#The Manager: i'd say Anything to get a piece of That >:(

[kitkatscabinet]

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling Apart & Torn at the Seams [4/5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k [Series Masterlist][Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; pregnant!Reader, angst with an eventual happy/hopeful ending, emotional hurt, threat to abort (because it's Clay), angry Jax, Clay being Clay

a/n: So glad to see how much y'all have been loving this little thing that grew into far more than just the two parts I'd initially planned (which is why I just gave this thing a masterlist). I've decided it should end at five now, but it's because y'all enjoyed it so much that I expanded on more parts of it, so thank you for the comments and reblogs, they really are always appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989 @hiddenwritings-adventures @shadyshadyy @cwallace02sblog @staley83 @steviebbboi @bonni-98   @aria725 @mmarysha @secretlysamcro @f1samcro @dollface-xoxo

Roughly pushing open the clubhouse doors, Jax stalked inside the main room, his steps slow and purposeful. He fixed the chapel doors on the opposite end with a dark glare, his fists tightly curled at his sides as he moved past the pool table and the bar. The room was oddly quiet without the usual noise of a party underway, the space eerily devoid of its usual loud laughter and even louder music. It was a Wednesday night and the guys weren't here. 

But Jax knew that Clay was, and that's all that mattered right now.

With his jaw clenched so hard the muscles in it ached, Jax made his way over towards the closed chapel doors, his body tensed and ready for a fight. Clay had been conveniently difficult to find ever since Jax had broken into your apartment and confronted Gemma about your disappearance yesterday afternoon. Which meant Jax had more than an entire day to sit in his quiet rage while it festered, causing him to only further grow vengeful and furious when he thought about what Clay had done to you. His imagination supplied the missing pieces of the puzzle, because Jax could guess what threats Clay had made against you.

But while Jax had been itching for the chance to get Clay alone and confront him, he’d also been busy making his own moves. He'd still spent that time trying to figure out where the hell you could’ve vanished, but it didn't matter how often he kept trying your phone, it always went straight to voicemail–as if it was turned off now. He’d tried leaving you a handful of messages, but he never heard anything back from you. 

It was going on five full days of you being gone without a goddamn word. The silence from you was maddening. All Jax could think about was you out there somewhere pregnant with his kid, completely alone, and probably scared because of Clay. He fucking hated the thought of that. It had him tearing apart both his room at the clubhouse and his own damn house. 

Jax had tried to focus his mind and energy on doing what he could in the meantime–sending out Chibs and Juice to interrogate your landlord in an attempt to figure out whatever they could. While they’d been tasked with that, Jax had spent the day planning something else with Opie. Because he was going to bury Clay for what he’d done, that much was certain. But even that still didn’t feel like he was doing enough right now. 

As Jax approached the chapel doors, he could hear the faint sound of voices coming from within. His teeth ground together, his anger barely being held back inside of himself as he stood there attempting to keep some level of composure. He needed to see what answers he could manage to get out of Clay, to see if there was anything he might say that could give Jax some idea of where you were. But of course Clay was here late plotting things behind closed doors and the backs of the whole club. 

He wasn’t going to keep getting away with this shit, though. Not anymore.

Uncurling one of his fists, Jax reached out and twisted the door handle before pushing the door open so hard it flung backwards and smacked into the wall with a sharp bang. Both Clay and Tig instantly fell silent at the interruption, their attention shifting straight towards the door. Jax stood there with his eyes locked on Clay, a vicious gleam in them as his lips curled back into a sneer.

If he could have ripped Clay’s head off with his bare hands right now, he absolutely would have.

“Whoa, Jax, man,” Tig began, brows furrowing faintly together as he took in the sight of him. “Easy there. What the hell are you doing?”

Clay didn’t look remotely fazed at the sudden enraged entrance, almost as if he’d been expecting it. The way he so comfortably leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, folding his hands in his lap as he focused on Jax like he was completely untouchable, only pissed Jax off further. But it was clear on Clay’s face–he knew exactly why Jax was here just by looking at him.

“Get the fuck outta here, Tig,” Jax snarled, his glare remaining fixed on Clay.

In the chair beside the Sons’ president, Tig focused his attention on Clay, giving him a questioning look. With his own eyes never leaving Jax, Clay gave him a single nod in response.

“Leave us, Tig,” he ordered, flicking a hand dismissively. “‘S’alright. I got this.”

Tig hesitated in his chair for a moment longer, clearly aware of the tension between his president and vice president but not making the connection as to what it was over. Eventually when Clay didn’t say anything otherwise, Tig quietly slid his chair back and rose to his feet. He gave Clay one last look before he slipped past Jax and out of the chapel, closing the door after himself on his way out. 

And then it was just the two of them.

Jax stood there for a moment longer, seething as he stared back at the man who’d just spent one afternoon five days ago blowing up his entire life like it was nothing. And now here he was sitting there looking so fucking calm about it, like he hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong forcing you out of his life and this town.

“Where is she?” Jax asked, voice level but not any less threatening. “What’d you do to her?”

Clay shrugged a shoulder simply, pulling a face at the questions. “I didn’t do nothin’ to her,” he answered. “Just paid her a visit. Had a talk. That’s it.”

Lips pressing together, Jax’s nostrils flared sharply at the response. He knew damn well how much Clay was downplaying whatever ‘visit’ he’d had with you. And yet he was going to sit here and lie to his goddamn face about it, too. 

“A talk about what?” he pushed firmly. “And don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’ve had it out for her since that first night she came to the clubhouse. Don’t tell me it was some friendly visit.”

Clay continued to sit there, casually leaning back in his chair at the head of the table as a silence fell in the room. Jax recognized the calculating look in his step-father’s eyes–he’d seen it plenty of times to know what it was by now. It was the same look he had whenever he attempted to twist the truth or detract attention away from himself.

“She doesn’t fit, Jackson,” Clay finally said, his words breaking through the heavy tension in the air. “In this world, in this club, in your life. I know it. Your mother knows it. And I’m pretty damn sure your little girlfriend knows it, too.”

With a frustrated grunt, Jax crossed the distance from the entrance of the chapel and over to the ornately carved wooden table. His eye twitched as he tried to hold himself back from doing precisely what he’d rather be doing–beating the absolute shit out of the man. But instead, his fists came down slowly against the table’s surface as he leaned over towards Clay.

“That’s not what I fucking asked you,” Jax growled low.

“But it’s what you need to hear,” Clay countered, his own tone matching Jax’s as he leaned forward along the table, his eyes narrowing back at him. “Because ever since she started working at the garage, you’ve been distracted. Everyone can see it. You’re lettin’ pussy distract you from your responsibilities to the club and your family.”

Jax slammed his fist hard against the solid table, his knuckles stinging from the impact. It was taking every bit of willpower for him to resist striking Clay right in the fucking face like he desperately wanted to, but he knew he had to refrain from the urge. He had a plan in motion to deal with Clay and he couldn’t deviate from it. He couldn’t risk tipping the club off as to what was really going to happen to Clay by having a physical altercation with the piece of shit and leaving any evidence of just how badly he wanted him gone. 

“Don’t you dare call her that,” Jax warned him. His lips twisted up into a dark smile, one that contained only danger and threats as he held Clay’s own cold gaze. “She’s not just some club whore, you old bastard. She’s my girl. My old lady. And you were threatening her.”

Clay scoffed, shaking his head at Jax’s words as if they were nothing. Jax could feel himself practically vibrating with rage right now, everything inside of him screaming to unleash what he was feeling on the bastard–to beat him within an inch of his life and watch him choke on his own blood in this very room.

“She’s nothing more than a passing flavor of the month for you,” Clay retorted. “The way you go through girls. She's nothing.”

“She’s mine!” Jax shouted, finally succumbing to his rage. “And she’s carrying my fucking kid!”

Jax’s chest heaved with his sharp breaths as he stood there bent over the table, a wild look in his eyes as he stared down his president. Clay still kept that outward calm as he eyed Jax, clearly unaffected by his words. Which was all the confirmation Jax had needed. Gemma might not have known that you were pregnant, but somehow Clay had. And he’d still fucking pushed you out of Charming anyway. 

Trying to reign in his temper, a bitter laugh fell out of Jax as he straightened back up beside the table. He stared down at Clay, one of his shaking hands coming up to comb through his shaggy hair in frustration. 

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” he spat. “You knew she was pregnant. That’s why you threatened her, wasn’t it?”

Clay shrugged again. As if it didn’t matter. As if you carrying his goddamn child didn’t matter. His lips pressed together at the realization of just how cold–how fucking cruel and ruthless–the man really was when he wanted something. And Clay had wanted you out of the picture long enough. 

“Yeah, I knew,” he admitted easily. “So I paid her a visit. Told her the truth.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed further into slits at his words. “The truth?” he shot back, his head tilting to the side in challenge. “What fucking truth, Clay? You been doing nothing but feeding the both of us lies for months now. So what goddamn truth did you share with her, huh?”

Clay’s hand raised from the table, gesturing at Jax before him. “That you, my son, are not remotely in the place or the mindset to become a father,” he answered smoothly. “You’re barely taking care of your damn self, you got no idea the first things about raising a kid. And let’s be real–that ain’t the kinda shit you want on your plate right now.”

“Don’t you–” he snapped, pointing a ringed finger sharply at Clay, “–call me your son after the shit you've done. And don't you even try and pretend to know a damn thing about what I want. You got no idea.”

“Don’t matter now,” Clay told him. “Your girl is probably long gone now. She’s got no job since I fired her, so who knows what happened to her.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Jax’s jaw tightened at the information. He’d fired you–you hadn’t quit. Clay had fired you knowing that you were pregnant. Knowing you’d need a job and money and fucking insurance to take care of yourself and that baby right now. And right now you had none of that, not because you’d made the choice yourself, but because Clay had intentionally taken it all from you.

Attempting to maintain his composure, one of Jax’s hands ran along his mouth. The sharp scratch of his facial hair against his fingers barely registered as he fought to keep himself from knocking the old fuck right out of that chair. That haunting thought of you somewhere struggling right now flashed through his mind, and he physically had to restrain himself by gripping his other hand against the edge of the table.

Clay would get what was coming to him despite how goddamn smug he looked sitting there. Because Jax knew something that Clay didn’t, and it would only be a matter of time before that president patch was stripped from Clay’s kutte and sewn onto his own. 

Jax was going to make damn certain Charming was safe for you, and then he was going to fucking find you and fix everything. It didn’t matter how long it took for you to forgive his stupid fucking ass for not just listening to you that night you’d come to him for help. He would do whatever it took to get you back here and keep you safe. 

Which is what he should have been doing in the first place.

Taking a few steps back towards the chapel doors, Jax’s glare remained on Clay. “You fucked up, old man,” he told him. “You're eventually going to find that out.”

Without another word, Jax turned and exited the chapel, slamming the door shut behind himself as he went. As he stormed his way through the empty clubhouse, his steps swift and heavy, he knew it was foolish to have hoped that Clay might have given him some clue as to where you’d disappeared to. He probably had no damn idea himself.

Stepping outside of the clubhouse and back into the dimly lit parking lot, Jax continued to stride across the pavement. Opie was waiting for him right where Jax had left him a bit ago–leaning against his bike and smoking a cigarette. He nodded his head in greeting at Jax as he expelled the smoke from between his lips.

“Get what you needed to, brother?” Opie asked curiously.

“Of course not,” Jax snarled in irritation. He grabbed his helmet from where it was hanging on the handlebars of his bike, unclipping it before he jutted his chin at Opie. “You get what you needed?”

Opie nodded, tossing his cigarette down to the pavement. He stamped it out with his shoe, his eyes flickering to the clubhouse as he did before he focused back on Jax.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You sure you wanna do this, though?”

Jax’s eyes burned with rage as he stared at the clubhouse, securing his helmet on his head. “He’s taken enough from us, Ope,” Jax answered, an edge to his words. “He got away with what he did to Donna. Now he's trying to push out my girl.” He secured the helmet on his head as he looked back at his best friend. “You wanna give him the chance to find an excuse to go after Lyla next?”

A muscle jumped in Opie's cheek at the question before he quietly shook his head. 

Jax turned and threw a leg over his bike, settling down onto it. “I’m sick of him getting away with this shit,” he spat bitterly. “He's not taking anything else from us.”

[loveharlow]

Hey love, i wanted to request for Rafe, where reader is Rafe’s bestfriend and Reader gets beat up on a party and Rafe helps her. ( all fluff, and a bit angst cuz of the fighting <3 )

oddly soft!Rafe but he's a little mean, sorry I can't write Rafe without a little douchebag-ery and angst is my specialty, this req. is 2 years old i am so deeply sorry

swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, classism, pogue!reader

"You do realize you can't fight everyone, right?" Rafe told you, gently wiping a wet napkin across your bottom lip. The bright white material now bore a small, stark dot of crimson.

All you could manage was a sigh, pushing his hand away as he crouched in front of you, where you sat perched on the edge of his bed. "Why is it that these fucking rich kids can talk a whole bunch of shit about me, and I can't do anything?" You groaned, your lip curling with frustrated anger as you rolled your eyes.

Rafe mirrored your eye roll, tucking his bottom lip in as he slapped his knees and stood. "Yeah, and these rich kids also have a shit-ton of money. You do realize that, right?" He snarked, walking into his bathroom as your gaze followed him. He rummaged through the cabinets under his sink, searching for something. "You fight the wrong one, and they'll have you in court by morning. Of course, I'd never let that happen. But the point still stands."

"I don't care—"

"I know you don't." He cut you off, standing and letting the cabinet doors slam shut as he approached, a first-aid kit in hand. "But I do." He affirmed, dropping the kit onto the mattress beside you and pulling out an alcohol pad and a ridiculously small band-aid. "Believe it or not, you're the only one keeping me in one piece."

You scoffed at his words, flinching slightly as the chemical-saturated pad touched the raw skin of your lip. "What about Topper? Hm? Kelce?"

Rafe let out a short laugh under his breath, discarding the alcohol wipe and tearing open the bandage. "Topper's a bitch, and Kelce just does whatever I say. They're not my friends. Not really. But you are." He circled back to the original topic, carefully placing the tiny band-aid on your bottom lip. "So, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't get yourself thrown in jail." He said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You nodded, looking down and fidgeting with your fingers as you considered your next words. "That's all I really know," you finally admitted, glancing up at him briefly as a wave of weariness washed over you.

He sat down next to you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. "I get it," he said softly, his gaze steady on your face. "But some things just aren't worth the headache." He reached out, his thumb gently brushing against the edge of the small bandage on your lip.

A sigh escaped your lips. "Easier said than done when they're constantly running their mouths..." You grumbled.

"I know," Rafe conceded, his eyes flicking down to your hands, which were now twisting together in your lap. "But you know I wouldn't let anyone fuck with you." He paused, then added, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "Besides, you've got me to get mad at. Isn't that enough?"

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of your own mouth. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But that's not the same. You're also a rich asshole. Just not to me. I'm an exception to you, but not to them."

"Fair," he agreed, his tone turning serious again. "But I'd rather deal with the fallout of our messes than bail you out of jail because you punched some trust-fund baby in the face."

You chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. "Fair enough."

He nodded, a sense of relief washing over his features. "Look, I'm not saying you have to take everything lying down. But maybe... maybe think twice before throwing a punch. For me, alright?"

You looked up at him, really looked at him, and saw a genuine concern in his eyes that you rarely witnessed. It was a stark contrast to the usual reckless glint that danced within them. A warmth spread through your chest, a feeling you didn't often allow yourself to acknowledge.

"Okay," you said, the word a quiet promise. "For you."

He smiled, a real, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. "Good." He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you gently so that your shoulder rested against his. "Now, how about we forget about those assholes for a while?" He reached for the remote on his nightstand. "Movie night?"

You leaned into him, the familiar comfort of his presence a soothing balm. "Sounds good," you murmured, the fight draining out of you, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. For now, at least.

Rafe Cameron Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[bannock-freak]

Chicago inspired Victuuri AU where Yuuri gets thrown into the slammer after he kills a shitty manager, gets very talked down to (JJ maybe?), then promptly seduces (mostly accidentally) The Best Defence Attorney This Side Of The Country Victor Nikiforov, who initially is only in it for the money until Yuuri pins him with his big'ol eyes and despite his attempts to resist, is immediately doomed. Plus side, Yuuri's on the highway to hell with him in the passenger seat so aaaaye

Now they just need to make sure Yuuri doesn't get the death penalty but in the meantime, well.... Yuuri's already in jail for murder, making out with his lawyer can't be any more against the law...

[dustylovelyrun]

hi, how've you been! How's been creating and writing going?

The temptation for dramatics. I really, truly wanted to be dramatic. To state something along the lines of how utterly awful writing has been, in how words have become the delusions of a mind newly rendered half mad and trapped within the gnarling, twisted vestiges of a very bittersweet history, but. It never does seem to translate well online, does it? Being dramatic without warning. But it does significantly take away from the joys of dramatics to provide warning, doesn't it? Sad thing, that is.

Without dramatics, I can say that the reason my presence initially is / was so sparse around 2022-onwards is because of the aftermath of long-covid. You know. The brain damage thing. It directly impacted any pre-existing ability that I had to think or say two sentences and to successfully follow the train of thought that was connecting them, let alone to formulate an idea, write it, or have any tolerance as to the feeble shadowed results of what I wanted and previously could have put on a page. It elicited some very helpless and sad feelings, so, as I do, I ran. Nowadays, it has somewhat improved, but I'm still mostly at a point where I can only formulate messy outlines and get a very rare piece that seems to turn out alright. I'm also in a belated educational attempt to reattain, as an adult, everything I missed out when I went and dropped out at fourteen; the writing exercises natural to that and the NZ curriculum have oddly aided in reclaiming some of that, in my paralysing terror of attaining a bad grade, but. It eats up time. I'm still very much warring with what's occurred mentally, and am uncertain if my time as a contributor here just. Ended, frankly, far sooner than I had ever thought to suspect, or if I'll eventually manage to adapt and relearn in an extraordinarily painful length of time.

But frankly, being able to witness the enthralling, indescribable and so utterly memorising shift and development of your own writing has been one of the factors to keeping me here, really. Every second of it has been worth it. You, and a select handful of once-mutuals that I still remember quite fondly from the 2020 and early 2022 era. It has been a truly wonderful experience to watch you grow more confident in your capabilities, honing both your cadence and innate talents into a true passion and skill rendering you destined to become ingrained into the long-term memories, the core, of your audience's mind. You have truly flourished and blossomed as the years have passed, and it carries very well in those pieces which are so hauntingly beautiful, echoing and resounding deeply as they are read.

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[esote-rika]

𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Series masterlist Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader Category: smut 18+ MDNI, angst Summary: Attending Rossi's wedding while nursing the betrayal of your boyfriend, you find solace (and revenge) in the arms of Dr. Spencer Reid.   Content: 7.7k porn with a plot. Mentions of smoking and drinking, reader wears a dress, heels, and make up, and cheats on her shitty bf, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), softdom!Spencer, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, reader is called naughty girl and good girl, very slight degradation, lots of praise, big dick!Spencer, size kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, rumination and references to sin and Eve and religion in general, probably blasphemous, Jeid mention, unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is kinda toxic but it's sexy I swear (I HOPE; yell at me nicely if i missed anything)  A/N: this fic had been MARINATING for more than a month. Probably overwritten and self-indulgent, years of Catholic trauma rlly just spilled onto my docs ya know. Tried very very hard to make the smut worth it because there's so much build up and I'd hate for the smut to be meh. Lost the plot multiple times. Reached the point of i’m sick of this fic pls let it end but ultimately it's a piece that I’m actually proud of. Dedicated to user @notlongtolove for the yap fest and brainstorming, iykyk!!! Pls enjoy while I rejoice; this mammoth is finally over. Special request to leave a comment so I feel accomplished, pretty please tyyyy.

Rossi's wedding had been your opportunity to introduce your new boyfriend to the team. You've taken great pains to keep your relationship private, a feat that makes you proud because the amount of things that gets past Penelope Garcia is next to nothing. But somehow, in the past four months, you've managed. You've passed the threshold, the personal rule of three months of privacy, of keeping things on the down low, and you had been excited to stroll up to Rossi's fourth wedding in the arms of Cameron, your boyfriend of nearly five months. 

Unfortunately, you'd caught another woman's underwear in his car nearly a week before the day of the wedding. He still hasn't admitted to his betrayal, no matter how many times you've pleaded and talked to him. You already know, anyway. It's easy enough to tell from his body language. The twitch of his lips he does whenever he's nervous, the way he overuses the phrase come on, every single one of his tells point to his infidelity. You've used every trick in the profiler handbook— interrogation, an attempt to seduce, anger— none has worked. 

Your pathetic boyfriend would only repeat that he loves you so much, why are you acting like this? 

So you're a depressing cloud on Rossi's big day. You hide it behind a big smile, which would normally be unconvincing, but everyone is too wrapped up in the festivities to look too closely at your hastily erected facade. 

And it’s worked, for the most part. You know it’s not because of your acting skills, but more because there’s too much going on to pay attention to you. And disappearing as part of the crowd allows you to observe and stew in your betrayal, fingertips tingling with the desire to get even somehow.

You wish you could say he’d tempted you. Pursued you with gentle brushes of his hands on the exposed skin of your back, bewitched you with his dimpled smile, so inhumanly beautiful you just couldn’t say no. How could you resist temptation when it is being presented to you by someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself? 

Because Spencer Reid has always been something akin to divinity, at least to you. As the BAU's newest recruit— appointed and transferred by the infamous Linda Barnes herself—you've had to fight tooth and nail to earn the team's trust. 

Now, Linda Barnes is gone, you have a spot on the team, and Spencer Reid remains elusive. 

His reputation preceded him, of course, one of the smartest active agents, incarcerated for something he didn't do. He's kind in the moments you've spent with him, with a bumbling earnestness that you've found endearing. 

He's also incredibly beautiful. 

So who could blame you if you did give in to his advances? People stronger than you have succumbed, after all, and you, in your vulnerable, lovelorn glory, would not have been responsible if you decided to take a bite from the forbidden apple, right? Giving in to temptation is the lesser sin, more forgivable, would absolve you of guilt especially after the betrayal you've gone through. 

Except Spencer Reid hadn’t pursued you. The meeting had been accidental, at least that’s what you tell yourself. You’d seen him leave towards the end of the ceremony. Of course you did, you had been watching him all night. Sometime towards the end of the ceremony, while the minister was talking about the importance of second chances, he’d slipped away.

You had been the one to go after him. In your defense, you’ve been itching to get your hands on a cigarette since you got here. Weddings have always made you giddy, excited. It’s a celebration of love, after all, a declaration of two people’s commitment to each other. In sickness and health. But Cameron's infidelity weighs heavily upon your shoulders, and though you've borne more than this—you're a BAU agent, after all, you face horrors on a daily basis—it's still difficult to set aside the burn when you're surrounded by happy couples. 

 So you’d put your focus on Dr. Reid: handsome in his suit, but something about him seemed distracted. Perhaps he'd been banking upon the wedding as a distraction, just like you had been. Everyone is too busy with the happy couple to pay attention to two lonely souls. 

But he's wrong. You've got your eye on him, and you see something in his amber irises that reflect your own. 

Loneliness. 

Why is Spencer Reid lonely? 

It’s the intrigue that ultimately leads you out into the hallways. And when you stumble upon his brooding form, your excuse is truthful, “I'm trying to find the bathroom.”

He kindly escorts you to the correct wing, making small talk. Something about wedding dresses not being white historically. You smile and nod, thanking him graciously as you slip into the ladies room. When you leave the bathroom after basically inhaling a stick of cigarette, he’s still lingering outside. Waiting by the wall, smiling upon your return.

“Oh,” you return his smile, “You’re still here.”

“Figured we could walk back together.” his nose wrinkled a little as you stepped closer, the smell of your cigarette apparently not sufficiently disguised.

You're smile becomes sheepish, shaking your head, “I thought I was being slick by spraying perfume, but apparently not.”

He laughs. It reminds you of the church bells that rang for the wedding. Rich and lilting. 

“Not to judge, but why the need for a smoke break?”

“Why should there be a reason?”

“You've told me you only smoke when you're stressed out.” Fuck. “Why are you stressed out?”

“Just having a bad day.”

It's the wrong answer, because his gaze zeroes in on you, oozing with an intense curiosity. “On Rossi's wedding?”

“Not because of it,” You laugh airily, but in the quiet of the hallway, it's much more difficult to pretend that everything is okay. Two can play at this game though. “Why are you out here?”

He averts his gaze to his shoes, brows furrowing in a way that makes you blood spike. He’s hiding something. 

“I just needed some fresh air.” he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, lifting his gaze from the floor and dragging it through your form, taking in your appearance in the cocktail dress you’ve donned for the wedding. His voice is strangled when he speaks again,, “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you yet.”

“Thank you. You look very dashing too.” A pause stretches between you. In that quiet moment, it seems like the universe has presented the perfect way of retaliation for you. The nicotine had made you bold, audacious. And if you’d read him correctly, then he’s in need of relief as much as you are, the kind of relief a simple cigarette wouldn’t fix. You step closer, looking straight into his eyes, “Truth be told, I’m not in any hurry to go back.”

You see his jaw clench, the beautiful brain of his going a thousand miles per minute, likely computing every possible meaning of your words. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you decide to help him out, taking another step forward and tilting your head up.

When you kissed him, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss you back. Mouth parting, fingers tightly clenched at your waist, pulling you closer and closer until space felt like a foreign concept altogether. He is an insistent kisser, leaning his whole weight into you as his lips opened and sucked at yours. 

The dark corner isn’t ideal, but it was the closest space at your disposal. Neither of you are willing to spend more time looking for somewhere to hide, not when you could spend that time running your hands and lips in places undiscovered. Your lips across the strong angle of his jaw, his stubble tickling your skin. Spencer tonguing the space beneath your ear, fragrant with traces of your perfume. Your hand massaging him into an erection through the fabric of his pants.  

He lets out the prettiest moan when you drop to your knees in front of him. 

You don’t miss the irony of it as you tugged and undid his belt and zipper, fully conscious of the act you’re about to commit. Kneeling in a chapel, for all the wrong reasons. 

“Are you sure?” the words spill from his lips so sweetly, as if he isn't standing before you with his erection only inches from your face. Long and thick and already leaking precum at the tip. 

You take him into your mouth as an answer, condemning yourself to your fate. Spencer is beautiful like the devil, and you’re Eve succumbing to the first sin. 

Two wrongs do not make a right. You know this. Everyone does. A lesson as old as time itself, written in languages you can’t comprehend. Even mathematics dictates that adding two negative integers does not cancel them out—the negative value merely increases. You should not retaliate on your boyfriend by committing the very sin that hurt you in the first place. By all accounts, nothing good should come from it.

Yet here you are, on your knees for a man as pretty as the devil himself. A man very much not your boyfriend.

Even fucking worse, your coworker. 

Tucked in some dark corner—not even given the dignity of a dusty closet. That at least would have given you complete privacy. No, you’re on your knees in some seemingly abandoned hallway, half hidden by a combination of the dim lights, and ostentatious pillars, and him. His lean body shields you from general view as your lips stretched around his throbbing length.

You learn that he is a contradiction. A large hand gathers your perfectly styled curls, holding them at the crown of your head. Gentle, careful. The other rests just beneath your jaw, holding your head still as he slowly pushes his hips forward. Your nails grip his pants as your mouth stretches around his girth. The fabric wrinkles under your clutches as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, then begins to push beyond it.

Only half of his length in and you're already choking. 

Wide, panicked eyes dart up to meet his deceptively honeyed ones. You consider pulling back, just to catch your breath but you can’t; his hands are holding you steady. Oddly enough, the look in his eyes helps you relax. There’s something inherently trustworthy about those ochre irises, despite the fact that his pupils have blown up so much and nearly eclipsed them. Maybe you’re too used to indifference from Cameron, too used to sex being so clinical and borderline perfunctory, that the unbridled lust in his gaze excites you instead of scare you away. 

Still, it doesn’t help the little choking issue you’re currently having.

“Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. You blink back the tears that have gathered at your lashes, still maintaining eye contact with him. Spencer sighs, pulls his cock out. Mercy. It's not something you deserve, but you take advantage of the moment wisely, following his instructions and breathing through your nose. 

The stench of sin is musky and stale. You fill your lungs with it all the same, just as he rams his cock back down your throat and fills your mouth. He hisses when you gag around him lightly, but doesn’t stop. You realize that you’d probably chase after him if he does anyway. 

His thumb caresses your cheek, “That’s it, good girl. You can take it.”

Well fuck.

It’s a little too much, balancing on your knees like this while he uses your mouth and throat, but you push through because he says you can. You fancied yourself the seductress, but somehow, the tides have turned and you’re little more than putty in his hands. 

His cock glides in and out of your mouth with ease, painting chapped red marks from your lipstick along the veined length with every push of his hips. Finding your balance, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, stroking up what you can't fit into your mouth. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to match the rhythm of his hips. 

What a pretty figure you make, on your knees, looking up at him with fluttering lashes. You moan around his length, sending vibrations up his spine, and are rewarded by his mouth falling open, a wordless expression of pleasure. He continues to fuck your mouth, never breaking eye contact as he eases his cock deeper with each thrust. Tears gather at your lash line every time he goes down your throat. 

You’re sure your throat is distending in order to accommodate his girth, and it makes your own pussy clench at the idea. What would it be like to have such a large cock inside your walls, filling you? It makes you moan again, and Spencer’s hand tightens at your hair. His pace quickens, and you hollow your cheeks, urging him to continue.

You hear his undoing before you feel it, strained groans tumbling from trembling lips, before his hips thrust forward and suddenly your nose is pressed to his crotch, and there’s an explosion at the back of your throat. He holds you there, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your ruined mouth as he blows his load deep in your throat. 

Yeah, he definitely needed that.

You swallow what you can, but that’s difficult when there’s a huge cock obstructing your throat.

It ends up being a mess, combination of your saliva and his cum dripping out of your mouth and onto the floor. How fitting. In the back of your mind, you’re just happy that only a few drops landed on your dress. Easy enough to clean. Miraculously. Your conscience, however, is an entirely different story.

Still, some part of you can’t even begin to feel bad. Cameron had cheated first, he’d broken the bounds of your relationship first. 

Sure, this is still wrong. You have no moral ascendency to stand on, but who cares about any of that when Spencer Reid is kneeling before you with gentle hands and even gentler eyes? 

“Are you all right?” he murmurs, his voice slow and sensual like dripping honey.

Somehow, your voice does not betray you, coming out clear and far more confident than you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiles, thumbs wiping away some of the residue off your lips, “Are you sure? You look a little dazed.”

You laugh, “I mean, yeah, but I just need to catch my breath.”

He takes your hand, helps you stand back up. “I think another trip to the bathroom is in order.” he says as he guides you to the bathroom again.

When you get there, you are a wreck of the highest order, curls dishevelled despite his attempts to be careful, lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your chin is still a little moist from the drool and cum that had dripped down. Tear tracks drag down your cheeks, but thankfully your eye makeup and foundation are only a little smudged. Nothing a little dab of a napkin won’t fix.

You fix what you can—quick spray of perfume, reapplication of lipstick. Hands steady as you work.  You aren't sure if this is a sign of guilt, or lack of it. You don't really care. He's gone when you leave the bathroom now, and the soft, treacherous side of your heart fills with disappointment. You remind yourself that it's better this way, less conspicuous, if he returns to the wedding before you. 

Still, swallowing his load with an obstructed throat somehow had been easier than swallowing the bitter disappointment that builds in the back of your tongue.

The ceremony is just about to end when you return to the makeshift chapel, people standing and clapping as David and Krystall Rossi share the sweetest kisses. A celebration of love and second chances. After what you've done with Spencer, you know this is out of your cards now. You've fallen far beyond redemption, shot the remnants of your relationship with Cameron after kneeling in service of another man.

You catch sight of Spencer, standing in the midst of other agents. Clapping like everyone else, but his eyes are trained upon something else. Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow his gaze, trying to approximate what he's looking at.

Or rather— whom. 

If you're correct, then he's looking at someone.

Oh.

Blonde hair, a slim frame in a beautiful red dress that perfectly accentuates the long, muscled lines of her arms and legs. Beside her, a man with salt and pepper hair and kind blue eyes. His arm at her waist. Your coworker and her husband. JJ and Will. 

Oh.

Your gaze returns to Spencer, and despite your attempts not to dig deep, not to learn why he's looking so forlorn, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Whether or not this is a full blown affair isn’t important; all you know is he wants her, and she's married to another man.

Is this connected to the previous case? You recall the last case, the hostage situation in LA. He and JJ had been in there for a long time, but neither really shared what exactly happened. Nobody knows except for the two of them, the unsub, and the victims. You aren’t about to pull rank and ask traumatized people about the drama between your coworkers. You’re better than that.

Are you?

Yes. You don’t hold much sacred, but your job is important. It is above you. You aren’t about to jeopardize it over some workplace drama.

But still, the curiosity gnaws at you no matter how much you attempt to tamp it down. Does he have feelings for JJ? Does she, for him? She couldn’t possibly; she has a husband, two beautiful kids. Easy enough to deduce that it’s probably Spencer, then, who is pining after her.

As though he feels your stare, Spencer looks over at you. Hurriedly, you avert your eyes, heart pounding faster than you would like it to.

Was he thinking about JJ while he used your mouth? 

The thought knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you banish it to the deepest crevices of your mind. It shouldn't matter. 

It doesn't. It doesn't. 

You don’t have any room to judge, anyway. You’ve dragged Spencer into your own messy relationship by sucking him off in the middle of the wedding. A relationship he doesn’t even know about. So, with a smile, you clap for the new couple, and follow the crowd to the reception. 

Joy and excitement are nearly palpable in the room. A small, intimate crowd of smiling faces surrounded by the tastefully extravagant decor, obviously paid for by the wealthy groom. The air is filled with that soft, electric energy that often occurs when people are happy and sufficiently buzzed with some drinks. 

The only thing on your mind is him.

How can it not be, when you can still remember the little tryst you'd had prior. The weight of him in your mouth, the fetid mess of skin and cum and the lingering nicotine.  

It passes by in a blur. The food is delicious, you gush to Portia, you look so beautiful; congratulations, to the new couple. None of it is fake, but you are possessed by a single, irrevocable urge to watch Spencer. That glance at JJ has intrigued you more than you should be. What sort of web had you stumbled upon? And instead of trying to get out, you're eager to spin more.

Bringing the champagne flute to your lips, you pretend to sip, allowing the glass to obscure some parts of your face while you continue to watch them. They’ve met up at the bar now, deep in conversation, hands clasped together in a way that’s far too intimate to be just friends. You can't tear your eyes away as JJ leaves, returning to the embrace of her husband, and you watch with an almost sick sense of fascination as Spencer lingers by the bar. Longing, pure and unmistakable, is etched upon every line on his face.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are moving, gliding across the floor until you're beside him. He startles, brows lifting as he gazes at you. Your name slips through his lips with an exhale.  

“You don't have to act like I'm a ghost, Spencer.” your lips quirk up in a teasing grin as the bartender refills your glass of champagne.

He looks chagrined, the implications of your words hitting him like a brick. “I’m not, you just seemed like you were having fun with Garcia.” he says, leaning on the counter. His eyes travel down the length of you again.

“You’re right, but you were looking a little lonely,” you take a sip from your champagne, letting the bubbly drink fizzle in your mouth and wash away the taste of him. “So, what was that with JJ?”

He sputters, eyes wide as his gaze darts back to your blonde coworker—now currently wrapped up in her husband’s arms.

“Nothing!”

“Holding hands when you’re a known germaphobe doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“I’m not that bad,” he protests, shaking his head, “I’d hold your hand too, but that’s besides the point.”

“It is,” you agree, tilting your head innocently, as your voice lowers, “Just wanted to know who you were imaging in place of me.”

He looks horrified to be reminded of your little quickie from before, “No one. It’s not—I wasn’t using you to—god, it’s not like that.”

“I’m not judging you if it was,” It’s true. It’s exactly what you’re doing with him, using him to forget about Cameron, to get back at him. Poor Spencer just doesn’t know about your secrets. Your amused look only makes him fluster even more.

“It isn’t,” he insists, “I just –”

“Listen, it’s okay,” you interrupt gently, fighting the urge to rest a reassuring hand on his forearm. The words are true anyway; you don’t wish to unearth whatever secrets he wants to keep buried. You have your own, anyway; it’s only fair he’s allowed his secrecy. Your reasons for approaching him are entirely different, and perhaps a little self serving. But you’ve already condemned yourself to being the bearer of temptation, you might as well take full advantage of it.

“Don’t look so ashamed,” you grin as you lift the recently refilled glass to your lips, “You know I have a room for the night… in case you want to blow off more steam.” 

The invitation makes his eyes darken in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “You’re—we shouldn’t.”

“Who would know?” you quirk a brow in response, “Besides, it’s pretty much tradition for people to hook up at a wedding. Why shouldn’t it be us?” Please, say yes.

“We’re coworkers.”

“We’re adults.” you deliberately don’t say single adults, “It’s fine. Listen, I booked a room because I didn’t want to deal with the traffic, so if you want, it’s 309B. Completely up to you.” with a smile, you leave him at the bar and Spencer Reid is forced to watch a woman walk away from him for the second time.

That night, there's knocking at your hotel door—three sharp, no nonsense knocks that seem to mean business—echoes in your room minutes before midnight. You don’t bother looking through the peephole to confirm who’s on the other side. The moment you open the door, there’s not a lot of build up. 

He’s shed his suit jacket; wearing only the white button down, slightly rumpled from the day’s events. His crown of light brown curls, carefully pushed back earlier, had fallen all over his forehead, messy tendrils tumbling across his face. 

He takes one look at you—still in your lavender dress, but devoid of makeup and no more heels to add inches to your height. In the dimness of the room, you are diminutive, stripped of the ethereal mystique you bore from earlier. Human.

God, he wants you. 

Not even as someone to help him forget about JJ. No, he wants you in your entirety, to possess you even for one night. 

He kisses you again, but there’s no rush to his movements now. The previous rendezvous had been hasty in every sense of the word, made within minutes in an attempt to alleviate the desperate need all while staying safely hidden and inconspicuous.

Now, you have the entire night. He intends to make full use of it. He kicks the door closed behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it as the other tilts your face up so he can kiss you deeper. Your own arms snake around his neck, hands burying into those messy curls. There’s no more public reception to worry about; you can tug and twist and mess with it as much as you want.

Spencer groans into your mouth, hands tight at your hips, before pulling back slightly, “Jump.” he mumbles against your lips.

Your body reacts as if it’s wired to obey him, launching off the balls of your feet. His hands help to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his hips.

“You smell so good,” He whispers as he noses through your neck, before his teeth close around your earlobe. You giggle, urging him on by craning your neck to the side. His teeth tug on your earlobe playfully as he crosses the room to your bed. He toes off his shoes and lays you down carefully, his body hovering above yours while his kisses travel down your neck. Soft and sloppy and wet, they mark you like a brand. 

Long, eager fingers hike your dress up, bunching it up your thighs, past your hips, and you hear him groan when your bare pussy is exposed to his darkened gaze. 

“No panties?” he runs a finger up your folds, gathering your slick, “Don’t tell me you’re been going around like this all day?”

“Maybe I have,” you grin, legs parting even more to accommodate him. You haven’t—you’d just been touching yourself to the thought of him as you waited, but you’re not about to tell him that. 

“Naughty girl,” he mumbles, one long finger pushing past your entrance and curling into you, “And so wet, too. You get off on being this dirty, or am I just lucky?”

A breathy laugh escapes your lips, “Which one would you prefer?” you ask, because tonight, you’re not yourself. Not really. You’re whoever he needs to be, the same way he’s exactly what you need right now. A body to which you can lose yourself. 

“I’d like to think this is all just for me,” he adds another finger, the pace languorous and teasing.

“It is,” you gasp as he curls his fingers, then withdraws. Torturously slow, he fucks you with two lengthy fingers, hitting the spot inside you with ease. Your toes curl into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, “Faster.”

“So needy,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he takes you in. There’s something addictive in the way you look in this moment, spread out beneath him like something unreal and sublime.

Your hips buck up. Something volatile simmers beneath your skin, desperate for more, “Please.”

Spencer chuckles as he watches you, fingers stilling inside your fluttering walls. Hovering above you with soft brown curls framing his face, he looks every bit an angel come to life. The laughter continues, his lips twisting into a sneer as you push your hips up desperately. 

“So, so needy.” he repeats, but he acquiesces to your plea. More than that, he sinks a third finger inside you and speeds up. A cry of surprise and pleasure falls from your lips, head thrown back as he works his fingers inside you, “Oh, you’re taking it so well.”

Shame unfurls in your chest. What are you doing? Begging another man to fuck you with his fingers? Enjoying it? Is this truly what you’ve come to?

It’s not something you can dwell on, as Spencer begins to curl his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit. It circles the nub slowly, adding a layer of stimulation that has your thighs trembling. With a squeal, you writhe, moving to close your legs as the sensations become red-hot, building up closer and closer to a crescendo.

Spencer tuts teasingly, one leg pressing down on your thighs, and his other hand coming to grip your hip and hold you in place. “No, no, darling, I want to see you coming undone on my fingers.” he says, continuing to make come hither motions inside you. 

“God—oh, I’m so—ah!” words trip over one another as you approach your climax, the world coming down into one point of focus. “Spencer!”

“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs, laying his body over you as his fingers help you through your orgasm, “There you go.”

You’re thankful for the weight of him; it is a grounding presence in the midst of all the flurry. You’ve come undone at the hands of another man—literally. Never mind that Cameron had betrayed your trust first; you are no better than him. 

But if sin felt as good as Spencer Reid’s kisses, then you have no qualms indulging. 

His lips are upon you again, traveling down your collarbone and nipping at the skin there. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, sensitive but still eager for more. He laughs against your skin with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

“Are you always this needy?”

“No,” you’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit earlier. Thrown out of Eden, you’re already past the point of no return. Might as well succumb and have one hell of a time. “Only for you.” 

He hums, pushing your dress up again. It gets caught somewhere around your chest and there’s a brief moment of awkward laughter as he tries to tug at it, force it up and off you. 

“Zipper,” you gasp when your brain finally works. Lifting yourself up on your elbows allows him to slide his hands to your back, find the dangling piece of metal and ease it down. The dress loosens across your shoulders and chest, and he’s finally able to pull it off altogether.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, descending upon you once again, “So beautiful.” 

His words have you preening, and you wonder how something so insignificant as the word beautiful could make you feel so heavy. You used to associate delight with weightlessness, floating and light, but everything about Spencer is lumbering and grounded especially after he came back from prison.

You feel his lips and tongue making their way down, kissing every inch of your body. He tugs your bra down, not even bothering to take it off completely, your breast spilling forth and free for his touch. He takes one nipple and sucks, while his thumb circles and gently tugs the other. Every single act has you gasping, and you wonder when and where the hell did Spencer Reid ever learn how to do this? You shouldn’t question it though.

When his mouth lands upon your hips, you jerk. “Spencer,” you gasp, looking down on him, but there’s no more teasing from him now, no hesitation. Before you can even formulate what to say next—you don’t have to, I’ve already cum, I’m still so sensitive—his mouth is at your core, tongue lapping up what remains of your previous orgasm and all evidence of your arousal.

“Fuck!” you are not responsible for your actions anymore, not responsible for the way your fingers find his russet curls and tug hard, the way your thighs try to clamp shut around his head. He chuckles against you, the sound sending tingling vibrations that travel from your pussy to the tips of your toes and fingers.

“Settle down,” laughter drips from his gentle admonishment, “Or I’ll stop.”

“Please don’t.” you’re past the point of shame and guilt, eager to beg and obey as much as he wants. The positions have turned since the tryst in the hallway. No longer are you on your knees for him, no longer the one servicing him and choking around his length, yet somehow you’re still at his mercy. “Don’t stop, please, so good.”

He laughs, and you feel something sliding past your entrance. You clench around it involuntarily, as if you can tell what it is from the mere feeling, but then his mouth wraps around your clit and you’re reeling into oblivion once again. 

“Spencer!” you thrash against the pillows, overwhelmed and sensitive but still eager to take more, “Spencer, oh my god, Spencer!” you lose count of how many times you’ve uttered his name from your lips. It has simultaneously lost every meaning, yet retained all of it. An invocation of fervent desire from a lowly, undeserving sinner. Thankfully, your god is merciful and giving, because Spencer wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down, sucks at your clit harshly and thrusts into you again—fingers, you now realize, all three spreading you open and curling deep inside you.

With everything going on, your climax comes as no surprise. You and Spencer are both expecting it, you’re so worked up after all. What makes you both pause is the fact that something gushes out of you as you arch off the bed and cry out his name. 

His movement stills for a split second, before he continues and helps you through your orgasm, tongue lapping at the mess between your legs as your body is wracked with the aftershocks, trembling beneath him. After a few moments, he stops, resting his head at your hip. 

Looking at him feels like a risk. Fear keeps your eyes squeezed shut, afraid of what you’ll find. More teasing? Disgust? Doesn’t seem like it, from the way his fingertips are trailing over your thighs. You lift your lids again, eyes meeting his own hazy ones. They are nearly black, but what pulls your attention are his lips and chin. Glistening with slickness. 

Your slick.

“Oh god,” your words are half groan, half laugh when the reality hits you, “Did I really?”

He laughs again, light and tender. “I believe you did.” 

“I’m sorry.” you mutter, feeling utterly mortified that you just squirted all over your coworker’s face. 

Spencer’s expression is one of mischief, but his eyes gleam with something darker. “What for?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Another laugh, “But I wanna hear it,” he coos, pressing his lips to your hip bone, “Come on, darling, what are you sorry for?”

When you don’t answer, he nips at your skin playfully, slowly moving back to your center. Your pussy throbs both in anticipation and overstimulation. 

“Spencer.”

“Mhm?”

“Too sensitive.” you try to squirm out of his grip. It only tightens, presses you deeper into the mattress. 

A lick, teasing and light. “Tell me why you’re sorry.”

“Spencer!”

“Come on,” He's grinning, the bastard, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I squirted in your face.”

He bites your inner thigh with more force than usual, “You shouldn't be.”

“Hm?”

“I loved it,” He murmurs, soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue, “Wanna see you do it again.”

You shudder, though you’re unsure whether it’s from his moistened tongue, or his words. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he drags himself up, kissing along your body as he does so, “Think you can be a good girl and do it again for me?”

“I think that’s entirely dependent on how well you do.” 

Soft, dewy lips curl into a smirk at your challenge, and suddenly he’s sin incarnate, a devil about to pounce. Once again, how are you to deny this man of anything? How could you resist temptation when someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself is looking at you as though you were the masterpiece? Liquid gold irises take you in, inspecting every inch of your body with unabashed want, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s fully clothed, cock straining through his pants, and you’re in nothing but your flimsy bra that’s been pulled down your chest it’s not even covering anything anymore.

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, but then his hands come up your sides, ghost over your ribs and your back until he finds the hook of your bra.

“Not really fair,” you say as the last strip of your clothing falls away, your chest heaving from the sheer weight of his gaze, “I want to see you too.” with that, you reach for him, deft fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t help, only continues to regard you with quiet intensity. 

Once his clothes are off, he meets your lips again. His kisses are slower this time, an almost dreamy tangle of tongue and teeth, but his body is hot and slick with sweat even as he holds himself on his elbows above you. His cock rests upon your lower abdomen, its heft reminding you of how much your mouth had to stretch to accommodate him earlier. How the length and girth had all but blocked your airways as he thrusted into your throat.

You clench around nothing at the idea of that same cock filling your pussy. 

His kisses move down your jaw, down the column of your throat, being careful not to suck too hard on the skin and leave marks. You never know when you might be called in for a case, and he doesn’t want any trouble.

“Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance.

You grin and shake your head, “No, I want to see if you can make me squirt again, or if that last one was just beginner’s luck.”

Laughter. You’re beginning to find sex with Spencer enjoyable on more than just the physical aspect. He drags the tip of his cock over your folds, combining his precum and your arousal into a heady, natural lubrication. He’s big, you already know that, but right now, you’re so pleasure drunk that you have no problem opening up to him. 

You can tell he’s being careful, pushing his tip in slowly, and your entrance flutters, stretches around him. There’s a slight burn, but it’s accompanied by awe, overtaken by pleasure. You marvel at how his cock sinks into your slick, velvety heat, the way every slight thrust makes your body conform to his own as he carves out a space for himself. 

As if he belongs there. 

As if you’re his. 

Every single memory about your cheating boyfriend is expelled from your mind with every thrust of his hips. You moan and clench around him at the thought.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips stilling. His cock is only halfway through, and you already look so fucked out, “Careful with that, darling, or this is gonna end sooner than we’d like.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you nod, spreading your thighs apart even further. “Sorry.”

He kisses that expression away, “Don’t be sorry,” two large hands hold your thighs in place, keeping you spread for him as he sinks in another inch. And then another. You’re so wet, and he’s done such a great job stretching you out that your walls engulf him easily.

“Oh god!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you. You hear a chuckle, before he retreats, pulls out almost all the way, and once again you’re clenching around his length as though you’re trying to convince him to stay buried inside you. 

“Stop clenching.”

“Can’t help it!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” With a soft hiss, he thrusts back inside, still slow and steady. The curse makes you gasp; you’ve never heard him curse before, somehow it’s even more jarring than when he’s murmuring filth into your ears. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you, unblinking and focused, watching your every reaction. “You okay?”

“Fuck yes,” you gasp as his thrusts grow steady. The world seems to disappear around you, the only point of importance is where your bodies are coming together repeatedly. You reach up, hands seeking for something to ground you, and finding purchase at his tangled curls, “Oh god, yes!”

It’s funny, crying out for a god you don’t really believe in. Crying out for a god when you’re in the midst of sin, carnal pleasure and infidelity and who knows what else, you were never religious to begin with. You wonder if this is what religion is, this free fall, the blind surrender. But faith as you know it believes in something unseen, the conviction to the intangible and unexplained. 

Spencer is very much here, and you can feel him between your thighs, his very existence present in the stretch of your walls around his cock, the soft curls you’ve woven around your fingers. He keeps his thrusts slow but deep, letting your walls feel every single vein and ridge on his cock. 

“Spencer,” you moan, one hand falling to his face, soft palm on the stubble at his jaw, “Feels so good.”

“You too,” he turns his face, pressing his lips to the warmth of your hand. He’s very tender, his movements measured to ensure your comfort, “God, you’re taking me so well.”

Your walls tighten around him in response.

Something seems to ignite in his brain, his hand catching your wrist, pulling it from his face and pinning it to the bed. “You like that, my pretty girl? Like knowing you’re doing a good job for me?”

Fuck. The same rush of heat from when he’d had you on your knees fills your stomach. The heat that compels you to do whatever he wants, take whatever he’ll give in order to hear more of his praise. Like a devoted servant, at the service of a benevolent god.

“Yes,” you gasp, hooking one leg around his hips, while the other is bent at an angle, foot pressed to the mattress in order to allow you some leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s sloppy at first, your body not entirely in your control right now.

“That’s it, my darling, you can do it.” he mutters encouragingly, pausing to allow you to join in this tangled, exhilarating dance. When you’ve gotten steadier, he resumes his thrusts, and you’re finally able to buck your hips up to meet them.

The action sends his entire length buried deep inside you, something he’s been very careful to avoid in fear of hurting you. But instead, you let out a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “Yes!”

“Right there?” he grunts. You’ve never heard him before, voice low and strained as he slams his hips into yours, again and again. The mattress begins to creak from the force of his actions. 

“Mhm hmm!” You meet him thrust for thrust, the impact hitting spots deep inside you that you’ve never felt before. Toes curling in on themselves, one hand buried in his hair, the other pinned by his strong grip, “Oh, god, Spencer, yes!”

 He loosens his grip on your wrist, intertwines your fingers together, “Good girl. Look at you, so pretty while you take me.”

No words come from your mouth, only his name, repeated over and over that it begins to sound made up, unreal. Perhaps he is divine. Nothing human can make you feel this way, surely. 

He shifts, his free arm wrapping around your hips to elevate you slightly, and the new angle has you keening, every single muscle in your body tightly wound and white-hot as he pounds into you. It’s obscene how easily your body accepts every single inch of him, the way your pussy flutters and yields to the throbbing length of his cock. 

“My god, you feel like heaven,” he groans, and that’s it, those words have you screaming so loud he starts to laugh and kiss you just to swallow the sound. You’re shuddering beneath him, crying, the pleasure coiling and building until it bursts and snaps, cascading over you with such fervor he has to wrap both his arms around your limp body to help you calm down. 

Somehow, your hazy mind registers the wetness between your thighs, the loud, nearly pornographic squelching of his body plunging into yours. He’d done his goal; he’s made you squirt again. You are boneless in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, and chases his own. You only regain agency when he tenses, groaning into your ear.

“Gonna cum,” he says, moving his hips to drag his length out. He’s so long you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist before he’s pulled his cock out all the way.

“No, please, do it inside.”

His body stutters, head falling to the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you, not even bothering to argue or ask you if you’re sure. He thrusts into your sensitive pussy erratically, mouth open and groaning into your neck, “Oh my god, oh my — ah!”

Spencer holds onto you, breathing heavily into your ear as you both come down from your high. You feel simultaneously weightless and heavy, melting into your mattress with sweet, glassy eyes. 

“That was incredible,” you whisper against his hair. He’s already half asleep on top of you, mumbling incoherently against your shoulder. You don’t bother to move, letting his still hard cock stay buried inside your pussy as you both drift off into dreamland.

Morning comes with a delicious ache in your lower belly. Spencer has you tucked to his chest, his arm around your waist. The air is heavy with the lingering smell of sweat and sex, but also oddly light with the knowledge of a new day. You shift in his arms, yawning as you will your body to wake up and shake off the sluggish feeling clinging to your bones.

He wakes slowly, groaning into your hair, “Morning.” he mumbles.

“Morning,” you reply, but before either of you can say any more, your phone rings. Mindlessly, you reach for it, not even bothering to hide the screen from Spencer, who’s nosing at your temple sweetly.

Cameron ❤️

Your heart sinks. Before you can hit the ignore button, Spencer turns his head, still half asleep as he catches sight of your screen. The name, the heart emoji, the multiple missed calls shakes off every single sleepy cell in his body.

“Who’s Cameron?”

more size kink fics in the BUD Chronicles.  Forehead smooches to the many people who witnessed the conception of this fic and patiently listened and helped me as I crashed out and went screaming crying throwing up, hey nachos, @mggslover (who also proofread ty) @beenreidingaboutyou @reidingandallthat @burymagdalene and @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat good god there's so many, my need for reassurance is actually extremely bothersome and embarrassing but ily guys.

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”

[churipu]

OUTFIT CHECK 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, iatdori yuuji x reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. jjk men being in love with you.

note. i'm back! i managed to fit in writing this in the middle of my midterms, i just finished my qualitative research paper for the midterms and i have 3 more take home exams to do. i hope you like this piece <33

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

you stood in front of the mirror, shifting your body from side to side, eying your reflection from different angles. raising a brow, you heaved out a soft sigh — before eventually twirling to face gojo who had been sitting on the edge of the bed. his icy blue eyes had been gazing at you for as long as you've been standing in front of the mirror against your reflection.

"'toru, do you think i look—"

gojo hushes you, putting a finger onto your lips, shutting you up immediately, "no, you don't look bad, and no your outfit doesn't look weird. you look beautiful," he rattles with a small smile.

"but i just feel like something's wrong with my combination," you said, stepping back to disperse from his finger, "like something's out of place. i just don't know what . . ."

gojo slipped an arm across your shoulder, turning your body to face your reflection, "i don't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, baby — you're really pretty . . . and i look pretty amazing too," he winked cheekily at the mirror, kissing the side of your face.

the male had been sitting on the edge of the bed, paying attention to you analyzing your own outfit for the past fifteen minutes. twirling here and there, stepping backwards and forwards cluelessly. the male didn't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, in fact, you looked absolutely stunning in his point of view.

his comment made you break a small smile.

"is this top too revealing?" you turn your back to the mirror, revealing a slight peek at your fragrant s/c skin.

"baby, baby," he scoffs, "i'm the strongest, i can fight, you know? and you look beautiful in that top, you should wear it often, yeah?" his slender fingers grazes over your exposed skin gently, sending shivers down your spine.

a string of laughter escaped your throat, "i love you, you know that?"

the male leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, "i love you more. no complaints."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

"do you think the top suits the bottom?" you asked nanami after changing into your third pants of the day — brows furrowed in frustration as nothing seemed to be clicking.

nanami raised his eyes from the book he had in his grasp, "you look beautiful," he complimented yet again for the third time.

"kento, how am i supposed to pick an outfit when you keep complimenting them all? help me pick one, will you?" nanami didn't understand why you were insistent on the 'mismatched' outfit (at least you think it is).

but in his eyes, everything seemed well-matched. he'd say it's a 11/10 for your ability to match these outfits of yours, "how? you look beautiful in them all."

groaning out, you raise two bags. a black and sage green bag, "pick one."

nanami inspected the two bags and then looked back at your outfit briefly, "the sage green one would fit perfectly with your outfit now," he pointed.

"okay. how about a jacket, do you think i'll need one?" you questioned, rummaging through the closet, "you always have a hunch of what i'd feel, it's your judgement."

he pondered your words for a bit, "take a jacket. forecast said it's going to be cold tonight, i don't want you getting sick."

you chuckled and bobbed your head, "right. anything else i should bring?"

"pepper spray."

"check."

"be careful, yes? call me if anything happens," nanami whispers, standing up from the bed — initially he wanted to come along with you to meet your friends. but he thought that he'd be a bother to you so he stopped himself from asking, "i love you so much."

"i love you more," you kissed his lips, to which he returned.

"let's drop you there, hm?" nanami grabs your hips, giving your flesh a slight squeeze, leading you out of the house.

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

"y/n, do you — oh, wow."

yuuji stood, a hand on the handle of the door he just opened and another on the doorway. his jaw dropped at the sight of you, his partner.

you stood in front of a mirror, blinking cluelessly at his reaction. not knowing whether it was his surprise because of how good you looked or the other way around, "yuuji? do i what?"

yuuji blinked himself back into reality, entering the room mutely, his back leaned onto the shut door, "where are you off to?"

shaking your head you gazed back at your reflection, "i'm just mix and matching for a hang out with nobara tomorrow, does this look funny?"

he shook his head harshly, "no, no, you look really nice! really pretty," yuuji honestly said before inhaling, you quite literally took his breath away.

"really? the color suits?" you asked, pinching the shirt you're wearing, "is the pants a bit too short?"

yuuji stood still, "no . . . you — wow, you just look so pretty y/n. i don't know what else to tell you . . ." he whispers, entranced by your figure as he detached his back from the door to approach you.

mustering out a smile, you gave him a hug, "thanks yuuji, you're the best."

he nuzzled his nose into your hair, "you're so beautiful," yuuji mumbled before kissing the crown of your head.

all of a sudden, yuuji pulls back, his face stern and a frown on his face, "how come you're going out with kugisaki and i'm not invited?" he asks you, narrowing his eyes.

"baby, i promise it's just me and her. i'll get you something special on the way back and then we can watch movies? your pick." you pinched his cheeks gently.

"any movies?"

you nod, "any movies."

"okay! deal." yuuji beams out, kissing your cheek.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[yzashaven]

CONTENT WARNING .ᐟ dom!scaramouche x fem!reader ⋆ breeding ⋆ creampies ⋆ face down ass up + mating press + riding ⋆ oral m!rec ⋆ deepthroat ⋆ slapping & spanking (once) ⋆ praise ⋆ "slut" + "good girl" ⋆ squirting ⋆ rough sex ⋆ needy scara ⋆ [tell me if i missed anything, thank you ♡]

WORD COUNT ᯓ 1.37k

NOTE ᝰ late birthday special, sigh... going back to my roots as a scara lover ♡ i'm sorry for any errors or whatever that seems ooc... my take at some fluff at the start, it's definitely mid but good enough LMAO happy new year, may 2025 be good to us all. yza loves you 💌

[ nsfw under cut ]

"this is actually pretty good, surprisingly edible, coming from you." scaramouche says, chewing softly on the cake that you had baked yourself.

"hey, i know a few recipes or so!" you laugh lightly, "and you're welcome. my baking skills have improved, you can't lie." he scoffs but give you a slight nod, "alright, whatever you say." he cuts up a bite size piece and brings it to your lips, you open your mouth to accept it. he smiles.

his precious smile.

"i never thought i'd spend a birthday like this—you know, the traditional way with cake and stuff." a sigh leaves his lips. he comes closer, "do me one last birthday request, won't you?"

"oh, sure!"

— ☆★ —

"take it deeper." his sharp voice cuts through the silence and heavy atmosphere of the room. with you on your knees before him. his cock inside your mouth as he pushes himself deeper, inch by inch. you move on your own now. taking his dick from the tip and down to the base, all the way down and back up. over and over.

"fuck. that's good." you look up at him, cheeks flushing at the scene before you: scaramouche's head thrown back, the light from the moon softly illuminating upon his beautiful features, the way his breathing was already uneven.

he's perfect.

his hand goes to the back of your head, "that's enough, love. i'm gonna cum already..." you pull away upon hearing so. "strip for me." he helps you up but you get shy from his request. "maybe you can do it for me–" he sighs immediately, "no. strip for me."

holding onto the last bit of your pride, you began to take off each article of clothing you had on. all the while making eye contact with his pretty eyes. your heart's beating so fast from the anticipation of what's next to come.

scaramouche can't help but slowly stroke his cock from watching you. he seems to be just as needy as you are.

"get on the bed, face down ass up for me." his eyes get a good look at your form, back arching just for him. he easily discards his clothes as he walks over behind you. a hand gropes your ass, giving it a playful spank. you were so sure he was smirking at the way you moaned so sweetly at the action.

you could feel his tip teasing the wet slit of your pussy, "you wouldn't mind if i went rough today, would you?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. before you could even breathe in response, he had already plunged into you. completely bottoming out within your hole. "god, you're tight... so wet, just how i fucking like it."

he sets a steady but rough pace. hands gripping your hips as he pulls you back to meet each of his thrusts. "scara! right there..!" you manage to say in between your moans, "you close, baby?" his voice rings in your head as his hand dips down, fingers drawing small circles on your clit, giving it a decent amount of attention as well.

"cum on my cock for me." you bite down on the pillow nearby to muffle your whimpers that grew increasingly loud. scaramouche scoffs and grabs you by the neck, pulling you back up, "let me hear you."

your entire body shudders as your orgasm hits you hard. he continues to thrust deep inside your pussy, "i'm on the edge, baby. fuck–let me cum inside... can i?" his voice trembled with need, desperation, even. you nod, wanting to accept his load. not long after, you feel his warm seed filling you up. he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly in an embrace.

he lets you go and you fall onto the soft bed. scaramouche flips you over and spreads your legs. bringing down two fingers to spread apart your pussy lips, "not enough." he simply says and instantly puts you into a mating press. "huh? what do you mean?" still breathless, you managed to ask.

"we're not done until my cum is dripping from your cunt. i want to breed you, baby. i want you completely full, aching, sensitive—and of course satisfied. so you're gonna take everything i give you tonight like the good girl i know you are, alright?"

a red hue spreads across your face, making you blush at just the thought of him fulfilling his words. he notices that you weren't responding and grabs your chin, "i expect an answer."

"y-yes! i'll take it all... for you."

"that's my girl."

he thrusts back into your pussy, trapping you in a tight mating press, making sure you couldn't escape him. his movements are fast, rough, desperate. with the addition of his thumb massaging your clit, it was hard to hold any approaching orgasm in.

"let go, baby. cum all you want." he whispers right before finding an area on your collarbone to leave a hickey or two on, marking you as his. you submit to the feeling of an intense orgasm, creaming all over his cock. despite your words about how you're still sensitive having just came, he continues to relentlessly pound into you.

scaramouche pushes himself as deep as he can go, his seed definitely reaching your womb. you could feel his tip lightly brushing over your cervix. with shaking hands, you attempt to push him away. but he just steals your lips in a heated kiss, "i love being inside you. this is such a good fucking gift."

pulling out, cum oozes out of your used hole. he smirks but pushes his cock back inside, pushing the fluids deeper within you. you were already a mess—and he loved it. scaramouche continues making out with you, tongue entering your mouth while he rocks his hips against yours, fucking you mercilessly.

a visible string of saliva connected your lips. your hands reach down to hold tightly onto the sheets beneath. your eyes threatened to shut close as the feeling of fatigue was creeping up on you.

slap!

your body jolts awake at the sudden impact on your cheek. looking up at the man before you, scaramouche seemed rather upset...?

"keep your eyes open. got it? don't you dare fall asleep on me, slut." all you could really do was nod. wrapping your legs around him made his body shudder in pleasure. the way you were practically helping him reach even deeper areas in you. it was so hot to him.

"you're gonna be the death of me, baby." he laughs right before capturing your lips in a needy kiss yet again, emptying out his load in your pussy for the nth time. he gives you both some time to catch your breaths before pulling you on top of him as he sits with his back against the headboard of the bed.

"ride me."

scaramouche's eyes travel across your trembling body as you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. lookign down, you could vividly see that some of the cum from your pussy had dripped down to coat the base of his dick, leaving a sort of white ring around it.

his hand finds its way back to your hips, while his other one reaches for your chest. thumb gently flicking one of your hardened nipples. he leans down to lovingly suck on them as well. he could feel himself getting even more turned on if that was even possible from hearing you moan from what he's doing to your body.

holding onto his shoulders tightly, you feel yourself losing control as you squirt on him. "yeah, that's it, drench me. fuck... that's so hot. i'm gonna fill you up again, 'kay?" your eyes roll back as he orgasms again, giving you another well deserved creampie.

"happy birthday, scara..." you manage to smile even when your entire body was shaking, sensitive from the feeling of having one orgasm after another. "thank you, darling. i'm grateful." scaramouche pulls you in for a deep and passionate kiss. holding you in his arms, he began to pound up into you. parting from the kiss, he makes eye contact. "i love you."

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ᴛᴡᴏ ʟᴀɴᴇꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || He knows the infamous sidewalk rule and acts on it!  

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, talkative reader, protective bkg, dating au, drabble, short oneshot, he’s just a lil guy, 477 word count

"-i think I could get some sort of shock absorption imbedded in my torso area to lessen the blow ya know?"

The blonde grunts in acknowledgment as they walk around the corner — it was always like this — often the listener in the relationship, despite his loud personality.

Not that he minded, if anything it gave his vocal chords the chance to rest after all his yelling at school.

She's always left shocked he doesn't have a sore throat more often.

His eyes narrow at their new positions — her figure walking closest to the side of the road — the sight immediately making him feel uneasy.

Perhaps it was the hero instincts in him... or maybe the boyfriend ones.

"maybe I should get some gloves too-"

"y/n."

At the sound of her name exiting his mouth, she pauses her chatter, looking at his direction — noticeably giving her full attention to him — with a soft smile on her face.

"yes 'suki?"

"c'mere, switch with me."

He reaches out before she can say anything, wrapping a hand around her waist to maneuver across — swapping positions with her — and putting himself closer to the busy street of cars.

The considerate action has her flustered in a mere matter of seconds.

"always walk closest to the buildings when your alone, it's dangerous."

"oh- okay..."

His eyes lock onto hers — unlike her, completely unaffected by his own actions — as if the thoughtful gesture was nothing more then common sense.

"it's okay to space out with me though, as if i'd let anything happen to you... idiot."

He squeezes his hold on her when he directs his gaze forward, moving her closer whenever a slim chance of the girl bumping into a passerby is evident.

Ready to spout out curses if someone we're to shove past them without warning.

Best believe he'll immediately ask 'did that asshole hurt you?'

You would never say yes — for the sake of sparring the person from a pissed off Katsuki — but on the odd chance you did, you knew he would give them a piece of his mind.

She's unable to even think anymore, his hand lingering on her waist — the hot touch, extra warm due to his quirk — seeping through her clothes, turning her into a pile of mush.

He grumbles, attempting to steer back to their previous conversation — suddenly remembering she was in the middle of rambling when he interrupted — another testimony to his attentive nature.

"so why gloves, hm?"

"w-well you see..."

It's unfair how casual he is, while she's lessened to a flustered and stuttering mess. His brows furrow with confusion as he looks back to her.

"the hell's wrong with you?"

"n-nothing!"

Her boyfriend is a silent lover yet Katsuki Bakugo, himself, does not fall under the category of quiet.

Sometimes the highest form of love is spoken through gestures instead of words.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| maybe i'm too much of a yapper but i struggle writing anything less then 700 words... so i'm shocked i actually managed to write this short drabble! i find this canon in my little heart hehe ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| katsuki bakugo x f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[messenger-of-babel]

Coloured Red

Summary: He likes you in his colour, just not that like that. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: blood and injury. Hope everyone's having a good week so far! Not my favouriteeeeee Jason piece I have written but please enjoy anyways. xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Never like this.

He had been working out of the manor for a few days, something he was already reluctant to do. However, you had sent him off to "work" with a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek, wishing him well for whatever convention Librarians had. Instead of your boyfriend being the gruff librarian sorting returns every night, he was in fact the red masked vigilante cooped up in the cave, pacing back and forth in front of the Bat computer while Tim tried to trace their latest suspect.

Dick had called him back for some extra firepower in the latest case, and if he hadn't owed him one Jason would be back with you in a heartbeat. "Get anything?" he grunts to Tim, who's fingers are typing strings of code into the keyboard.

"Not yet," he hums, the younger man's face twitching with annoyance as the firewall warning flashes across the screen again.

"Give it time, Jay. we don't want to let them know we're onto them." comes Dick, who’s leaning against a railing and still fully suited up from his earlier patrol. "I've checked all through The Cauldron and Southside, no trace of them there. Penguin must have closed up shop around Cobblepot Steel when he started working with his new friend. Going through great lengths to gatekeep his new buddy from us." he hums.

"Well I want to get this meet and greet over with," Jason grumbles, crossing his arms while he scuffs his boots impatiently.

"Bee in your bonnet, Red?" Dick calls and Jason scoffs.

"You put it there. You wanted me to help take 'em down while the Bat is out of town with Superscout, but you don't even know where they are. I've spent a full night just waiting for boy genius here to get a lock."

Dick puts his hands up in mock surrender. "We'll be done soon, promise. Then you can go home to your sweetheart. Hey, you can even say you came back early just to see them. I'm helping you get brownie points." he grins, nimbly dodging the hand Jason had swung out to slap the back of his head. "Where are they anyways? Their place?"

"Safehouse." Jason grunts back. "Staying at mine while I'm helping you lot. Old Gotham, near the GCPD. Besides, I told them to mark down I'd be back tonight on the calendar anyways."

Dick whistles. "Didn't think you had a place that close to the cops."

Jason just shrugs. "They're not after me, and if they were it would be somewhere they wouldn't look. Plus it's a nice distance from you all." he grumbles.

Dick pushes off the wall coming to lean over a monitor near Tim. "Well if our mystery person is teaming up with Penguin, and he isn't interested in the drug business, what is he here for?" he hums, eyes focused on the map of Gotham that Tim has pulled up. He taps the screen after a second, zooming in. "Here. Dixon Docks. We haven't checked here yet. Penguin used to smuggle through here, but it also became a bit of a meet up spot. He might have gone back to old ground."

"Yeah, but Penguin shifted his focus into drug running. Bruce put him under pretty heavy surveillance, managed to shut down a lot of his operations for a while. You really think he'd be that stupid to start trying to smuggle firearms again?" Tim piped up.

"Maybe. But Maybe its not firearms. This spot used to be a mob meeting spot. He never visited the operation personally unless-"

"Unless he wanted to order a hit." Jason cut off his older counterpart, voice becoming modulated as he fixed his mask to his face. "Seems there's a chance his new play pal is a hitman."

"For who though?" Tim asks.

"Maybe the hit isn't one Penguin is ordering. maybe the Penguin's selling info." Dick calls, testing his in earpiece before giving Jason a nod. "Me and Hood are going in to take a look. Track our location and keep the cameras on."

Tim nods while Jason and Dick head for the bikes, mounting each of their respective vehicles.

"Finally something to do." Jason groans, stretching his arms above his head before catching the cocky grin from Dick speeding past him. "Show-off." he murmurs, his own engine roaring to life as he follows suit.

They had cleared the dock pretty easily, Dick's hunch being correct. Between the two of them the middlemen and thugs were strewn across the floor of the warehouse, and Tim had already called the GCPD to come pick them up for the arrest. "No sign of our flightless friend." Jason grumbled, stepping over an unconscious thug.

"Nor our new mystery visitor." Dick concludes, tucking his escrima under his arm as he goes through the stack of papers at the makeshift desk tucked behind some shipping containers. Jason has known the eldest robin enough to know when he was worried, and the tight way he now held his body was a clear sign. "You find something?" he asks, boots thudding as the come to stand beside him.

"You think Oz was beginning to catch on?" Dick asks quietly, turning the page to show Jason the blurry CCTV photo of Bruce, a crude cowl and ears drawn over the image in sharpie.

"Shit," Jason breathed, taking some of the papers from Dick and beginning to flick through it. "This is all of us." He confirms, worry beginning to gnaw at his bones. There were photos of Tim leaving the city library and entering the Wayne Tower. Photos of Dick back in Bludhaven in a police uniform, photos of him at galas. Photos of Damian at school and meeting with Alfred. The more he flipped through them the more his heart dropped. There was a photo for nearly every 'apprentice' of Batman, surrounded by question marks.

"Whoever is joining the dots isn't fully convinced of it themselves." he murmurs, blood freezing as he sees a photo of himself there. A photo with you on his arm next to him. Dick comes to peer over at it, cursing under his breath.

"Hood, don't panic-" he tries to soothe, but Jason is already pushing past him to tear at more of the documents on the desk. He rifles through the papers, the sound of approaching sirens and Nightwing's urging to leave the scene deafened by the ringing in his ears. In his tightly clenched hands there was a leger, with a list of addresses. In the middle, was his address. The address he had given you, highlighted in yellow.

"We need to go." Dick urges, hurrying him to mount his bike. Jason jaw clenches, and he shoves the piece of paper into his brothers’ hands.

"Yeah. We do." he grits out, but he hopes Dick can't hear the sheer fear held behind his teeth. His bike speeds off, roaring through the side street they came on as he reroutes for Old Gotham. Dick looks down, eyes wandering over the red written date next to the highlighted address, tonight date. "Jesus," he breathes out, quickly following behind his brother before he does something reckless.

Jason doesn't think that he'd ever driven that fast since he'd been on the run from Bruce, throwing the bike into park so violently outside his apartment that the tires burnt as they squealed. Dick wasn't too far behind him, calling out for him to wait in between talking to Tim on the other end of his earpiece. His heart is thudding in his ears, hands feeling cold as he scales the stairs to the fourth floor, knocking on the door rapidly. He didn't care he was in his full suit. He could make some bullshit excuse if you were fine, claiming some noise disturbance or the wrong door.

But if he wasn't?

Then someone was going to fear the fact he was already suited up.

"I told you to wait, Hood-" Dick snaps at him, slightly out of breath from having to run behind him. Jason doesn't listen, shoulder slamming into the door when you don't come to answer.

"Don't you have the key?" Nightwing hisses to him.

"Left it in my civvies." he grunts, stumbling slightly as the door gives way. "I wasn't really expecting to…" he trails off, bile rising in his throat and blood draining from his face. Dick pushes in next to him, still scolding. "You can't just go in like this-" he cuts himself off, catching sight of what Jason was burning into his brain. "Oh no, Jay..." he whispers, but Jason is already moving to your side.

His hands come to your head, softly cradling it in his large palms. Two fingers come to press against your neck, his breathing evening out as he finds a weak pulse. "They're still kicking." He grunts out, other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. He closes his eyes trying to scrub the image of you lying there in the living room, sprawled on the carpet surrounded by the shards of the broken window and white rug drinking your blood.

Your eyes flicker weakly and you make a faint cry when he presses down on the wound by your ribs, a sound that tears him up inside. "Shhh," he tries to say softly, but the modulator makes it robotic, stripping the emotion from it. "I gotta put pressure on it. Did you see who did it?" he asks. He can faintly hear Dick calling for Robin on the end of the commlink, calling for paramedics to come to his address.

He hates how warm his hands feel, gloves heating up as if they were stealing the life force from out of you. Blood is flecked across your lips from the spray, faintly mumbling the words, "didn’t see them."

He nods along. "That’s okay, that’s okay." he murmurs, but he wasn't sure who he was telling that to.

"Red Hood…" you groan out, hand coming the grip his wrist as he pushes firmer on the bullet wound. Your fingers are bloody, smearing the crimson across his suit. "You gotta…you gotta find my boyfriend," you cough weakly. "They were here for him. He’s just…he's just a librarian…" your eyes tear up, throat swelling with the weight of your words. "He was just coming back tonight…oh god…you have to find him… what if they-" you sob, causing your face to scrunch up at the pain that ripples through your body. "I wanna…I wanna see him."

Jason's heart is tearing into pieces as Dick kneels to your other side, hands coming to your non-wounded side as he preps the area, Tim faintly heard giving instructions on how to stabilise you until the paramedics arrive. Jason shakes his head, fighting back tears. Despite the side glance he gets from Nightwing, he pulls one hand up to his face, feeling for the latch under his jaw to release his mask.

When he pulls it away his eyes are red, tears already built in the corners. His lips have a tremble that hasn't been felt since he was in the single digits on the streets, and his hairline is beaded with sweat from worry. He offers you a weak smile, unable to stop the shooting pain that wracks his mind watching the hazy confusion on your face.

"Jay?" you whisper, the word more mouth than sound. He nods reluctantly.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Oh god, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He dreamt of the day that he could tell you his identity, of his real profession. He imagined all the best scenarios of you accepting him, of letting him spin you around the kitchen when he picked you up by the waist like he did so often. Of telling you while you both read together on the couch, your legs pulled across his lap. He never imagined the bad scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind. But as you reached up with bloodstained fingers, dragging the sticky red across his cheek in that oh so familiar motion, he knew right then that this was the worst situation imaginable.

He lets his tears wash the red from your fingers, trying to blink them out of his eyes so he could focus on saving you.

"Hold on, sweetheart." he murmured weakly, desperately praying for the wailing of the siren to reach his ears.

He had always said how much he loved red, loved you in the colour. Loved you in his colour.

Now he was thinking he never wanted to see you bathed in this much red ever again.

[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss.��

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[skeletonh0e]

The boys in heat

Extremely self indulgent UT Sans x Reader, US x Reader, UF Sans x Reader, HT Sans x Reader, and UL Sans x Reader. Talks of impregnation, breeding and a lot of overstimulating. AFAB Anatomy but pronouns are gender neutral. NSFW obvs

No trigger warnings I think? Some minor blood & cnc play with Horror Sans + cum inflation with Underlust Sans but that's it

🔞 Minors DNI

Classic Sans :

Awkward is the best term to describe him during this time, Sans does not like being out of control of his body in any form and his heat especially as it progresses is gonna be an experience to say it lightly

Generally hard to be easy and laid back when your body is not uh....not that

He deliberately does not tell you about it, avoids sex like the plague, and is just generally acting weird, until you either put the pieces together or he genuinely thinks he might pounce on you at any moment

He personally admits he normally rides these out alone and doesn't know how he'll act around a partner

Now that you're here though, things are different

A brief chat mainly to ease him into it as you genuinely trust Sans regardless of what pheromones are doing to him

Once things get started well? It is a lot

Sans had previously been attentive during sex don't get me wrong, however he just kind of treats it like anything else he does. Chill and laid back.

During his heat? He's clingy, impatient and needy, going for several rounds at a time, begging to pump you full of his cum, groping at anything and everything.

Naturally rougher as a result, though it's less intentional and more out of sheer desperation because even without extreme horny brain you turn him on so fucking much

"sorry baby i can't help it-" being said as he fucks you through your fifth orgasm of the day, he's cum inside you many times at this rate but his body screams for more and for more of you specifically

When he does tire himself out or manage to calm his urges enough to think properly he does help clean up, order take out and cuddle. The occasional pun here or there, "i'd make a dick joke but that'd come across as cocky wouldn't it"

But per usual cool down periods do not last for that long, you have woken up before with him grinding against you nearly whimpering as he needs another round

Never been extremely heavy on dirty talk, but he's a lot more quiet during his heat cycle outside of grunts and moans. When he does speak it's normally making sure you're okay, praising you, telling you he's close.

Occasionally he'll mumble things to himself likely things he didn't mean to say outloud, stuff like how good you're gonna look knocked up, how much he wants to fill you right now, and that he wants to breed you so fucking bad

Kinda...protective in a way he just isn't, even when he isn't balls deep inside you. Hovering over you, attending to your needs outside of the bed room attentively, and on the off chance you need to speak with someone else. He is there, as if waiting for the moment he's needed to intervene.

Definitely some nesting behavior, that's pretty endearing.

Underswap Sans :

Does tell you about it beforehand, blunders a bit, sort flustered, but he wants a gameplan before anything else and he did not want to risk scaring you off.

You get the whole run down, how long the cycle lasts, what to expect, the likely good if a kid happening, etc, etc.

You start out very informed and you do prep for it accordingly, though Sans did insist that you could just sit this out as he is aware he becomes a lot during this period

And boy howdy was he not fucking joking

This man has some serious energy, combine that with his over energetic nature in general and his need to please you feel like you're basically rendered into his personal fleshlight as he pounds into you over and over

Anytime he cums, he simply just doesn't stop. Still hard and thrusting into you like jack hammer, as if the previous orgasm was just a little hiccup.

Don't worry he's just as eager to please you as he is himself

Sans has always been a bit of a worshipper in the bedroom regardless of who's on top (you two switch it up quite a bit), he really gets off on just knowing he's making you feel good and likes to praise you cuz he looooooves you

He's sickeningly sweet sometimes and on his heat

Every orgasm you have is getting milked outta you

He'll happily play with with clit and tits while pounding into you, man handling your form in passionate manner. Anything to make you moan louder and cum on his cock again

Very chatty too, not that he was ever quite but it's full force here. On and on about how pretty you look stuffed with his cum, how you're so tight, how he wants to never stop and how he's going to keep making you feel so good

Due to his high stamina cool down periods almost like never happen, he will still stop and tend to your needs when you're hungry or tired but he has a raging hard on the entire time.

You work on a compromise of him jerking off and cuming on your nude form either when asleep or utterly wrecked with your over flown pussy needs a break

Which while at first he doesn't seem that thrilled about the idea, changes his mind as he really likes the idea of you being covered and marked in his scent.

It's less out of jealousy and more out of pride to mark you a deliciously nude way

Underfell Sans :

Would have told you about his heat....if he remembered

You're both kinds thrown for a loop by it, you more than him honestly. But thankfully you at least knew monsters did have heat cycles so it wasn't as out of nowhere as it could be

Though at first it did just seem like just Sans but hornier

Sans seems to have two main moods that be flip flops in-between, VERY aggressive in which he fucks you with malicious almost violent intent telling you that he owns your pussy, that you're his little fuck doll and he's going make sure everyone knows it

And a big massive softie that's extremely sweet and lovey dovey to you. Something that was normally only happened in very small doses or when he's utterly shit faced

It's not just praise but adoring you, talking about how much he loves, you that he's lucky to have you, how he just knows you're going to make a great parent

The whiplash is real, especially since sometimes he'll change his tone half way through fucking you. It's never entirely clear what sets either side off, other than occasionally his sweet side normally happens once he's cum once or twice

Very...possessive during it all, constantly rambling about how you belong to him and he'll kill anyone that even thinks about doing this to you

You don't know how much he'll actually act on that threat, but it's probably a good thing that neither of you are able to get out much.

But frankly while he's like this he would be willingly to fuck you someplace public tbh

So. Many. Fucking. Hickeys. You're covered in them by the time it's all over.

Cool down periods he does his best for after care, but like....he's very quiet. Almost like he feels guilty, especially at the sight of all the bruises you have. Which you will have to reassure him that he didn't cross any lines and that you liked it

"you're really some kind of freak ain't cha?"

"Your freak."

Horrortale Sans ;

Primal and animalistic are the best terms to describe him while he's like this.

Before the famine heats were no big deal, now however the term "wanting to fuck like animals" has never been more accurate

Sans never told you he got them, but you learned about them via other monsters so you were prepared on some level and even a little intrigued

Once a monster sets his sight on a mate, they'll frequently hunt them or fight off any other possible suitors. And given how you and Sans like to play Prey and Hunter, this allows you take things up a notch

The moment you know he's gone into heat, you run, you hide and he comes after you. It's a hell of a thrill, especially since you know it guarantee a better pounding once he finally gets you

You shifting around in the forest, sneaking around before you hear a husky voice call out "i know you're here sweetheart-"

You attempt to book it the other direction but the only thing you can comprend is a simple phrase before you're pinned to the ground

"gotcha."

The way you're fucked is brutal, he's never been gentle really but this is something else. Your entire body quakes with his thrusts, you're screaming as his cock is jammed against your g-shot and nearly rendered to tears from it all

He bites too, not just bruising you but definitely drawing blood then lapping it up with the same feral hunger that he fucks you with

Not very talkative, mostly just growls and groans. Only occasionally barking out "mine" or a "you're not going anywhere sweetheart" if you attempt to squirm away from him

Not that you really want him to stop but the struggle turns both of you on, he likes working for it and you like driving him up the wall to be honest

You're brutally fucked outside, clothes ripped off you, covered in bloody bite marks, pussy full of his cum, on the verge of passing out until he seems to either we decide to let up or is tired himself. He'll drape his coat around your naked form then carry you back to his place

If anyone attempts to stop him they're killed on sight, this is his mate and no one gets to touch them during this time.

When you wake up there'll simply be a low growl of "told ya you weren't going anywhere" before the cycle continues.

He does halt to care for you, you're his mate after all, but again weirdly silent throughout most of it.

It'll be a while until he's more chatty again, it's best to reassure him you were into his somehow more violent and extreme side of him.

Underlust Sans ;

Literally just his entire personality dialed to his natural extreme

Also doesn't think to tell you simply because he forgets it's not a common thing and to be fair it takes you while to notice

It's not until you're ten round today that you ask if something it up as while yeah he's got serious stamina and loves to fuck normally his dick would be a little soft by now

"Babe please tell me you didn't take some monster viagra-"

It makes him laugh before he breaks it down for you but also assures you there's no shame in tapping out and that monsters down here have ways to handle this without a partner

You take it as a challenge especially as he tells you it's not a challenge

It's one you enjoy though

The shift is his personality are far more subtle, rougher, a bit more dominant, and extremely fixated on pumping you full of cum. Like extremely fixated on it.

And whether it's the heat or some other factor you're not accounting for he cums a lot more than usual. Sometimes you'll just pinned down feeling his cock gush waves of his seed for several minutes as it fills you up.

He praises you through it all, telling you how good you are for him, how you take it all so well, and reassures you when it's almost done.

Your stomach looks more than a little bloated with it glowing with all the magic he just pumped into you and he definitely has a toy blog that helps you keep all of it in there

When you need a break from getting your pussy filled, anal play and oral keep you mouth entertained. You try swallowing his massive load but you end up having plenty spill out then the rest paint your body

And Sans looks super smug after wards the entire time

Definitely likes to tease you when he can, "bet you've never been fucked this good before huh?" said playing with your overstimulated clit while your whole is still plugged with a belly full of HIS cum

Having the most control over himself and already being a king of after care you're pretty much set when you do need a break for real

But you can't help being cheeky when you two are cuddling then you feel his erection rising up again

"You having fun?"

"i dunno it's a little hard."

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. 1.5 | Spencer Reid x Reader

Okay so, WOW. I am completely blown away by the response to my first fic on here, 120 followers in 6 days are you guys okay? Because I am definitely not :,). While accidents pt. II isnt quite finished just yet (thank you so much for being so patient with me<3 uni is kicking my ass already rip), I thought I'd give you all a small sneak peek, aka the first 800-ish words of the second part. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so so much for the generous feedback so far!! <333 I'll go rewatch my genetics lecture now yippie :,,,,)

here you can read the entire first part, please head the warnings! Same ones apply here. also, if you wanna get tagged in pt. II, let me know in the comments!

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

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oh spencer, you weren't quite as subtle as you thought. rip my boy. also whooops another cliffhanger? haha my fingers must've slipped my bad

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx