#THAT EXPLAIN WHY HE WAS WITH AN SUIT THOUGH

[thevoidstaredback]

Tim's Deep Dive

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant Side Story

Tim frowned down at his coffee. He was right, no amount of caffeine would ever be enough again.

Phantom was right, too. Tim's heart had, in fact, stopped beating for about a minute after he took that first sip, but it was nothing he couldn't walk off. He'd also been awake for three days, but it had been a very productive three days, so jokes on everyone else!

God, he needed a nap.

'Productive' is a strong word, actually. Yeah, he'd gotten a lot of work done in those three days, but it wasn't any of the work he should've been doing, like any of the four cases he was currently working on. Yeah, he progressed them, but he wasn't focused on them.

Hyperfocus is an intense form of mental concentration or visualization that focuses consciousness on a subject, topic, or task. And currently, Tim was hyperfocusd on Phantom. Well, specifically, he'd focused on who Phantom is.

Sure, his original goal was to find the recipe for that coffee - damn it was good! - but that had quickly been derailed when he'd found the JL's records on him.

Or rather, lack thereof.

Batman knows everything there is to know about everyone. He logs it all in the Justice League Records, obviously encrypted and not all in one place, but there's nothing on Phantom.

The JLD Files had a bit more information, but not by much.

There was a picture of Phantom, obviously taken when he was mid-battle, but the town in the background was unfamiliar and old. Phantom's hair was white, but more solid looking than normal, and his eyes were purely a toxic sort of green. His suit was a black HAZMAT with white gloves, boots, collar, and decal. His features were also a lot more...human looking? Yeah. He's more human like in the picture, ignoring the glowing green where there should be blood.

Was that...Lazarus Water?

No, it's too bright. But it's definitely something similar.

Underneath the picture was the standard base of everyone's files.

Name: N/A Alias: Phantom Age: N/A D.O.B: 02-12-XXXX (Earth Calendar) Gender: Male Race: Ghost (Realms Being) Height: 5'2" Weight: N/A Location: Infinite Realms / House of Mysteries Status: Dead Personality: Introverted, kindhearted, loyal, protective, confident Powers: Sensitive to emotions, flight/levitation, invisibility, intangibility, eco blasts, basic magic History: The JLD summoned him, and he didn't leave. Zatanna Zatara offered him an official spot on the JLD Team, but he refused. He has yet to leave and works unofficially as a consultant with both the JL and JLD on Realms related problems

Tim had to give it to Phantom; he really knows how to keep himself hidden. There's almost nothing in the file on him. 'Almost' being the key word.

For one, the background of the picture. If Phantom's from anywhere the JL and affiliated teams have visited, then there'll be record of it.

Second, the specification of 'Earth Calendar'. He's from a place similar enough to their world to use their calendar, otherwise it would've been marked with the date of his home's calendar. No matter which calendar was used, though, didn't explain why the year was blocked out.

Thirdly, the file says both 'Ghost' and 'Realms Being'. According to the powerpoint Constantine presented barely two months ago, he can cross off 'ghost' as the correct term to use.

'Realms Being' makes sense if he's really from the Infinite Realms. However, why is he staying the the House of Mysteries? How can Tim get in?

'Dead' is not a ne thing to see on files like this, especially when dealing with magic, though the status doesn't normally start as Dead. Though, he's clearly able to consume substance, probably meaning that he also expels waste, but the dead can't do that. Deadman is a prime example of that fact. 'Undying' would be a better term, but that isn't quite right, either. Maybe as his race, but definitely not as his status.

The personality and powers check out from what Tim has seen and heard. Was that all there is to Phantom? That didn't seem right.

The history is what was really interesting. Phantom gets pulled from his home one day, probably to make a deal in exchange for help, and just decides to stick around? Not only that, but there's nothin before or after that. He lives in the House and works as a consultant, though he won't become a part of any team. Why? The wording is really vague, too.

Tim's always loved a good mystery.

With Speedsters, the Timeline is more of an open concept than a set path, so finding a 'when' is just a important as the 'how'.

He had the Batcomputer analyzing the photo, the only cap on time being the early nineteen-sixties when coloured cameras became much more widely available.

While that was going, he also ran the picture through facial recognition software. Phantom looked more human when this was taken, so it was probably close to when he died. (Did the dead change appearance after the fact, or did they look as they did in life? Jason suggests that they change, but he was only dead for six months, so he was probably an outlier. Then again, it's not like there's a huge sample pool for this kind of thing.)

Twenty minutes later, Tim had the results for both searches.

Amity Park, Illinois: Founded in 1690, Destroyed in 2069 An explosion, apparently. The state of Illinois converted the site to farmland, leasing it out to a couple of farmers.

Danny Phantom: First publicly appeared in mid-2004. His debut was at the local middle school, fighting a ghost named The Lunch Lady. After that, it was near daily appearances. Property damage and bystander injuries were kept to a minimum if not zero. Phantom's first recorded appearance dates back to Ancient Times, most notably in hieroglyphs alongside Anubis. All sightings of Phantom stopped in February of 2032.

Odd.

Even odder still? The second name that came up for Phantom.

Daniel James Fenton: Son of the town's ghost hunters/mad scientists. He was known for being terrified of ghosts, disappearing whenever there was a ghost attack. But, he had been sited to help Phantom run from both the Doctors Fenton and a [now disbanded] government organisation (Tim would have to make sure it was really gone, but that's a later project) called The Ghost Investigation Ward (G.I.W for short). He was quoted about altering his parents' tech so that Phantom could use it. His best friends had even been seen helping Phantom whenever they could.

If so many coincidences (seriously, try a little harder next time, okay?) weren't a dead give away, the craziest thing? Daniel looked almost exactly like Phantom.

His hair was black and his eyes sky blue, but his features were all the same. Daniel and Phantom held themselves completely differently, even dressing almost exactly opposite of each other, but it was still obvious that they're the same person.

Tim ran the facial recognition on Daniel James Fenton, giving an approximate age based on information Phantom had given willingly. Lo and behold, not even ten minutes later, Daniel J. F. Nightingale was staring at him from the screen.

Four years did almost nothing to change how he looks, but it hadn't been four years. Daniel didn't slowly fade out until he was thirty-six years old. It'd had been over a hundred years and Daniel didn't look a day over eighteen years old. Phantom looking the same makes sense because he's dead; no heartbeat or breathing. Daniel doesn't make sense because he's human, born and raised.

Medical records were shody to come by, especially for a town that had been destroyed, but it was doable. Inside, Tim found what was probably the answer to how Daniel has stayed nearly the same: An accident in his parents' lab.

Metahumans have only been recorded in the last hundred years or so. There's evidence of them existing long before that, but nothing concrete. Could Daniel be one of the first?

Tim had so many questions.

First thing's first, though: He coded the notes and put them in his personal folder. He had a hero to find.

Storyboard

[stelly38]

“I can’t remember how much bonking I did”  —Aidan Turner

With Ross Poldark behind him, the star of Di5ney’s adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals talks ’80s excess, intimacy coaches and beef brisket.

Here I am, avidly watching the first few episodes of Rivals, the sizzling new Disney+ treatment of Dame Jilly Cooper’s raunchy blockbuster, before my interview with dreamboat-y Aidan Turner, when my 22-year-old daughter walks into the room. “What the actual?” she cries, open-mouthed in horror. “Oh my God! What are they doing?”

I chide her prudishness. “Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,” I explain. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…” but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

“These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?” Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion. It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along. From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in…  “I’m not here to talk about Poldark,” says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if. County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television. David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

I could try to explain, but that’s about all the primer you need – rest assured that with this high-budget adaptation, even the most loyal of Cooper’s fans will find themselves safe in its (wandering) hands. “Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,” says Turner. “That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.”

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. “They had a lot of intimacy to coach,” confirms Turner breezily. “I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.”

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – “artist’s own”, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

Such uxoriousness appears borderline scandalous in Dame Jilly’s masterfully constructed world of egos, oneupmanship and serial adultery, which signals that despite being a workaholic, Declan is clearly a good ’un – although, to be fair, I have only seen the first three episodes.

“I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,” says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. “You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.”

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story. “Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,” says Turner. “It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.”

To research the role of a broadcasting homme sérieux, Turner trawled YouTube to watch hours of Firing Line, the US current-affairs talk show presented by conservative pundit William F Buckley Jr for 33 years. From 1966 to 1999, he verbally sparred with leading figures of the age.

“I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,” says Turner. “The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.”

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician, not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.”

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. “The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.” That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

“Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,” observes Lamb. “I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.” Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. “It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr. Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.” Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. “Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.”

Later, he quietly relates a telling conversation with Cooper at a garden party held at her Gloucestershire gaff (to call it a pile would be too excessive, to call it a house too modest), one summer evening last year, after filming. “I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,” he says. “And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, ‘This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,’ and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.” How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so, to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

Born in Clondalkin, a town outside Dublin, before the family moved to a suburb of the city, Turner admits he was never academically inclined. With a low boredom threshold, he struggled to concentrate at school, but when his accountant mother took him along to dance classes, he excelled; he went on to compete in ballroom dancing at national level, but lost momentum.

There was a stint working as an electrician with his father, but it was a job at the local cinema that sparked his interest in acting, entering the Gaiety School of Acting, Ireland’s national theatre school, where he graduated in 2004. After appearing in several theatre productions, including Seán O’Casey’s Easter Rising play The Plough and the Stars, he got his first major television gig in 2008 in the Irish hospital drama The Clinic.

“I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,” he smiles. “Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.” Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics. The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Various other parts followed, culminating in his award-winning portrayal of Captain Ross Poldark in the 2015 revival of the BBC classic, which ran for five series and made him both a household name and a pin-up among ladies (and interviewers) d’un certain age.

After he was shown scything a field shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his ripped – sorry – torso, the Sunday-night concupiscence became so pronounced that media commentators called out the reverse sexism and denounced the reductive way in which Turner was being treated as a piece of prime meat. A decade on, he still seems mildly baffled, but not ungrateful, for the attention, if loath to dwell on it. “There are worse things to be known for than having a nice physique,” he says, philosophically. “But that was a long time ago and I’ve done a lot of fully clothed work since.” Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. “I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.”

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. “To be honest, neither did I,” he shrugs in good-natured agreement. “They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.”

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. “It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’”he offers, pre-emptively. “Oh, and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.” Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. “Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.” This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges. “But you’d take the calls presumably?” I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. “You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.” Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Turner just pulls a slightly apologetic face (possibly for the benefit of his aghast agent reading this). But really it should come as no surprise; Turner has built up a reputation as a protean performer, moving seamlessly between television, film and the stage in a variety of markedly different roles. Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

“Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,” says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. “He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.”

Off stage, Turner leads a quiet life with his family in an 18th-century house in east London, which he famously furnished with the table and chairs from the Poldark set in Cornwall. He looks amused when I wonder aloud if he hangs out – virtually or actually – with the slew of young Irish actors, like Paul Mescal and Barry Keoghan, who have made a name for themselves. “It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,” he says. “I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.”

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible. “It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,” he recalls. “Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.” Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

“If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.” I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. “Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,” he sighs.

I bet he doesn’t. Far too much of a compromise. I do manage to winkle a few details out of him by playing my fellow Irishwoman card and discover that he’s a ‘serious’ pool player – just this week he settled down in front of a recording of Steve Davis and his teammates taking the 2002 Mosconi Cup in Bethnal Green. He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

“I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.”

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World.’ Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Di5ney+ from 18 October

Interview by Judith Woods from The Telegraph; Photos by John Balsom.

[toracainz]

High Rollers

Masterlist

Summary: Steven Grant, financial savant, gets played

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show/comic and some light research). Alcohol. Comic Book version of the character,

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Thanks goes out to @missdictatorme for requesting this little fic!

Defending New York from bad guys, supervillains, thugs, vampires, and whoever else chooses the night as the backdrop for their crimes isn’t cheap. Not even a little. And with the way Marc fights, it’s not going to get any cheaper any time soon.

That’s where I come in.

My name is Steven Grant. Though I’m not one to brag, I’m the one that makes sure our little crime-fighting gig stay open for business. We’ve had some setbacks, but I always manage to turn things around and make a quick buck. It helps to have friends in high places after all.

That’s how I found myself at another charity gala, after explaining (again) to the boys why attending these “boring rich folk circle jerks”, as Jake so colorfully commented, was important. They knew why I had to attend, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t moan and complain as I got dressed for it. Sharp suit, tame, clean-cut hair, and deep pockets. Deep pockets that were definitely dipped into when you began to battle me for one of the items at the auction.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

This particular gala was benefitting several charities, plenty of people to rub elbows with, plenty of connections for Steven to get in contact with. He arrived, not-so fashionably late, and began doing the usual song and dance, making small talk and talking business. Some aquaintences of his introduced him to other well-to-do types, more names to add to the contact list if he needs them.

The hourdourves were passable, the scotch was the only saving grace.

After a bit of mingling, the people were funneled into the auction hall for the real reason everyone was there. There were some items that other rich people had donated for auction to be sold with the proceeds benefitting the different charities.

“Alright, Steven. Don’t get too carried away.” Marc chimed in for the first time since Steven had left The Mission.

Steven raised his glass to his lips, attempting to conceal his side of the conversation. “Don’t think you’re quite qualified to give advice on the handling of our money. Gotta keep up appearances don’t we, don’t want to snub the wrong people by being stingy.” Taking a sip of his scotch, Steven takes his seat, setting the glass on the small table next to the bid-paddle. As everyone began to settle in, Steven’s eyes landed on you. He hadn’t met you yet even after all the schmoozing from earlier. Had you slipped in at the last minute? Judging by your outfit and your appearance, he thought art like that couldn’t be rushed.

Almost as if you could feel his gaze on you, you turned, your eyes falling on him. Steven flashed you a rather charming smirk, slightly raising his scotch glass as a sort of wordless greeting. When you smiled back to him, Steven knew he had to find you after the auction.

The auctioneer stepped to the podium and gave the usual introduction and forced jokes before beginning. Item after item, plenty of high rollers were throwing their money around snatching up whatever eccentric items someone else had donated. Events like this weren’t really for the charities so much as it was a time for those in high society to do a bit of dick swinging. Steven played along, bidding occasionally to show he was interested, even purchasing a couple things. The next item up was slotted to benefit the city animal shelters and other humane societies. The profits would be split among a few facilities. Steven thought it was a great cause and one of the facilities was in the neighborhood of The Midnight Mission, so he figured Marc couldn’t argue since it would be in service of “our people”.

Steven raised his bid-paddle to kick things off since hardly anyone else was jumping in. A couple other people placed their bids, all of whom Steven outbid. It became clear to the room who was gunning for the item. Before the auctioneer could give the final call…another paddle was raised…your paddle. Steven was a little surprised, partly because he thought he had the bid in the bag and the other part was how strategic your bid was. This could get interesting.

One after another you and Steven were practically battling for the bid, exchanging glances and smirks, the two of you knowing this game you were both playing, or at least the “game” you might play later. For some rich folks, this kind of tension might be considered flirting or even foreplay, and with the way the corners of your lips curled after each bid, Steven was looking forward to the after-party.

Eventually, once the price had risen quite a bit outside the budget that Steven had set for the night, you finally conceded. Though Steven wasn’t sure you would give up, but as the auctioneer made the final call, naming Steven as the victor, it was clear. He looked around, giving a small wave and nod to the people as they gave a soft applause. The claps died down as his gaze fell on you again.

Steven’s brows raised, a silent question, “Give up?”

You chuckled softly, though you were too far away for him to hear you, shrugging slightly. A silent answer, “Guess so.”

Taking another sip of his scotch, Steven let out his own breathy chuckle.

“Havin’ a good time there, Grant?” Steven could hear the smirk in Jake’s voice.

“So much for not getting carried away.” Marc always had a way of making Steven roll his eyes.

“All part of playing the game, gentlemen. All part of the game.” Steven took another sip, finishing his glass and motioning to a waiter for another as the auction continued. Steven decided that he’d done enough damage tonight, doing the mental math of their collective finances.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

The after-party was nothing but the first part of the event, but with more boasting and more drinks. This was a little more casual now that everyone had loosened up by lightening the load their money had weighing on them. Steven took to what he was good at — more talking, more networking — all the while looking for you in the crowd while feigning interest in what his conversation partner had to say.

It was longer than he would have liked before he caught a glimpse of you and when he saw you talking to someone he already knew, one of the charity gala hosts, Steven took the opportunity to politely excuse himself and make his way over to a potentially much more enjoyable conversation.

As he approached he caught the eye of the older woman.

“Mr. Grant! I was wondering when I’d get to see you! You made quite the stir at the auction, you know.” Her smile was huge and her energy radiating, either from her natural demeanor or one too many cocktails.

“That so? Don’t think I could have done it without our friend here…you are?” Steven deftly maneuvered the conversation into an introduction to which the gala hostess quickly obliged, telling Steven your name, one that Steven won’t soon be forgetting.

You nodded with a playful smirk as you offered Steve your hand, which he took and gently pressed your knuckles to his lips.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Grant.”

“Please, call me Steven. No sense in formalities. I’d say we know each other quite well after our encounter earlier.” Wanting to be a gentleman, and not press his luck too soon, Steven let go of your hand, but he’d be damned if he took his eyes off you, which you seemed inclined to do the same to him.

“Aren’t you two just hitting it off! I should have known you two would mesh, especially after that generous donation to their animal shelter.”

“Their animal shelter”? Steven wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“Beg pardon?” Steven looked at her, a bit stunned.

“Oh HO! They played you good, Grant. Gotta give ‘em props for sure.” Jake didn’t waste time expressing his amusement. Marc on the other hand…Steven could mostly hear grumbling.

“Yes, the animal shelter your bid went to…our lovely friend here is the chair and executive director for that animal shelter and a number of others in the surrounding neighborhoods.” She placed her hand on your shoulder, doing a little pose as if presenting some item from the auction. You couldn’t help but chuckle. Try as you might, it was difficult to hide your smirk. The jig was up, it would appear that your secret was out. You half expected Steven to either blow up for being played or make some snide passive aggressive comment…either way his money would be going to your organization. But you were rather pleasantly surprised when he laughed as well.

“Well played, well done. Takes a lot to pull one over on me and you did it in no time flat. Perhaps, now that I know who you really are, we could take this discussion elsewhere and maybe you could tell me a bit about your organization that I’ll be benefitting. I’d like to get to know the people I’m working with on a more…personal basis.” He winks before offering his arm to you, the gala hostess giddily bowing out to allow you two to find your own way through this event. The corner of your lips quirking up as you take his arm.

“Sounds delightful…lead the way…Steven.” Pressing your body a little closer to his, he begins to lead you over to the more private rooms. He had already reserved one should he need to more openly discuss finances with Marc and Jake, if he needed to make a call, or just have a moment to himself…after all mingling can be exhausting especially with the wrong people, but there was no mistaking it…you were absolutely the right people.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

Hope you enjoyed!!! Please reblog to help share the fic with others!!!

taglist: @roseqzpd @rosecentaur1916​ @ahookedheroespureheart@sleepyamaya @parkeepingparker @lockleysgrl @marc-spectorr @vermillionsails @harrys-titties @n0ripeaches @missdictatorme @bitchyglitterfox @spacecowboyhotch @randomchick546 @teacupcollector @local-mr-frog @stevenknightmarc @ahookedheroespureheart @mccn-bcys @juneknight @moonz33 @autismsupermusicalassassin @spicydonut25

[namaaaes]

( ⁎ᵕᴗᵕ⁎ ）

[thiefking]

i think arven probably hates most fast food sandwiches. hates subway and the soggy lettuce. if you try to shred lettuce for a sandwich he'll get so mad. i wonder if he had any money while the professor was dicking around in the Mist Hole like did he have access to their account...? i feel like i can see arven working at subway and then growing such insane contempt for the place while also being the one who made the best sandwiches despite his ingredient constraints

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

-

part two

[augustinewrites]

“babe. baaaabe. babe!”

“what, satoru?” you ask sharply, looking up from your laptop to where your boyfriend has spread himself across your couch, his legs in shoko’s lap. 

he lifts his shades to look at you. “was i your first crush?”

“yes,” you answer quickly.

you immediately return to the report you’re writing, missing the face shoko makes before she says, “that’s not true.” 

“ieiri,” you whisper harshly, but it’s too late. your boyfriend’s already jumped off the couch to lean his palms against your desk. 

“what? i wasn’t your first?!”

“you were,” you insist, glaring at your friend. “shoko is clearly misremembering things.”

“am i though?”

“you know what, it’s fine,” gojo sighs, slipping his shades back on and rolling the sleeve of his t-shirt up so he can flex. “obviously i’m way cooler than whatever lame schmuck high school you was crushing on.”

behind him, shoko’s scoff is the final nail in your coffin. “nanami is way cooler than you ever were.”

you slap your forehead, bracing yourself for gojo’s inevitable overreaction. 

but he doesn’t get the chance, interrupted by a light knock against your doorframe from, you guessed it, nanami kento.

“yaga said you wanted to see me?”

cue overreaction.

“you had a crush on— on him?” 

nanami swats gojo’s finger away from his cheek. 

“oh my god,” your boyfriend breathes, currently experiencing a quarterlife crisis. “you liked this emo nemo?”

nanami ignores him, sending you a questioning look. “he doesn’t know?”

“what is it now?” satoru asks, slumping back into the couch. “did you guys go on a date or something?” 

your lack of answer is enough for him to let his head fall back rather dramatically. 

“can you blame her?” shoko asks. “he was sexy back then. in an edgy, mysterious kind of way. meanwhile, you were like…if a string bean made love to a cauliflower.” 

even gojo doesn’t have a witty retort prepared for that. 

you decide to clear this up once and for all. “it wasn’t just about looks. you were busy after— after riko. you didn’t have time for a relationship or…for me. you wanted to get stronger and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“you wouldn’t have been—”

“i would have.” you shrug. because you know him, and you know what he was like. “and that’s okay because we were still kids, satoru. and it was only one date! no need to get so torn up about it!”

_____

“what is this?” you ask later that night, when you find satoru hauling a huge box into your apartment.

“it’s a bowflex!” gojo explains proudly, patting the unopened box. “shoko said that i was built like a string bean, so i’m gonna buff up like nanami! and when megumi moves out next year, i’m gonna turn his room into a gym.”

you lean in the doorway, amused. nanami also has a home gym. “is that why you’re also wearing a suit and tie instead of your usual uniform?”

he does a show spin, letting you take it all in. you don’t even want to know how much it must have cost. “do you like it?” 

“you do look very handsome.” 

“i know,” he winks, cocky as ever. “now watch this.”

he brushes a few strands of hair over his eyes, lowering his voice a few octaves as he says, “taxes. office work. satoru, i respect you so much!”

you walk up to him, brushing the hair back to press a kiss to his forehead. “nanami would never say that last thing, but i do like the effort.” 

he loops his arms around your waist, returning the kiss and murmuring against your skin, “did it turn you on though? maybe i should get an office job—”

“satoru,” you whine, resting your forehead against his chest. “it was just a short-lived crush. and it was forever ago! i’m pretty sure you’ve had crushes that weren’t me.”

“nope,” he hums, resting his chin atop your head. “all i’ve ever wanted is you. all i’ve ever needed…is you.” 

[todayisafridaynight]

RIGHT YEAH I was also thinking about the scenario of Jo accompanying Masato in relation to this, in the vein of… that'd solidify that the whole lie was always about His Family and not The Family right… because what can Jo even DO for the family while he's away? He's more than a glorified accountant.

Though thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have been away too long, at least compared to a prison sentence for murder. Because Masato only faked his death in 2004 (at the very latest, I guess; it's when the news went public) and Bleach Japan was founded "almost 20 years" prior to 2019, at which point Aoki and Ogasawara had already graduated and returned to Japan.

That and Aoki wasn't in a wheelchair anymore when he met Ogasawara at Harvard, so perhaps Jo would only really /need/ to stay for the procedure and Aoki's physical therapy and all, though of course I can see him staying longer. Still, not too long, all things considered.

So this scenario's kind of the worst of both worlds, because perhaps those first couple of years it's Arakawa's own stubbornness, and then the rest of his family has to go away anyway. And he's so sure in that time what he needs is to be with his family again and he'll at least feel less alone, miss Ichi less.

But then Masato's Aoki now and only really staying in touch to use him and the Arakawa Family's resources for his own gain, and Jo--as you perfectly put it--doesn't know how to emotionally take care of him. So things he should be ecstatic about--seeing his son walk on his own two legs for the first time and having his right hand man back in action--end up bittersweet at best. Aiiieeeeee……

OH YEAH SHINJI I half-remembered there was a visit in 1 but not who actually went to visit Kiryu sorry for doing you like that my boy </3 still counts as part of a pattern to me though… subordinate visiting his aniki…

SPEAKING OF KIRYU. Yeah. Typical Kiryu L. Kazuma Kiryu you have blood on your hands and NOT in the funney Reddit meme way… ABSOLUTELY DERANGED to blame Ichi for anything in the ending whatsoever though like WHAT. He got him immediate medical attention and WE AS THE AUDIENCE don't even have time to react, let alone anyone living the fucking moment good god my blood pressure is spiking

ALSO THE JO POST… YEAH… yeah yeah yeah that's the shit I'm talking about… and like. This is where localization frustrates me so Bear With My Complaints a moment but his very last line is mistranslated in both versions, the sub in terms of what he was actually saying and the dub in terms of giving him this bitchy, flippant tone that doesn't convey his intent. So I'll cut them down the middle and say it's "[The] legit [way]? The word has never crossed my mind, not once."

There's just something to it as a clear thesis for his whole life and his eventual fate. Like of course Adachi means in terms of going through the proper legal processes, but words like proper, legit, decent, these also have clear connotations of adequacy. So for him to literally say NOTHING he's done has been adequate in his eyes perfectly illustrates what you were saying. Like he's always taken it as a matter of fact that nothing he could do would be enough, like that's a truth woven into his existence so tightly he never even thought about it. And now there really is nothing he can do.

i have my own theoretical timeline on masato's stay in america, but even with what we have there's a lot of variables involved with for exactly when certain events happened

under the assumption masato was to enroll at harvard in the fall of 2001 (assuming he was somehow able to be approved for a lung transplant as soon as that year), then jo would- at max- might only have to be abroad for (assuming they leave in january) nine months (to account for the time it took for masato to get approved for surgery and then the surgery itself plus the potential 3-6 month recovery period afterwards)

alternatively, if masato had to wait a year- two max if we're being optimistic so he could graduate on time under an accelerated 2-year academic schedule to get surgery- then jo, similarly, would have to be abroad for a similar amount of time.

the time gone doesn't matter too much i guess: arakawa will still be left alone for a long time, and that really couldnt have been easy either way. the time his family's gone only makes their comeback all the more bittersweet, as you put it (´▽｀;;)

OH BUT YEAH NO THE Y7 BIT THAT SHIT PISSED ME OFF SO MUCH WHEN I READ IT like mates were trying to be smart about it like 'wow ichi way to go showing how much you love aoki and how you'd do anything for him 🙄' like God Forbid a human character acts human and imperfect what the fuck you want him to do he aint got no goddamn spidey sense how the shit was he supposed to know (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

but yeah.. speaking of Doing The Right Thing jo's never ending feelings of inadequacy are my favorite </3 cause its like.. it's a reason why i love jo so much if i can be weird to say: what he did wasnt something that you can confidently forgive or try to say 'he's done the most to rectify this' or anything like that because putting a baby in a coin locker's like.. a lot of steps are involved to do that.. not really a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing that would have grounds to forgive yourself for.. so the fact jo knows this and just has that intense guilt- it's my bread and butter to say the least 😔

[luveline]

hotch sister idea-- convincing hotch to take you out to dinner with the whole team because you "want to properly meet his friends" (i'm a sucker for team dynamics) but then being shy and cute with spencer the entire time to the point that hotch notices and gets a tad protective...but ends with spencer getting her number or something

thank you for requesting 💌 —you attend a party with your older brother in a not so secret plight to see Dr. Reid. You fawn, Spencer flusters, and Hotch drinks a tad more than usual. fem, 2.3k

cw for mentions of past child abuse

The car is quiet besides the tread of the tires on asphalt. You click and unclick the clasp of your shoulder bag, checking for your purse, getting worried your purse isn’t in there, and checking again.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, you can ask me.”

You move your gaze to your brother. His quietness can make you nervous, a reflection of your father but with none of the cruelty. “I don’t want you to get mad at me if it’s stupid.”

“Well, I won’t. I promise.”

You know he won’t, but sometimes the fear remains. Even when you’re far from being a kid. “Do you remember when I got suspended for, um, disrespectful behaviour? My senior year?”

Aaron turns the wheel with care. “I do.”

“And we went for ice cream.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.”

That’s the point you’re trying to make, maybe. That tenderness sewn into the middle of his sentence. If your dad knew you’d been suspended again he would’ve made you feel it. You remember the sinking sensation in your chest waiting for him to pick you up, having written the speech he’d give you in the car ride home in your head ten times over, the sting of his palm grazing your cheek before you’d even seen his hand. So you waited in a total violent panic, head rush, wondering if anything was worth anything, when Aaron arrived to pick you up.

How did you know? you’d asked.

I changed your emergency contact. I hope that’s okay.

“You asked me what I wanted and…”

What flavour did you want, honey? he’d asked. Honey, like he loved you, the only person in the whole world who’d bother asking. The only man who’d take you for ice cream at seventeen years old to cure a bad day.

“And you burst into tears,” Aaron says.

He’d sat down opposite you in his suit, torn from one of his trials, and you can’t remember anymore if he was an attorney or already in the FBI, but you can’t forget how he’d taken your wrists into his hands and asked you not to cry.

“When you took me home, Haley asked me if you’d upset me, and I didn’t know how to explain it so you said yes. And she shouted at you for a whole half hour.”

“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asks.

Maybe because college is over and you’re forced to move on. Aaron asked you to try hard and you have, but now you have your degree and you don’t know what to do with it, you’ll get a job, and then what?

“I’ve been thinking about… my love life.”

“Oh. And you have to talk about this with me?” he jokes.

“I don’t have anybody else.”

He tears his gaze from the windshield. “That’s not true.”

“But…”

He turns into the parking lot outside of Dan’s Fine Wine Bar and pulls into a tight space with ease. He hesitates before he flicks off the engine, turning to you with a smile. “You’ll always have me,” he says, “and we can talk about your love life. I want to. God knows you’ve heard enough about mine this last year.” You both grimace. “But if I have to listen one more time to you talking about Spencer–”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Honey.” He takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’m not mad. But imagine your younger sibling comes to you one day to tell you they have feelings for your employee and try to find some sympathy for me!”

He clambers out of the car. You rush after him, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly smashing your door into the car next to you. The air outside is cold, and you didn’t bring a jacket even though Aaron told you to twice, so you can’t mention it aloud. “I don’t have feelings for him.”

“You have a crush. You’re too old for it.”

“I am not.”

He gestures for you to walk in front of him as he clicks the fob for the car and the doors lock automatically. “I don’t understand what this has to do with your suspension.”

You chew on your cheek. Neon from the wine bar mottles your skin as you pass under it and through the door, air quickly turned from cold to temperate, the smell of old rain replaced by carpeting and beer. When you lift your head to his gaze, he’s still waiting for your answer. “You told me things wouldn’t be that hard forever. I was just wondering when it’s safe to say you were right.”

He grins at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to give you a rough hug. “Right now. Be happy right now, honey.”

“There they are!” Penelope calls from a table near the back. Suddenly, Aaron’s entire team of work colleagues stand up where they’ve dominated a whole row of tables and booths alike to greet you. “Oh my gosh, I missed you!”

You met Penelope a long long time ago, and JJ and Derek around the same time, but everybody else is basically new. College was busy and Aaron busier —there was hardly ever time to visit, and when you did it was to see him and Haley. Meeting his friends was somehow put off.

You were introduced to Emily and Spencer, so Aaron directs you to David Rossi first. That’s the main team done quickly. But then he has to introduce you to Anderson, Sweeney, Kelly, Cory, Davidson, etc. So many agents for one man’s birthday. Anyone would think Derek Morgan was a celebrity.

“Happy birthday!” you say, when you finally get a moment to speak.

Derek reaches over the table to hug you quickly. “Thank you, gorgeous. We’re thrilled you’re here.” He pulls back, elbowing Penelope lovingly. “Aren’t we, mama?”

Penelope squeals and jumps for you. “So thrilled!”

Aaron touches your back, as if to say, I’m here, before taking a seat opposite Rossi. You hear snippets of a conversation about whiskey and when, but you’re distracted, because suddenly Penelope’s forcing you to sit down in her vacated seat, smack bang between Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.

Dr. Spencer Reid. “Hi,” you say quietly. Can’t help it. You remember how you’d reacted when you met him the week before last and wonder if it’s too late to pretend you’re cool —you’d gotten so worked up about him. He wrote a bunch of papers you had to read for your degree, some of the most sophisticated theory on elliptical math you’d ever read, and you’re supposed to act like he’s just a normal guy?

It doesn’t help that he’s model pretty. You’d never have thought of him as he is now over email, his huge brown eyes, pale skin, the flicking curl of his hair behind his ears. When he turns his head, he has indents on his nose from a pair of glasses you wish you’d seen. You clear your throat.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Spencer asks.

“I’m gonna go get a drink now,” Aaron says. “What do you want?” he asks you.

“Um, anything. I don’t really wanna drink.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says with deliberateness.

You feel heat like a rash on your neck. He’s embarrassing you doing his dad routine.

“You look pretty,” Spencer says.

You hide your hands under your thighs. “You think so?”

“You look beautiful,” Penelope says from across the table.

“Didn’t inherit that Hotchner scowl,” Derek says with a grin, “I thought it came with the name.”

“I learned how to do it the day they signed the adoption certificate,” you nudge in, “I just keep it to myself. I think Aaron has it down.”

Everybody within hearing distance laughs at you, to your relief. To your left, Spencer’s shoe hits your heel.

“So weird to hear his real name,” Emily says, tipping her drink to the side, ice and sugar on the surface. “I thought for sure you’d have to call him Hotch too.”

You look around in surprise. “He can’t be that bad. Does he really frown so much?”

You’re told vehemently that your brother is a grump, which is something you were aware of, just not experienced in. Sure, he’s had his unhappy moments, no one can smile every second of the day, but if everyone is to be believed he’s the sternest man alive. Eventually things drift into storytelling. Aaron brings you your drink with a straw and a napkin wrapped around the base, and you find yourself listening to a graphic rehash of Derek’s first case with the BAU.

Spencer’s leg is a coal at your side.

Your self preservation runs out. “You don’t drink?” you ask, nodding to his glass bottle of coke.

“I– I never did. I never had the opportunity. I’ve never even been to a party.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“I didn’t go to parties either,” you say, overjoyed to find common ground so quickly.

“I mean, I was never invited, but highschool parties didn’t seem like my thing. And, you know, I was twelve.”

“You were twelve in highschool?”

He’s doing that thing you noticed the day you met, where his lips move before he’s ready to talk, his emotion clear. “You weren’t?” he asks, not quite smooth but enough to make you laugh suddenly.

“I wish! I could’ve been done with college years ago.” Your brows pinch together. “Wait, so did you go to college as a kid?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“What? No wonder you didn’t go to any parties, that must’ve been insane. When I was twelve I was still setting my Barbie’s up for dance parties. Aaron has a photo of me dressed up in mom’s old clothes.” You lean forward for a sip of your drink.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s a photo of me just like that when I was twelve, too.”

You laugh so hard you almost choke.

A cup comes down hard somewhere behind your turned head.

“You okay?” Emily asks.

She wears a smirk you don’t understand, a joke you’ve missed. You peer past her to look to Aaron for advice and find him rather sullen, hand curled tightly around his drink. You try to give him a signal to ask if he’s alright, but it’s to no avail.

“I’m fine, sorry, just a joke.” You turn back to Spencer. “That’s adorable.”

You’re breathless talking to him. He must notice, but Spencer doesn’t say a word.

If someone asked you why he caught your attention, you’re not sure you know the answer. He’s pretty, undeniably, and it’s fascinating that you used his theory while you were in school, but fascination isn’t endless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. No ones ever given such a clear sense of awe; he gets stuck on you, his eyes tracing your cheek and your nose and your lips. It’s noticeable, but it isn’t unwanted. You keep coming back to his smile as he talks, the flash of his teeth.

“I honestly didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Spencer says.

“He was keeping us apart for a reason,” you say insistently, “I just don’t know what that reason is yet. He must’ve known you were the Dr. Reid I’d been reading.”

“It makes it sound like you’re reading me,” Spencer laughs. “Like, my hands.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Do I want you to what?”

“To read your palm?”

“You know how?”

“No parties, remember?”

Spencer gives you his hand. He has nice hands, big but slim-fingered like a pianist’s, though if he plays isn’t something you know. You angle it flat careful, your thumbs to either side of his open palm. “What do you want to know?” you ask.

“What can you tell me?”

You hum gently. “You have your life line, your head line, your heart line– your love line.”

“What does that– that mean for me?”

You press your thumb to his mount Jupiter, a soft hill of his hand under one of his fingers where the heart line begins. “Your desire for love, and your capacity for it. See how deeply curved it is?” you ask, drawing along his heart line gently. “It means you’re warm, and loving. That you could have a great love.”

You look up, his hand held gently between yours. “But I could be really wrong. I haven’t done this in so long, I might just be making stuff up.”

You sound insecure to your own ears, cringing away from his hand, but Spencer ducks his head just a little to keep your gaze, and he smiles at you softly. “It’s okay. I like your reading, even if it’s wrong. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Aaron would buy me any book I asked for growing up, he…”

Your brother, sitting only a few seats away, can’t find it in himself to regret that particular generosity even if the sight of you holding Spencer’s hand isn’t one he wants to see. It’s odd. You’re fully grown up, and it’s not like Aaron thinks Spencer would ever hurt you purposefully, but it’s hard to see anyways. He can admit to feeling like a father watching his daughter finding a first love; he can’t keep you forever and he doesn’t want to, but it’s still hard to watch as you descend into giggles that border on dizziness.

“This is a good thing,” Rossi says. “You’ll never have to worry about her being out past curfew.”

Aaron laughs, it’s funny, and then he knocks back his drink.

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.1

Again spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine

Many of y'all liked my little DP/W idea so here is more, I tried to keep it GN so there isn't smut but it does sorta allude to it

Part 2 >> Masterlist

Wade has just woke up, he yet again sees Logan drinking and asks 'where they are and how they got here'. Logan vaguely points to the door and three people walk through. It's Elektra, Blade and Gambit. There are some not-so-pleasantries and eventually Laura makes herself known.

"We're missing Johnny and Y/N." Gambit drawls.

Wade makes a joke and turns back to Logan who looks like he's shat himself. "Peanut?"

"You said Y/N?" Logan settles his drink onto the first available surface and runs a hand through his hair. "We saw Johnny but not Y/N."

~~

Later on he had slumped down and made a fire. He didn't want to be part of the heroics, he couldn't be. He wasn't worth it. Laura had tried to convince him in her unique way. He could see himself in her, see why he'd fight for her.

Logan took another swig and stared off into the treeline. It was unclear how long he just sat but eventually he noticed movement.

Wolverine stood, ready to protect the others. Why was he ready to protect the others?

Then he saw you.

You were wide eyed. Your suit was practically undamaged except for a little cut on your thigh. Not a hair out of place. There was dirt on your face and body but you were beautiful.

"Y/N." He involuntarily took a step towards you.

You stayed completely still. Wary. Why were you wary of him? “Logan.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it. Would always hear you. You were the main voice rattling around his adamantium skull.

“Y/N.” He took another step forward and tried to erase his frown, tried to ease his expression into something you wouldn't be wary of. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Your eyes scanned him and the trees behind before you gave a nod and slowly approached, favouring your right leg.

“It's been a while.” The fire light bounced gloriously off your skin, illuminating your very being as though you were an angel. Well you were. You were perfect. Are perfect.

“For me as well.” He nodded too enthusiastically, too eager to be speaking to you. He didn't deserve this.

You lowered yourself onto a patch of grass, crossing your legs to the best of your ability, pupils glued to the flames. They danced along and lit up your eyes. Surely, you couldn't be more beautiful. Logan hadn't even realised but he had sat himself back down on his perch across from you. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't help it, his frown was back in full force. What could you possibly have to apologise for? “I don-”

“You're not the first Wolverine to come sniffing me out.” You explained. “There's been others and they've- they've not all been friendly.”

What the fuck had he done? “I swear, I am not here to hurt you.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

“I know. I just- it's not often you see your husband's-” Husband? “- face and he doesn't know you or is feral or-” You took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. “You at least recognise me.”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay, that's good.” You nod mostly to yourself before asking, “what happened in your world?”

“My world?”

You nod again.

“We're X-Men. I'm shitty. You're perfect. Scott nags me. Storm married a king and moved away, visits every so often. Jean was in the process of taking over from Charles…” If he didn't tell you they all died, maybe they didn't. Maybe they could live in your head. Maybe he wasn't a monster. “Yours?”

“Much the same really.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “‘cept you weren't shitty. You were just you. Sabertooth was the shitty Howlett.”

Logan chuckled at that.

“Did you have a Laura? Or a Gabby?”

He shook his head. “Uh, no. But I've met Laura. She's nice. Fierce.”

“She's your DNA spliced with some poor unfortunate ladies. Essentially your offspring.” You informed. “Gabby is a clone of a clone. She's lovely though. Friends with Wa-Deadpool.”

“He's here.” Logan scratched his chin. “He's the reason I am.”

“Oh, you're friends as well?”

“God, no.” He shook his head. “Kinda just thrust together.”

“He always wanted to hang with you but usually just ended up with Spidey.”

Logan had heard of Spidey -Spiderman- but he hadn't met the guy, yet. If he hung out with Wade he was probably just as mad.

You both fell into a fairly comfortable silence but he didn't like that. You were here. He could actually talk to you. Actually be around you. “What happened to your leg?” He motioned to it as you carefully repositioned yourself.

“Angel.” You whispered darkly.

“Warren?”

“Yeah. Sometimes your friends aren't your friends. He had metal wings and weird tattoos. I called out to him and he just attacked. He was so quick I couldn't put up a forcefield in time.”

“I'm sorry.” It was a lame response but he had nothing else. You merely sat there, watching him, scanning his reactions. “I don't know how to convince you I am your friend. But I am. I won't harm you.”

You gave him a small lopsided smile. And he remembered.

“Wait. I do know how.” Logan rummaged around his very tiny suit pockets. He knew it was somewhere. He made sure it was always on him. Hidden away where no one would find it. Tucked into a sleeve that he kept safe by his ankle, usually people hit his torso, they don't always go for feet so he felt secure in it's position. Well, he did until he fought Wade in that fucking Honda.

Logan found it. It was scrappy and definitely worse for wear but the picture was clear. He stood and slowly walked around the fire to your side. You didn't back away but he caught your involuntary shoulder flinch.

“Here.”

You delicately took the piece of paper from his hands. It felt glossy, like magazine print. It was folded and on the visible side was a photo of you smiling wide, proud, in front of the X mansion. You unfolded it to see Logan standing next to you with a barely-there smirk. He looked almost bored but you knew him. Knew he was smiling, it was in his eyes, the softness in his face.

You were confused because he was smiling yet it was clear that he folded it to hide himself.

“Why have you folded it like that?”

Because I look awful. Because you are perfect and happy and brilliant and I pretended I didn't want the photo. Because it's the only faculty photo of me they ever took. Because they all knew I was sweet on you when you stopped me for a photo and I agreed. Because I had to take this from a yearbook after the school was raided. Because it's the only photo of us that I have and I hate that I'm in it. “Easier to fit the little pocket.”

“I have a similar one.” You confessed, knowing he was lying but that's okay. You all had secrets. “It's with my other bits, in the base.”

He felt his cheeks warm so looked away to the base. “Speaking of, it's late and you're hurt. They were planning on leaving at sun up, but I'm not sure that's still happening.”

“Why are we leaving?”

“We're storming Cassandra Nova’s lair.”

You let out a full body laugh. The noise was heavenly. “Fuck off, you come here and suddenly talk them into a full frontal assault? Brilliant.”

He rolled his eyes at you but extended a hand. “Come on, bub, let's get you updated and checked out.”

It wasn't much really, not to a bystander, but you actually accepting his hand meant the world to him and you. Both for similar and completely different reasons.

He definitely didn't need to but insisted on helping you to the base. It was hardly worth it but being back in his arms was lovely. It felt like home. He was maybe a few inches taller and definitely a little older looking than you recalled but he was your Logan. And a helpful one. He wasn't chasing you like a wild dog because you smelt nice. He was helping you limp back.

“Y/N.” Elektra spoke as soon as you entered the threshold.

“El.” You smiled widely.

She gave you a subtle look - raising her eyebrows a fraction and flickering her eyes at Logan - before taking your hand and leading you out of his arms. “We were worried.”

“You shouldn't have worried.” Rolling your eyes. “You know me.”

“That is why I was worried.”

She gave you a quick hug and assessed your leg. You had known her for five years. She had been here longer than you, travelling with Blade, and quickly intervened when she saw a Ghost Rider trying to lasso you. You three had met Johnny, who had been here a while too, and eventually met Laura. She was the only familiar face to you, it was a breath of fresh air to see her. It was a shame she didn't know you but you explained who you were and where she was and she slowly came around to trusting you. Gambit was the newest addition to your ragtag gang. He, bless him, tried to be as useful as possible and you're sure he was but there were times when you had no idea what went on in his mind. He was his own enigma.

The cut wasn't awful, a fact you had said multiple times, but Elektra still insisted on using alcohol to clean and one of the rags you recycled from an old duvet to wrap it, explaining the idiotic plan that you were all taking part of as she went.

“Oh!” Wade loudly exclaimed as Elektra tightened the makeshift bandage. “The self insert! I can't believe it, the movie’s been out like three days!”

You exchanged a glance with El and gave him an odd look as you greeted the man. “Hiya Wade.”

“Y/N.” He bowed. “I'm a little star struck.”

“Why?” Elektra stood to her full height and quickly made an exit, this wasn't the first Deadpool she had seen but this was one of the high energy ones.

“Well, you're Logan's thing.” The man behind perked up, his shoulders tense. He had been watching you the whole time and clearly wasn't a fan of DP rambling. “You're his reason to keep on. One of the reasons my Logan saved Laura. To keep his promise to you or something like that, I don't know the writing is a bit clunky.”

“Right.” You nodded, not quite understanding. But it was funny to see the mortified expression Logan was wearing. “So I'm Logan's ‘thing’.”

“Well, duh-”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Logan ordered.

“Gosh, was he always this snappy?” Wade chirped.

“I dunno, Lo always had a soft spot for me so..”

“Awwwww.” He clasped his hands and held them at his heart. “Did you hear that she said ‘Lo’?” Wade had just turned to see the man in question but Wolverine was behind him and quickly dragging the Merc away, not quite whispering another ‘shut your fucking mouth’.

Blade, who was one to skulk hidden in corners before making himself known, had watched the interaction and gave you a fright as he stepped from the shadows. “So that's him, huh?”

“Jesus!” You whisper-yelled. “How many times have I asked you to not do that?”

“Daywalker, can't help it.” He shrugged and sat next to you on the sofa. It was old and ugly but so so comfortable.

You gave a sigh, holding your hammering heart. “Yes. He's Logan. A version of him. That actually doesn't wanna kill me.”

“Maybe you should let it play out.”

“And maybe I shouldn't.” You counter. “We'll all be dead tomorrow anyway.”

“All the more reason to."

He was correct of course. You had missed Logan so much and this one clearly had missed you. It would be folly to not spend the last night you may be alive together. In whatever way you were both comfortable with. But you didnt want to give him the satisfaction of being right, so merely huffed in response.

"Elektra told you the plan?”

“Well, Laura hardly speaks and I can't understand Gambit.”

Blade let out a low laugh. He was one of the coolest people you'd ever met, even his chuckle was cool. You were so envious.

Logan came back with red cheeks and quickly apologised. “I'm sorry, he talks so much and I don't think he actually hears himself.”

You waved him off. “It's fine.”

“No, he embarrassed you.” Logan sighed, his jaw set like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“Logan, really. Don't worry.” You could see that he wasn't going to 'not worry' so decided to just remove yourself from the situation. Clapping Blade’s leg you stood. “Right, bed time. Big day tomorrow.”

“You aren't coming.” Logan replied immediately.

“Uhm. Pretty sure I am.”

“No, you're injured.” He stated as though that was obvious.

“This is literally the smallest injury I've had out here.”

“But you are hurt.”

“Logan.”

“Y/N.”

Blade watched the back and forth with a smirk, you were both clearly a married couple.

“I think you two should take this to Y/N’s room.” Your eyes widened dramatically. “You can argue all night when the door is shut and no one else can hear you.” The sly bastard.

“Okay.” Logan agreed. “I'll convince you to stay, where's your room?”

You let out a few noises, dying arguments, and then the biggest sigh. “Fuck my life. This way.”

The base was an old temple. You had wondered who it belonged to. The statues of her were beautiful. You had yet to see a variant of whoever this was, maybe that was a good thing. She might not take lightly to you guys using her sacred temple as a hotel. There were a few corridors you had to walk down to get to your room. You'd dragged an old mattress into it and made sure to keep the room dust free. There weren't a lot of luxuries in this world but you had an orb that when touched lit up delicately. There were a few sets of clothes you'd scavenged so you kept yourself clean and had a set of ‘pjs’. Your room was covered in marks where you had flung a knife or practised a forcefield. He assumed there weren't that many guns here, or if there were ammo was rare.

“You can't fight.” Logan started.

Oh. You were actually going to argue. “Logan, I could fight you right now.”

“Go on then.” He called your bluff.

You gave him a playful smirk. “You really wanna fight? It could be our last day alive and you wanna spend it fighting?”

“I know you can't fight with that leg.” He was so sure of himself. You couldn't wait to prove him wrong.

With a twitch of your hand you flung him towards you with a forcefield, side stepping out of his way. It took him by surprise how strong you had gotten and he had to catch himself before he hit the wall.

Logan twisted around to find you at his throat with a small blade in your hand. Your chest pressed into his, causing his back to hit the wall. “That was over pretty quick, Lo.”

Logan was in awe of your swift moves. You were tenfold who he knew. God could you get more attractive? He felt himself get warm and not from embarrassment. You were making him hot, you holding a knife to his throat was making him horny. What did that say about him?

Your eyebrows pinched minutely as you observed him swallow. “You like this, don't you?”

Was there a point in lying? “Maybe.”

“Well... Maybe I do, too.”

God he was ruined.

You were literally amazing.

How could he be so lucky? He really didn't deserve this.

Logan glanced down to your lips and you smirked. "Go on." He didn't need any other invitations. He captured your lips and kissed you with the full force of his years of loneliness.

He loved you, by god, he did.

Logan's left hand found your nape whilst his right landed on your ass. He growled as you pushed into him a fraction more.

Your leg moved by itself, wrapping around his waist as you took advantage of his growl. Kissing the exposed areas of his neck. You'd missed this. You'd missed him.

Logan hoisted you the rest of the way up and gazed into your eyes. You were looking down at him, lips plump and cheeks hot, you panted a little and fuck. He was going to fuck you. He wasn't sure he could actually pull himself away from you. You both should be sleeping, preparing for the fight tomorrow. No, you shouldn't be fighting. You should be safe. Somewhere safe and warm, waiting for him to return.

"Come with me." He begged.

"I'm sure I will." You winked.

"No, tomorrow, after the fight. Come with me, wherever I end up." He didn't want to go back but he would if you followed. If you came with him he could do it. Go anywhere. Be anyone.

"So you agree I'm fighting fit." You pecked his nose, playfully.

He huffed but found your lips again, leading you both to the mattress you called a bed.

He'd buy you a bed, a grand one. One worthy of you. He hated that you only had this. He needed to provide for you. Keep you warm, safe, loved, full. Keep you.

Logan was going to keep you and he didn't care how.

.

.

Part 2

[fuxuannie]

❥﹒ken sato x gender neutral reader

✦. synopsis — romantic headcanons about our favourite baseball player!

✦. love mail — i finished the movie and i loved his character development, simply the sweetest thing <3

✦. tags — SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, kenji sato x reader, i have not written in several months, i wrote this w my brain off ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) aka i was just SPITTING whatever brain rot came to mind

I imagine Kenji to be the clingy, but doesn’t want to be type. He loves you, so much, so dearly. But affection isn’t his strong suit, especially not after what happened with his family. He shut out emotions for years, at least towards others. So this feeling of love, a nostalgic one, tends to clash with the walls he’s put up. He’ll hold you in his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, only for hours later to cringe at himself. He’s talked to you about it a thousand times, and he’s listened to you reassure him twice as many. He adores your patience with him, it's something he’s never really had.. especially with so much pressure on his shoulders.

Explaining his identity was surely no easy feat, you thought dating the most iconic and popular baseball players was the hardest thing? Imagine dating Ultraman, who came home to you every other week with some new injury. You always wondered why the reason was so simple for such a complicated wound, “I spilled boiling water on myself,” He explains with burn marks that are far more severe than expected. “I fell down the stairs”, he’ll say after landing in the hospital.. It didn’t make sense. And now that it does and you know the true reasons, your concern is far worse. Though he doesn’t mind the extra attention you give. ;)

Meeting his dad for the first time was.. nerve-wracking. You know how Kenji talks about him, and you weren’t sure what kind of impression you’ll make. But here you were, sitting on a couch and fiddling with your thumbs until you hear a doorbell. Before Kenji could even stand, you rushed to your feet and practically sprinted for the door, only to open it slowly and gently to reveal the kind old man standing outside. “Hello.” Cut to maybe an hour later, you’re laughing at old pictures of Kenji as he sits next to you and an arm wrapped around your shoulder. The two had a long path of forgiveness and understanding ahead, but Kenji appreciated that you brought him and his father together.

Thought the dad was scary? Imagine his daughter. As expected, the moment you walk into the room - distress. Emi’s starting to cry, an unfamiliar presence is in the room and it scares her. You’ve done a few babysitting jobs here and there, and she was really just like a child. Kenji apologized for her outburst and transforms to calm her down, opening the lid and picking her up under her arms. “No no, don’t cry.” His voice soothes her, and almost immediately - she’s okay again. It’ll take a few minutes, it really isn’t long until she trusts too you. Kenji found it adorable, how you played with her so casually.. many would be terrified, and rightfully so - but to him? It just displays your kind heart. My God did he love you.

Remember first headcanon? Right, to add to that, he’s not very good at vulnerability either. He’ll love to comfort you when you cry, or hold you when you need him. But if the roles were reversed? Absolutely not. He’s uncomfortable and you can see it, one look into his eyes and it’s like looking through glass.. he hates being open about his true feelings. Even if it’s with you.. the walls he’s built for 20 years aren’t easy to break, you know? But if you’re patient, and you take your time and say the right words – he’ll crack. And like a dam breaking, the water flows in an uncontrollable wave of sadness. He’ll sob, he’ll break, and he’ll need you more than anything. He doesn’t know how to feel about breaking down, but the way you hold him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to comfort him, he could get used to it.

But on a lighthearted note, he loves dates! Most have to be in his home, because Emi can be clingy (got it from his dad), but you don’t mind. It’s sweet, he’ll have you play baseball with her or all you do is cuddle ontop of her, it’s the cutest little thing. But other times, when you go out– it’s just the two of you. And upon special request from Kenji for Mina to babysit her while you're there, you two get alone time. and it’s everything to him. The smallest affection has his heart racing like a teenage boy again, wrapping your arm around his, holding his hand, kissing him? Goodness, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it. You and Emi are his world, and he’ll do everything to protect it. Other days, you, him, and and his father go out to the home in the woods for some personal time. You get to talk about his childhood with him and you talk about yours. There’s such a tender and unforgettable atmosphere when you’re with them. And you truly feel like you belong.

Overotectiveness, he was full of it. He’s lost so much, and all he wanted was for you to not go either. Nothing, nothing could stop his rage at the idea of you being hurt. You, Emi, anyone else important to him. He’ll take on the world for his family, and by the will of his parents he has. The pain he’s endured, the scars you scold him for so much are for you. If one threat escapes the city, that’s one likely chance he loses you. So he does everything he can to handle it. You’ve never gotten hurt, but the idea of it is enough for him to strive to be stronger.

While recovering from the explosion, you never left his side. It pained you to see him so still, lack of life. He’d usually be pacing back and forth in the room, rambling about something, and when you’d call him a nerd or dork, he'd run to you and playfully attack you with kisses. His arms around you tightly as you two would laugh your worries away, you didn’t have that privilege. You’d either laugh alone or not at all, the pain all too much. When he wakes up, best believe you’re there, and you just cry at the sight of his arms opening. You know his body is far too unstable for a hug, so you squeeze his hand. How grateful you are to feel him squeeze back.

With Mina and Emi gone, the house feels a little more lonely.. but Kenji’s adjusting. Especially because you moved in! He’s able to spend more time with you in bed since he didn’t have to tend to Emi, which was a nice plus. He woke up earlier than you (force of habit.) and he’d just.. stare. Maybe it was a little creepy, but seeing you sound asleep in his arms gave him such joy. He loved the little domestic moments he shared with you, it had him appreciating all the smaller things in life. Like sharing a meal with you, or watching movies together. You made him love the simpler aspects of living.

[simjaexy]

𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙎.𝙅

pairing ⇀ professor! sim jaeyun x (f) student! reader

synopsis ⇀ you always knew your professor was attractive, so it wasn’t new when girls would try to gain his attention. what you didn’t know though was that he only had his eyes on you. what comes as a friendly teacher-student relationship takes a turn when you find yourself thinking differently about him with your private lessons together.

genre ⇀ smut, angst

warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!, lower case intended, four year age gap (jake is 22 and reader is 18), tons of jealousy, cursing, jake is obsessed with oblivious reader, dom! jaeyun x sub! reader, name calling (slut, whore, and etc.), (f) receiving, pussy eating, unprotected sex, cum eating, choking, multiple orgasms

w.c ⇀ 5.4k

a/n ⇀ i don’t know why but this was and on and off fic i was doing cause i didn’t really like but i’m glad i finally finished it. i can’t tell if this was good or not because i was stressing on how to put the ending so bear with me on that. reblog, like, comment, etc.! lmk if i missed any warnings! not proofread.

masterlist here

the first time you saw professor sim was during the orientation week. you were a freshman, nervous and excited about starting your journey in college. the campus was bustling with activity, and you were trying to find your way to the science building for your first lecture.

as you walked through the crowded hallway, you accidentally bumped into someone, "oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, looking up to see a tall man with a kind smile.

"no worries at all," he replied, adjusting his glasses. "are you lost?"

"uh, yeah, actually. I'm trying to find the science building," you admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"you're in luck. I'm heading there myself. i’m professor sim, by the way," he said, extending his hand.

you shook his hand, feeling a bit more at ease. "nice to meet you, professor sim. i’m l/n y/n.”

"well, y/n, follow me. i'll show you the way," he said, leading you through the maze of hallways. as you walked, you noticed his broad back through his suit. the suit fitting perfectly on him. you blushed watching him strut confidently past students and teachers watching him walk past.

you definitely won’t lie and say he’s not handsome. his glasses framing his face perfectly. you never knew you would like guys with glasses. he suddenly asked about your interests and what drew you to study science. his genuine interest in your answers made you feel welcome.

fast forward to the present, you were now in your second semester, and professor sim class had quickly become your favorite. his enthusiasm for science was infectious, and he had a knack for making even the most complex topics seem approachable. however, the latest homework assignment was proving to be a real challenge.

as you packed your notebooks and computer you saw a girl bluntly flirting with him. batting her eyelashes at him. it wasn’t new seeing different girls trying to talk to him, purposely saying they need help just to see him up close. you cleared your throat you gathered your courage and approached his desk. "professor sim, could I ask for some help with the homework? i’m really struggling with the concepts."

he looked up at you, a warm smile spreading across his face, completely ignoring the other girl in front of him. he probably knew what she was trying to do, "of course, i'd be happy to help. why don't you come by my office later this afternoon?"

the girl huffed at her non existence and walked away, leaving the both of you alone. you nodded, feeling a wave of relief.

later that day, you found yourself sitting across from him in his office. the room was filled with books and scientific models, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air.

"alright," he said, pulling up a chair next to you, "let's take a look at what you're having trouble with."

you pulled out your notebook, showing him the problems that had been giving you headaches. he patiently explained each step, breaking down the complex ideas into simpler terms. his explanations were clear and concise, and he used analogies that made the material more relatable.

"see? you're getting the hang of it," he encouraged, his eyes twinkling with pride. "sometimes all it takes is a different perspective."

as you worked through the problems together, you found yourself gaining a deeper understanding of the subject. you also couldn’t help but look at his side profile, his plump soft lips moving with passion for science was evident in every word he spoke, and it was impossible not to be inspired by his enthusiasm.

"thank you so much, professor jake," you said sincerely as you packed up your things. "i really appreciate your help."

"anytime, y/n. don't hesitate to reach out if you need more assistance," he replied with a smile.

you gave him another smile. you left his office feeling more confident and grateful for his guidance. professor sim had not only made the subject more accessible but had also shown you that with the right support, you could tackle even the toughest challenges.

over the next few weeks, you continued to visit his office for help, and each time, you left with a better understanding of the material. his encouragement and patience made all the difference, and you began to see science in a whole new light.

even though you guys only talked about science and just science, you couldn’t help but notice when sim would ask you questions outside of science. like ‘what do you think about your teachers?’ or ‘who’s your favorite teacher so far?’, and each time he’d ask, you would always say him.

one afternoon, as you were wrapping up another productive session, he asked, "so, y/n, have you thought about what you want to do after college?"

you paused, considering his question. it was new for him to ask that, "i'm not entirely sure yet. i know i want to do something in science, but I haven't decided on a specific path."

"that's perfectly fine," he said reassuringly. "you have plenty of time to figure it out. just remember to follow your passion and stay curious. the rest will fall into place."

you smiled, feeling a sense of reassurance, “thank you professor sim. i really appreciate that.”

you watch him push his hair back with a smile. you felt your heart skip a beat and immediately looked away, “i-i think i should get going. it’s getting pretty late.”

“you don’t need a ride do you? it’s pretty dark out since we practiced a bit longer than usual.” he reasoned. you thought for a moment. it is dark out and you don’t know who’s outside at this time. so, you nodded your head.

“great. i’ll tidy up before we go.” he said. you watched him put a few books away and tidying up his desk for tomorrow before grabbing his keys from his drawer. he then walked you to the door.

you both left the college and went to the parking lot. you felt yourself feeling nervous. it was your first time going with sim anywhere but his class. he went to a mercedes car making you hum in acknowledgement.

he chuckled at your reaction, “like it?” he teased. you nodded your head and giggled.

“i don’t really know cars that well, but i just know this one is expensive.” you said. his laugh causing a stir in your stomach.

you both entered the car and buckled up. he backed from the parking lot, “do you live on campus or somewhere else?” he asked.

“i live on campus, but the other one.” you spoke.

“you live pretty far? you walk here?” he murmured. he gazed at you curiously.

you chuckled, “it’s a good walk. i wake up a bit earlier so i’m not late for your class.”

he smiled at you, “if i would’ve known you go that far i’d spare you.” you shook your head and smiled back.

the car ride was silent, you let out a sigh and lay your head on the window. the past few days you haven’t been getting much sleep. you felt your eyes get a bit heavy.

“tired?” sim questioned. you opened your eyes back up and nodded.

“a little. sorry, haven’t really got much sleep. i’ve been so stressed out that i couldn’t sleep.” you joked, but it wasn’t really a joke.

sim hummed, he understood how tiring college could be, “you can take a nap. i mean if you want too. i’ll wake you up when we’re at the campus.” he said.

you smiled gratefully. soon your eyes became heavy and that’s when you fell asleep. your soft breathing soon filling the silence.

jake looked at your sleeping figure. you really were the prettiest student he’s ever seen. he knows it’s wrong to think of you like that. you’re supposed to be just a student to him, but he can’t help but think of something more.

your smile that makes him feel a type of way inside. your pretty laugh that he can’t help but adore. those thoughts were just something he thought weren’t bad, but his other thoughts were a bit more mature.

the way your outfits fit your body perfectly. your breast sitting perfectly in your bra, jiggling when you walk towards him. it’s hard for him not to get rock hard and stare. your fingers so pretty to him that he wonders if they're just as pretty inside your pussy. your glossy lips so pretty when they pout, he wonders what they would feel like around his dick. he just knows they’d stretch so pretty.

he soon parks the car in front of the campus. he shakes you softly, “y/n. we’re here.”

you groaned and turned away from him. he tried shaking you awake again, but you didn’t budge. he sighed and looked around. maybe he could just pick you up and take you to your dorm. that wouldn’t be weird right?

he got off his car and went to your side, opening the car door. he grabbed your backpack and slung it over his shoulder. he unbuckled your seatbelt and picked you up swiftly. he was hoping no one was awake at this time. he opened the door with his free hand and entered the building.

as soon as he unlocked your door he set you down on your bed with your bag on the chair. he couldn’t help but curiously look around. your room filled with collage photos of you and your friends. there was a photo of you and your parents. he slowly picked up the photo and smiled. you looked happy unlike the times you were in the halls.

he set it back down and was about to head out until he heard you making a noise, “sim please. down there.” you moaned out.

jake paused his walking and looked back at you. you were still sleeping, but your breathing started to become uneven and heavy. wait, were you having a dream about him?

he slowly prodded towards you and slightly shook you. you really were a deep sleeper. just then you let out another noise. it sounded like a whimper.

“fuck me sim.” you whispered.

what. the. fuck.

jake nearly choked on his spit. there was no way you talk this clearly in your sleep. were you joking with him? his breathing became unsteady with the uncomfortable feeling between his legs. he cursed at himself for still standing here and quickly left. locking the door on the way out.

he would just pretend he never heard you.

he couldn’t pretend. the whole day he was thinking about what you said last night. with him having to solve his little problem himself. you acted normally the way you did. you remembered he took you back to your campus cause you thanked him first thing when you saw him. if only he didn’t make it seem awkward.

you on the other hand was confused why professor sim was acting strange. were you snoring really loud in his car? you really hoped you didn’t.

as class came to an end, you packed your stuff. as you were packing you couldn’t help but look over at professor sim. your eyes went wide when you saw him talking to another female teacher. you didn’t even notice she came in.

they seem to be chatting about something funny cause sim was laughing a lot to what she was saying. you felt a weird feeling in your chest that you couldn’t describes. was it jealousy?

you sighed and put your bag over your shoulder and left the class without sparing another look. as you were walking you suddenly heard your name being called. you turn around expecting a specific person, but you saw that it was riki.

you gave him a fake smile, “hey riki.” you said. riki smiled once he caught up to you.

“are you okay? i tried texting you last night but you didn’t answer.” he asked. you pushed your hair behind your ear suddenly remembering last night again.

“o-oh i came home pretty early and fell asleep. did you need to talk about something?” you spoke.

riki nodded, “actually i was gonna talk to you about the project-“ “y/n.”

your eyebrows furrowed and looked behind riki, only to see none other than professor sim. he came closer to you guys, “you guys should head to class or you’ll be late, especially you mr. nishimura.”

the tone in professor sim kinda intimidated you. his voice bitter and sharp towards riki. riki nervously nodded his head and gave you a tight smile before walking past you. you looked at professor sim only to see him looking at you.

“did you need something professor sim?” you mumbled, feeling small under his strong gaze.

“don’t waste your time talking to guys and focus on your classes.” he suddenly said. his voice coming more harsh than he intended. your eyebrows furrowed felling a bit offended.

“excuse me?” you said “you should know i don’t waste my time on guys. riki isn’t just any guy, he’s my friend.”

before jake could say something you walked away. jake sighed and pushed his hair back. he didn’t mean to come out like that. he couldn’t shake that feeling of jealousy when he saw how close riki was to you. he’d have to apologize later.

you sighed when your last class finally finished. you were supposed to have your tutoring lesson with sim, but after that incident you don’t think you could go. you’ll just email him saying you’re sick. you left the college and walked to your campus.

you listened to a few playlists while walking. the cool breeze with the sunny sky made you feel relaxed. once you came to your campus you said hi to the lady up front and went to your room. you set your bag on the floor and sighed. a shower sounds good. before you went in the shower you emailed sim about your canc and shut your computer.

you took a quick shower and finished up. you wrapped a robe around your body and dried your hair with a towel, but before you could grab your phone you heard a knock at your door. you frowned, nobody barely knocks on your door, so who could it be. you opened the door and your eyes widened in surprise. it was sim.

“professor sim? what are you-“ “are you that mad at me?” he cut you off. you closed your mouth. is that why he came all the way here?

“professor sim im not mad-“ “so why are you ignoring me?” he said. you didn’t know it mattered that much to him.

“i-i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to cancel last minute.” you said. maybe that’s why he was upset. he doesn’t like when people cancel stuff last minute. he shook his head.

“i’m not mad if that’s what you’re thinking. i’m asking if you’re mad about what i did earlier.” he admitted. oh. that’s what he was talking about. to be honest you don’t know if you were really mad anymore. so, you shook your head.

“it’s okay. i’m sorry for being rude.” you muttered.

“i should say sorry too. i know you don’t do any of those things. i was just in a bad mood.” he said. was he really in a bad mood if he was talking to that female teacher happily?

you gave him a fake smile, “it’s okay professor sim. was that all you came here for.”

just as he was about to say something, he averted his gaze down and noticed you were in a robe. he felt his face burning and looked back up at you, “o-oh i’m sorry. did i interrupt your bathing time?” he stuttered.

“huh?”

you looked down and also noticed you were still in your robe. you gasped and moved the door in front of you, “i’m sorry!”

he tried shaking his head, but you just kept apologizing, “no it’s fine really! it’s my fault.”

you stopped apologizing and stared at him, awkwardness filling the air. he cleared his throat and looked back at you, “i-i’ll get going-“

“wait. i know this might sound weird, but do you wanna come in for a moment? we can do the lesson here if you're still up for it.” you thought. jake pondered for a moment before nodding.

you got done getting dress in your bathroom and came out. you saw sim sitting on the floor with textbooks on the wooden table you had in the middle of your room. he was looking around your room before staring at you.

you smiled at him and sat next to him, “we can start where we left off yesterday if that’s fine.” you said. he nodded and flipped the page to where you guys left off.

as you he taught you easy ways to get the answer, you felt yourself getting distracted once again by his visuals. you didn’t know what you were feeling at this point, it was a feeling you hated, but wanted to know more about. all of a sudden sim looked at you. you felt your breath get caught in your throat. he was staring at you with a questionable linger in his eyes. you felt his breath against your face. you guys were so close that if you moved a step your lips would touch.

“sim-“ “push me away if you don’t want this.” was all he said when you suddenly felt lips on yours.

you gasped and held tightly on his shirt. his lips molding against yours perfectly. you moaned when you felt his hand grip your ass, making him have access to enter his tongue. you felt your room getting hot as you lay on the ground with sim on top of you.

you took off his jacket while he helped you take it off without breaking the kiss. the dim lighting of your fairy lights making it seem darker than usual. he took off your shorts, only leaving your underwear on. he kissed and sucked along your jawline to your chest, kissing it gently. the sexual tension you guys had finally snapping in him. he lifted your shirt up and unclasped your bra. you felt the cold air hit your nipples and made a noise.

he smirked against your chest before gripping one breast and sucking the other. you let out a moan and gripped his locks. he groaned and pinched your nipple making you jerk.

“sim.” you whimpered. he looked up at you and departed from your breast.

he started unbuttoning his long sleeve button up, “call me jake.” he said. you bit your lip when you finally saw his toned body. god if you would’ve known he had that body under his suit you would’ve made a move sooner.

he leaned back down and kissed you gently, biting your lip making you sigh. you felt his right hand slowly going down until it made contact with your cloth pussy. you threw your head back when you suddenly felt him rub your folds up and down.

he dipped his hand in a second later and confused rubbing your folds, “fuck you’re so wet.” he murmured.

you nodded and kissed him again. both of your lips swollen. you wouldn’t want it any other way though. he took his fingers away and put them in his mouth. you watched intensely as he smirked at you. he got up and lifted you up bridal style before putting you on your bed. he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down revealing his boxers.

you gasp at the outline of his dick. you know it’s big. he got on top of you again and slid down your underwear. you felt yourself blushing with how he stared. you felt the urge to close your legs but before you could jake dipped his head down to your pussy.

“j-jake wait.” you moaned when you suddenly felt his hot tongue lick your folds.

he groaned as you gripped his hair again. he licked your folds again but this time he sucked on your clit. you thrash around at the new feeling as your eyes rolled back.

the sound of wet slurping noises was the only thing heard in your room. jake couldn’t get enough of your pussy. he was a completely pussy drunk man at this moment. your sweet juices leaking out, he knows you love it just as much as he does.

you felt a tight feeling in your pussy and patted his head, “j-jake m’gonna cum!” you cried out. he didn’t stop making you feel your climax coming. you let out one last moan before your orgasm finally hit. your legs shaking on the side of his head. he drummed up your cum like he was a dehydrated man.

you panted harshly and whined when he finally pulled away. he licked the rest on his chin, “fuck, you taste so good.” he says. he pulls his boxers down and that’s when you finally saw his dick. it was veiny and hard, precum at the tip.

“do you need to be prepped?” he said. you shook your head. you needed his dick in you now.

he positioned himself at your entrance before slowly pushing in. he groaned while you whimpered and held him tightly. he hissed when he felt you scratching at his back. slowly, he backed up and pushed back in so you could get used to the feeling.

a few minutes later you felt a pleasure tingling in your body, “j-jake faster. please.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. he started going at a faster pace and that’s when you were out of it. his tip hitting your g-spot.

“yes! right there! oh fuck!” you cried out. the sound of skin slapping, panting, and bed creaking was heard. you had a feeling people could hear you, but you could care less. especially with the way jake was fucking you.

he gripped your neck with a free hand, “such a little whore for dick. gonna be a good bitch for me?” he rasped out. you nodded your head frantically.

he felt you squeeze his dick and moaned. your pussy was a match made in heaven just for him.

you felt another orgasm coming and arched your back. he gripped your hips and snapped his hips harder. your orgasm hit you hard and you saw white. jake snapped his hips three more times before pulling his dick out, stroking himself on your stomach before cumming.

both of you panted uneven and hard. he got off your bed and grabbed the towel you used for your hair and wiped your stomach and wiped your pussy. you whined from sensitivity.

he grabbed another pair of pajamas for you and helped your put them on.

he put the towel in your dirty basket and went back to you, pushing your hair back, “i should get going.” he said.

you pouted, “do you have to leave?”

jake hated that he did, but he can’t get caught with his own student, “it’s for the better. you’ll see me tomorrow.”

you finally nodded your head. he covered you with your blanket and kissed your head, “goodnight beautiful.” he whispered. you soon dozed off into dreamland.

jake got dressed and looked at you one last time before shutting your door with a soft click.

you groaned feeling an ach in your body. you got up and went to your bathroom. you looked at yourself in the mirror and gasped. your neck was covered in hickeys from your neck to your chest. you traced your fingers along them and slowly smiled.

you took another shower and got dressed for the day. you out on a crew neck to cover your hickeys. good thing it was cold out today.

you soon got to the campus and entered your class to see jake already there typing on his computer. he didn’t notice you so you decided to sit down at your seat. once the bell ring he looked up from his computer and spotted you. he gave you a knowing grin before standing up, getting ready for the lecture.

“alright guys, did you finish the homework from yesterday?” he chimed. students began taking out their notes and handed them in. you turned yours in too. jake continued his lecture until the bell rang. students left the class while you waited until everyone left.

you went up to his desk and gave him a smile. he got up and gave you a hug. you giggled and stuffed your face in his neck.

“your not hurt anywhere are you?” he asked. you shook your head. he sighed in relief before letting you go.

“same time at my place?” you said. jake chuckled and quickly pecked your lips.

“i can’t today. i have a meeting to attend.” he spoke. you pouted, but understood.

“okay. i’ll see you later though right?” you said. he chuckled at your urgent question and nodded.

“of course you will beautiful.” he replied. you smiled cheerfully before leaving his class so he could attend his meeting.

over the next few days it would be the same. jake would come over to your dorm and would spend time with you, either having loving sex or just spending time together. everything was going just the way you wanted it too. until an incident happened.

rumors started to spread around campus. whispers of favoritism and inappropriate relationships between you and professor sim filled the halls. despite your best efforts to ignore them, the pressure was mounting.

one evening, after a particularly stressful day, jake asked to meet you in his office.

you opened the door to his office to see him already there in deep thought. you let out a gulp before going towards him, “jake?”

he looked up at you, but it wasn’t with the same loving look he usually gave you. “y/n, we need to talk," he began, his voice heavy with emotion. "i think we should stop what we’re doing. what we had was nothing but satisfaction we wanted to get off our chests.”

your heart sank, where was he coming from with this? satisfaction? getting it off our chest? you couldn’t help but feel tears pricking your eyes, “w-what do you mean? don’t you love me?”

jake stared at you as if you were just a regular person to him, “y/n, what we had wasn’t love. you were just a way to relive my stress. whatever you thought we had ends here. you may be dismissed.”

the lack of emotions in his voice finally made your tears fall freely.

you let out a sob, “i hate you! don’t ever talk to me again!” you screamed out before leaving his room, slamming the door shut.

weeks went by, and the pain of the breakup lingered. you threw yourself into your studies, trying to keep your mind off jake. even though you had him first period and he was your professor, you made a good route on ignoring him. none of it was easy, but you found solace in your friend, riki, who had always been there for you. his presence was comforting, and slowly, you began to smile again.

“are you gonna have that?” riki asked. you rolled your eyes at him before smiling. you gave him your cookie which he happily accepted.

you both were currently waiting at a bus station. after riki found out you walk a long way to the college, he insisted on paying for your bus rides as long as he gets to go with you.

“it’s way too cold out today.” you commented. riki nodded his head as he munched on the cookie. you shivered when a gust of wind blew at you guys. riki noticed your freezing state.

“come closer to me.” he said. you scooted a bit closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder. you sighed at somewhat of a closer warm feeling. as you guys continued waiting you saw a familiar car stopping in front of you guys. your eyes widened when the driver door suddenly opened revealing jake.

before you could think, jake yanked your wrist and pulled you away from riki. you yelped and tried taking your wrist away from him.

“what the hell are you doing?” you snapped at him. riki got up and tried to help you but jake stopped him.

“get the hell away or you’ll regret it.” he gritted his teeth. riki stopped and looked at you worriedly. you shook your head at him not to come any further. jake took you to his car, opening the passenger door and setting you inside. he slammed it shut before going to the drivers seat and entering.

you silently watched him start the car, leaving riki in the cold. you felt guilty and angry and looked at jake, “let me go jake! i wanna be with riki!” you yelled.

jake ignored you. you scoffed, “jake seriously. let me go!”

“stop talking or i’ll find a way to make you.” he said. you immediately stopped ranting and stared at him. you decided to stay silent. you knew you couldn’t fight him when it came to this.

in all honesty jake never felt so jealous before until now. you were so close to riki that something inside him snapped. at first he was gonna let it go since he’s the one that initiated the end to your relationship, but he saw a spark in your eyes that he hadn't seen in a while.

a pang of regret hit him hard. he realized that letting you go was a mistake. the rumors and the pressure seemed insignificant compared to the happiness he saw in your eyes.

you arrived at a building. you assumed it was an apartment building. jake opened your door when he came out. you stepped out when he grabbed your wrist and took you inside.

when you finally got to a room he unlocked it with a pin and entered it. the first thing you saw was shelves lined with scientific journals and textbooks, a whiteboard covered in equations and diagrams, but amidst all the science, there was also a comfy reading nook with a big, plush armchair and a collection of classic novels. you noticed how he had a nice window view of the city night. now that you thought of it, it was your first time at his place.

“you can take your jacket off.” he said. slowly, you took off your jacket. he grabbed it and settled it on a rack.

you stood there awkwardly and waited for his next move. he extended his hand out for you to grab. you took it as he walked you to the couch, “i’ll go get us some drinks.”

you sat down on the couch and waited. you didn’t know what to talk about to him. he came back with a drink and handed it to you. you grabbed it and took a small sip. he sat down next to you and that’s when he made he contact with you, but this time he had that same old look he gave you back then.

"y/n, I made a mistake," he confessed. "seeing you with riki made me realize how much i miss you. i thought i was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. can you ever forgive me?"

you took a deep breath, the memories of your time together flooding back. you wanted to just drop everything and forgive him, but you knew it’s best to face reality.

“professor sim-“ “jake.” he cut you off.

you sighed, “jake, i forgive you, but i don’t think we can go back to the way it was. what you said really did hurt me that i couldn’t even eat or sleep. i don’t wanna go that same route again.”

jake looked at you regretfully. you just wanted to hug him and hold him forever. he stared down, “i understand. i don’t blame you at all. i really did fuck it up cause i was a coward.” he admitted.

“you’re not a coward jake. you just didn’t wanna lose your job.”

“but i lost you instead.” he said. now it was your turn to stare down. jake slowly lifted your head up with his hand under your chin.

"I promise y/n, i’ll do anything to get you back." he promised.

you gave him a smile. you know it’ll take time to work things out, but you knew if you did it together, nothing would stop you guys from being with each other. so, you cupped your hand on his and gave him a reassuring smile.

“i’m counting you on that sim jake. and if you do get me back, it can be our little secret.”

[chr0llossexygf]

IN RUINS

PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader

SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?

“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.

“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.

you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”

“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.

“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.

“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.

“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.

“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.” you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.

“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.

he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.

the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.

the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.

“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.

“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.

you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.

“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.

jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.

jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”

“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.

“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.

“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.

“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.

“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.

“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,

you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.

you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.

he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.

“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.

“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.

“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.

his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.

his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.

“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.

the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.

“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.

“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.

“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.

he feels his legs going weak.

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [16]

Danny has been with the Wayne’s for a while now and his status as a halfa is starting to affect some things he comes in contact with a little bit.

At first he thought this only happened back in his old home in Amity Park because the ectoplasm samples were kept in the fridge, and though that does speed up the process, it turns out Danny causes the same things to happen just fine on his own. It just takes a lot longer.

This means he now occasionally has to replace or decontaminate some of his things every once in a while. and with the electronics the same applies but usually the protections that Tucker has made do the trick too.

Danny has been very careful, he never borrows anything that’s highly susceptible to ecto-contamination from the others and whenever he needs something from the kitchen he just goes to Alfred (he really doesn’t want to see how the old man might react to the coffee machine starting to act weird because of Danny). Just, the last thing Danny wants to do is inconvenience the Wayne’s by ecto-contaminating something of theirs.

It’s really only when Danny slips back into vigilante-ism that things go sideways.

And Danny really tried. His obsession is space, not heroism, so he figured he’d be fine just focussing on his education. But he kinda forgot about the fact that he just really really loves being a hero.

He loves the thrill, the danger. He loves giving a smackdown and just in general having a good fight, he loves helping people, he loves being a force of good. And yeah, he kinda also likes the praise, but nothing weird and overbearing (some people go way too far in their hero worship, but that’s a story for another day)

So after some back and forth and arguments with Bruce who, contrary to popular belief, was absolutely not thrilled that his latest traumatized kid who was being kept safe in the mansion so far now decided that no, he wants to be part of the family business too please.

Danny eventually threatens to just go out anyway without any of his help and that just gives Bruce flashbacks to the time when he had just taken Dick as his ward. Not to mention some of his other kids and… dammit.

Well then… Danny can go explain things to Jason himself once he finds out and is probably going to be mad about it, Bruce is not taking the blame this time.

So Danny (name pending, he could just go with Phantom again, but he also wouldn’t mind using something bird or bat related) gets back into the game once again! And that’s fine that’s cool. But back to the original point.

Danny figured that he would just do what he’s been doing so far with any bat gadgets as well, and maybe it would be even less of a problem cause he’s pretty sure that these things break a lot more often because of all the fights and stuff.

What Danny had not really thought about though is potential intense high emotion situations. Like for very specific example; Scarecrow taking an obsessive interest in him because of Danny’s ghostly ability to feed on fear (somewhat) and the situation getting out of hand, him getting very hurt, Batman having to carry him out of there while Danny was kinda bleeding a bit (a lot). Bruce being worried and Danny wanting to be anywhere but there anymore and-

Well, you get the point.

So, take all that and add high tech bat armor and what you get is suddenly sentient batsuit.

It actually took a bit for anyone to catch on that something was going on, but it was eventually figured out. and once that was the case Danny couldn’t really help his seemingly endless stream of apologies.

But how can anyone ever blame him for bleeding out on Bruce and the weird reanimative properties of said blood making it so Bruce’s suit can now “talk”

Bruce described it more as like a martian mind link, which would explain why only he could hear things. it’s probably only for the wearer.

It can’t move on it’s own, it needs someone to wear it. But it can sense things and react for the wearer and honestly all that alone is more than enough reason to find a way to exorcise it… if not for the whole,

“but if it’s a sentient ecto entity now we can’t just ‘kill’ it, we literally abolished the anti ecto acts just so that can’t be done anymore”

it’s probably a good thing the suit has grabbed all the ‘Batman’ and made that what it is. All the core values are there, so there isn’t going to be any risk of it killing someone at least.

Still though… what to do now?

[yanderenightmare]

i love your hybrid au sm! the way you characterise each animal to suit not only it’s species, but the characters itself is so creative and nothing short of genius! so it got me thinking, how would you imagine the bnha characters as mythical creatures and monsters ??? ( eg. vampires, wendigos, harpies, werewolves ) etc.

Katsuki, Tomura, Hawks, Deku, Shoto, Dabi

TW: implied noncon, yandere, the supernatural?

gn reader

Shigaraki Tomura Ghost

You’ve moved into his old room, and though you furnish it a bit differently than he did when he was still alive, you’ve placed the bed in the exact same spot. It’s been all dust and dead moths up until now, it almost feels like he’s alive again as he sleeps next to your warm body.

It’s only small things in the beginning. Underwear that goes missing, unexplainable handprints on the foggy shower doors, your duvet on the floor even though you’ve never been one to kick it off in your sleep.

You’ve never been one to believe in the paranormal either, but something convinces you to search up the history of the house. You find out a boy had murdered his entire family here—parents, grandparents, his sister—and that the boy himself was never found.

Obviously, you shut your laptop with a bang and try and will it away from your mind. It happened years and years ago—whoever that boy was, he was long since dead. But the more it starts sinking in that you’re not alone, the more your belief feeds him—makes him feel real again, as though you’re slowly bringing him back to life.

Sometimes, you spot him in the mirror of your vanity, but when you twist around, there’s no one there. But you feel him—the gust of cold breath giving you goosebumps, the weight of hands and a chest pressing against yours at night, and the brush of coarse fingertips touching you in places—places that have you moaning his dead name.

Bakugou Katsuki Demonic spirit

He enjoys large houses—preferably something with a bit of history. But every now and again, some moronic humans decide it’s time to wreck the old and build something new—which means he’s often on the move.

He doesn’t mind living alone in his new house until you move in. He’s a little mad at you at first—he thinks you’re one of those wreckers, what with your renovations and whatnot—but then he understands that you’re preserving, not destroying. Apparently, the Gothic manor is your ancestral home built by one of your great-grandparents seven generations back in the 18th century—seems you were the only descendant who felt it was worthwhile to keep. 

He wouldn’t normally stay when someone else moved in—he’d often use his demonic means and scare them on their way. But with you, he settles for dwelling in the shadows, in the many dark rooms you haven’t found a use for yet. But when night comes, and you turn off the lights and go to bed, he can't help but end up in your room—watching you sleep, oh-so-peacefully and blissfully unaware of his presence. But he won’t do anything to you even though he could, even though you make it so easy—he’s grateful to you, his little housemate.

Your bedroom becomes awfully hot at night—you can’t explain it. Nor can you explain why the wind howling through the house sounds more like the groaning breaths of a beast. All you know is that your bed feels heavier than it should if you were the only one in it��and that you don’t dare twist around to see what it is sleeping next to you because whatever it might be, you don’t think it’s human.

You know it isn’t human. It’s too big to be, and its hands are too warm and too rough—and its claws too sharp where they rake into your skin and tuck you close to a chest that feels as though engulfs you. You don’t think it has a heart, only a stomach—and it sounds hungry.

You read up on sleep paralysis demons, and it brings you peace of mind, but only until night comes and you go to bed in wait. It’s the first time he talks to you. His laugh is like rusted clockwork, and his voice is like raked coals—hot and scratchy against your ear as he tells you how your human ways of rationalizing the things you don’t understand are cute and amusing.

Keigo Takami - Hawks Guardian Angel

Being a guardian angel has always been a fun hobby of his ever since the creation—he’s found it to be a nice break from all the other angelic duties he has bearing down his wings. Of course, it’s always sad when your human dies, but luckily, there’s always another one not far behind to steal your halo all over again.

You’re his most recent. He watches over you any minute he can spare, chuckling over all your silly human antics. And though he’s had plenty of humans before you in the long history of man and God, he can’t help but confess you’re his favorite so far. You’re just so cute with your big, adorable eyes and pretty smile.

He begins taking greater pride in his responsibility of being your guardian. He used to see it as but a menial little task he could take to when feeling up for a laugh, but something about you makes him want to watch over you every single second of every day.

And so he does—he has the feathers to spare, especially for something so important. But soon, simply watching over you doesn’t feel like enough anymore.

He knows it’s wrong—so very wrong—so much so he’s afraid he’ll be cast out if anyone were to find out. It’s not right for angels to feel amorous for humans—most would call it deviant and demonic. But he can’t help himself—watching you in your vulnerable state while you undress, bathe, and sleep.

Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Maybe he’ll come to visit you one of these days.

Midoriya Izuku - Deku Hybrid between fae and troll

He protects the forest and nurses all sick and wounded animals back to health, writing down the condition of trees and brushes in his notebook as he wanders for hours until he falls asleep in a moss bed beneath the stars. And though he knows his responsibility is purely to the forest, he can’t help but feel inclined to keep an eye on the little human who lives just beyond it. You’re just so cute with the way you walk the forest and sing songs you think no one hears—wearing your human clothing and living in your human abode behind walls and a door. He just finds it absolutely fascinating. 

Sometimes, you feel like there’s something following you when you walk about the forest next to your house. You’ll turn around to see a cluster of rocks and greenery you could have sworn weren’t there when you walked by—you look away before allowing yourself to think the pile looks an awfully lot similar to a larger human’s huddled form. But sometimes you hear it—the sound of stone scraping methodically, as though walking. You don’t humor the thought until you start finding his footprints outside your house, on the path to the forest—feet thrice the size of your own and sunken as though made by something very heavy.

Your legs go out from beneath you once you first see him—not like those times you’d turned around only for him to pretend to be part of the earth—this time, he’s pretending to be more like you, and it only makes it all that much worse. He’s bigger than a bear, grey-skinned with flecks that remind you of freckles and hair like fresh moss sprouts. His eyes are as green as the fox-fire fungi when night falls—glowing with nocturnal light. When you try to run, he follows suit, making the ground shake so bad it knocks you over. 

He carries you into the mountain where he lives and keeps you there from then on. After all, the part of him that’s fae has considered you his pet from the moment you took a bite of your first forest fruit. It was his gift to you whether you knew it or not, and now you’ll belong to him forever.

Todoroki Shoto Vampire

It’s an awfully boring world. Not much to do when you feel you’ve done it all twice over. The taste of blood has become stale no matter how many different types he drowns himself in at night. Sometimes, he humors the thought of setting his manor ablaze if only to watch the fire roar until the sun rears the top of the roof and finally puts him to eternal rest. But he’s been thinking about it for two or more centuries already, and he’s beginning to doubt his nerve.

Dead things can’t make vows, so he must go on as he decided to when he was still alive—that’s the curse—only another person can break it.

You seem doable enough when you stride into his manor with your little sharpened sticks and silver daggers. It’s been a while since a hunter has graced his presence. The scent of holy water makes him lick his fangs, and the nearly irresistible urge to drink you dry almost has him pouncing on you—but he knows it would be but a fleeting high unworth it in the end when he’d have to live another millennium without the warmth of the sun or another soul.

He drops down before you with grace. You have the tip of your silver dagger pointed up under his chin in the same second but get stunted by his pale porcelain face, showing no signs of aggression and rather riddled with a bleak sort of melancholy you’re not used to seeing on the godless creatures.

He simply stands there, straight-spined and high-headed, with his hands folded behind his back as though showing you respect—and then, unprompted and to your great surprise, asks if you would please make it quick and put him out of his misery.

Todoroki Touya - Dabi Hyrbid between incubi and vampire

He preys in nightclubs on those who have that mischievous glint in their eyes in dire hope their lust can match his. Every day, it’s a dozen new—he can never seem to find the right one—always starving and never sated no matter how much he gorges himself, always thirsting, always dying for more. 

Until you.

You’re but a dainty wallflower who doesn’t want to be there, but you have this scent about you—garden-fresh, like something he’s never smelled before, and his tongue yearns for a taste. He knows what it is once he gets closer to you—the opposite of sin of all things, it’s innocence, and oh, how he craves to devour it whole.

His silver tongue has had so much practice that using it on your gullible ears makes him all but drool, asking you if you’d like some fresh air. You nod your head, big eyes looking at him as though he were some sort of saint for offering. He laps it up—it’s all he can do to pace himself. But when he has you alone, it’s all over for you.

He’s going to corrupt every last piece of you until that once peachy keen taste of innocence has become an ever sweeter taste of syrupy sin. He’s going to make you exactly like him—and your tall fall from grace will leave you blasphemous and beautiful.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[yourfavwritersfavoritewriter]

Uncle ACE

a. donaldson x reader x p. zweig

rating: R (18+)

warnings: threesome, heavy making out, cunnilingus, p0rn with plot, one bed trope, patrick and art practically being in love

summary: You, Patrick, and Art are all booked in a room that only has one bed. Patrick, your boyfriend, and Art accidentally wake you in the middle of the night, seeking for something that they've wanted for a while.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: srry this is so shitty lolol. not proofread

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧

It's two days til your boyfriend, Patrick, and his best friend's, Art, tennis tournament for the US Junior Open and you're all currently impatiently waiting at the receptionist desk to get your room. It's 12 am and you all are exhausted from the long flight behind you. You would've had a bed already to be sleeping in if you didn't give Patrick the task of booking your room while you booked the flight.

Your head is practically bobbing against the receptionist desk when you hear the service bell ring right next to your ear, causing you to shoot up. "Patrick, stop." Art scowls. You turn to Patrick, still relentlessly spamming his fingers on the bell. He's clearly irritated from standing in the lobby for so long (10 minutes).

"Seriously, Pat, stop. We wouldn't even be here if you had actually listened to me." You remind him. He stops ringing it after you say that and rolls his eyes. A receptionist comes out about a minute later to help you get a room finally. You broker with her while the boys behind you whisper argue and shove, making you look back at them to grimace with your eyes. It was like you were watching over two little boys who didn't know when to just sit down.

"I'm sorry ma'am but we don't have any rooms with more than one bed. We have a king sized bed though." The receptionist explained, returning your attention back to her.

"Oh." Great, because of your boyfriend's absent mindedness you all have to share one bed between the three of you. "Are you sure?" You ask, hoping she overlooked anything. To your dismay, she nodded, leaving you to have to book a room with a single bed. At the end of the day, you don't care as long as you have a bed. It's not like you'll be sleeping with strangers. Just your two best friends.

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

You all make it to the fifth floor where your room is and drag your feet to the room number. Art's eyes are droopy and he's leaning on Patrick for stability. Patrick seems completely fine with this; happy even that his best friend is all over him. You reach and unlock the door to your hotel room, stumbling in with your duffle bag on your right shoulder. The boys follow behind you, pushing past and crashing onto the bed.

You roll your eyes at their dramatics and head to the bathroom with your bag of toiletries to take a shower. While you're in there you can hear the boys still arguing about something for a while until they stop all of a sudden. You finish your shower quickly, dry yourself off, and put on your pajamas. You get out of the bathroom to find Art and Patrick perched on the edge of the bed. Ignoring them and their ogling eyes, you turn off the lights and climb into bed behind them. They follow in your steps, each laying on opposite sides of you, per your usual array. You all exchange your goodnight's and without thinking of anything but comfort, lay down with your back towards Patrick, facing Art. They both look at each other for a moment before Art lays down after, Patrick following suit.

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

At about 3:00, you hear whispers in the in each ear. "Do you think she'd be okay with that?"

"Why don't you wake her up and find out?"

"She's your girlfriend!"

"You're that one that wants to fuck her! And you've been wanting to fuck her."

"Patrick! Shut the fuck up. You're gonna wake her."

You sit up on your elbows, rubbing your eyes. "Can you guys shut up? I'm trying to sleep." You scold and go to lay back down.

"Wait!" Art's voice cracks. He's looking at you, through the darkness, with wanting eyes. His hand lands on your thigh, causing Patrick to glare at him. He keeps it there still.

"Art wants your help." You're confused and ask him to explain further but Patrick just looks down to Art's crotch causing you to look as well. His boxers are strained around his harden dick. Your mouth makes an 'o' shape as you dart your eyes between the two boys.

"Surely you don't want me to--"

"He does. We both do." You look down to see Patrick's boxers are also strained, his inches showing more. You're taken aback that your boyfriend would ask you something like this, but not completely surprised. Sometimes you felt as though Art and Pat would talk about you behind your back. Not maliciously of course. Just what they would do to you if they got the chance. If Art got the chance.

"Okay." You turn to Art. "You want my help?" He nods sheepishly. You put your hand over his crotch and push down lightly. All the air leaves his lungs as he bucks against your hand. You keep rubbing him, his whimpers persisting, as you turn to your boyfriend. "You like this? Watching your best friend humping the palm of my hand?" You taunt him. You lean in to press your lips against his. He moans in your mouth, this whole situation making him impossibly hard and needy for your touch. Art makes his way to your neck, leaving warm wet kisses.

Art kisses up your neck until all over your mouths meet together. It's wet and messy as you're all tonguing at each other. You pull back to catch your breath. They're both looking at you panting, mouths uncoupled. Art retreats back into your neck, putting his lips back on over your adam's apple.

"Please touch me." Patrick begs.

"But what about Art? He needs help." Art's panting into the side of your neck at this point while Patrick watches his friend who's desperate for his girlfriend to go farther. "Why don't you help him?"

They both freeze in half-shock-half-desire. Patrick hesitantly puts his hand over yours, the one that's over Art's hard on. His eyes lock with Art, seeking silent permission. "Good." You say. You move Art's boxers so that the waistband rests below his balls. Turning over Patrick's hand, you spit in the palm, substituting your saliva as lube.

Slowly, Patrick starts to stroke Art, twisting his wrist like he would on himself. Art's tip is leaking and angry as Patrick's hand glides against his cock, the pre cum adding an extra slickness. His lips part in pleasure letting his moans escape. His head tips back and you take this opportunity to kiss down his neck, accelerating his moans. Art felt like he was heaven. Having the two people he wanted most practically worship him makes him writhe on the bed sheets. All of a sudden, Art feels Patrick's lips on the head of his cock. "W-what are you doing?"

"Don't you want this?" You ask, breaking contact with Art's neck. Art looks down at Patrick, who's once again silently asking for permission to go farther. Art nods, looking at you. There's an understanding between the three of you now that this is something you've all wanted since you've met. "You're so pretty, Art." You say as Patrick sinks his mouth onto Art. He whimpers in response while Patrick moans with Art's cock down his throat. You reach up under Patrick's shirt, tracing down his spine then bringing your hand down to the waistband of his shorts. Your hands are warm against his erection as he humps down into your hand. You're kissing down Patrick's back as his spit is dribbling down to the base of Art's cock. They're both swimming in ecstasy, filling the air with their lustful moans. Art's hands travel to Patrick's head of hair, grabbing onto the strands.

"Pat," Art pants. "Fuck, keep doing that." Patricks lips suck while his tongue swirls around the Art's length. All the while, Patrick's fucking into your hand, moaning, sending vibrations around Art, intensifying every ounce of pleasure. Art's vision fades white as he comes down Patrick's throat, evoking Patrick to finish all over the bedsheet, your hand, his stomach. They're panting, brain fog clearing slowly, when they both turn to you. Their lips are parted, wet and slick, Patrick's with Art's cum. Your clits pulsing, begging for attention. You pull Pat's face to yours, tasting Art on his lips and moaning into his mouth at the taste.

"You both did so well." You tell them against Patrick's lips.

"Why don't you let us help you now, baby?" Patrick lays you down on the bed.

"Yeah." Art breathed out, feeling up your thigh inching towards the place you wanted them both so much. You relax your body letting them, wanting them to take over and they do. Patrick towers over you, practically ripping off your cotton panties. Art's lips find themselves on the inside of your thigh, sucking and leaving marks for you to find in the morning. Patrick's kissing you while palming your boobs, one at a time, and you feel worship. Even though they're on top of you, you have all the power over the two of them.

Without warning, Art presses soft kisses to your clit, lightly licking it. "She likes when you suck on it, Art. Gets her real wet." Patrick aids. Art listens and starts sucking lightly on your clit, to which you moan out loudly and arch your back at.

"Mnhh Fuck!" Your legs are shaking already and they've barely done anything. Art keeps sucking on your clit as Patrick's kissing down your neck, twiddling with your hardened nipple between his fingers. When you're soaking the bedsheets under you, Art takes his two middle fingers and slowly glides them in, teasing you almost. His pace quickens in tune with your pants and whimpers. "Shit, Art." You go to praise him when your cut off by his fingers hitting that spongy part deep inside you. Your orgasm approaches quickly with the immense amount of stimulation you're receiving. Your boyfriend pinching your nipples and his best friend eating you out.

You moan out one last time before reaching your high, loudly. The hotel must have thick walls because there were no complaints of your guys' cacophony of pleasure. Art continues licking you for a moment, overstimulating you before pulling away from between your shaking thighs that were crushing him, making it hard to breathe. Not that he was complaining.

Sweaty and fucked out, Art, Patrick and you lay at the head of the bed. Patrick on his stomach, you in the middle on your back and Art clutching onto your side, his taint pressed into your hip. You fall asleep like that, content and satisfied. Just you and your two best friends.