and tingly everywhere, and you remember how you imagine he felt by the way his heartbeat drummed against your back. But yesterday is not good only. Yesterday is not just emotions and ease and comfort, because yesterday was also day eight of this nightmare. Day eight that marked the beginning of a new week in this torturous purgatory, baiting you with the happiness you could have but seemingly never would. “Spence?” 

He exhales, letting something heavy within himself go, when you call for him. “We’re going to the BAU. Hotch asked me to bring you in so we can ask you some questions, if you feel up for it.” 

You don’t feel up for it, but you will not tell him that. Not when it finally feels like people are finally starting to take this seriously. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” You gulp, nodding and already digging in your bag for your ID. At this point, you know the drill, thanking the front desk man twenty minutes later when he gives you your visitor’s pass. 

“Y/N!” 

It amazes you, really, that in the midst of all of this, you still manage to make a friend. Penelope is an obvious choice, though you wouldn’t even say you had much of a choice anyways. At first you thought she had gotten your phone from Spencer, wanting to provide you with some encouraging words and a shoulder to cry on. But after learning more about her job, you know for a fact that she probably pulled your number from whatever database she could. The whole thing starts after that day in her office, with you sending her a quick apology for the entire thing– you crossed the line asking to see Cat Adam’s photo and Spencer took it even further by screaming at her. Just as you thought, Penelope is quick to forgive and forget, and since then, most of your conversation consists of memes and borderline sexualised comments about Agent Derek Morgan. You even get some pictures, though you are too scared to open them fully. From the small preview you can see on your phone, these photos are not meant for your eyes, and even know, when Agent Morgan smiles at you and Spencer walking in, you can’t help but blush.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks, brows wiggling with knowledge that Spencer would, hopefully, never get. You don’t imagine he would be all to pleased with you seeing pictures of his co-worker shirtless, though you are still too scared and careful to admit to yourself the reason why he wouldn’t be all that happy about it. The higher the climb, the harder the fall, and you’ve fallen enough for Spencer. “You’re all red in the face and looking a little bit spooked there, Y/N. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re embarrassed. But my oh my, what would you have to be embarrassed about?”

Staring at her with your mouth hanging open, you blush even further, chortling out something akin to laughter mixed with an indignant squeak. “Penelope!” Your whisper-scream is not as subtle as you think it is, and both men look at you with curiosity all over their faces. 

“Do you girls want to share with the class?” Derek asks, stepping closer to you which makes you step closer to Spencer. It’s a weird chain reaction that leaves everyone but Penelope confused, and you want to kill her and thank her at the same time. It seems that she is the only one trying to bring some normalcy back to your life. 

“Not particularly, no,” Penelope takes the lead and you’re happy to let her, purposefully ignoring Spencer’s squinted eyes on you. You know that look– you know many of his looks, actually, but that specific look is his thinking look. The one he got whenever you tell him something about celebrity drama or fan-fiction writers. Whenever Spencer has that look, you usually smile wide, knowing that it’s his own way to tell you he’s paying attention to you. Right now, however, you want him to look away and pretend you don’t exist. “Though I’m easily convinced, my hot, cho–“

“Nope,” You intervene, hands shooting to cover your ears. “Stop! Don’t you dare!”

“Aha! I knew it!” She laughed, and while you walk inside the bullpen that is now, unfortunately, familiar enough, you two bicker like children. 

“What’s going on?” The way your head snaps to the women sitting by a desk is enough of a tell for Spencer to know you are about to freak out. 

“Guys…” He tried to stop them, and you have so much faith in him that he will that your eyes sparkle for a second. It pains him to see that light within you turn off when the women clearly ignore him. 

“Emily, JJ,” Penelope giggled, rushing to their side, phone in hand. “I sent this to Y/N and–“

“Oh wow,” Emily laughs, shaking her head and looking at you with pure and raw sympathy. “You have now been through the initiation, you’re officially one of us. Congrats, Y/N!”

“Yeah, Penelope sent me those pictures on my second days as a liaison,” JJ winced, laughing nonetheless. “I will admit it made my first week very awkward.”

“What initiation?” Derek is Spencer’s opposite. Penelope has told you about them before, about their friendship, about how Derek, despite the teasing and the overbearing duty to protect his friend, was always there for little boy genius. While Spencer is silent thinking and careful calculations, Derek is quick action and instant reaction. It’s a sight to behold, those two together, and you smile when Spencer nods vigorously. 

“Yeah, what initiation?” He is looking at you because he knows you’re the one most likely to crack. 

But this time, you hold your ground, shaking your head and pursing your lips. “I–“

“Miss Y/L/N.” The mood shifts instantly, and you even feel a little bit bad for the two man walking towards where everyone has suddenly gone still. 

“Agent Hotchner, hello,” You mumble, smiling as best as you can under his gaze. 

But then something happens. 

Something changes. 

And his eyes soften. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry that it took this long for the higher ups to clear us for a full investigation of your case, but now we have proof that Cat has a partner and they they are escalating.”

“Escalating?” Little by little you learn about their vocabulary. It’s not something that any book you’ve read has touched on and it feels eerily realistic to be saying those words yourself, like you have been transported inside a book you’ve never even wanted to read. 

“It means they are evolving their methodology of… attack,” Emily words gently, trying to explain it as softly as she could, but not even the sweetest of voices or kindest of gestures could take away the fright of this entire thing. “They are getting bolder, and so they might try something that, otherwise, they wouldn’t.” 

“O-Okay,” You whisper, frowning in thought. “But, and sorry if this is a stupid question, but what is making them bolder? It can’t just be out of nowhere, right?” 

“Spoken like a true profiler,” JJ smiled with a pat to your shoulder. “Behaviour changes this drastic usually have triggers, and something triggered this. We don’t know who this partner is, but they were bold enough to try and break into a police officer’s house. This means they are reckless. Impulsive.” 

“What if it was pre-planned?” You ask, missing how Spencer looks at you with a huge smile. Having you interested in his job is better than having you hate his job, and he would take this over the other any day. “The attack.”

“We can assume it wasn’t, since Officer Kaper showed up halfway through the break-in,” Derek concluded. “Meaning the attacker didn’t account for him coming home.” 

“But you said Cat Adams is calculated,” You turn to Spencer with wide eyes– things are starting to click in your brain and you need him to know you’re not just putting all the weight on his shoulders, you need him to know that you’re trying too. “You said she plays mind games.” 

“She does,” He mumbles, holding back a smile made for you and you only. His hands find your shoulders, rubbing it up and down to try and hold back the energy he knows is accumulating inside of you; whenever you get too excited about something, be it new books or a new sale, you like to ramble a little about it, and every time you do, you bounce on the heel of your feet, up and down, up and down, up and down. “But Cat also targets men. Cheaters, specifically. And… and fathers. She has deep rooted issues with her father–“

“Cat Adams has daddy issues?” You deadpan. 

“–and her downfall is her projection. So yes, they are getting bold as a duo or… or her partner went rogue.” 

“Which one is better?” Looking at Hotch, you wince a little at your own joke. “None of them, got it.” 

“Since this is an active case, we will need your constant collaboration,” Hotchner says, guiding the entire team to a room up the stairs and, as naturally as the sun sets and rises the next morning, everyone found their place at the round table. 

Except you. 

You are not one of them. You don’t have a place. 

Or you didn’t. 

“Y/N, come here,” Spencer says, pulling an extra chair next to his. And that’s when you realise that in this weird dynamic group of people who knew way more than they should, you belong next to him. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled, nervously shoving your hands between your thighs and waiting for Penelope to take the lead. That seemed to be her thing, even if she stands out like a sore thumb in that beige room with her bright orange dress and neon blue heels. 

“Okay, fellow brainiacs and dear beloved Y/N. Let’s figure this out,” Her declaration makes you feel somewhat calmer, the sounds of buttons echoing in the room. The TV goes bright with pictures– of you, of Spencer, of Cat. Her eyes, tempting you closer with the prospect that she knows something you don’t, won’t let you look away until Spencer forces you to, his hand sliding down your arm to find yours. You’re not sure if he realises how intimate this is, specially with his co-workers surrounding you two, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you open your legs a tad, just enough to let his hand slider between your clasped ones. Just like a vine, you lace your fingers with his, and then press your thighs back together, caging him there and refusing to let it go. “Cat Adams is currently in Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility serving time for countless of murders. A week ago–“

“Nine days,” You say without thinking and immediately shrink in your chair when all eyes brush over you for a second. 

“Yes, thank you! Nine days ago our dear boy genius got a package sent to his apartment while you all were out on the Oklahoma case, and since he had asked Y/N to water his plants, she ended up being the one who signed for it. We assume that’s when Cat got to know of your existence. In that box there were a bunch of, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, sexual uh, sexual paraphernalia. After that, Y/N has been under protective custody with either Officer Kaper or Reid himself. However, yesterday, Officer Kaper’s house has been broken in by a suspect we are yet to identify,” Pausing for a breath, she clicked on the remote control making photo after photo pop up. Once she has a picture of the box, though, contents on show for everyone, you look away. Even the slightest sight of it has your blood boiling. “I’ve pulled all cameras I possible can leading to Officer Kaper’s house, but most of them had been turned off ahead of the invasion. They also didn’t receive anything, no notes, no packages, nada.” 

“That is inconsistent with their MO,” Emily hums, turning to look at Spencer. “But then again, her main target is Reid, so I doubt Cat would diverge from that. She is smart, but she also likes that he knows she’s taunting him.”

“We also know that Cat doesn’t know about the bookstore,” Spence says, squeezing your hand so naturally that nothing in his face gives it away. “Her note went straight to Y/N’s home. The box went to mine. It is safe to say that she has no clue about Y/N’s personal life outside of what she shares with me.” 

No one says anything while they all stare at him, you included. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” By Derek’s tone of voice, you know some teasing is about to come. “And just what do you two share, pretty boy?” 

“I-I mean– no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Spencer’s face is fire red, and though he tries to pull his hand out of yours in a moment of panic, you don’t let him. “I di– Morgan! I meant… I meant outside of what we shared.  Past tense. She has been staying at my place for nine days, so we’ve shared nine da– Morgan stop laughing! Hotch!”

At this point, even you are laughing at his high pitched voice. “Spence, it’s okay.” 

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay!” JJ repeats and you stare at her with wide eyes. “What?! You two are adorable!”

“Focus, please,” It’s impressive how Agent Hotchner commands the room, demanding the attention back to him with just one expression of stiff frustration. But then he lets his eyes run over you and Spencer, and you notice how the corner of his lips twitch. “And yes, you two are adorable.” 

The rest of the meeting passes by in the blink of an eye. You don’t really catch onto what they are saying, most of it too deep into the field of psychology and behavioural science for a layman like you to be able to participate. However, you do listen to them. Almost like a true crime podcast playing in the background, you listen to the team narrate this entire ordeal and you’re quite surprised to notice the emotions bubbling inside of you– the anger, the frustration, the sadness. The factual tone of their voices sends shivers down your arms, creating the much needed distance from it all that you’ve craved all along… and making it all that much worse. Now that you have the opportunity to look at it from the outside, from their perspective, and you can truly see how pathetic you must be to a team of… of… of super people like them. 

Sliding down the chair, you try to hide yourself from the occasional glance in your direction, but what you seem to miss is the way your hand, clasping Spencer’s so tightly like you might just float away if you let go, shifts upwards between your legs, dangerously close to your crotch. 

“Y/N!” Spencer hissed, head snapping to look at you with eyes so wide you can see the speckles of chocolate brown in the midst of his honeyed hazel pupils. 

“What?” You whisper, almost falling from the chair with how abruptly he turned to you. “Jesus, Spencer, what is it?” 

“You okay there, kid?” Derek asks with a frown so deep you think his brows might jump out of his handsome face. 

“Yup! All good!” But he can’t fool anyone in there, not even you, with his high pitched voice and the way he snatches his arm up and away, hands fidgeting with the iPad in front of him like that would erase the redness in his face. “All fine. Moving on, next steps. Y/N and I will go back to my apartment and–“

“No.” 

To your surprise, it’s not you that say that– it’s Penelope. 

“No?” Agent Hotch asks, brows raised at the technical analyst. 

“I’m sorry sir, but… no.” 

“Pen, it’s fine,” You mumble, nodding with a sad smile. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, and Spencer is too worried to see that you, my little flower, are wilting without your daily dose of sunshine!” She speaks so fast that even Derek takes a moment to fully understand what she’s saying. 

“Baby girl,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I understand what you mean, but the kid has a point. With the partner now possibly escalating the nature of their crimes, Y/N unfortunately needs to limit–“

“Limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,” Nodding to everyone, you exhale slowly, only to take a deep inhale again. One second– that is all you need, one second to gather your bearings again, before slapping your hands gently on the table and rising slowly. With an appreciative nod and a joking tone, you smile at JJ, Emily, and Penelope. “Back to prison for me, I guess.” 

————————————

“Do you want to order some food?”

The whole ride to his apartment, you’ve been trying to get Spencer to talk to you. He’s quiet once his boss lets you two go. Not even the radio can make this a less uncomfortable drive and you are not really sure what is going on.

“No? Do you want me to cook some dinner?” Nothing but the sounds of him walking around the place. 

Doesn’t take too long before he comes back to the living room in sweatpants and one of his sweatshirts, hair even messier and glasses crooked– just a little, honestly, yet your hand still itches with the need to stretch out to him and fix them on his pretty little nose. Before you can say anything, he turns around and goes back to his room. The urgency in his steps makes you think he maybe forgot something in there, but then he comes back out and opens him mouth… only to close it and go back to the room. 

This happens a couple more time before you lose your patience. “Spencer!” You groan, quickly moving to grab his wrist before he disappears again. “Spence! What are you doing?” 

“Do you really feel like a prisoner?” 

His words shock you a little. “What?”

“Earlier you said ‘back to prison for me, I guess’ right after you said ‘limit my presence outside in public, yeah, I got it,’” The way he repeats your words verbatim makes you gasp, blushing out of self-consciousness. 

“Okay, I got it, I got it!” You grimace, still not letting go of his wrist. “I–“ 

Lying to him would be very easy. Sure, he can read your micro-expressions or whatever they are, but living with a profiler has been teaching you a thing or two about what they look out for. On top of that, living with a profiler that makes you heart beat faster with the slightest of smiles has taught you just how to hide what they are looking for… or at least how to try and hide it. So you smile a little, and just like him, you open your mouth without being able to say anything. 

Yes, you can try and lie to Spencer, but the problem is that you simply don’t want to. You don’t want to lie to him, not when he’s been putting such an effort to be truthful and honest whenever he can. 

“It’s not that I feel like a prisoner,” You whisper, looking down at how you hold his wrist so tightly and yet, he says nothing. He doesn’t complain, not even when your knuckles turn white, those eyes stuck on you the entire time. Sighing, you ease up a little, letting your hand slide down until your gently holding his hand again. It makes you brave enough to look at him without wincing in guilt. “It’s just that… I don’t know when was it that protecting me turned into… isolating me. You know?”

Spencer just shakes his head, a little exhale coming out of those beautiful lips almost as if you had pushed it out yourself. “Iso– You think I’m isolating you?”

Oh. “No, Spence, no, it’s not like, it’s not you,” You trying to make him feel better clearly just makes him feel worse. “It’s me!”

“I’ve heart that before and–“

“Spencer, I know you don’t want to isolate me from people. I know that, I really, really do,” Tugging him down to sit with you on the couch, you scoot closer to him to hold both his hands on yours. You two have done this so much at this point that there is no hesitation in reaching out to touch him anymore. “It’s just hard. I’m someone who thrives in routine and I was taken away from mine. I… I can’t work. I can’t go outside. I can’t– it just… it makes me feel a little suffocated.”

It also terrifies you, how familiar this all feels. Trapped, lonely, ignored. Just like before, people talk about you but never with you. They hear you, but no one really listens to you. It’s like you are nothing but a shell of a person, blown around by the wind of other people moving. Of Josh moving. Of Josh moving you, commanding you, caging you. And you have to remember– Spencer is not Josh. Spencer would never do to you what Josh did, he would never belittle you and then apologise with crocodile tears; he would never bring you high up for weeks and then pull the rug with one quick take down; he would never raise his hand at you and much less actually bring it down at you. No, Spencer is not Josh… but you are you, and despite all the changes you managed to fit in the past year, at your core, past the different hair and the new clothes, you are still the same girl who ran packing out of New York City. 

“And I can get a little claustrophobic, and when I get claustrophobic I panic, and when I panic I–“ You stop yourself before you say something stupid. “I’ve been in this position before, Spence. And back then I didn’t have you. I didn’t have someone who was looking out for me like you are, or who just wanted what’s best for me– because I know that’s what you want, Spence, I know you want me to be safe,” The way he slowly nods fills your heart with adoration and your eyes with unshed tears. “Back then I just had someone who wanted me. Like a kid wants a toy. He… He wasn’t a very good man, Spence, and he made sure to scare away all the good people I had, and at one point he started scaring me so I just–”

“Ran away,” And it’s like something clicks for him because his eyes get oh so sad, to the point that you turn your face when a singular tear escapes through your lashes. Offering him a gurgled laughter, you quickly wipe it away. “You ran away to Washington with just a backpack.” 

Nodding, you look up at him again and you’re a bit unsure of what to think of him like this, eyes shinning with something so unfamiliar to Spencer that it just feels wrong. It’s the way his breath picks up, ragged and loud, that makes you realise he is actually angry. No, no, scratch that– Spencer is pissed off. “What did he do to you?” 

“It doesn’t matter, Spencer.”

“What’s his name?” 

“I’m really not going to tell you,” You say with squinted eyes. “You’ll go all FBI on him.”

“That’s the entire point!” There he is, the high pitched voice, wide eyed man you adore so much, wildly gesticulating as he speaks. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to… to… to be! I–“ Then, his hands fall down on his lap, suddenly lifeless and unmoving. “I–“ It’s like he is choking on words, frowning in desperation at his lack of speech and you don’t know what to do. You’ve never seen him this… distraught. “I–“

“Spence, it’s okay,” You whisper, clasping your hands around both of his like a little cocoon of warmth. This is the first time Spencer hints at the ghosts of his past, but from the way he flinches when you pull him closer, slowly leaning his taller body towards you so you can hug him, tells you that tonight is just not the night to talk about them. For now, you’d hold him, and you beacon him back to the real world with soft words of encouragement, like his very own lighthouse. For now, you’d be light enough for you both, even if some darkness still tries to creep in for time to time. “I’m okay.”

“I made you feel trapped,” He whispers against your neck and you can’t help the shiver that shakes your body. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to keep you safe. I’m doing the best I can, and I’m sorry it’s not enough.” 

“Hey!” You gasp, and now boundaries don’t mean anything– coyness and slow intentions are thrown out the window as you tug him closer, closer, closer, until he is practically laying on top of you. Your back is against the side of the couch and you stretched your legs, entangling them with him. As much as he tries to move, grumbling something about squishing you, you don’t let him. He needs to know. He needs to know just how much more than simply enough he is. “You are way above enough and you know that. You have to know that, Spence, you have to. Because you’re so incredible and I… I adore you, Spencer Reid. My favourite customer. My FBI agent.” 

All versions of him, all parts of him. You love them all. 

Because, in the end, all that matters is that you love him. You love Spencer Reid. And that’s a little scary. Even it is exciting, it’s still a little scary. 

His little chuckle makes it a bit more bearable, though, and he soon gives into your embrace. The weight of his body keeps you down in the most delicious of ways, and the heat he radiates is enough to have your eyes getting heavier. In the comfort of his home, snuggled up in his couch, hugging him close, you find that there is such a thing as comfortable stillness. There is peace in the unmoving. There is no need to, all the time, be moving. Because there, with Spencer in your arms and his soft breathing on your neck, you think that nothing could in the world could make you want to run again. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel isolated,” He whispers, arms enveloping you like two lifelines holding you close. “I never meant to make you panic.”

“It’s okay,” You mumble back, eyes already closed and nose buried in his sweet smelling hair. “You might have made me panic, but Spence… I don’t think you could ever make me want to run.”

No… Spencer makes you want to stay. 

---------------------------------------

Taglist:

@fanfic-viewer

@mysticpeachobject

@donttrustlove  

@r-3dlips 

@lolitsbuckybarnes 

@lilrios-world 

@iniyalovesall 

@beabfleab

@dojacatismywife 

@queenofshinigamis

@beersangel

@catchthewindd

@charismatic-writer

@freaky-dcaky

@scarlettoh

@drreidslove

@spicyytomatoyay

@kitty-kei

@sapphirecobalt-1

@jebesovovise

@cultish-corner

@areiofhope

@candid-confetti

@godilovetoomuch

@redros3y 

@gibson-g1rl

@bunnylov-3-r

@yokaimoon 

@glorioussunrise13

@idkimheretoreadonethibgofpsencdd

@pleasantwitchgarden

@issy25

@ilovechanyeol16

@gghostwriter

@stanswifties

@chicaconfundidaycuriosa

@dragon03138

@tbsloneely

@bloodredrubyrose

@rossemayme

@jackchampiongf13

@prentissmybeloved

@danielle-munya

@eliscannotdance

@keira-fitzsimmons

@jamieeboulos

@starofthedawn

@alikpo

@writingforoursouls

[zeravmeta]

I think a good piece of foreshadowing in udul as well as a nod to the looping nature of the world is specifically in andy's past because all the people we see are absolutely just different versions of the characters we know.

josh, sanders and red are just yusai, creed and top in cowboy attire

the old age dream andy has of the different people in his past are all with characters we've met: shen, latla, leila, and lucy

at these points we didn't know that andy's memories were just victors all jumbled up, but I think it's a pretty genius way of showing the differences per loop since we do know each iteration is different from the last. undeads agony is in seeing all these people pass you by and it's extra hellish in a world where you meet the same person over and over again doing nothing but dying in new ways

[celebtf]

STARK'S INTERN

Josh had been an intern at Stark Industries for nearly a year. Every day, he walked past the gleaming glass walls of Tony Stark's office, envying the genius billionaire's power and status. Despite his hard work and intelligence, Josh was always seen as just an intern. He was tired of it. He wanted more. He wanted to be Tony Stark.

For months, Josh planned and worked on a machine that would allow him to transform into anyone he desired. It wasn't just about stealing Tony's life; it was about finally being recognized for the genius he believed himself to be.

Josh began his plan by stealing small items from Tony's office and locker—pens, sticky notes, and paperclips. As weeks went by, he grew bolder, taking Tony's personal belongings: socks, underwear, tank tops, shirts, ties, and even his hairbrush. Each item was a piece of the puzzle he was assembling.

Finally, after countless sleepless nights and countless stolen items, Josh's machine was complete. He stood back and admired the sleek, silver device that would change his life forever. Holding Tony's hairbrush, he carefully plucked a strand of hair and placed it into the machine. With a deep breath, he activated it.

A blinding light trapped him, and Josh felt a surge of energy coursing through his body. His muscles tensed and twitched uncontrollably. He could feel his bones shifting and reforming, lengthening as his body grew taller and more muscular. His skin tingled and burned, like thousands of tiny needles prickling every inch of his flesh.

He watched as his hands transformed, growing larger and more robust, with veins growing under his newly tanned skin. The sensation was both scary and satisfieing. His clothes stretched to accommodate his expanding frame before finally tearing at the seams.

Josh's face began to morph next. He felt his jawline becoming more defined, his cheeks filling out, and his nose reshaping itself. His hair, once thin and mousy brown, darkened and thickened, the sudden emergence of facial hair. He touched his new goatee with a mixture of astonishment and pride, feeling the rough texture of the hair under his fingers.

The entire process was short and fast , but to Josh, it felt like an eternity. When the light finally faded, he stood there, transformed. He looked into a nearby mirror and saw not his own reflection, but the face of Tony Stark. His heart raced as he took in the sight: the confident smirk, the eyes, the groomed facial hair.

He ran his hands over his face, smiling at the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation of having a goatee. His fingers traced the contours of his new jawline, and he couldn't help but smile. The face staring back at him was one of power, respect, and recognition.

Josh's body felt different, too. He reveled in the strength and agility that came with his new physique. His movements were more fluid, more confident. He was no longer the overlooked intern; he was Tony Stark.

That night, as Tony worked late in his office, he heard a faint noise. He closed his computer and stood up, but before he could investigate, everything went black. When he woke up, he found himself tied to a chair in a dimly lit room. In front of him stood Josh, holding the machine.

Josh smirked as he watched Tony struggle against his bonds. "You never appreciated me, Tony," he said. "But that's about to change."

Tony's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "Josh, don't do this. You don't know what you're getting into."

"Oh, but I do," Josh replied, holding up Tony's hairbrush. He placed another strand of hair into the machine and activated it.

Tony struggled against his restraints, desperation in his eyes. The machine began to start, and the room filled with a pulsating blue light. Josh's heart pounded in his chest as the machine's energy enveloped him once more.

The light intensified, and Tony could only watch in horror as Josh's body began to shift and transform again. His muscles expanded further, and his posture became even more confident. His skin glowed with vitality, and his hair seemed to shine in an almost unnatural way.

Josh felt a rush of adrenaline as the transformation completed. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers and feeling the raw power running through his veins. He turned to the mirror and saw the perfect image of Tony Stark staring back at him. Every detail was flawless—the piercing eyes, the sculpted jawline, the impeccable goatee.

"How does it feel, Tony?" Josh taunted, his voice now a perfect match for Tony's. He ran his hands over his face again. "To be completely helpless while someone else takes everything you've worked for?"

Tony's expression was a mix of anger and fear. "You won't get away with this, Josh. People will notice something's wrong."

Josh laughed, a rich, confident sound that filled the room. "Oh, I think they'll be too busy admiring the new and improved Tony Stark to notice anything else."

He stepped closer to Tony, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "And now, it's time for you to disappear."

Josh walked over to a corner of the room and picked up a black leather bag he had brought with him. He unzipped it and pulled out one of Tony's suits that he had stolen over the past few months. Holding the fine Italian fabric in his hands, he couldn't help but admire it.

"I've always wanted to try one of these on," Josh said, casting a glance at the bound and helpless Tony.

He stripped off the remnants of his own clothes, feeling the cool air on his newly transformed skin. Then, piece by piece, he dressed himself in Tony's suit. The pants fit perfectly, hugging his legs in just the right way. The shirt smelled faintly of Tony's cologne. As he buttoned the shirt and adjusted everything right in place, he couldn't suppress a grin. Finally, he slipped on the tailored jacket, running his hands over it and feeling the smooth, expensive material.

Josh turned back to Tony, fully dressed now and every inch the part of the billionaire genius. "What do you think, Tony?" he asked, spreading his arms and doing a slow turn. "Do I look the part?"

Tony's eyes burned with a mixture of rage and helplessness. "You're making a big mistake, Josh ".

Josh stepped closer, looking down at the man who had once been his idol. "No, Tony. For the first time, I'm making the right move."

He paused, then a wicked smile spread across his face. "Maybe I should visit your friend Steve," he said, his voice dripping, He laughed,sound that echoed through the room.

Tony's face contorted with a new level of horror and fury. "No, Josh! Leave Steve out of this. You have no idea what you're doing!"

Josh's laughter grew louder, filling the small room with its tone. "Oh, I think a visit to Captain America would be quite interesting. Imagine the look on his face when he sees the 'new and improved' Tony Stark."

Tony struggled against his restraints, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please, Josh. Don't drag anyone else into this. This is between you and me."

But Josh was already walking away, his mind alight with the possibilities that lay ahead. He glanced back one last time, his expression of dark excitement. "Goodbye, Tony."

Don't forget to follow over on Patreon for Exclusive content and stories like this..

[gretavanlace]

Valtava

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, pain during sex (this is handled gently and lovingly) language, dirty talk, etc.

Everyone thank our dear @jake-kiszkas-smirk for the scene where his head is resting on her stomach. I’ll say no more to avoid spoiling it, but it’s delicious and it was her idea that she so kindly left in my hands. Thank you, you filthy genius, you. I love you madly. Also, I no longer remember who to credit for this pic of Josh, it’s been in my camera roll so long. But I couldn’t not use it for this…that’s dangerously close to sacrilege.

“This scene right here,” Josh speaks over Ray Liotta’s musings, one arm stretched across the back of his couch, the other bent to stroke his thumb along your jawline, absently “This is where Scorsese really stretches his wings. Here we are, watching the heinous discovery of murder after murder while Layla, a song about love and lust, lulls us. We feel both safe and shaky.”

His fingers now wind through your hair, relaxed and warm, with your head in his lap. “I think it serves as a reminder that even ugly can dip its toe into the waters of beautiful, if you squint hard enough.”

He pauses and talks over his own stream of thoughts, “Well, most ugly things, anyway. Someone saw these murders as a necessary evil. Something to ensure the world they had built for themselves, for their families, stayed clean. Someone went home and slept a little easier knowing there was one less heart beating out there ready to turn state's witness on them.”

You nod and hope for him to keep going. The way his mind works fascinates you, as does the unique lilt of his tone, and the excitement that sharpens his gaze when he is ruminating on something that really spins the wheel for the hamster in his brain.

Catering to your unspoken wish, he carries on, “And maybe even the victims were in on the method to the madness, y’know? They chose the life they chose, they understood how quickly loyalty and love can shape- shift into survival and self preservation. Layla helps the audience understand. It marries the beauty and the bloodshed for the people in the seats.” he shakes his head in wonder. “It’s fucking genius.”

“Thought your brother was the big Marty fan?” You ask, studying the perfect cupid's bow of his lips from below.

“Jake?” His eyes are on the screen, but his focus is on you. “Tarantino. I dig the use of his nickname, though. Marty. It makes it seem as if you have him over for dinner regularly.”

“Maybe I do.” You tease.

You earn a smile, but still not his gaze. “And what do you serve?”

Adopting a tone of nonchalance, you shrug, “Usually, we make love until dawn and then share cold spaghettiOs right out of the can.”

“Ah,” He nods seriously, “the opulence. It’s all very grand.”

A comfortable silence wraps itself around you both until you have a thought that pokes to be shared.

“Do you suppose Scorsese might have chosen Layla because of the double-edged sword it also happens to be as a piece? Since Clapton wrote it about his best friend's wife?” You feel a blush heat your cheeks, and immediately wish you hadn’t contributed. He knows so much about film and you know so little.

True to Joshua-form, however, he hushes your unease effortlessly. “Shit! I’d never even considered that. The beauty for Clapton was the ugly for Harrison. God, I’m so in love with the way your mind sees everything that’s invisible to mine.”

I’m so in love with…

He means the ideas in your head, the quiet corners of your thoughts, but it quickens your heart and nudges the butterflies in your stomach to life, nonetheless.

So, you pull yourself up, a thigh nestled on either side of his waist in the blink of a breath.

“Hi.” You long for the timid smile dancing shyly on your lips to morph into something sultry. Something sexy. Something that might flicker the darkened flame, that hides down deep in his belly, to life.”

“Hi.” He grins back, allowing you to wiggle around until you’re comfy in his lap. “If Goodfellas is boring you, I stand zero chance of keeping you entertained, baby love.”

Your fingers worry over the beads looped around his neck and then twist into the soft pink linen of his shirt, finally coming to rest at the button fastened nearest to his throat. Your eyes travel over him, hungry to soak him in. To tuck this image of Josh, so quietly content with you perched above him, away in your heart…a pretty picture to revisit when he inevitably becomes a memory.

What is he thinking? That question seems to occupy your mind more often than any other. He is an enigma. A mystery parading as wide open sunshine.

Intrusive thoughts, cruel and unrelenting, silently bully you. You’ve become quite adept at ignoring them over the years, opting for at least some semblance of normalcy in your quest for a happy, healthy life. Whatever that means.

But these thoughts in particular are cloaked in far too much truth…too many signs pointing to the worst being the obvious…to be easily disregarded.

You want to say these things to him. If only to bask in the assurance you might catch in his reply. But to risk the absence of said reassurance, is a feat too great.

Instead, you begin a tentative roll of your hips as you lean in close to meet his pillowy lips with your own. He tastes of mint, and the IPA he has been nursing, and Josh.

Like always, he indulges the kiss, but stills your hips, and you long to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing more than a coiling wisp of smoke in your wake. The rejection comes with a throbbing ache in your chest. Is your heart truly breaking? Now you’ll be forced to offer it to him in pieces.

And he isn’t the only one to indulge in old habits, because, also like always, you crawl into the safe embrace of humor. “You’re right, Joshua…you’re boring me. Back to the brilliant mind of Marty, my beloved.”

You slide off of him and stretch back out on the couch, focusing on the screen to hide your tear glossed eyes as he gets comfortable behind you.

“Scorsese, you bastard,” he shakes his fist in mock indignation, “how dare you steal the affections of my woman?”

A forced laugh comes out sounding a little too close to a sob. You play it off as best you can. Nothin’ to see here.

Alas, he catches it. And, of course, he won’t leave it alone, though you certainly ask him too.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” He turns you toward him, hovering over you as you lie on your back and long to melt away. “Talk to me.”

“I just— I mean,” death seems of great comfort. “Is it me? Do you not… are you not… am I not pretty enough? Or sexy enough? Or… I don’t know,”

A frown of deep concern furrows his brow as his palms move to cup your face, “What? Are you not…Jesus, baby, of course you are. Fuck, if anything you’re too much. Too pretty, too sweet, too smart, too sexy.”

Your words come quiet and small, quivering with painful vulnerability “Then why?” You close your eyes, and thankfully, he allows you to hide this way.

Exactly what you knew would happen, happens. He lies without lying. “Why, what?” He sounds of feigned confusion. He knows what you mean.

Throat now constricted and pulsing with a wringing pain, you close your eyes tighter, unwilling to bear witness to whatever lie will follow his last. “Why don’t you want me?”

A tear breaches the dam you had hoped was impenetrable. You loathe and curse it.

“Hey, shhh…don’t do that. Don’t cry.” He brushes the tear away and then kisses over the path it took.

“Don’t cry?” You snap. A twinge of regret flares to life within you. You’ve never spoken to him unkindly, and could it be that there’s no going back? Perhaps this is it; the end of the road you’ve been heading inevitably for.

To your great surprise, he laughs. You crack an eyelid open to find it sincere. “So, she’s capable of something other than sugar, spice, and everything nice, after all.”

His hand smooths down your chest - can he feel the violent rattle of your heart as it thrums and beats out of control?

When at last he speaks, there is an edge to his tone you’ve never heard before. It warms you clear through to your curling toes “You think I don’t want you?”

You shrug, all pink cheeks and complete ineloquence.

“Well,” he soothes, drawing gentle patterns upon your temple and forehead, “you should know, that is far from the case.”

But, rather than take the moment further, as he so easily could, as you so desperately want him to, he sinks into an innocent position - resting his cheek on your stomach as you struggle to keep it from rising and falling too rapidly, his eyes, once more, on the screen.

The film drones on; mafia murders and cocaine swirling down flushed toilets. Betrayal and 20/20 hindsight…

…and on you watch, on the surface - in reality, you can think of nothing else other than the weight of his head on your stomach.

There is a dull ache there, inside you, gripping at every nerve ending all at once. He knows what you want, and he very obviously doesn’t want the same thing. He doesn’t want you.

He speaks first, and there’s too much truth in it. He knows you too well. “I need you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” You stupidly offer a tiny shrug, but for what? He isn’t even looking at you.

“Your walls, I can feel you stacking bricks. Stop, or I’ll take a wrecking ball to them.” he pets over your forearm comfortingly. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, Miley,” you toss the joke out like a life preserver for yourself. “Just don’t start licking sledgehammers and we’ll be alright.”

He gives you the softest laugh. It more closely resembles a sigh, “Is it only sledgehammers that you are opposed to me licking?”

Oh.

When he coolly pushes your shirt up and begins dragging his lips, licked slick and warm, around your belly button, you think you might burst into tiny, burning, longing, pieces. God, how you want him.

“You like that, baby love?” He speaks the words melodically into the room like a lullaby, hushed as a priest absolving you of your sins in a darkened confessional.

A whiny hum is all you seem capable of, but it doesn’t look like it matters much to him.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing now, and you think it might kill you. Your hips begin a barely perceptible rock in response. “Can I touch you, sweetheart? Do you want that?”

“Josh, please,” his name is less than a whisper. It’s a plea gasped into the dark, dancing with the flickering glow of the tv as it blinks and changes like lightning.

The warmth of his hand between them causes your thighs to twitch and tremble, but he hovers just above making actual contact. “God, look at you. How could you ever doubt how much I want you? So pretty. Can I touch you here, baby? My pretty, pretty girl.”

With a soft moan, you lift your hips, pressing into his palm. He doesn’t push for words, your body has given him all the consent he needs, and the want in your eyes reiterates.

His mouth is wandering your soft, flushed, stomach as he slides your pants away, gentle and sure, the tip of his tongue bridging the distance between his kisses.

Your hands weave down into his wild curls, comforted by the way they wrap themselves into your touch, spiraling around your fingers as you tug at them and tenderly scratch over his scalp. A particularly sweet drag brings a shiver to life on his shoulders. He groans in appreciation and runs away with another piece of your heart.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmur, surprised and grateful, when at last, he sinks a single finger into your warmth.

Should you at least have the decency to feel shy about the sound it makes? About the way you must be soaking his skin? Perhaps. But you don’t, and judging by the curse he secrets into the still of the night, there isn’t any reason to.

“Does that feel good?” He isn’t taunting you, it’s a genuine question, but there is a hint of a teasing tone there as well, peeking out from around the edges of his words and you think it might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“So good.” You’re whining and writhing beneath him, tiny pouty huffs of breath tumbling off your lips over and over…but you don’t care about that either.

His finger slips out and you mourn it pitifully, until it swirls around your swollen clit, tearing a shaking cry out of your chest. And then, there it is again, filling you as his thumb begins a slick trail of tight circles just right.

“You want more?” Oh god…the way he sounds, the way you feel. He’s setting you further and further on fire with his gentle, decadent, prodding. With his breathy, gingerly obscene questions. Flames - scorching and crackling - lick up inside you. Incinerating as they consume.

“More?” He asks again, rasping the word, wantonly urging you on.

“Yes!” You nod frantically, spreading your legs further. You want him, need him, so badly…coveting the very breath in his lungs for its privilege of being inside him in a way you’ll never know. You long to trickle down into his pores and vanish.

A second finger - they feel longer than they have ever looked - joins the first and then begins a perfect, guiding, curl.

Tucking into that perfect place inside you, he fucks the pads of his fingers against it ever so carefully. Gently spinning your head in every direction.

He rests against your belly as the muscles inside churn and flex beneath his ear, watching intently as his hand fucks away at you. He wonders what it might be like to stretch you to almost breaking. How it would feel to push another finger inside, and then another, and another. When would you tell him to stop? Three? Four? Could you take that burning stretch? Would you relish it and ask for more? Fuck, he hopes so.

But you feel so tight around him…just two fingers full and you’re squeezing like you’ll never let go. He worries, and the pounding pulse of neglect that aches rhythmically in his cock, reminds him that he worries rightly so.

He has always believed you to be the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever had the pleasure of landing upon, but he’s never seen you like this - spread open, soaked and puffy with want. With need…for him. It doesn’t seem possible.

The way you move…fluidly, like ripples chasing over the surface of a placid lake, urging him along with your body. Your gorgeous cunt sucking his fingers in. A goddess, a beckoning siren, an angel…he can’t look away.

Can’t until he hears it, until he feels it, how close you are. Wild, frothing, horses couldn’t keep him from the gift of watching your face as you fall apart. An army of men wouldn’t stand a chance. He wants this moment with you, and he will have it. He wants to make you cum, and he wants to watch your eyes go blurry with it, and so watch he will.

“C’mon, baby…” he goes breathless when his face tilts up to meet yours. You are flushed and panting, lips parted. The soft pink of your tongue just barely visible, blushing like saltwater taffy in your mouth and he wants to lick against it, wants to taste you.

The smallest blips of a sound he can’t describe chase each other out of that beautiful mouth he wants to kiss so badly. Tiny uh’s that shift into gasps of desperation. You’re right there, and he wants it more than you do.

With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he eases his chin into the softness just below your navel, creating a delicious pressure, and crooks his finger so perfectly, pressing and stroking until it feels like you’re floating and the only thing holding you in place is him.

It is celestial. He is every constellation and you are the astronomer, feet held to the ground by gravity, eye pressed against a telescopic lens hopefully, frantic for a glimpse of his wonder.

There is only Josh.

“Almost there, pretty girl,” he nods, gaze glossed with lust and something that looks like love. “You gonna give it to me?”

You are. You’re going to give it to him. You couldn’t stop it now if you tried. Fluttering walls trap him inside you as his stare fixes, unmoving and heated, with yours.

“That’s it, baby love, that’s it.” He urges you on, leads you deeper and deeper, those long, warm, perfect, fingers working you like he’s been there a thousand times before. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m right here, just breathe for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to realize your lungs are burning for a breath you’ve been unknowingly denying them - and with that hissing, hungry, gasp for air, you explode under him.

He watches, mezmorized, as your eyes roll back, teeth clenched like some ethereal, feral creature. It bursts out of you, clear and shimmering, like liquid diamonds, but you don’t know it yet, he can tell…you’re too far gone, and he fucking loves it. He fucking loves you.

He has said it aloud. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much. I love you.

But that’s the thing that he doesn’t know yet because he’s also too far gone.

You’re quiet, gentle. Sweet, whining whimpers floating out of you as you vibrate and spill.

On your end, you hear the confession of how deeply his feelings run, but you don’t register…it will settle in later and you’ll weep for not saying it back. Though you don’t need to, he knows.

Once you’ve settled, he pushes up until you are eye to eye, lapping your release off his fingers. You’re sweet enough to lick off a whisk like cake batter, and he tells you so…but you can focus on nothing but the shining glint of you that he wears so well.

Shocked by the sheer amount, you blush hard and hot. Burning brighter still when it drips from his hand and lands on your lip. In an act you don’t seem aware of, you lick it away like a raindrop. The very sight of it, the somehow still innocent depravity, weakens him until he is forced to swallow a whine.

“Had I known what I was missing,” he grins lazily, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”

The confusion sends you crashing back to reality.

“But why stop yourself at all?” Your eyes are so wide and clear. It makes him want to gather you up and keep you safe.

Once more, it crosses his mind that you’re an angel. He wonders where your wings have gone.

“Because, I—“ he falters, shaking his head as if he might rattle his thoughts into place. Finally, he opts to show, not tell, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel him.

And feel him, you do, but only for a moment. He’s so hard you’re cozy from the heat of it through the sweats he was lounging in when you arrived.

You’ve noticed. Of course you have. You’ve stolen a glance or two when he wasn’t looking. How could you not? You’d just always thought, and not to be crass, you’d always just assumed he was a shower, rather than a grower.

Now you aren’t so certain. He felt massive during the short amount of time he was rocking into you.

“You’re thinking very hard, baby love.” He smiles down at you. “Are those thoughts in my favor, or…?”

He trails off and awaits your answer with that Josh-like patience. Rather than speaking, you curl your hands around the waistband of his pants and then cast your eyes up, in silent question.

Nodding the go ahead, he continues watching you closely…studying your reaction as you tug him free.

“Oh, fuck,” the expletive sighs out of you as the tip of his cock - leaking, angry and swollen - slaps up, well above his belly button, with a solid thump.

He’s big. So big. Long and thick, beautifully shaped. Blushing pink at the head, and visibly pulsing under your awestruck scrutiny. You absently wonder how he isn’t light-headed for the amount of blood it must require to bring him to such full attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He explains softly, finally letting you in on the secret of why he’s been so skittish, “And I didn’t want to…”

His confession loses traction as he watches your mouth rather than meeting your gaze.

Your palms reach for him, cupping his angelic face with as much gentleness as the renewed desire racing through your veins will allow. “You didn’t want to what?”

While he searches for the words, you curl your thighs around him and pull him in, moaning out his name like a mantra when you feel him against you, skin to skin.

“God damn, baby…” he rocks his hips closer to yours and then remembers what he’s doing. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You tease, trying to lighten the heavy load of his anxiety.

“I know.” His mouth meets yours, searching out a slow, needful kiss. “But I kept imagining hurting you, and you being too sweet to say so. I’m still imagining it.”

Your tongue licks into his mouth as you wrap your fist around him. “Look at you, Josh,” you smile shyly through a kiss that is anything but shy. “My fingers don’t even touch.”

“Grew up under some power lines.” He teases, relaxing as he pecks along your jaw.

“I want you inside me.” You sound despondent, and feel just as forlorn, the look in his eye warns you may have a fight on your hands.

“Pretty girl,” he tucks himself away and begins kissing a slow, serpentine trail down your body after he flutters your shirt, indicating he wants it off. “I could barely get two fingers in your sweet little pussy. Why don’t you just let me kiss it? Don’t you want to cum on my tongue, hmm? Won’t that feel nice?”

Such filth is a captivating development, and one you like very much…but, you stop him all the same. Grabbing him by the hair with enough force to tilt his head back, pulling his mouth away from your straining nipple, you issue a demand you intend to make sure he fulfills, “I said, inside, Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow and suppresses a grin of dirty glee. “Joshua?”

Ignoring him, you watch as he licks the pad of his thumb and then arch away from the cushion when he begins a steady, swirling journey over your clit with it. “Gonna make you cum first, love. Again and again. I’m gonna baby this gorgeous cunt until my name is the only word you want in your mouth…and then I want you to fill my mouth.”

“Jesus, Josh…” you’ve never wanted anything more, but you can hardly force the words out to convey just how fucking agreeable you are.

“You want that?” He flicks over you faster and faster, indulging in your pouty, needy cries, praying they never end. “You want to cum in my mouth? Feed me something sweet?”

~

“Easy, baby love,” he coos, whispering to you like you’re a tiny, broken bird, fallen from the nest and afraid. “You’ve got to relax a little more for me.”

“Yeah…” you nod, staring up at him as if he painted your entire world into existence. And maybe he did.

No longer able to count the number of orgasms he’s gifted you with, you feel like liquid silk. Or clay in his palm, happy to be molded to his liking.

“Yeah?” He drops a kiss onto your forehead and pushes in just a hint further, eyes darting up when you hiss with discomfort.

You offer a smile for him to continue and he returns it gently, but the way he’s fighting for breath betrays him. He wants you badly, he’s going slowly mad with the need to bury into your body to the hilt.

His fingertips skate a ticklish trail down the curve of your waist and then grip into your thigh, spreading you open a bit wider.

Both bare now completely to each other for the first time, you’ve given yourself over right there on the couch. The room is silent, save for hushed words and choked breaths twisting languidly through the air, the movie long since over.

He’d wanted to carry you off to the bedroom, but you refused.

You want him here. You want him now.

Palm cradling the back of your head, he brings you forward until your mouth is sucking at his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl.” His praise flips your stomach. A violent somersault of carnal need. “You just suck and bite all you want. I’m gonna take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding urgently against him, you’re far too interested in the marks you're leaving against his overheated skin.

“Words for me, okay?” He coaxes so gently it makes your chest ache.

“You’re going to take care of me.” You mumble through a long lick along his collarbone.

Without reply, he slides in deeper, yet still not much more than the tip rests inside you.

A shocked cry escapes you before you can stifle it and his face snaps up, searching your own for tells of pain that he doesn’t have to look all that closely for. “Baby,” the pet name sings out of him, a soft crooning apology. “Let’s stop, I…”

“No, please!’ The frantic want bubbling up inside you colors your voice and surprises you both, but he masks it well.

“Hush, love. No one’s stopping yet.” he soothes, massaging your hip carefully. Just wisps of touch, but you relax beneath it like a sleepy babe cradled up snug and safe.

You’re not fond of that ‘yet’ he tacked on to the end of his promise.

“Deeper.” Your hips lift, forcing his hand while you gulp down another sound of discomfort.

“Don’t.” His grip is suddenly digging into your waist, no longer careful, but swift and insistent instead. “Let me take my time. Let me be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s right, and you tell him as much as he begins a slow, stuttering journey. Starting and stopping as you writhe with impatience and uncomfortability in his capable hands.

Reaching up, he guides your fingers down until they brush over your sensitive clit. “You take care of this for me, okay, baby? Help me make this easier for my pretty girl…I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

“Please, Josh…” you sound a mess, and who gives a damn? “Please!”

You’re right, it’s time. He knows it better than you do. He can wait no more. There isn’t far to go anyway.

Suddenly, with one firm thrust, he drives in all the way to the base, shuddering as you coil around him like a hot, wet, fist. Squeezing harder and tighter and fuck….

“So fucking tight.” He is trembling, fighting the urge to let go already. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go. Pussy so pretty and soft. Like the sweetest thing all dressed in pink. Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”

Your eyes drift closed, breathing through the last remnants of the biting sting. You’re so full, it feels so good. So right. So completely perfect, you cannot begin to fathom how you’ve lived all these years without him inside you.

“Say it.” He sounds like an angel clawing his way closer and closer to something he can’t survive without any longer.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re gorgeous.” He’s fucking you faster now…and it stings, but it hurts so good you want to feel the burn forever. “Say you’re my beautiful girl. Come on, I wanna know that you know.”

“I—“ your face flares as pink as the cunt he’s currently locked inside

“That’s it, baby love…” he coaxes, pumping into you with long, torturous strokes. “C’mon,”

A little less tentative now - he effortlessly makes you believe - the words finally come “I’m gorgeous.”

He smiles so wide his nose crinkles as he nods and dips his lips to meet your own. “Fuck yes you are. My pretty girl. You’re doing so well, look at you. Just taking and taking and taking me.”

Pulling you up and away from the pillow gently, he guides your line of sight to the sinful image of him gliding in and out of you. His cock, glistening and covered in your unbridled desire - it catches the light and steals your heart. Is it possible to be in love with a cock? Or are you just in love with the man who wields it?

Both. Most definitely, both.

“Look, baby, look…” a quivering huff escapes him. “It’s like coming home. Being inside you is like coming fucking home.”

“Harder,” you beg, winded and lost. He feels so good inside you. Stretched further than you ever thought possible around him, you clench and twist a fist into the throw pillow beneath you until your fingernails threaten to rip it open.

“Just…fuck,” his pretty face buries itself in the crook of your neck with a whimper as he falters. “Just a little.”

The room is hazy and blurred, filled with sounds neither of you can seem to quiet. Each moan and breath filling your head up until you feel feverish. Every groan and gasp pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Your bodies meet in a sweat glazed dance that causes your teeth to grit together - biting down hard to suppress a scream that he might confuse with pain.

He tucks his own teeth into your throat deeply, growling out a melodic sound that sets you on fire, when the salt of your skin hits his tongue.

A shaky, “I’m gonna cum, baby love…where, baby, where?” Pants out of him with a desperate urgency the moment he releases your skin from his bite.

“Inside…” you plead, clawing at his waist as your thighs lock him in close. “Cum inside me…c’mon. Please,”

“Pretty girl begging for my cum. Begging me to ruin this beautiful little cunt…” he sounds as if he’s talking to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“Ruin it, baby,” your palms drift up his back, slow and steady…urging him along gently. “Ruin me.”

A sound so exquisitely angelic rumbles up out of his chest. Deep and primal, but somehow gentle and submissive, like he wants to fall at your feet in veneration of something holy and ancient.

He falls against you, pulling you as close as he can get you, and then draws the scent of your hair in only to feel that much closer. Rocking into you as he slowly comes down and finds himself.

Gathering you in his arms, he lifts you away from the disheveled couch, ignoring you when you protest weakly that you can walk.

A bath is drawn and laced with plain epsom salt to soothe your throbbing muscles. He slips into the steaming water behind you, cradling you as he drags a washcloth over your skin.

Quiet verses of a song you’ve never heard are whispered in your ear as you drift into a light slumber without worry, confident that he will keep your head safe above water.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @thelvnternskeeper @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn