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cheolaholic · 1 day

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ring of love; csc (07)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n;; im gonna be honest, i had no clue as to how im gonna write chapter 7 so i took a short break. that ended with me diving head first into love and deepspace which now has led me to a new obsession – Sylus. if you saw that post i made abt LNDS a few weeks ago, that has manifested into a side blog @chaeriescola where i’ll be posting my-non kpop related fics (read: Sylus & Zayne brainrot) also, i’m on Patreon now !! if you join my Patreon, you’ll get early access to the fics (a week early before they get posted on tumblr & ao3), exclusive bonus content, sneak peeks of other projects etc. if you’d like these special treats, feel free to join 👀 enough of me yapping, onto the fic~

Seungcheol wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he tasked Mingyu and Vernon to look after you – considering how they both absolutely suck at understanding the whole “look after ___ for me but, don’t let her catch you” concept. He’s seen them tail behind you, possibly raising concerns in some students and staff whether they were stalking you from the moment they spotted you.

coups: can’t you two be more discreet? coups: you both look like you’re the worst stalkers gameboi: ? tallgyu: I think we’re doing a good job alien-non: yea, she hasn’t noticed us gameboi: you really got Mingyu and Hansol to tail after ___? gameboi: no offense to all 3 of you gameboi: but Hansol’s logic is practically gone if Mingyu’s leading tallgyu: HEY alien-non: I suggested we wear disguises but Mingyu didn’t want to! tallgyu: those weirdly shaped sunglasses are way too obvious coups: what you’re doing now is way more obvious! tallgyu: she hasn’t noticed us tallgyu: it’s fine hyung coups: Vernon alien-non: yes coups: you know how aware ___ is of her surroundings coups: she’s probably already spotted you both gameboi: but chose not to say anything

As if on cue, when they both turned a corner, they were both startled to come face-to-face with you, arms crossed, staring right at them.

“You’ve both been following me for the past hours, can I help you?” you ask, eyes narrowing when they both exchange a look.

“Well…” Mingyu started, “We… We just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost…?”

Vernon mentally facepalms at Mingyu’s response while you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, “To make sure I wouldn’t get lost…? On a campus I’ve been attending for at least 2 years…?”

“Seungcheol hyung wanted us to look after you,” Vernon confesses, “I don’t know why, but he just told us to keep an eye on you.”

“And, so, you’ve decided to follow me around?”

“Mingyu was the one who suggested it…”

“You both would make terrible secret agents…” Seungcheol mumbled as he came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he sent glares to the two younger males. “Cheol, I’m a big girl now – I can handle myself!”

“I know, I know,” he admits, “And, I’m sorry, pup-”

“Pup? You call her ‘pup’?” Your ears burned red at Mingyu’s question, forgetting that not everyone grew up with you and Seungcheol or knowing the reason that he calls you that.

“It’s a nickname I gave her while we were growing up,” Seungcheol answers, “And, it stuck with her since.”

“She grew up with you? Oh, you poor thing,” Mingyu faked cries as he pulls you into an embrace, “He must’ve picked on you non-stop.”

“Actually, he didn’t pick on me.” The taller male pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your answer. “He stood for me and may or may not have threatened the people that did pick on me.” He looks at Seungcheol with a look of betrayal, “That’s not fair! Why does she get special treatment while you keep picking on me!?”

Seungcheol pries Mingyu away from you, his arm returning to its position on your waist as he answers, “Because you’re Mingyu, and she’s… she’s ___.”

‘Well… this is… awkward…’ you thought to yourself as you sat in front of Wonwoo, one of the other boys you had briefly met that night. Seungcheol suggested you meet the three of them altogether, mainly Mingyu and Wonwoo since you were already best friends with Vernon, to somewhat break the ice.

‘Choi Seungcheol, you ass, this is anything but breaking the ice! If anything, this is increasing the freezing point of the ice!’

Unfortunately, Seungcheol’s plan of grabbing lunch together is now facing a setback. You had no classes that day, Wonwoo finished his, but Seungcheol, Mingyu and Vernon were being held back for their classes.

“Seungcheol, I’ve only met him once!” you whisper-shouted into your phone, “And, neither of us exchanged a single conversation since!”

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol answers, wracking his head to come up with solutions, “But, this lecturer is talking so slow that I have no choice!”

“What about Vernon and Mingyu?”

A sigh was heard, “Apparently, the model was being fussy about how she should be posing for their portrait. The lecturer needed her to be partially clothed, but since Mingyu was in the class… You can fill in the blanks…”

You let out a sigh, looking into the windows of the cafe as Wonwoo sits at a booth near the pick-up counter, “How much longer until you all are able to get here?”

“Probably an hour… And another 20 minutes to get there. Hey, you and Wonwoo both like drinking coffee and are introverts! Maybe you both can try talking to break the ice.”

Oh, boy, did Seungcheol underestimate the introversion you and Wonwoo possess. You had initially tried to have small talk with him, only to chicken out when he looked at you with that piercing gaze through his glasses. It’s been half an hour since you sat down at the booth with him, your strawberry milkshake sitting on a coaster as he goes to order possibly his third cup of cappuccino.

When he returns with his drink, you can’t help but ask, “Isn’t that… too much caffeine…?”

Wonwoo seemed a bit taken back when you finally opened your mouth to talk, but he recovers quickly and shrugs, “Honestly, after drinking caffeine for years, you kind of grow immune to it. You should’ve seen Mingyu’s reaction when he found me sleeping after downing 5 cans of Monster.”

“Five!?”

“Yes, five.”

“And, you were still able to sleep?”

“Like a baby.”

Wonwoo was surprisingly easy to talk to – you just needed to get over your social anxiety and the very intimidating resting bitch face he has. You’ve come to learn that the man in front of you was GAM3BO1WOO, a famous game streamer on SVTwitch. You’ve seen a few of his stream clips on your feed, but you weren’t exactly a fan of his since his taste in games and yours were vastly different.

“Do you play every new game release?” you asked, scrolling through his MAESTRO account and skimming through his posts.

“It depends, actually. If a new game really catches my eye, then I’ll download it. Other than that, either the companies sponsored me to stream their games, my followers keep requesting that I play the game they think would suit me or want to see me play. Sometimes, Mingyu and Cheol would gift me co-op games since a lot of them have the mechanic of if one player already owns the game, the second player plays for free.”

“Have you ever hopped on trends?”

“It drives traffic and increases my followers, can’t really complain.”

You’re not sure how long you’ve been conversing with Wonwoo. But, it was definitely long enough for neither of you to notice the three men standing right outside the window, watching you two fondly and surprised. “They’re… talking…” Mingyu says in awe, a chuckle from Seungcheol following afterwards, “Nice to know two of our introverts are getting along just fine.”

You noticed them from the corner of your eyes, turning to the window, Wonwoo following to look at them. You smiled, giving them a small wave which they returned while the latter gave a small nod of his head.

“Sorry for keeping the two of you waiting,” Seungcheol apologised the second he got to the booth, taking a seat next to you. Mingyu and Vernon took their seats next to Wonwoo after placing their orders at the counter. “Aren’t you going to get anything?” you asked the older male, looking up at him as you took a sip from your milkshake.

“I’m assuming you’re waiting for me so you can order some kind of snack which we either share or I finish the remaining you can’t.” When you don’t answer and avert his gaze, Seungcheol knows he caught you red-handed. He chuckles as he gets out of the booth and towards the counter, which unfortunately for you, leads to an interrogation by the other three boys – technically, it was mainly Mingyu with the occasional questioning from Vernon. Wonwoo just sits quietly, listening in as his eyes would dart between you, your two ‘interrogators’ and Seungcheol who was still lining up.

The two men asked you the questions you’d expect.

“How old were you when you met Seungcheol hyung?”

“I think… I think I was 5? He should be about 7 or 8?”

“What did he look like back then? Did he look like a nerd?”

“Well, he had the signature bowl kid every boy got when they were kids or teens.”

“Was he scary?”

“Kind of? Not a lot of people messed with me because of how protective he was over me.”

“Mess with little red riding hood, the big bad wolf will come and get you.”

All attention was on Seungcheol as he placed a plate of strawberry cake and a plate of a dozen brownies on the table, returning to his seat right next to you. Noticing the stunned expressions from his peers, he shrugs, “That was what they’d always say to anyone trying to approach her with ill intentions. It’s basically their way of saying ‘if you don’t want trouble, don’t go looking for trouble’.”

An easier way to put it was – if you don’t want to deal with an angry Seungcheol, don’t bother his girl. Your heart still flutters at how some people referred to you as ‘his girl’, but you knew that actually being his girl was nothing more than a dream to you. “By the way hyung, when’s your next fight? Maybe ___ could come and help out, y’know?” Vernon asks, reaching out to grab a brownie only for his hand to be lightly slapped by Seungcheol. “Ow! What was that for!?”

“If you want them, go get them yourselves,” the older male answers, pushing the plate of brownies towards you. “These are for ___. If you want one, go get one yourself.” Your face heats up at the gesture, and heats up further when the three males turn to you. “Why does she get special treatment?” Mingyu whines, “And how can she possibly finish that entire plate?”

Seungcheol pats your head as he answers, “Because she’s ___. And, yes, she can. If she can’t, I’ll finish it.”

“Can we have a piece if you’re the one finishing it up?”

“No, get your own.”

“Ah, hyung!”

You’ve managed to bond with Wonwoo and Mingyu, becoming close with them in a matter of days and now, you’ve got four ‘bodyguards’ walking around with you (Mingyu refers to them as that, the others and you just play along). The downside that comes with the friendship would be a flock of envious fangirls (and occasionally fanboys) who had begun to buzz around you like moths attracted to light.

“How did you become friends with Wonwoo? Could you ask him to shout me out on his streams or MAESTRO account?”

“Is Mingyu single? Could you introduce me to him?”

“Would you like to be friends? I’d love to be friends with the boys!”

Both boys could see you were tired of the clout chasers, especially Wonwoo since he knows you value your personal space. Both men had taken the issue to their social media, expressing how they’d appreciate it if their ‘fans’ stopped bugging their friends and loved ones in an attempt to get close with them. You remembered when both of them addressed the issue on Wonwoo’s stream, the sternness in both their voices still sent shivers down your spine.

“We understand that you may think you know us as we both are content creators and certain information has been released about us online. While we may not be able to put an end to the parasocial relationship that you have built with us, we do not know you and you do not know us. Do not harass our friends and loved ones, and if your unhealthy obsession of us persists, please seek help.”

That was enough for a majority of the fanboys/fangirls to back off. Some still linger, but they were no longer up close and in your face bombarding you with questions or requests.

Currently, Wonwoo, Mingyu and Vernon sat in a discussion room within the library as they waited for Seungcheol and you. It was a small meet-up, but it could also be treated as a short co-working/co-studying meet-up. Your class was ending later than usual and Seungcheol offered to wait for you so both of you could walk to the library.

Beauty and the Beasts

mingoo: @princess how much longer is the lecture gonna take?

princess: erm… another 15 mins?

princess: …

princess: who set my nickname as princess in the gc?

All four boys replied altogether and you playfully rolled your eyes.

mingoo: coups hyung

vernonnie: cheol hyung

nonu: seungcheol

cheol: i did

cheol: i got you your coffee order btw

mingoo: what about us?

cheol: you lot already got your orders before you headed to the library

mingoo: i’m assuming you got her snacks too

cheol: yes

cheol: and they’re only for ___

cheol: so don’t try to steal them

Mingyu lets out a groan as he lays his upper body on the table. “It’s not fair,” he whines, “Why does Seungcheol hyung give ___ special treatment? Is it because she’s a girl?” Vernon shrugs, “Maybe? But, he’s treated his exes the same way, too.”

“Yeah, I know that, Vernon. But, isn’t there something different?”

Mingyu sits up as he looks at Vernon, his words seeming to be hinting at something as the younger male sits in silence. “It’s like he’s more attentive, more caring. Like, he was caring before to the other girls, but there’s this extra layer to it, y’know?”

“He means there’s more than meets the eye,” Wonwoo says, “I think what Mingyu’s trying to say is that Seungcheol is whipped for ___.”

“Yes!” Mingyu exclaims, pointing at Wonwoo with a puppy-like grin on his face, “But, also no? I don’t know! They grew up together so maybe it’s like a habit he has or a sense of responsibility he feels?”

“But, who would want to call their childhood best friend who is now an adult ‘pup’?” Vernon questions, and Wonwoo tips his pencil in the younger male’s direction, “Precisely. Everyone would grow out of it, much less a nickname like that. Hell, would you call any of your friends that kind of name as an adult?”

Mingyu hums in understanding. All three of them knew just how shameless Seungcheol could be sometimes. Vernon bites back a gag when he recalls accidentally witnessing Seungcheol and his then girlfriend making out in his car, in the campus’ parking lot - in broad daylight. He pitied his therapist who had to listen to him ramble on and on about suspecting the older male having an exhibitionist kink.

“So, you really think he’s whipped for her?”

“Seungcheol barely remembers your favourite cake, but he remembers ___’s coffee order.”

“He probably has it written down somewhere?”

“I beg to differ,” Vernon speaks up.

He joined Seungcheol to get coffee a few weeks ago. While Seungcheol was ordering his, you had texted Vernon saying your Business Module class had completely drained you and you were in need of a quick pick me up. All he did was say, “___ wants us to help get her coffee,” and Seungcheol began reciting your order to the barista without a second thought.

“He knew it like the back of his hand! Not a single thing was missed out!”

As Mingyu and Vernon continue to discuss Seungcheol's love life, Wonwoo glances down at his phone as it vibrates, a notification from you. Opening up the text app on his laptop, he types out his reply.

___: hey woo?

___: is it ok if i call you that-

wonwoo: yes?

wonwoo: n yes, perfectly fine

___: ok

___: um, so the class im in rn, we’re almost done btw!

___: they need me to write some kind of paper abt how psychology n business work

___: n since you’re a psych major

wonwoo: you need my help, yes?

___: bingo

___: is it possible for you to help me?

wonwoo: sure thing

wonwoo: why don’t you go over the details with me once you’re out of class?

wonwoo: we’ve booked the discussion room for the entire day

___: don’t the others have class?

Wonwoo can feel Mingyu and Vernon standing behind him as they “observe” his conversation with you. “Oooh, you’re texting his girl~” Mingyu teases, earning a glare from the older male that shuts him up immediately. “She needs help with her coursework and I have relevant information that can help her,” he replies as he resumes to type out his reply.

wonwoo: seungcheol only has one class today iirc

wonwoo: gyu and vernon have some kind of workshop in an hour

___: oh, cool!

___: then i can also get cheollie’s opinion

“Do you think they have a thing for each other?” Vernon asks, seemingly picking up on certain signs just from the text Wonwoo had just exchanged with you.

“Who? Seungcheol hyung and ___?” Mingyu asks back and he nods. The taller male thinks for a while, recalling the times that he’s seen any form of interaction or exchanged conversation the pair have shared. “Maybe? But, there weren’t any obvious signs that explicitly showed that Seungcheol or ___ like the other.”

“Well, there is a saying that love is in plain sight. Or that whole “you were hiding in plain sight” trend that was going around CIRCLES a few months ago.”

“Should we play cupid?”

“I think it’d be best if we don’t interfere with their love life.”

Wonwoo had a point. While their curiosity was gnawing away, the last thing they’d wanna do is accidentally driving a wedge between you and Seungcheol. It would be worse if they were reading the room wrong and neither of you were harbouring any feelings for the other. “But, that doesn’t mean we can’t find some clues to answer our hypothesis.”

Mingyu and Vernon looked at the older male who was still typing on his laptop. “Are we conducting experiments on them now?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I’d say it’s more of observing their interactions with each other.”

“We’ll leave the psychology part to the psych major.”

“If this ends up being your thesis paper, Woo, we’d better be given credits.”

Later that night…

gyu created the group Operation Cupid 💘

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwooo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetner @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnothelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp @shingbangyes @black-swan-blog27 @minhui896

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ssa-dado · 2 days

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2 - Early Birds

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Summary: Two weeks in, the excitement of your first case had faded, and you found yourself handling simpler cases while learning from senior team members. You aimed to prove yourself, arriving early each day, only to find Hotch always there before you. This sparked a playful rivalry and connection between you two. Hotch recognized your determination to earn your place, and your insights on a cold case led to a field mission together. Through this growing mutual respect, your dynamic evolved into a partnership with unspoken mentorship.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Hotch being a jokester, Rossi being iconic as always, no Gideon though.

Word Count: 4.4k words

Dado's Corner: Trying my best not to write reader looking at "Hotch's muscles reaping through his tight shirt", and limit the emotional description that both of them feel because stupid me wanted to write a slow burn. They are so cute though, c'mon. Also I wanted to point out that both of them basically know nothing about each other outside of work (their family, their past, if they're dating someone...👀). And yes, that is very deliberate, hihi.

part one ; part three

Two weeks had passed, and the initial rush of excitement that had accompanied your first case with the team was starting to settle. You weren’t paired up with Hotch, Rossi, or Gideon for any of your most recent cases anymore - not that you expected to be.

The more straightforward cases were often left to the younger or less experienced agents, which included you, as frustrating as it sometimes felt. Still, you were learning, absorbing everything you could from your new other colleagues, even though part of you itched to be working on the more complex cases that the senior team members handled, mostly because they were the ones who were allowed to travel all across the country.

You wandered how they expected you to go back to work after the big rush you felt after that first case, although it was probably intentional – an unspoken invite - if you continued to keep up with your works, maybe you would be allowed to join the big boys club again. The placement of your desk, didn’t help you at all to keep those thoughts out of your head, as it was situated right in front of Hotch’s, and constantly gave you an unobstructed view of his work.

It was yet another reminder of what you 'could have been doing' disguised as a neatly arranged workspace with case files that seemed far more complicated and intriguing than the ones you were currently dealing with. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of him leaning over one of his meticulous reports or reviewing photos, his focus so intense it was hard not to feel a twinge of jealousy.

But you immediately learnt Hotch was nothing if not organized, and despite your best efforts to sneak a peek at the cases he was working on, he always kept his desk so perfectly neat that you could never quite make out any of the details… which only made you even more curious.

So you started coming to the office earlier each day, driven by a fierce determination to prove yourself and earn a spot on the senior team. You knew your skills were valuable, but without more field experience, you needed to find other ways to stand out. Arriving early became your way of showing commitment, a quiet but persistent demonstration that you were ready whenever the team needed you.

However, your plans to impress were unknowingly thwarted by one person: Hotch himself.

No matter how early you arrived, he was always there before you, settled at his desk with a steaming cup of the bitter government-office coffee in hand, already absorbed in his work.

His calm presence, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light, became a familiar sight. It almost felt like he was deliberately keeping the upper hand, showing you that no matter how early you came in, he would always beat you to it. This routine repeated so frequently that it turned into a sort of unspoken ritual: arriving to find Hotch already deep in thought, sharing those first moments of the day completely in silence. Sometimes, you'd exchange a nod, and if you were feeling particularly bold, a brief smile of acknowledgment to him. Those quiet mornings became the closest thing you would ever have to connecting with someone from the senior team.

One particular morning, you arrived earlier than ever, determined that this would finally be the day you beat Hotch to the office. You slipped into your chair, a triumphant smile spreading across your face at the sight of his empty desk. For once, you were ready to enjoy the small victory of being there first. But before you could even settle into your morning routine, Hotch strolled in with an infuriatingly composed air, as if this were all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

"Early again, I see," Hotch said, setting his bag down with a casualness that suggested he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your efforts.

You smirked, trying to hide the disappointment of losing yet again, and fired back, "What can I say? I like to get a head start on the day."

Hotch gave a small nod as he took his seat, already opening a case file. "I noticed," he replied in his dry, signature tone. "Maybe next time you’ll actually beat me to the office."

Your eyes widened slightly; it was embarrassing how easily he had read your unspoken intentions, as if your competitive spirit was as obvious as the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Still, you couldn’t let him have the last word. Leaning back in your chair, you matched his teasing tone. "Is that a challenge?"

Hotch didn’t look up from his file, but you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he was fighting back a smile. "If it were a challenge, you'd know it."

The next day, determined to prove a point, you arrived even earlier, practically at the crack of dawn. You felt a surge of pride when you saw Hotch’s empty desk. You sat down, arranging your papers with a satisfied grin when you heard the door creak open. Hotch strolled in, holding his coffee and glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you sleep here?" Hotch asked, his voice edged with amusement as he took in your determined expression.

"Thought I’d enjoy the office without the competition," you quipped, not missing a beat. "But I guess I was wrong."

Hotch set his coffee down, glancing at his watch pointedly. "Maybe try five minutes earlier tomorrow."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. If it weren’t for the pile of files on top of your desk you would probably search down the office looking for the secret bunker he had to use to hide in. "Maybe I will."

As the days passed, this playful rivalry grew, turning your early arrivals into a daily test of wills. You found yourself not just trying to beat Hotch to the office but eagerly anticipating your quiet battle of wits, moments where the two of you just coexisted in a space of mutual respect and silent competition. You found yourself noticing the little things, like the way he meticulously organized his desk, his unspoken but obvious disdain for the office coffee, and the way his focus never wavered, even when he knew you were watching. And though Hotch rarely let anything slip, you could tell he was enjoying it too.

One morning, you brought in coffee from a nearby café, one of the good ones, and set it on your desk with a pointed look at Hotch’s usual cup of the bitter office brew.

"Upgrading already?" Hotch asked, eyeing the cup with faint interest.

"Figured if I’m going to keep coming in early, I might as well treat myself," you said, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. Too bad I didn’t think of it first."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful. "I’ll grab you one next time. Wouldn’t want you to lose your edge."

Hotch smirked, his expression a rare mix of humor and challenge. "I’ll hold you to that."

Rossi, who often strolled in a bit later with his own cup of coffee, couldn’t help but notice the budding rivalry. One morning, as you and Hotch exchanged your usual nods, Rossi ambled by with a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

"I’ve gotta say," Rossi began, glancing between you and Hotch, "this little routine of yours is the most entertaining part of my mornings. Hotch, are you ever going to let her win?"

Hotch glanced up, his face the picture of neutrality, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "I’m just here to work, Dave," he replied smoothly, as if your ongoing game wasn’t the highlight of his mornings too.

"Sure you are," Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to you with a knowing wink. "Keep at it, Y/N. Sooner or later, you might get him to crack."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. "I’m working on it."

Rossi leaned closer to you with a knowing grin. “I’ve seen people try to get through to him for years. Don’t lose hope. You might be the one to break the streak.”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you said with a chuckle, but his words resonated more than you let on.

The rivalry wasn’t just about who got to the office first anymore; it was about pushing each other in subtle ways. Hotch would occasionally leave a file slightly more open than usual, tempting you to sneak a glance. Sometimes, you’d leave your notes on display, knowing he’d catch something you were working on. These little tests became part of your dynamic, an unspoken way of challenging each other to be sharper, to think more critically.

One morning, you arrived to find a sticky note on your desk, written in Hotch’s neat handwriting: “Nice try. Better luck tomorrow.”

You laughed, shaking your head and scribbling a quick reply, sticking it to his coffee mug: “Don’t get too comfortable.”

As the day progressed, you found yourself lost in your work, occasionally sneaking glances at Hotch as he meticulously reviewed a series of photographs from his latest case. It was during one of these moments, late in the morning when the bullpen was nearly empty, as most of the other agents had just left for their lunch break, that you caught sight of a specific photograph that Hotch had been studying. It was upside down from your perspective, but something about the positioning of the victim caught your eye. You glanced at Hotch, who was fully absorbed in his work, before you shifted your gaze back to the image.

You couldn’t help yourself. "Hotch?" you called out tentatively, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t look up from the file, his voice as calm and collected as always. "Yes?"

"That case you’re working on... the one with the body positioned against the wall?" You gestured subtly toward the photo.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of curiosity in them now. "What about it?" Thankfully he was so desperate he didn’t even call out on you snooping on his files.

You leaned forward a little, glancing between him and the photo. "Well... I couldn’t help but notice something about the victim’s posture. It looks deliberate, almost ritualistic, but there’s a subtle tension in the arms. It feels like... he wasn’t posed post-mortem. What if he was still alive when the unsub placed him in that position?"

Hotch’s brows furrowed slightly as he considered your words. He leaned back in his chair and studied the photograph again, his focus intensifying. After a moment, he glanced back at you. "Go on."

Feeling a little more confident now, you continued. "If the unsub posed him while he was still alive, it means he’s not just seeking control after death, he’s enjoying the power he holds over his victims while they’re still conscious. That could point to a different kind of psychological profile. It’s not just about domination or display; it’s about interaction. He needs to see their fear."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed your theory, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head, coming unstuck for the first time. Then, to your surprise, he gave a slow nod. "You might be onto something."

You blinked, not expecting such an immediate acknowledgment. "Really?"

He leaned forward, quickly scribbling a note in the margin of his case file. "It changes how we look at his escalation pattern. If he’s interacting with them before death, it suggests a different type of compulsion." His gaze flicked back to you, and there was a hint of admiration in his eyes, though it was still masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "Good catch."

You felt a small surge of pride at his words, then you caught Rossi, who had been hovering nearby with his coffee, heard the exchange and couldn’t help but smirk. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Hotch."

Hotch glanced at Rossi, his expression barely changing. "I’m always up for a challenge."

Rossi chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you two. "This ought to be fun to watch."

Later that day, while you were both in the kitchenette grabbing some burnt bitter coffee, Hotch broke the silence. "You know, Rossi’s not wrong. I’ve worked with a lot of people, and not many would speak up the way you do."

You looked up, surprised by his sudden candor. "I guess I’m just stubborn."

"That’s not always a bad thing," Hotch said, his voice softer than usual. "It’s how you learn."

You shared a quiet smile before the moment passed, and you both returned to your desks. But it lingered, this newfound sense of mutual respect.

As the day drew to a close, you were working through your own case files, reviewing behavioral patterns for a consultation you’d been asked to give. It wasn’t as high-stakes as Hotch’s case, but it still somehow puzzled you. You were working through the details when you heard Hotch’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.

"You’ve been staring at that file for hours," he observed, walking around his desk to stand beside yours. "Something bothering you about it?"

You glanced up, caught slightly off-guard by his sudden attention. "It’s just... I’m having trouble piecing together the unsub’s motivations. The crime scenes are chaotic, impulsive. But then there are these little moments of control. It’s not adding up." You blurt out

Hotch studied the pages you had spread across your desk, his eyes scanning over the crime scene photos and notes. After a moment, he pointed at one of the reports. "The pattern of escalation doesn’t match with someone who lacks control. Look here." He tapped the page. "The victims all lived within a few miles of each other, but the attacks are spaced out by months. He’s controlling his impulses, waiting for the right moment."

You leaned forward, following his train of thought. "So he’s picking his moments carefully, but when he acts, it’s chaotic."

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed. "The chaos is part of his release. But the periods of waiting, of planning - that’s where his real control lies. He’s not impulsive, he’s deliberate. You’re dealing with someone who needs the build-up almost as much as the act itself."

A lightbulb went off in your head. "Which means the chaos at the crime scenes isn’t a lack of control: it’s the goal. It’s what he’s been working up to."

Hotch nodded, clearly satisfied with where the conversation had led, finally making you become unstuck. "Now you’re thinking like a profiler."

You smiled at his words, "Thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one”

Hotch’s expression remained neutral, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll remember that."

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence, both of you working on your respective cases. But every now and then, your eyes would meet across the desks, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was now starting to be an unspoken understanding between you now, built by your small moments of banter.

Suddenly, as the clock neared midnight, Hotch spoke up again. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day."

You chuckled softly, packing up your files. "You always say that, but you never seem to take your own advice."

He gave you a rare, brief smile. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that what this is? You’re secretly just keeping tabs on me?”

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Besides, you’ve been sneaking glances at my case files all day."

You bit back a laugh. "Caught red-handed."

Hotch crossed his arms, though there was no real accusation in his voice. "Next time, just ask. I might let you take a look."

You smirked. "I’ll hold you to that."

As you both gathered your things and headed for the door, you glanced at him one last time. "See you tomorrow, early bird."

Hotch gave you a knowing look. "We’ll see who gets here first."

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed something new. A fresh file, placed neatly on top of your papers, with a small note attached.

"For your curiosity. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you opened the file and began to read.

You opened the file carefully, half-expecting it to be another mundane consultation, but no. The more you read, the more it drew you in: it was a cold case, one with a string of victims found in seemingly random locations but with similar grim injuries. Each one had been reported missing for weeks before their bodies were found posed in open fields. There was something about the methodical yet personal nature of the kills that stood out.

The file indicated that the team hadn’t cracked this one yet, and the investigation had stalled. Hotch was likely trying to see if you could spot something they hadn’t. You glanced across the bullpen at him, just coming back from the kitchenette holding a cup of coffee. His face was unreadable, but you could sense that this was a test, not in a malicious way, but in his own way of pushing you to think bigger, to trust your instincts.

You spent the rest of the morning poring over the details, making notes, and jotting down ideas. Something wasn’t clicking, there was no clear pattern in the victim’s personal lives. They weren’t all the same age, gender, or background. But then something Hotch had said to you while yesterday helping you on your consultation echoed in your mind.

"The chaos is part of his release. The periods of waiting, of planning, that’s where his real control lies."

You took another long look at the victims, and then it clicked. They weren’t random. The locations, the way the bodies were posed, they weren’t haphazard at all. It was a pattern, but not one based on the victims themselves. It was based on where they were found.

Without realizing it, you stood up from your chair and made your way over to Hotch’s desk. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

"Got something?" he asked, setting his pen down.

You handed him the file, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. "It’s not about the victims. It’s about the locations. They’re all near bodies of water—rivers, lakes, even a man-made pond. I think the unsub’s been using these locations as part of his ritual."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed as he flipped through the file, his expression becoming more focused. "Bodies of water... it’s symbolic. Cleansing, rebirth."

"Exactly," you said, feeling the pieces fall into place. "He’s not just dumping the bodies. He’s placing them there, almost like he’s trying to wash away something. Maybe guilt, maybe some twisted idea of purification."

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That changes things. If he’s choosing these locations deliberately, we can use that to predict where he might strike next."

You nodded, excitement building. "There are three other bodies of water in the same radius where the previous victims were found. If we stake those out, we might catch him before he strikes again."

Hotch studied you for a moment, and for a brief second, you felt a flicker of self-doubt. Had you jumped the gun? But then, his lips curved ever so slightly into a small, approving smile.

"Good work," he said simply, and that was all you needed to hear.

Little did you know that the next day, you surprisingly found yourself riding in the SUV with Hotch, heading toward one of the potential strike zones you’d identified. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape as the two of you drove in comfortable silence.

"I didn’t expect to be heading into the field this soon," you admitted after a while, breaking the silence. "Especially not with you."

Hotch glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his expression as calm as ever. "Let’s say your early mornings finally paid off. Besides, you saw something we didn’t, that’s exactly why you’re here."

The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Instead, you focused on the task at hand. "I just hope we’re right about the unsub coming back here."

"We are," Hotch said with a certainty that made you feel more confident. "He’ll be back. It’s part of his pattern now."

You spent the next few hours staking out the area, watching as the quiet evening slowly turned into night. The stillness of the surroundings, combined with the anticipation of the chase, made every small sound feel 10 times louder than it actually was. You and Hotch barely spoke, but the tension in the air wasn’t uncomfortable, it was rather a focused kind of tension, the kind that comes with knowing you’re close to a breakthrough.

Hotch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a bit. “You know,” he started all of a sudden, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did all those philosophy books you read in college inspire you to show up so early every morning? Is that where your existential rivalry with me started?”

Of course he had to poke fun at you again for your philosophy degree just when all the rest of your coworkers recently found out it wasn’t your only personality trait. “Philosophy books? Really? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘deep thinker, rise-before-the-sun’ vibe going." He said with a deeper than usual mocking tone trying to simulate a hippie "I just assumed you were contemplating the meaning of life every morning before anyone else got to the office.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s it. All those Nietzsche and Sartre quotes really got me fired up to beat you to the office every day. And here I thought you just couldn’t get enough of the terrible coffee.”

Hotch chuckled, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to scan the darkening landscape. “That’s part of it. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to keep at it for this long. Most people would’ve given up.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “Maybe I just like a challenge. And it’s not every day you get to try and beat the infamous Aaron Hotchner at something.”

Hotch almost sounded surprised as soon as his full name escaped your lips but then his tone shifted slightly, more serious now, though still laced with that dry humor. “I know why you started showing up early.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed ahead, but his voice softened. “You wanted to prove yourself - to show that you were ready for more, especially to us senior profilers. You’ve got that drive, that need to show that you belong, and you wanted to earn your place, not just be handed it.” He glanced at you then, his expression more open than usual. “And I noticed it from the first time you walked in early, thinking you’d catch me off guard.”

You felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment; you hadn’t expected him to see through you so easily. “I… well, yeah. I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”

Hotch’s smile was small but genuine. “You didn’t have to hide it. You’ve got the skill; you just needed the chance to show it. And you’ve been doing that every day since.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of validation and warmth from his words. “Thanks, Hotch. I guess I just… didn’t want to be the newbie forever.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re not. And you’ve more than earned your place here, I wouldn’t have escorted you here to sit in my car for 4 hours straight otherwise.” He paused, his eyes returning to the scene outside. “But don’t think I’m going to let you win the next morning race.”

You grinned, the familiar competitive spark reigniting. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It wasn’t until the early hours of the evening, just when you were beginning to wonder if you’d missed something, that Hotch’s hand suddenly shot up, motioning for you to stay still. You followed his gaze, and there - just barely visible through the trees - was a figure moving toward the water’s edge, dragging something behind them.

The adrenaline surged through you as you and Hotch exchanged a quick glance, silently confirming what you both knew. This was it.

Moving as quietly as possible, the two of you approached, your hearts pounding in sync as you drew closer to the unsub. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on his ritual as he began positioning the body at the water’s edge.

"FBI!" Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

The unsub froze, and for a split second, you thought he might run. But instead, he dropped to his knees, hands raised, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

You and Hotch moved in quickly, securing him before he had a chance to change his mind. As you handcuffed the unsub, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Back at the office, the energy was different. You felt you weren’t just the youngest on the team anymore. You’d proven yourself, and even though Hotch didn’t say much, you could feel the shift in how he treated you. There was more trust, more recognition of your abilities.

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed another file waiting for you, along with a familiar note.

"For your next challenge. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you picked up the file, feeling the anticipation build once more. The friendly rivalry between you was still there, but now it felt like something more - a mentorship? Partnership? Definitely there was a shared respect.

As you glanced over at Hotch, already deep in thought at his desk, you felt a sense of belonging settle over you. Even if you weren’t part of the dreaded senior team just yet as you were still earning your place every day. Although you felt that with Hotch’s guidance, you knew you’d only get better.

"Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time," you muttered to yourself with a smile, flipping open the new file and diving back into the world of profiling.

And maybe, just maybe, Hotch was enjoying this as much as you were.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch

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fras-redacted-shapes · 1 day

Text

Early drafts/unused content in other languages

redditor AloysHellsalem posted about certain text strings that exist in localized files but are missing from English ones. So I took a look at the Spanish string table and tried translating them - these are machine translations, so they are bad and also funny (sometimes).

All of these seem to be some sort of very, very early draft given the number at the end of the speaker's name and because they don't even have corresponding text-to-speech files unlike files from demos/proof of concept.

More of a fun thing than anything else.

Most of them are from Saga's side of the story.

AMBIENT DIALOGUE - RETURN 2

CASEY_4585: I found more of those knit ornaments near [Witch’s] Ladle. The cult has been around here. SAGA_4586: Do you think they’re the ones behind all this? Dead people coming back to life certainly sounds like cult material. CASEY_4587: It feels like they’re connected. We need more evidence. CASEY_4588: Do you really think a ritual will do something? SAGA_4589: My rational brain says no, but maybe it’s time I leave it on the backseat. CASEY_4590: I’ve certainly had cases that made sanity look like a sick joke. SAGA_4591: I can’t believe you knew what Ikea was. CASEY_4592: What? A guy like me can’t have affordable furniture?

Original text:

PROFILING CASEY - RETURN 6

SAGA_4984: What’s happening to Casey? CASEY_4985: I can’t turn into one of them. I won’t. Fuck it. I’ll go to hell before I turn into one of those soulless demons. CASEY_4986: Well, I guess that’s literally what they are: demons.

That last sentence may be a weird translation on my part. I'm not sure how to make it make sense.

Original text:

Leaving the full string here, Saga profiling Casey about him feeling like a fictional character?:

MP_RE06_CASEY_FICTIONAL_SAGA_4987: being a fictional character. MP_RE06_CASEY_FICTIONAL_CASEY_4988: Was I even who I thought I was, or just an average detective torn from the pages of a bunch of mediocre crime novels? Did I exist in printing ink like I did in real life?, and vice versa? The thought always bothered me. The jokes. The similarities. The constant feeling that no amount of coffee could drown.

Original text:

There're lines that look like bullet points or just rough ideas, like the last one here:

SAGA_6910: What’s happening to Casey? CASEY_6911: Casey is turning into a taken, blame Alan Wake for it WAKE_SAGA_6912: Wake WAKE_CASEY_6913: Casey never liked Wake, even before all this. References to cult case in New York

Original text:

PROFILING ESTEVEZ RETURN 6

This looks like a very early draft of Kiran having a girl crush deputizing Saga into the FBC.

SAGA_4989: The FBC. ESTEVEZ_4990: Saga Anderson, she’d be a great FBC agent. She clearly has what it takes: wit, guts and drive. And she’s not backing down from a paranatural fight. I can appreciate that. ESTEVEZ_4991: I should give her the recruitment (draft?) pitch. She’d be a great asset. SAGA_4992: I guess I should be flattered.

Original text:

SAGA_4993: What’s this “AWE”? ESTEVEZ_4994: What reactivated the AWE in Bright Falls? Does the threshold below the lake work in cycles or does it have a trigger? ESTEVEZ_4995: Whatever it is, it seemed more powerful than ever. SAGA_4996: The “threshold” in Cauldron Lake. That’s where I have to go.

Original text:

The following one is nearly incomprehensible

SAGA_6914: Parautilitarians ESTEVEZ_6915: Estevez relives a trauma, says the area of parautilitarians susceptible to supernatural forces (???)

SAGA_6916: doesn’t wake up ESTEVEZ_6917: They told Estevez the Dark Presence can steal forms, making it difficult to know who to trust SAGA_6918: Dark Place ESTEVEZ_6919: Estevez doesn’t know much, other than those who go there generally don’t come back.

PROFILING TOR AND ODIN - RETURN 5

Lots of fun tidbits

SAGA_3003: Where is Tor? TOR_3004:... Polaris ... in a web of hypocrisy. ODIN_3005: Take ... Control. duh duh duhuhuh. Take ... Control ... TOR_3006: Take ... Control. duh duh duhuhuh. Take ... Control …

SAGA_3012: The girl in the painting. ODIN_3013: I won’t remove it. That’s our family. Your (his?) daughter. TOR_3014: She left us! She took Saga and fucked off! So take that damn thing! I don’t wanna see her face!

MP_RE05_TOR_MOTHER_SAGA_3069: My mother. TOR_3070: But I wasn’t made to be a dad. I’m a god of rock! I can take the sky, rock stadiums but can’t change a diaper! TOR_3071: My life is a fucking storm. Freya deserved better. TOR_3072: It broke my heart, but I was proud of her for leaving. She could take care of herself. And her little girl. Saga will be a fucking star. I saw it the day she was born.

SAGA_3074: My dad. TOR_3075: …If she goes with you, she can never come back! It’s a one way trip for her. And I’m not letting a punk take me (?)! UNKNOWN_3076: (STATIC) TOR_3077: Freya isn’t ready for a nursing home. We kept it hidden for a reason! If you try this, I’ll hit you so hard with my hammer there won’t be any door left to open!

PROFILING TOR AND ODIN - RETURN 9

Now, these are super interesting :)

SAGA_5287: Mr. Door. TOR_5288: Freya couldn’t trust that bastard! He wouldn’t have stayed anyways! It’s not in his nature! We had to go! ROSE_5289: Tor, you’re scaring the other residents. I need you to put down that hammer. TOR_5290: A father needs to protect his kids, dammit! The door is a fucking spider and I’ll be damned if I was going to let my little girl get caught on its fucking web.

MP_RE09_ODIN_01_DOOR_SAGA_5293: Mr Door. ODIN_5294: I just can’t let you play with her heart. It’s nothing personal. DOOR_5295: Do you realize Freya will never forgive either of you for this? ODIN_5296: You’re not wrong, but… neither is my brother. Today you’re here, you’re Martin’s door, but eventually you’ll leave it behind and she won’t know why. Better she hate us than she hates herself. DOOR_5297: Then let’s see what you and your drunk brother can do.

Weird translation that last one.

The text for "I can't let you play with her heart" can be translated more literally to "I simply can't make you play with her heart." Which doesn't make sense, at least not without more context.

The line about Martin was probably meant to say "You're Martin Door".

There're a few other tidbits but none as interesting (in my opinion) as these ones.

#alan wake 2 #saga anderson #alex casey #remedyversetxt #kiran estevez

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serenpedac · 1 day

Text

Tulsi

For the prompt "Forget" of the first day of F Hauville Appreciation Week, @happyhauvillebday ^^

Words: ~1500 Rating: Gen Relationship: Female detective/Farah Hauville Warnings: None

A scent brings back memories from Farah's life in the Echo World, memories she thought she had forgotten.

Read on Ao3 here or below.

“Thank you for your help.”

One corner of Jada’s mouth curls in a smile. “Even though I couldn’t tell you anything?”

Gabi shrugs as she gets up from the chair. “No information is also information. It means we can confirm they haven’t tried to make contact here.”

“Wise words. Good luck with tracking those fae down.” Jada accompanies Gabi and Farah to the backdoor when the bell of the antique shop rings. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course, see you later, Jada,” Gabi says.

Farah only gives a subdued smile. She has been unusually quiet this entire visit. At first, Gabi thought it was because she didn’t know Jada and was giving Gabi the lead on one of her first official assignments as an agent, but as the conversation had shifted from the fae rumoured to have arrived in Wayhaven to more generic topics, Farah had remained quiet. And that is nothing like her.

Gabi is about to ask if she’s okay when Farah halts.

Farah’s nostrils flare, her eyes growing wide. She turns to the right, where an opened door provides a glimpse into a dark room.

“Farah? Everything alright?”

Farah doesn’t seem to hear her, walking into the room as if in trance. Neatly labelled jars in various sizes are lines up against the wall, sea salt, chamomile, volcanic ash, but Farah walk past those without giving them so much as a look. Instead, she goes over to some bunches hanging from the ceiling. Herbs, Gabi realises as her eyes adjust to the gloomy room. They must be hanging there to dry. Farah reaches out a hand, nearly touching them.

“You have good taste.” At Jada’s voice, Farah snaps her hand back. A guilt-stricken look crosses her face, but Jada offers her a warm smile from her place in the doorway. “That’s tulsi, it’s one of my favourites.”

Jada’s loose clothes brush Gabi’s bare arm as she passes her to join Farah.

“Would you like—”

“Sorry. I— I have to go.” Farah rushes out, past Gabi and through the hallway. The backdoor falls shut with a loud thud right after.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what is going on,” Gabi says.

Jada gives her a thoughtful look. “There’s nothing to apologise for. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” She touches the tulsi that is swaying lightly. “I will keep some on hand just in case.”

She finds Farah down the street, browsing the magazines displayed in front of the general store.

“Did you see this?” She points at a glossy cover of a fashion magazine. “I just know that Nate has something exactly like this in his closet.”

“Ehm, Farah…”

Without looking away from the model on the cover, Farah continues, “Do you think he’ll let me borrow it? It’ll be too large, sure, but I can work with that. Oversized is also a cool look, don’t you agree?”

Gabi places her hand on Farah’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Sure!” Farah’s smile falters when she meets Gabi’s eyes. “I mean, maybe not really…” Her shoulders drop as she puts the magazine back in the stand. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

Clouds chase across the sky, and Gabi draws her jacket tighter against the wind. The gusts of autumn chill don’t seem to bother Farah, who stares into the middle-distance as they walk in the direction of the forest and the warehouse. Once they reach th edge of the forest and the street turns into an unpaved path, Farah’s shoulders sag and she sighs.

“She reminded me of my mother.” Farah gestures back towards where they’d come from. “Not that my mother was like— I mean, Jada is a different person of course, but the way she spoke and just… You know, the aura she has, calm and wise and, well, you know.”

For a moment, Gabi remains quiet. Farah talking about her mother is a rare occasion, and while a part of her wants to know everything about Farah, everything about her previous life and how she came to be who she is, it’s not hard to see how these memories hurt Farah. And hurting her is the last thing she wants. So, Gabi merely hums and brushes her hand against Farah’s. When Farah doesn’t withdraw, she takes her wind-chilled hand in hers.

It seems to be enough, because Farah moves a little closer, until their shoulders touch, and continues talking. “And then there was the— those herbs.”

“Tulsi.”

“Yes, tulsi.” Farah says the words as if she’s tasting it on her tongue. “We didn’t call it that, but it’s the same, I think. No, I know it’s the same. She used to…” She swallows, her voice growing very quiet as she continues. “She used to make tea with it.”

“Ah.” A look to the side to try to determine what Farah may be thinking shows that she is frowning. Not at Gabi, she doesn’t think so, but at herself or maybe a memory. Gently, Gabi rubs her thumb over the back of Farah’s hand.

“No. No, that’s not it.” She shakes her head. “The thing is that I forgot. She used to have that tea all the time and I forgot what it even smelled like.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “If I could forget something like that, something she did almost every day, how much more do you think I’ll forget? How much did I already forget?”

A tear rolls down her cheek, followed by another, and something in Gabi’s chest constricts. “Ow, Farah.”

She wraps Farah in a hug, holding her tight. Her body shaking from sobbing, Farah returns the hug, face buried against Gabi’s chest.

Being around Farah it’s so easy to forget that she used to have another life in another world. Sure, there are glimpses here and there—small things she says or slips of tongue—but with how fully and eagerly she throws herself into living life, the fact that she never chose to be here, that she was ripped from her old life, is easily overlooked.

Running her hands up and down Farah’s back, Gabi feels tears burning in her own eyes.

What else did she have to leave behind? How many memories does she have about things and people that no one here will ever entirely understand?

Farah’s neat braids press against Gabi’s cheek. There is so much she doesn’t know and may not understand, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be here for Farah in the here and now.

After some time, Farah’s sobbing subsides and she relaxes into Gabi with a sigh. They stay like that, Farah’s head tucked against Gabi’s neck, her breathing steadying a little more with each inhale and exhale.

Eventually, Farah draws back. Looking at the spot where she’d been leaning against just now, she wrinkles her nose. “Sorry I ruined your jacket, babe.”

Gabi stops the soothing circles she’s been rubbing on Farah’s back to cup Farah’s tear-streaked face. “No ‘sorry’ needed for that. You can ruin my jacket whenever.” She briefly touches her lips to Farah’s forehead. “I’m here for you, Farah.”

Farah sniffles, golden eyes threaded with red and shimmering, but the hint of a smile lifts up the corners of her mouth. “Always, yeah?”

“Always.”

*~*~*~*~*

Some days later they’re sitting in Gabi’s apartment, Gabi leaning back between Farah’s legs, while outside the trees are swaying in the wind and raindrops patter against the window. Her eyes are closed, all her attention on Farah’s fingers running through her hair. With each stroke, she catches a whiff of the floral perfume Farah chose to wear. It’s bright and summery, just like her and just like the summer that is now officially over. Like a memory capsule.

“What’s it, babe?” Farah asks before Gabi even realises she has an idea.

Chewing her lip, she sits up straighter. “There’s this thing we could do, you could do.” She falls quiet. Is this really the right thing to say? What if her idea only makes things worse? Not to mention she’s unsure of how to execute her idea. But Farah gives a questioning hum, fingers carding through Gabi’s hair, waiting for her to continue. “Memories and smells are tied together very closely. A scent can trigger a certain memory, like you experienced. I was thinking you could make a collection of smells that remind you of the Echo world. That way, you can come back to them whenever you want. If you want, that is.”

For a moment, Farah stays silent and stops playing with Gabi’s hair.

Gabi twists around so she can face her, an apology ready on her lips. She should not have been the one to bring this up. It would have been better to wait until Farah was ready and had broached it herself. But something in Farah’s expression makes her stop. Her usually bright eyes are more serious than Gabi has ever seen them, watching her with a wisdom belonging to the years she has lived, rather than the age she looks.

“I think you’re right.” She pushes aside a strand of hair from Gabi’s forehead. “Will you help me?”

Gabi exhales with relief. “Yes, I would love that.”

#happyhauvillebday #the wayhaven chronicles #serenwrites #sorry to start this off with angst #i promise there's a far happier fic waiting for later this week!#i'm a little rusty writing f but i hope this still feels like them

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kalpasio · 1 year

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kalpas owns at least a 2 of those ‘kiss the cook’ aprons I feel it in my bones (I feel like he would grumble for the rest of the day if he was wearing one and you didn’t kiss the cook) (make this canon please mihoyo ik I’m right) -babygirl kalpas anon

no you're so right!!!!! definitely has like a stack of the same "kiss the cook" apron because he keeps burning them and theyre cheaper to get in a 10 pack for some reason and griseo has stolen one for herself that's covered in paint

oh my gosh you'd have to like BOOK IT out of the kitchen if you wanted to avoid kissing him. he just stands there staring you down until you do as the apron says and he 100000% has spent the entire day throwing dirty looks when you just grabbed a poptart and only gave his very floofy hair a pat before leaving. if you don't give him a kiss when he's making dinner, he's not taking the apron off until you do. can and will wear it for the rest of the day. and sleep in it. and if you don't kiss him for the whole day?

first of all, you are stronger than me lol. he's definitely gone from silent brooding pouting to "if anyone comes near me I'm setting this place on fire" and you have to make a very brave sacrifice for the rest of the base and give him a kiss. probably several. he will keep making snacks and wearing the apron until you've paid off your debt

#babygirl kalpas anon 🧡🧡!!#I'm going absolutely insane #how do you keep coming up with these ideas 😭😭😭#I JUST WANT TO KISS HIM #give me domestic kalpas #please #also what if agents had to come up to you like #“yeah. so i have a mission with kalpas later-”#“good fucking luck buddy”#“ok yeah but can you give him a kiss before we leave. just a lil smooch”#because there are STATISTICS #and if you dont give him a proper send off the mission is dead before it even starts #and/or the agents dont want to die #i am going to be late for class 💀

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st4zia · 1 year

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Marina, where are you?

#splatoon #splatoon side order #splatoon fanart #marina ida #off the hook #no description #okay..can i...rant a little bit because i.... have so much to say about side order #first of all i love LOVE the concepts like bleached coral a menacing dark goop futuristic dystopia TABI SHOES & agent 8s new uniform?!!!!!!#its giving margiela which btw i feel was the inspiration behind toni kensa & that entire brand BUT THats for another post #its like the devs catered side order TO ME.....LMFAO like im obsessed with everything about it so far and the intrinsic horror that comes #along with this concept its just...#immediately after watching the trailer i thought if marina is the final boss~ how would that play out whats going on #so ofc i had to draw it out and like the idea of marina possessed by some sort of mega computer obsessed with order like you get my drift?#you know how fucking cool that would be i just feel like since everything is up to speculation right now im going haywire #i read in the jpn version of some article translation marina was becoming disillusions with oth cuz pearl mentioned she was #getting bored with their music hence the damp socks collab and ghosted marina for some time SO WHAT IF.....#feeling like she was discarded / ghosted...her resentment lingered and she turned to whatever was creepin in that dark goop #to maybe find some reasoning as to why pearl was getting bored with oth (or marina...)#like we were all joking that side order will be the off the hook wedding planning DLC but like WHAT IF IT WAS THE BREAK UP.........#also i mentioned toni kensa earlier what if side order is actually his doing like the color scheme red white and black its all there in the #trailers WHAT IF?!!! so many possibilities im gonna explode #anyway thats just my theories anything is game until nintendo destroys all of our expectations come this spring #this is so long if youre reading this thank you like genuinely thank you for taking the time to read this incoherent rant about a squid gam #have a lovely day <3333 #oh & high five to anyone who knows what poster i used for reference here hehe..

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enhanced-operatives-division · 6 months

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Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

#ty right-agent for explicitly telling me that this would be welcomed you a real one #i had a massive babble to my friend abt what if they all feed me to the hounds for speaking #and he said “girl that fandom is like 12 people big they need you to speak” and yeah that also helped #i have a hard time talking if I'm not asked/prompted to that's why i adding tags is great for me. that and i like the format #anyways.#THESE TWO.............dear lord can you tell I have been unwell abt them forever..#this is propeganda (/j) for them. btw. please you have to understand the potential here. it's so good.#it's slowburn <- my (probably) demiromantic ass cannot handle romance without a build up and this set up is perfect (it will never happen)#also i find it easier to write ANYTHING between these two from Juniper's perspective because i find it easier to get into his head #idk reggie is like the gay version of the: what is he thinking of? i could take a bear in a fight. audio ive heard.#whereas with juniper i have him trapped under a microscope #im going to tag this now so i can use the remaining tags to RANT #ieytd #john juniper #reginald crane #junicrane #starstruck #i expect you to die #<- being BRAVE!!!#when I get really excited i start getting like this internal shaking feeling and uh. yeah this rant started that #the worst part abt that is it also triggers my tourettes so like. double whammy. excited about blorbos? jail :(#but. yeah I uh. yeah. sorry this IS so long..I did warn but . AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHAUUUUUUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH #also i did this rant in 2 parts. last night and this morning so yeah uh. yeah.#god im so messed up about these two #make me a boat by the family crest came on while wroting this and while it's mainly a roxanix song to me......AUUUUUG.....#i struggle to find music for these sillies because they have such a specific vibe to me amd I've not quite managed to find something which -#- genuinely feels correct for them and it drives me up the WALL #GOD NIGHT SHIFT JUST CAME OF SHUFFL.....all my ieytd songs are coming out to drive me up the wall.......#FINISHED I've been adding tags as I've gone alonga #thank you for reading hope you enoyed and if you didn't im sorry

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tiredassmage · 5 months

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what type of villain are you?

your honor, i do love a good uquiz diagnosing the diseases and problems of my fictional characters and also i might be slightly procrastinating a final paper. saw this one from @sasslett and simply could not resist :3 quiz link! for those who'd like.

swtor edition first!

tyr deckard - then let me be evil

You never wanted to hurt anyone, but the world never gave you a choice. You did the best you could with what you had, but every innocent mistake you made was held against you when it counted, every crossroads led you down the wrong path no matter which way you went. No matter what you did, the odds were stacked against you. It wasn't fair, and you are sick and tired of being told what a monster you are for things out of your control. Well, fine. They want a monster? YOU'LL GIVE THEM A MONSTER!

alucren ellery - the betrayer

You like to do things up close and personal. As personal as you can get. You are an excellent actor, and you do adore putting on a smile knowing your worst enemy, the one you hate the most, doesn't suspect a thing when they tell you their deepest secrets. Your only motivation is revenge, and revenge you shall get. Perhaps you loved them once, long ago, but any fondness for your target you once felt has long since warped and twisted into perverse obsession, laced with malice and venom and seething hatred. Good or evil does not matter to you. All that matters is they get what they deserve.

leo ashold - the coward

You didn't have another choice, honest! Have these people SEEN what the heroes are up against? It'd end you in an instant, whether that be a lovecraftian abomination with a hold on your soul, a rampaging monster that's destroying more than a hurricane and an earthquake could in one fell swoop, a shadow organization that has tabs on everyone you love and will end them in an instant, or just a particularly grumpy boss that might yell at you if you don't fall in with his excessively tyrannical methods, you can't go risking your neck for the poor saps that think they can stop it. No way, you're staying on the bad guy side, where it's SAFE.

rhyst delavast - for the greater good

Perhaps you do not believe what you are doing can truly be classified as evil. Perhaps some people will be hurt from the immediate consequences of your actions, but what the masses fail to see is the immense good that will come of your plans. Maybe you act in the name of science, or for your people who have fallen on great tragedy. Maybe you see cracks in a failing system and want to uproot it through chaotic, destructive means to avoid greater tragedy down the line. Maybe you're just in with a bad crowd, but you can't leave them, no matter how unsavory their intentions, because they're your only ticket to your ultimate goals. No matter what, your goals are noble, and you take no joy in wreaking havoc or hurting those in your way, but the evils you partake in are necessary. If you need to play the bad guy to ensure a better future, then you are willing to play that part.

savosta - no moral compass

You are cold, analytical, and you strive to be as objective as a person of flesh and blood can be. Either don't understand the concepts of good and evil, or you understand it perfectly and think it's a load of bull. Some may call you selfish, some may call you unfeeling, but you're just doing what you believe will yield the best results, plain and simple. Why bother with petty ideals of right or wrong when you can do what will actively help those you give a fuck about? Your goals may be selfish or noble or anything in between, but you will not let anyone make you feel like garbage for going after them. You couldn't care less about what people brand you as. You just care about getting shit done by any means necessary.

#this quiz has some interesting thoughts lol #retested the agents just to be sure and bc alucren's vibes are frankly all over the place depending on the day #a diverse portfolio of blorbos!#tyr i love you. mr so good at presenting calm cool and collected but yea. yea it has a fair point #he'd burn it all down with enough goading. he could be convinced. he hides his self-sacrifice a little too damn well sometimes but #baby you're my darling angel roman candle etc etc #dot talk #ch: tyr #ch: alucren #ch: leo ashold #ch: rhyst #ch: savosta #this uquiz coming right for leo's perceptions of himself i see #see initially alucren got savosta's results so i had to retest bc i was like no. no alucren's out for blood #knocking gently on him. sir remember. remember you chose overcome your limits so you could be a weapon against your enemies in ch2 #anyway tyr could still kick his ass in close quarters that's the funny part alucren is Not a close range combatant #but he is an actor! so. imperial boys make do i mean what #dot exit stage left before the tomatoes show up #anyway this was also a really fun excuse to go back into my screenshots folders and find some goodies

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takiki16 · 1 year

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so what’s the deal with your new blorbo? assume 1. i know how football works (used to actually watch) but not how/why some players get famous; (2) i know nothing about messi except that he. exist; (3) feel free to go bananas to your heart’s content if you decide to answer this.

fuuuuUUUUUUUQ ME. Can litchrally any Argentinian, any FC Barcelona supporter, ANYONE who has followed fuutyball for more than *checks watch* TWO WEEKS spot me for this one?!?! I am GROSSLY underqualified to answer this question Cunningham's law is about to hunt me for SPORT.

Okay. LIONEL MESSI. I can't summarize everything about this Guy who is currently one of the Main Characters of the most watched sport in the world, but I CAN summarize how he has started cooking my brain!!!

(that is him!!!! my guy!!!! HIM JUMP)

I have been trying to read a book with @rhaeneystargaryen for at least a couple years now, but somehow never had the spoons or the right overlapping interest. And then she told me that she was reading this:

I figured I would give it a try! I wanted something low effort, low investment, something I didn't care a whole lot about that I could put down at any moment bc work has been hell lately. And then I hit THIS line in the introduction, and I could literally FEEL the cursed hyperfixation key in my brain start to turn:

GUESS WHICH ONE IS MESSI!!!!!

I'm not a twitter stan, I swear. I am AWARE there is a media layer here. These people are real, actual human beings with documented flaws and mistakes, I am WELL AWARE that they are ungodly wealthy pro athletes and not "stars who are just like us!!! ✨✨✨." It's also obviously reductive and unfair to view anyone solely through a comparative lens - no living being could live up to the marketing hype that has been generated around Messi, Ronaldo, or indeed any pro athlete in the elite leagues.

BUT GOTDAM IF THIS FUCKER DOESN'T MAKE IT HARD!!!!

Bare bones: Lionel Messi is a football player born in Rosario, Argentina, who at 13yo moved to Spain to play for FC Barcelona. He joined the adult team at a whole ass 17 years old. Ensue absolutely RIDICULOUS teen prodigy meteoric rise, with both Messi and Barcelona winning all the Best Football Awards ever and Best Individual Sports Achievements in Everything. I have spent the last two weeks spending FAR too much time reading football books, and all the gotdam graphs look like this:

People talk about Messi being the player who made them fall in love with "the most beautiful game," and I can SEE WHY!!! HERE I AM!!!! A CLOWN!!! ALSO FALLING IN LOVE!!!! I am googling sports highlight reels of his plays like a CHAD FOOTY HOOLIGAN!! WHO AM I, I AM HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS. It is just so much fun to WATCH him! Listening to commentators screaming "Eight, ten, IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY DEFENDERS THERE HE GOES THROUGH THEM!!! MESSI GOAAAALLLLL"

youtube

What makes it WORSE is the whole fukken rivalry business the book was about. Cristiano Ronaldo was another super-gifted player who debuted at about the same time and had a similar prodigy teen genius rise. He signed for a rival club in the same league at the same time Messi was playing with Barcelona. The story reads like a gotdam Hollywood sports drama, on both an individual and a team level!! I cannot IMAGINE what it was like watching this unfold as it was happening!

For starters: on an individual level, they were constantly thrown up against each other for every award imaginable. The Ballon d'Or awards list, which crowns you King of Soccer for the year, has looked like this since 2008:

(there is obviously talk that Messi is up for an EIGHTH award this year, but I don't think about the future bc it is bad for my cooked brain 😊)

On a team level, there was (and IS) of course the clubs. I am ABSOLUTELY not qualified to get into the weeds on this, but the rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid has deep, deep political, historical, and cultural roots going back (among other things) to Catalonian oppression under the fascist Franco regime in Spain. Josep Suñol, then-president of FC Barcelona, was shot in 1936 by Francoist troops.The matches between the two clubs and the two players with their drastically different teams and styles at the time were super-charged - an ACTUAL QUALIFIED Barcelona supporter is going to have to get in here and explain the history and emotion behind the Clasicos bc THAT IS SEVERAL BOOKS IN AND OF ITSELF!!!!!

The whole point of THIS particular book was not, in fact, a blow-by-blow comparison of the players. The point was that by being WHO they were and WHEN they were, Messi and Ronaldo changed the shape of the game forever in terms of marketing, branding, team strategy, finances, etc etc etc. It's an interesting read (if not entirely unbiased on all points), if you enjoy the absolute blood and oil-soaked clown show that is professional football money!

But ANYWAY.

AFTER I finished the book Messi ended up cooking my brain bc (1) all of the context above re: rivalry in league football, and (2) his PERSONALITY. Someone made him in a lab to ruin my life!

I mean, the club loyalty gets me. For his entire professional career, Messi has played for exactly two teams - Barcelona and his homeland Argentina NT. He only left Barcelona in 2021, VERY much against his will (per him, his agent, his friends, his family, AND FC Barcelona) due to an absolute hot mess of a league financial situation that is apparently still sorting itself out. I don't know how common it is for pro athletes at his level to move around, but I feel like it's more common than that!!! THE CLUB LOYALTY gets me, the HOME LOYALTY gets me!!!! Especially as he's gotten better and better, and there's been more and more pressure on him to keep delivering even in the absence of anything else!

The gotdam STOICISM also gets me!!! Call it shyness, call it humility, call it down-to-earthness or reservedness or whatever you want - what everyone kept mentioning about him in the books (and what certain French marketing departments are still probably saying about him) is how QUIET he is. Journalists would complain about how he "made it to age 30 without ever uttering an interesting sentence in public." A Nike exec who lost a bid with his agent for a sponsorship waved it off by saying "Imagine how much trouble we would be in if Messi had a personality." Relative to his peers in the elite football world, he doesn't have a flash lifestyle with a huge entourage. He doesn't do a lot of press. He doesn't try to push a personal brand, even though it's a big chunk of income for wherever he plays. Even though he obviously COULD, he doesn't go around talking about Greatest Of All Time (TM). When he DOES give interviews he doesn't even talk super loudly. He keeps to his immediate family and his closest circle of friends.

AND YET. AND YET. ON THE PITCH, HE PLAYS LIKE HE DOES. He creates not just for himself, but for his TEAMMATES the way that he does! I realize that NO ONE gets an award for being a team player in a team sport, or for "not being as much of a dick as you could have been," but HE STILL HAS HIS HOMETOWN ACCENT!!! He dedicates his goals to his GRANDMOTHER! He met his wife when he was FIVE YEARS OLD, he has never had a relationship with anyone else ("It has always been Antonella, for me"), he has three beautiful kids, his teammates keep apparently falling in love with him and doing Intricate Rituals, I AM ENDEARED I AM ENDLESSLY ENDEARED

Did I mention he is also very short? Allow me to mention that. 5"7 / 1.7 meters in pro-athlete world is PICK-UPABLE SIZE. Multiple reels out there of his teammates celebrating goals just by PICKING HIM UP it MAKES ME SO FOND

(on an Intricate Rituals note, Messi's size and his evasive style of play has caused a lot of opposing team's strategy to be "make a cage, kick him as soon as you can and tackle often," which has in turn prompted a lot of specific protection strategies for him as a forward and also over-protective teammates :)))). WHICH OF COURSE COOKS MY BRAIN EVEN MORE YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.)

And that isn't even STARTING on his saga with the Argentina NT, which reads like YET ANOTHER HOLLYWOOD SPORT DRAMA that I cannot believe actually happened!

Again, I am begging ANY Argentine to jump in here, I AM GROSSLY IGNORANT as to the history of this sport I got here two whole weeks ago how is this HAPPENING to meeeeeeee

My very basic understanding of the situation is that Messi has played for the national team ever since 2004, whenever he was on break from Barcelona. Over the years since then, Argentina (with Messi) has tried again and again to win the World Cup (and the Copa America), but consistently failed despite regularly advancing to finals. BECAUSE Messi was on the team, Argentina routinely and perhaps unfairly got billed as "favorites" to win, with criticism in the press being focused disproportionately on Messi when they didn't. I don't know how bad the situation in Argentinian media got, but even the western English outlets were picking it up. "Messi plays better for Barcelona than for his home country, Messi isn't Argentinian enough, Messi keeps too much to himself and doesn't sing the anthem,etc etc etc". Maradona famously commented that Messi was "a great person, but had no personality," and that it was useless to try to make a leader out of him because he caved under pressure (referring to Messi reportedly being sick from nerves before the world cup games).

(note: gotdam rivalry. Of the people named who would be better and more stylish leaders, Cristiano Ronaldo was up top )

The pressure DID get to Messi in the end - he issued a statement in 2016 saying he would retire from international football, but there was a huge home campaign to get him to come back to the team. Argentina still didn't win the 2018 World Cup (players of opposing teams said that their strategy against Argentina was not letting them pass to Messi). And so on, and so forth.

AND THEN!!!!! 2021!!!!!

I THINK I HAVE POSTED FAR TOO MUCH ALREADY about the current Argentina NT for someone who, as I said, JUST ARRIVED AT THIS GOTDAM SPORT, but I'm going to make everyone look at these quotes again. These are quotes the team has given ABOUT MESSI HOW IS THIS REAL????

Argentina would go on to win the Copa America - and then...well 🥰

I DON'T KNOW IF I'VE EXPLAINED THIS ADEQUATELY!!! I DON'T KNOW IF I HAVE SUFFICIENTLY REPRESENTED THE DEGREE TO WHICH MY BRAIN IS COOKED!!! Did that mean anything to anyone???? I don't know!

HELL

#my posts #football #lm10 #i am WELL aware this is extremely embarrassing #i give you my solemn word i am not going to become a twitter stan #but also it is BIZARRE to read books about either him OR ronaldo or them BOTH that were written before the world cup #sports journalists who do longform about Messi had this way of writing about him like he was already dead #like this wasn't a real live human being who is going to show up in gotdam Ligue 1 Uber Eats next week #actually you know what it makes me even MORE nervous that he's still out there playing sportsball #it FEELS LIKE there was this perfect cathartic triumph to the episode but you look at the buffer bar #and there is way too much time left for something ELSE bad to happen #lm10 will be a free agent come june 2021 WHERE WILL YOU GO WHAT ARE U GONNA DO.#this was the literal worst decision of my life i hate sports #@Gallifreyburning i know i owe you a volley i SWEAR i am working on it #did I just say 2021 I meant 2023 this is what I MEANNNNNN

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drchucktingle · 9 months

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THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TELLS CHUCK TINGLE TO STAY HOME BUT WE PROVE LOVE ANYWAY

just when you buckaroos thought 2024 would be a break from book drama, here comes chuck tingle in the mix. recently i was asked to be a featured speaker at the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION annual conference. a few days ago they rescinded my invitation. here is what happened.

(EDITED TO ADD THIS LINK. if you have a hard time reading this on way of tumblr you can also read for free on chucks patreon)

i would like to start off by saying it is not my intent to start a fight, and all those reading this should know that the actions of a few misguided folks do not speak for the whole TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. i am sure there are many involved who will be very upset to learn what others at TLA have done in their name. there are many individuals here, so please do not paint them all as villains in your mind. besides, chuck loves the dang library everyone knows that.

the point of writing this is not to vilify. i am writing this is because MOMENTS OF DARKNESS are the best places to SHINE A LIGHT AND PROVE LOVE IS REAL. this is a perfect time for learning and growing and for us talk on some very important things that queer buckaroos and neurodivergent buckaroos face every day. this is an unfortunate moment that WE can turn around and use to prove love is real.

i am also writing this to understand some of my own personal feelings on the matter. for something that seems very simple on the surface, the trot is complex, and i am still working out my emotions on the whole dang thing. i am learning in this way.

PART ONE: BAG OF LOVE

a few months ago chuck was asked to be a featured speaker at the 2024 TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION ANNUAL CONFERENCE. i have been asked to do things like the before and it is ALWAYS a fun time to meet bookseller and librarian buds. trotting around face to face and talking about my story of conquering chronic pain and overcoming my mental hurdles is VERY IMPORTANT to me. i say YES to these things whenever i can. (here i am with authors at CALIFORNIA INDEPENDENT BOOKSELLERS ALLIANCE conference. they are a WONDERFUL group and they proved love with their OWN invitation to chuck. this was such a moving event with so many amazing authors and stories. got very teared up during this photo)

ANYWAY BUCKAROOS i get the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION invite and say 'YES BUD LETS TROT'. we are then confirmed.

months pass. a few weeks ago i get a call from my manager and agent and publisher saying ‘the TLA have rescinded their invitation.’

turns out some things had been going on behind the scenes

at some point the TLA asked chucks INCREDIBLE HEROIC BAD ASS PUBLISHER if chuck would be okay with not wearing the mask, to which tor/nightfire/macmillan said ‘what the heck are you talking about of course chuck is going to wear his mask. this is how chuck presents himself’ (NOT EXACT QUOTE)

as you all know, my pink bag way is a VERY IMPORTANT SPACE. as an autistic buckaroo it is a boundary that allows me to express myself freely and relieve my chronic pain from neurotypically masking all day. i have talked about this for years, and it is why i consider my private identity a SACRED THING. it is literally a health issue.

fortunately THE PINK BAG is never really a problem when making appearances. i have spent years going on television shows, doing interviews, speaking at other conferences and conventions, hosting book events on tour, and even MEETING WITH LAWYERS in my pink face covering. it is always respected and that is very validating to my way.

when arriving anywhere i always take precautions. i always warn buckaroos ahead of time that there is a masked man coming. i always have someone go in ahead of me JUST IN CASE. again, there has never been an issue. at a big conference where i am a special guest there is ESPECIALLY not an issue because my face and bio are printed IN THE DANG PROGRAM

SOME FUN TIMES AT BIG EVENTS BELOW:

CHUCK ON TV SHOW NAME OF 'AT MIDNIGHT' BACK BEFORE I WROTE LOVE IS REAL ON MY HEAD:

well, there has never been an issue.... UNTIL NOW.

PART TWO: RESCINDED

a few days ago TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION suddenly messaged my publishers and said that chuck tingle is no longer invited. my invitation was rescinded. the reason given was that people could possibly be uncomfortable with my mask

right out of the gate i would like to say this: it is absolutely the right of the texas library association to disinvite someone from their conference. it is their event, after all, and they can ban anyone they would like, for any reason.

of course, that doesnt mean other folks HEARING THIS NEWS wont have their own opinions the TLA choices. if the TLA disinvites someone, their reasoning for doing this can be discussed and analyzed. whether or not they follow their own guidelines can be questioned, and certainly their kindness and tact can be considered

there are a few BIG POINTS to make regarding this choice from the TLA

first and foremost, i just gotta say buckaroos, it is incredibly rude to invite someone to be a guest speaker at your event, have them confirm and mark off their calendar and turn down other offers, then rescind their invitation. this is maybe the simplest of the points, but it is an important one.

second, (DEEP BREATH HERE WE GO BUCKAROOS) i personally do not think of my autism as a disability very often, but i also KNOW that despite these feelings it ABSOLUTELY IS. autism is important to be listed as a recognized disability because of the help some autistic buckaroos need regarding government programs and things like that. ALSO just because my neurodivergence has helped me in some ways (hyperfocus and a unique artistic sensibility for example). i personally need to step back and remember my battle with stress and chronic pain from having to neurotypically mask all the time. for as much as i love being autistic it has made some things very difficult.

in other words, i am perfectly capable of speaking and interacting with folks without this pink bag on my head BUT WHEN I AM IN THE CHUCK TINGLE SPACE I REQUIRE IT. i can ONLY use this space while covering my face. is not a want. it is a need. holding this boundary is more important than i can ever say. i will not, and can not, let these spaces cross.

TLA not letting an autistic author wear the face cover theyve set up to express their neurodivergence in a safe, healthy way is--for lack of a better term--NOT A GOOD LOOK.

i cannot fathom them disinviting another author for using a disability aid. i cannot fathom them saying that a buckaroo who hears better with a hearing device cannot use it during their panel because it would make others 'uncomfortable'.

but here we are.

PART THREE: WHAT DOES A BUCKAROO GOTTA DO TO GET BANNED AROUND HERE?

this is the TLAs official stance on disability issues according to their website:

when poking around on the TLA website i noticed a few other things. i noticed a previous guest speaker wearing a niqab, and i was left wondering if the religious significance is what make that okay but chuck tingle banned. that made sense until i looked deeper and saw mascot buckaroos dressed up on the exhibition floor, and saw some kind of spiderbud in a costume contest. nobody around them seemed to be all that scared. their invitations REMAINED INTACT.

it should be mentioned here that AT ONE POINT during the discussions an email was sent from TLA saying chuck is allowed to come and wear his mask in the exhibition halls and smaller panels, just not at any of the big PAID PANELS i was once supposed to participate on. this was a confusing offer, but their explanation was that people who paid for something should have the option to not see chucks 'scary neurodivergence aid'. i tried to wrap my head around WHY they would make a distinction. maybe the exchange of money (rather than time) causes some kind of philosophical adjustment that i just cant grasp?

i wonder, would the author who wears a niqab ALSO be banned from the paid panels? i hope not

my answers trotted up short until i investigated deeper and found this quick moment from one of the TLA help videos. while some events DO require additional buckaroo cash, it actually appears that THE ENTIRE CONFERENCE IS TICKETED AND COSTS MONEY.

at this point i realized there is clearly no actual official policy about not covering your face (other than one from a few years ago saying that you HAVE to cover your face), and the addition of 'money' is a red herring. these excuses make no sense

PART FOUR: CLOSE THOSE GATES

it appears that my neurodivergence is 'scary' enough to get me uninvited, REGARDLESS what their disability and mask policies may say

BUT WHY? why is chucks preferred physical presentation valued SO little by the TLA that a THEORETICAL complaint is worth more? is my neurodivergent expression so awful? is my own safety as a queer activist such an afterthought?

is a pink bag with the words 'love is real' scrawled across the front REALLY going to frighten someone when the posters and pamphlets on the way into in panel would have a photo of my masked face saying THIS IS LITERALLY WHO IS ABOUT TO APPEAR BEFORE YOU.

if THAT accommodation is too much, would it really be so difficult to have someone trot out beforehand and make an announcement? to say 'there is someone on this upcoming panel who needs a mask to express this part of himself, if this makes you uncomfortable then this panel might not be for you'.

and really, i have to heckin ask, is this physical expression of my raw inner truth really so hideous and frightening that fear of making someone uncomfortable is a REAL problem?

(a terrifying display of autism. apparently)

i cannot imagine what kind of precautions they need to take before a stage play featuring costumes and masks.

you MIGHT think chucks queerness and left leaning politics could be the issue with this organization, but they have had drag queens as past speakers (also featuring some GLORIOUS makeup and hair that covers almost all of their faces. VERY CURIOUS). regardless, the TLA do not seem like a conservative bunch.

if you are bisexual or an autistic person who is good at 'passing' you probably already know where this is headed, your dang spiderbuckaroo senses are tingling at FULL ALERT. i will say i do not KNOW the real reason why i was uninvited, and i do not have enough information to make any concrete statement of the real answer. there is only evidence that masks have been fine at TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION events in the past, but not much else to go on.

so the FACTS part of our discussion ends there, but i think it opens us up to talk about some very important feelings that bisexual and autistic buckaroos know well.

THIS is where we take a unfortunate, hurtful moment and turn it into a discussion. this is where we prove love is real.

as someone who is constantly doubted and put through purity tests because of my unique way, we are pushing up against a subject i know well. thats right buckaroos: we are talking GATEKEEPING

AGAIN, i do not know if this is the answer, but someone in my position might be VERY STRONGLY INCLINED TO THINK that a few well-meaning left leaning buckaroos think i am a joke and that this is a character, and that there is something problematic about my work because i am not really a real person.

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a neurodivergent buckaroo with an unusual visual presentation, an autistic buckaroo who conquered his chronic pain ONLY by creating this important space... but what about a FAKE autistic buckaroo?

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a queer LGBTQ activist standing up for gay and trans rights against a torrent of scoundrels hunting for his legal identity. its a matter of safety... but what about a FAKE queer activist?

let me be very clear for the 100th time: i am a real person. this is not a joke. i am not playing a character. i am really autistic and bisexual. tinglers are sincere and they are not ‘so bad theyre good’. they are just good. camp damascus is not ‘my first serious book’ because my queer erotica is serious. my art is important and real.

when people tell me to unmask they often do not know WHY they want it, and of course one very good reason is innocent curiosity. but there are SOME cases where i start to get THAT feeling--that tingle all of us ‘passing’ buckaroos get when we can sense the real intent behind the poking and prodding. that is the feeling of stumbling into a gatekeepers crosshairs.

if i was to take off my pink bag, what about my face would you analyze to tell if i was REALLY queer. my eye color? my ear shape? if you learned my legal name, would you see if it sounded autistic? is my voice neurodivergent enough?

or is all of that utterly absurd? i am curious what the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION thinks.

PART FIVE: GENDERED

this will be the shortest of parts, but it has to be said. i have a very complex relationship with gender, as written about at length here and here. i understand these things can be difficult to parse for some, but i ask that you trust me when i say that the ONLY reason i have been able to talk about my gender and sexuality and learn these things about myself is because of this pink bag. this outward appearance is a direct expression and reflection of my gender journey.

if the texas library association does not care about my appearance as an expression of my autism, then i cant imagine them giving a dang about it as an expression of my gender and queerness. that being said, it is personally very important to me and i think it should be mentioned

PART SIX: SO YOU WANT TO REMOVE AN AUTISTIC QUEER AUTHOR FROM YOUR EVENT BECAUSE PEOPLE MIGHT FIND THEIR DIFFERENCES SCARY

there is a question to be asked here: how could the TLA have done this correctly?

i have one very big piece of advice i would like to shout from the rooftops. please, for the love of sweet barbara, DO ENOUGH RESEARCH to know if this appearance will be a problem and, IF SO, dont extend an invitation in the first place. unique buckaroos with different presentations are constantly left in this place of limbo because we are bombarded with careless actions like those of the TLA. before you consider extending a branch to an artist who might need more accommodations than usual, think to yourself 'CAN WE MAKE THESE ACCOMMODATIONS?'

putting all of this on the shoulders of a single 'buckaroo with a difference' is exhausting. as the TLA has shown, we currently live on a timeline where a buckaroo like myself never really knows if an invite is SOLID without doing a deep dive history lesson on how often a group discriminates and against who.

i did not want to spend my whole family holiday worrying whether or not i should say something publicly or just lie down and shut my dang mouth. i had to consider HOW i should say it. i had to worry whether or not its worth standing up for myself in the face of the largest state library association in the country. i think buckaroos with differences are with me when i say: WE ARE SICK OF HAVING TO DO THIS WORK TO COVER FOR THE POOR BEHAVIOR OF LARGE ORGANIZATIONS WHO TREAT US BADLY

another option would just be to use kindness and common sense and happily accommodate artists with unique presentations to your conventions

PART SEVEN: LOVE IS STILL REAL

i would like to close by saying THANK YOU to my publisher nightfire and editor kelly for standing up for me. they immediately stood firm and had my back. they are the real dang deal. THANK YOU to my management and agent buds dongwon and gino for trotting along beside me. THANK YOU to the folks at the texas library association who initially invited chuck with goodness in their heart and then likely got bowled over by someone else, and maybe even got knocked to the side by a big closing gate.

i hope there are librarians in texas who are still interested in carrying BURY YOUR GAYS when it comes out (which is ironically about someone who creates a space through art to express their queerness where they cant otherwise). libraries prove love is real and what they do IS SO IMPORTANT. it was SO IMPORTANT TO ME as a young buckaroo and i cannot thank you enough. i am not sure if me writing all of this will hurt my sales in some way, but this opportunity to speak about the reality of disability awareness and queer gatekeeping is too important to stay silent. (if you have not already preordered BURY YOUR GAYS then give it a preorder to make up for some texas library losses i guess.)

which leads me to my final thank you. THANK YOU to the buckaroos reading this. yes YOU. i am in the position to stand up and speak my mind against scoundrel forces ONLY because i have the might of you buckaroos by my side. the buckaroo trot is ALL OF OUR TROT and we are ALL HERE TO PROVE LOVE. i cannot tell you how much i appreciate the way you have created a space for me to express these important parts of myself. you have seen this pink mask over my face and saying YES, I ACCEPT YOU, you have literally saved my life. for that i am so thankful.

if you are UPSET by what youve read here, then turn it into something positive. you can support autistic creators, or make a donation to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

and besides WHO IS REALLY MISSING OUT? this is what it looks like when you invite the worlds greatest author chuck tingle to your event and treat their identity as valid. WE HAVE A DANG GOOD TIME

youtube

KEEP TROTTING INTO THE FUTURE. KEEP KICKING DOWN GATES WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. KEEP PROVING LOVE IS REAL AND PROVING IT TOGETHER. lets go buckaroos - chuck

UPDATE AN HOUR AFTER POSTING:

true buckaroo TJ KLUNE was set to be another author on panel chuck was removed from and has informed me he has now chosen to decline his invitation in support and solidarity with chuck. i am so deeply moved by this. thank you from bottom of heart buckaroo

to be very clear TJ has a huge platform and DOES NOT NEED TO DO THIS. these conferences are great for book sales and he is taking a hit out of pure solidarity. this is queer buckaroos standing up for eachother. i am floored by this kindness and love

please consider checking out his books if they are not already covering your dang bookshelf. chuck blurbed IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS and i was blown away i heckin loved it

MOST RECENT UPDATE:

here is more

#love is real #chuck tingle #tingleverse #texas library association #actually autistic #lgtbqia #Youtube

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fazcinatingblog · 10 months

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Went to my brother's auction today to realise that my dream of buying a 2 bedroom apartment at an auction is probably dead

#There were like five bidders - mostly young couples but also an elderly couple #All keen to purchase it around the 660k mark #it went up to 683 that was the price it sold for #There was an Asian lady there on the phone the whole time with earphones in and she would bid but then talk to whoever was on the phone #i want that #date me so that i can go to auctions but have the partner on the FaceTime call #we couldn't hear what the Asian lady's partner was saying but imagine it was either like GET IT GIRL GO HIGHER or babe we can't afford this #'babe come on we can do better just come hom---' SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY #my brother's apartment is brand new though they only bought it off the plan a few years ago #a 2 bedroom in an older apartment block would be more my price range #then you'd have to deal with mould issues and non functional elevators #it's a nice apartment I'm sure my brother and wife and Charlotte could've lived there had it just been the three of them #maybe #Charlotte might have been outgrowing it #can't wait till I'm a bidder and get a little gift from the agent and then get asked if they have my permission to sell #like mate you don't need permission #if so then no #soz #'house passed in because bidder refused to give permission'#i would have Alex on FaceTime just like 'babe the south east is dead come buy in the north'#One guy at the auction was bidding early and then the agent asked him if he wanted to go over the other guys and he's like no #and then around 680 (like 20k later) he's like 680!!!!! loud and strong #like mate you said no before #it's weird i remember when i was 9 and we sold Clairmont Avenue and we were giddy with excitement when the bidding went over 300k #and at today's auction I'm like thinking 'property in Melbourne for under a million???? yikes this is a loss'#but i think they sold it for more than they paid for #The agents were literally buzzing when WE'RE SELLING IT'S ON THE MARKET WE'RE SELLING #The excitement though!!!!!!#The agents just yelling WE'RE SELLING!!!!!!!

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evansbby · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x naive!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: VERY DARK ELEMENTS, noncon, extremely rough smut, daddy kink, captain kink, age gap (Steve is very into the age gap), MAJOR size kink, no seriously Steve is HUGE, misogyny, loss of virginity, mentions of blood (heavy mentions), mean Steve (seriously, he has no soul and is very mean, honestly unhinged), anal play, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS. MINORS DNI.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Even Captain America deserves a reward after an intense, grueling mission.

𝐀/𝐍: Here we go! 16.3k words. Written very quickly. Not edited so please be forgiving. Also I don't have much knowledge on Shield and all that, so yeah! Final warning to PLEASE read the warnings! Anyways, enjoy!

“The girl’s ready, Captain.”

Steve nods at the SHIELD agent tersely, “She’s in my room?”

“Yes, sir. And all your specifications have been followed.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

The agent bows his head before leaving the office, and Steve finds himself pacing. He often paced after gruelling missions, as if trying to get all the leftover adrenaline out. Tonight had been particularly challenging; a local university under threat from HYDRA. Thousands of screaming staff and students, the air painted with gunshots and screams of chaos. But Steve’s team had come to the rescue. Just like they always did.

His team all had different ways of dealing with it, the trauma and evil they saw every day. Clint had his family to go home to, and some middle-of-nowhere farmhouse that Steve would’ve found quaint if he’d given more of a fuck. Tony’s solution was alcohol – copious amounts of it. And maybe that would’ve been Steve’s fate too, stumbling out of a bar at three in the morning having no idea where he was, but of course, he had the serum to thank for avoiding him that. Natasha immersed herself in her friends, Sam partied a lot, Bruce locked himself up in his lab because God knew he was wrestling more demons than anyone else. Except maybe Bucky… But even Bucky had a girl to help him cope.

That left Steve. But Steve had this.

I deserve this. He thinks it to himself as he makes his way out of his office and down the hall toward the elevator. There are SHIELD agents scattered here and there, chattering mindlessly about the successful mission and how, thanks to the Avengers, there were no civilian deaths. But they all hush when they see him, parting like the Red Sea, their heads bowed in respect as he walks past them. The Captain. The hero. Their leader. He’s still in his suit, the shield still on his back and bloodied cuts decorating his face. Nevertheless, he’s the face of the Avengers. Everyone in this building looks up to him.

Everyone on the face of this Earth looks up to him.

And a few minutes later, when he gets off the elevator and to his private floor, walks over to his bedroom door and opens it, he finds a large pair of eyes looking up at him too.

You jump, the fear on your face so evident that Steve can almost smell it. Standing in the corner of his room as if you want to permeate through the wall or maybe disappear altogether. Your arms hug your body in a bid to hide it from whoever you thought was going to enter this room, but you seem to relax once you see that it’s him.

“C-Captain, it’s you! Oh, thank God!” Your shoulders sag in relief, although – much to Steve’s displeasure – you continue to cover your body with your arms, “I-I don’t know what happened, but there’s some bad people here, and they took me while I was being evacuated from the university, a-and they brought me here and they wouldn’t answer my questions and–”

Steve frowns as you drone on and on, talking about a mile a minute – a quality he doesn’t particularly care for in a woman. But his eyes drink you nevertheless. You look young – a college student, no doubt – but he finds he doesn’t mind that. In fact, it makes his cock harden, seeing how wide-eyed and naïve you look, a lot younger than him. A pretty face, and an attractive body too despite the fact that you seemed hell bent on hiding it from him.

“Put your arms down by your side.” He commands you, watching closely as you stop mid-sentence, your voice trailing off. He can tell you’re uncomfortable, confused, and probably tired out from fighting and arguing with his agents. But he knows already what’s going through your mind: that you’ll obey because it’s Captain America, and Captain America was a hero who always meant well. Hesitantly, slowly, your arms fall down to your sides.

Steve had very specific tastes, and his agents knew to follow his instructions to a tee. Which was why you stood before him, your body sheathed in the prettiest, most expensive vintage lingerie. All lacy and intricate, just how Steve liked it – white and silky, hugging your body like a second skin and accentuating your curves, making you look like half angel, half seductress. He’d long ago, in a different lifetime, pored over old pin-up magazines, just like any other boy his age would. He’d likened the white lingerie in the pictures to be what his innocent bride would wear the night he deflowered her. Back in the forties, back when he’d been a different man, a man who actually cared about trivial things like marriage and family. Years of war and fighting had beaten that out of him.

And yet, almost a century later, Steve still has a partiality for white, lacy lingerie.

After every mission (successful or not) SHIELD would bring him a girl in vintage lingerie. Always an unsuspecting girl who had no idea what she was being pulled into. They came in all sorts of varieties; crying, kicking, screaming, paralysed in fear when they realised the reason they were in his bedroom. But Steve deserved it, for every single sacrifice he’d made for his country, for the world – he deserved this one bit of pleasure. Bucky had his girl, Sam had his parties, Tony had his alcohol, Bruce had his lab… And Steve had this.

And it was the least you could do, the least all those girls before you could do, because hadn’t Steve saved you? Saved all of you? This was his payment. You were his reward.

“C-Captain?” He notices how you can’t help but stutter, and he finds it amusing despite the fact that he’s used to having this effect on women – especially immature college girls like you. You gesture down to your body, “Th-This isn’t how I was dressed – they put me in this, those bad guys! N-Now I don’t know where my clothes are, and, and…”

Once more, your voice trails off as Steve walks past you nonchalantly. He heads to the bathroom, making sure to leave the door open so he can keep an eye on you lest you try to escape. Not that you’d get very far – this whole floor was his and every lock required his facial recognition to open. In the past, other girls had tried to escape, and sometimes Steve enjoyed the chase. But tonight, he felt tense. He’d wanted to capture all the HYDRA agents but two of them had escaped. To Steve, that was failure, and failure made him tense. Angry. Frustrated. He needed someone submissive, obedient, quiet…

“C-Captain, I’m gonna be okay, aren’t I?” You ask, voice high-pitched and shaky, and Steve almost smirks. He stands in front of the sink, surveying the scratches on his face. They’d heal overnight, and once more he’d be the perfect face of the Avengers. The face of America. The face of hope, the face of good. If only they knew what went on behind his eyes, the thoughts he thought, the darkness behind the façade.

He washes his hands, observing the blood as it swirls down the drain of the sink.

“Sir… Captain… Is there a way I could call my family? They’ll be worried about me, and those people took my phone so I don’t–”

“Get on the bed.”

“H-Huh?”

“Get on the bed. I won’t repeat myself.”

Steve’s voice is soft, levelled, yet commanding. And he knows you’ll listen. He’s been over this with so many of the other girls brought in for him as a post-mission reward. You still trust him, he can see it in your eyes. You know him as the superhero you see on TV, where he’s all clean-cut and politically correct as he commands the hearts of millions through his motivational speeches and actions. And by the looks of it, you’re so naïve that he knows you haven’t yet figured out what “get on the bed” truly infers to.

And so you do, gingerly settling down on the edge of his king-sized bed, shaking like a little leaf but he can tell that you’re trying to keep a brave face as you look up at him, determined to trust the super-soldier that the whole country trusted. And breaking that trust, breaking that spirit that shone in your innocent eyes, that was the sweet release he needed tonight, or any other night after each mission made him grow more disillusioned. Breaking your trust, breaking your body so all of this was worth it.

Sometimes, Steve wonders when exactly he had changed. He remembers how plucky and optimistic he used to be. A little bit sardonic, a little bit sarcastic, but he really did have a heart of gold – at least that’s what people told him. Even after they’d dug him out from that iceberg, he’d still been that same guy. But that was years ago, and each day he grew more disillusioned with what he preached, what he stood for. He could never settle, never feel like he fully belonged in the world he kept risking his life to save over and over again. Even Bucky, who’d gone through so much, had managed to find fulfilment through finding love.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t think love exists.

What does exist is you… Sweet, quivering, innocent little you. The SHIELD agents know his tastes down to a tee, and physically, you’re everything he likes, everything he prefers. It’s nights like these when Steve really feels alive, when he snuffs out the innocence of some unsuspecting girl and reaps his reward for saving countless lives. He deserves this. God knows he deserves this.

“What’re you doing?” You whisper, eyes round as saucers as he reaches out to stroke your hair. He bristles slightly, annoyed by your persistant questions. You should know better – he was your superior after all. But you’d learn by the time the night was over, and so Steve resumes petting you, slipping his hand down to rub your cheek, feel your smooth skin under the rough callouses of his hand.

The same hand that had choked two or three HYDRA bastards to death earlier tonight.

“You will address me as Captain.” He says, dismantling his shield from his back and placing it on the floor against the bed. He follows your gaze, how your mouth drops open in awe despite how scared you are. His cock hardens, knowing you’re impressed by him. By his size, because he’s aware he looks even bigger in person than on the news – enough girls have told him that. And by the shield too, because it reflected his power, his status, everything that he supposedly stood for.

You clear your throat nervously, “S-Sorry, uh, Captain, I just, uh, I was wondering when you’d take me home,” you say the last few words quickly, as if you’re mouth’s dry and you’re rushing to get all your words out. “I n-need to get home, my parents will be worried about me, Captain, and I have homework–”

Steve almost snorts at that. Homework. You were even more innocent than he thought you were, if one of your biggest concerns was whether you’d get your homework done or not. And this naivete amuses him, enamours him, but most importantly, it gets him hard.

“You’ll be taken home tomorrow.” He informs you, his tone clipped and formal, clinical like a doctor informing his patient when they’d be discharged. He liked to keep it like that between him and his “rewards.” Steve didn’t believe in intimacy, and didn’t feel the need to waste kindness on you or any of the previous girls. He faked kindness and heroic optimism all day, it was only at night in the privacy of his quarters that he could shed all that away and allow his darkness to take over.

“T-Tomorrow? Why? Why not tonight? And why am I here, anyways? Everyone else was evacuated together!”

“Enough.” He says sternly, and you shrink back like a chastised child, or an injured puppy. He watches your lower lip as it juts out, and he wonders if you’ve done that on purpose as a way to appease him. He wouldn’t fall for it though, he was wise to women and all their cheap tricks they used to wrap weaker, lesser men around their fingers. Steve would never be one of those men. “You will not speak unless I give you permission.”

Your lower lip quivers, “I don’t understand…”

He sits down next to you, acutely aware of how much bigger he is than you. Leisurely, his eyes drink in your body now that he’s much closer to you. The bra pushes your breasts upwards so they spill out attractively over the creamy white lace of the lingerie, and he watches them rise up and down as you breathe heavily, probably trying to keep yourself from crying. He wishes you would cry – tears have always turned him on. But the night is young, and he knows he’ll see some tears soon, he always does.

“C-Captain, please, please help me! I’m so confused and I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know how I got into this outfit, I think they drugged me, and I’m scared, and I have homework, and I gotta go now, so pl– OW!”

Steve yanks you forward by your hair, till your face is inches from his, and he can practically smell your fear. Eyes as big as saucers look up at him, shining bright with unshed tears of both fear and pain. He loosens his grip slightly, despite the fact he isn’t holding you too tightly – but the serum gives him inhumane strength, and you’re just a weak little girl after all.

“Once again, I’m telling you not to speak without permission. Do not make me repeat myself one more time.”

You swallow harshly, bowing your head once he lets go of your hair. But your lips are now pressed tightly together, as if you’re hoping he’ll take you home if you shut up and listen. There’s still light in your eyes, you’re beginning to question him inwardly but you still trust him, Steve knows you do. And it’s not long now before he crushes that trust completely.

He sighs at your compliance, stroking your quivering bare arm, thrill shooting straight down to his cock because of how soft and smooth you are. He likes the juxtaposition between the two of you right now: you, so soft and small, so much younger than him, like a doll in your pretty lingerie that he’d picked out. And him, more than double your size, jaded with age that didn’t physically show, bloodied and scratched suit, rough hands, dark thoughts.

“C-Captain, I’m scared,” you whisper, and you really do look like you’re about to wet yourself, and it turns him on so much that he doesn’t even bristle at you speaking out of turn again.

“Good.” He murmurs, continuing to stroke you like you’re his little doll. There’s something about you, something so pure that he can’t really put his finger on. In the past, he’s been detached, unforgiving, often just throwing his “reward” on the bed, holding her head down against the mattress while he fucked the living daylights out of her. He would be detached and cold with you too, but this time he feels a peculiar need to savour you at the same time.

It's when he grabs your hand and places it on his hard crotch that you start crying in earnest, finally realising your fate.

“What’re you– No, please, not that! Please, I don’t know what’s going on, Captain, please–”

You try to snatch your hand back, but he holds it steadily in place. You’d never be a match for his strength, no matter how hard you tried – he had more brute power in his pinkie finger than you did in your whole body. And that turns him on even more.

“You’ll go home tomorrow,” he repeats, not even sure why he’s explaining anything to you, because he usually doesn’t speak to the girls brought for him at all, let alone reassure them. “Tomorrow, you’ll see your family but tonight, your body is mine and I’ll do with it what I please.”

You look like you’ve seen a ghost, but quickly you shake your head, blinking rapidly as if you’ve misheard him. “N-No, Captain, I don’t want to! Y-You can’t make me,” you look at him pleadingly, trying to tug your hand back but he holds it firmly against his covered cock, “You won’t make me, will you, Captain? Th-That’s wrong! An’ you’re a good man so you’d never do that!”

“Take it out.”

A different man would have perhaps consoled you, told you it would all be over soon, or maybe even made up an excuse to manipulate you into sleeping with him. A better man would’ve taken pity on you, given you your clothes back and taken you home. But Steve wasn’t like any of those men. All Steve was right now was impatient, and more than ready for his reward. I deserve it, he thinks once more to himself, before pressing your small hand down on his crotch meaningfully.

“Take my dick out.” He repeats sternly, and when you still don’t comply (probably because you’re frozen in shock and fear) Steve can’t help but quickly undo his fly before pushing your hand down his suit pants, letting out a hiss when he feels your dainty palm and fingers on his rock-hard flesh.

“No, no, no, please no,” you cry softly, rivulets of tears streaking your face, “This is wrong, Captain, please.”

He makes you wrap your hand around his cock, smirking to himself when your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping around all the way. The serum had made him a lot bigger than average, and a lot thicker too. So much so that every time he had sex, no matter how much he stretched the girls out, there would always be blood. He’d grown to become turned on by the sight of it.

“I’ve seen you on TV,” you whisper desperately, and he knows you’re in that state of mind where you’re just so scared that you’ll say anything and everything, “I’ve seen how you are, a-and you’re supposed to be the good guy, Captain. Please, let me go, y-you’re a good man so please–”

“Shut up.” He says simply, making you take his dick out. That quietens you up for a second, and you gape at his huge dick as it slaps up against his abs which are still covered by the suit. He hasn’t had sex or jacked off in about a week now (missions, press conferences, community work and other bullshit had kept him busy) and his dick is almost angry hard, the veins so prominent as he throbs in your hand.

“Stroke it.” He instructs you.

You shake your head, hand limp around his hard cock, “You c-can’t, this is wrong.”

“Drop the coy act,” he orders you, feeling a surge of impatience when he’s tried to be level with you for so long, “I know what you kids watch these days on the internet, and all the vulgar movies on television. Now do what I fucking say, or else.”

You look both taken aback and hurt by his sharper tone, and immediately you’re shaking your head.

“N-No, Sir, please. I don’t watch any of that stuff, I’m not allowed to, okay? A-And this is wrong on so many levels, you’re meant to be a good guy!”

Steve finds his cock hardening even more when he hears how you’re not allowed to watch the vulgarity that’s become so normalised in the media now as compared to back in the day. Were you, perhaps, a girl with morals? Someone who was raised well? He had yet to run in to such a girl in the twenty-first century.

“I’ve seen you on the news,” you try again when he doesn’t speak, “you and the Avengers, you’ve saved c-countless people. You’ve won wars for us. I w-went to see you when you gave a talk at my school last year, the one about good versus evil. You’re an inspiration, Captain, you wouldn’t do this!”

You’re talking a mile a minute, and Steve knows you’re doing it to prolong time till your inevitable fate. He’s tortured enough men to know that goners loved to run their mouths. As for what you’re saying, it has zero effect on him. He didn’t believe in what he said, what he stood for – you could never use that to persuade him to take a higher road.

He starts moving your hand up and down on his dick, hissing again because of how pleasurable your dainty hand feels on his rock-hard length, not to mention how much it turns him on that you’re still trying to pull your hand away, looking anywhere but at his cock, embarrassment mixing with the bone-chilling fear on your face.

“Y-You’re not a good man!” you finally sob out, shaking from head to toe as realisation finally seeps through your head.

Your words bristle Steve for whatever reason. In the past, his “rewards” have often back-talked him, insulted him as if they thought their words would have any impact on him – which they never did. But seeing you, with your bright, optimistic eyes that clearly looked up to him up until this moment, hearing you call him a bad guy… It makes him feel defensive.

“I saved you.” He spits out, “HYDRA attacked your university and I saved you and all your little friends. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

You nod desperately, “I-I know, Captain, that’s why I don’t understand why you’re doing thi–”

“I deserve this.” He says simply, cutting you off. “I risk my life to save unthankful people like you, over and over again. Even a super soldier deserves payment, or at least an incentive to do what I do.”

Your jaw drops open, speechless and horrified. Steve couldn’t care less, and he feels another wave of impatience. Two weeks ago, he’d endured a similarly gruelling mission, and his reward had been waiting for him in his room. She’d been mouthy, of course, as most women of the twenty-first century were, but he’d fucked her and sent her packing within fifteen minutes. So why, on this particular occasion, was he sitting here making idle chit-chat with some dumb-witted college girl who was half his age?

He's always been quick, and you yelp in surprise when he grabs you by the waist, his rough fingers digging into your soft skin. He drags you into his lap, till you’re crying on top of him, your back to his chest. You struggle and flail against him, but it’s to no avail as he presses you down on top of his thigh, spreading your legs and locking them with his own.

“Stop struggling,” he orders you through gritted teeth, although he has to admit that having a weak girl like you fighting against him with all her might while he held you down with just his one arm was quite arousing, “It’ll be easier for you if you just stay still.”

“Please don’t, I-I’m not ready for this, I’ve never done this before, I–”

Steve snorts at that. He knows you’re young, but he also knows that girls in this century are promiscuous, and that’s putting it kindly. How many lies would you tell before you realised they’d all be in vain? He was goddamned Captain America, and he was going to have his way with you tonight no matter what came out of that pretty, pouty mouth of yours.

Grabbing your soft, bare thighs with his hands, he pushes them further apart, all while you cry and quiver in his arms like a wounded animal. Your white, lacy panties hide your pussy from his greedy, impatient gaze, and he wants nothing more than to rip your lingerie apart and ravage you to soothe the ache of his hard cock which is currently pressing against your back.

“Push your panties aside.” He commands, “and don’t even think about arguing with me. One more word of insubordination out of you, and you don’t even want to know what I’ll do.”

You’re sobbing and sobbing as you gingerly do what he says, and he licks his lips when he sees your bare pussy, trussed out for him as he holds your legs apart. He can’t help but press a finger on your bundle of nerves before swiping downwards over your slit. He frowns. You’re not wet. That simply won’t do.

Of course, he’s been in this situation before. Not often, because truthfully, women got wet the second they looked at him, turned on by his size, his power, his authority. But sometimes, like now, when one of his “rewards” was very scared and non-compliant, she wouldn’t be wet. Steve didn’t care, and he’d go in dry if he could except, with the sheer size of his dick, it just wasn’t physically possible. Often, he’d tell the SHIELD agents to prep his rewards before they were sent to his room – stretch their pussies out by whatever means (he didn’t care) so long as they were able to take his girth.

But you… Oh, he reckons he’ll have fun with stretching you out all by himself.

“Touch yourself.” He says into your ear, holding you in place tightly.

“I…I…I don’t know how, I don’t– I don’t do this, I’ve never done this, I–”

There’s something about your frightened demeanour that makes him realise that maybe you’re not lying after all. He raises a brow, “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“N-No, Sir – I mean Captain – I’m not allowed to. My parents are very conservative, Sir, I haven’t even had my first kiss. Please don’t make me do this!”

Steve didn’t think it was possible for his dick to get any harder, but it does. So big and painfully hard, it presses against your back almost indecently as he licks his lips, now infinitely more interested in you. So you were a girl raised right in these godforsaken “modern” times. His mind conjures up different ways in which he could teach you, mould you, ruin you… He doesn’t remember the last time he had a virgin – it was probably back in the forties, back when women were pure and of good heart and good intentions.

Maybe tonight’s reward would be sweeter than any other.

He grabs your hand, pressing it against your petal-soft folds. He takes your pointer finger and slowly, gently, circles it around your clit. You fight against him but it only takes you a few seconds to realise that your efforts are completely futile. Steve does not care for what you want, not in the least. You’re his reward, and he deserves this.

He leaves your finger on your clit, shooting you a deathly look that conveys that you better keep circling it or else. His own eager fingers explore your core, slipping down to probe you, finding that not even one of his fingers fits inside your little fuckhole. In fact, he tries pushing his pinkie finger up inside but to no avail at all. Fuck. You weren’t lying – you were definitely a virgin. Another telltale sign is how it only takes a handful of seconds before your wetness begins to spread, and you whimper softly – probably at all the foreign sensations you’re feeling as Steve continues to probe your hole.

“Feels good, huh?” Steve hears himself say softly, and he doesn’t know why he’s bothering wasting words on you. He never spoke to any of his other rewards – they were only there for his pleasure, and may as well have been inanimate objects to him. Dolls brought in for him to use and then promptly taken away when he was done with them. But you? Fuck, Steve doesn’t know what’s come over him.

“I-It won’t fit, Captain, please stop,” you cry softly when he tries to force his finger into you again. You’re adequately wet now, but your pussy continues to reject his finger, and he knows there’s no way you’ll be able to take his dick if he doesn’t stretch you out with his fingers first.

“I’ll make it fit,” he mutters, throwing you aside on the bed and standing up quickly. He sucks his finger into his mouth, tasting your sweetness and shutting his eyes for a second to savour your taste. And then he shoots you a warning look, “Stay there.”

He smirks when you don’t move an inch – probably paralysed with fear – as he walks over to the dresser next to his bed. Rummaging through his drawers, he sorts past all the sex toys that some agent had probably stocked up inside. Steve didn’t have much use for them, as he considered himself too traditional for toys. But he can’t help but be turned on by the idea of using a large dildo on you, or stuffing your virgin ass with a cute plug. But for right now, he grabs the bottle of lube – it’s half empty because of how often he’s had to use it on his past partners. Since the serum, his dick was way too big to go in naturally, especially when it came to a sweet virgin like you.

Roughly, he pushes you down till your back is pressed against his king-sized mattress. He climbs on top of you, rolling his eyes at the fight left in you, how you flail and fight against him despite his body being more than twice your size. He uses his arm to hold you down, but truthfully, he could’ve done it with just his pinkie finger.

“Stay still,” he commands, pinning your limbs down flat against the bed. You resort to sniffling and crying silently, your wary eyes watching him as he spreads your legs as wide as they’ll go. A sudden feral urge takes over him, and he rips your panties in half, the flimsy material landing gracefully on his sheets. Your bare pussy glistens up at him, now wet with your sweet cream despite how much you continue to cry. He can smell your sexy aroma; the scent of a virgin pussy and it goes straight to his dick.

With an animalistic snarl, he dips his head down between your legs. Using two fingers to spread your creamy petals, he lays his tongue flat against your quivering fuckhole. You scream in shock, body jerking underneath him but he doesn’t care. He grips your thighs, lifting your ass and lower back up off the bed, watching carnally as your wetness drips down to between your ass crack. He spreads your cheeks, smirking when you wail in surprise. He digs his eager tongue between your cheeks, probing your puckered, virgin ass before licking a straight line all the way back up to your pussy, ending with a harsh suck on your clit as he holds your hands at bay.

It’s come out of nowhere, this sudden need to taste you. Back in the forties; Steve had rather enjoyed going down on women. He knew he was skilled at giving head, he’d been told more than enough times. But he can’t remember the last time he’d done it. Never with any of his “rewards,” who were only ever good for fucking on their hands and knees like dogs. But you, you were different.

You wiggle, crying and begging him to let go of you but you may as well be a fly with how weak and inconsequential your pleas are to his ears. Instead, he laps at your baby cunt like he’s starved. Like a starved caveman, he spits down on your clit, wanting to make your pureness as messy as possible. He spreads his saliva all over your core with his fingers, marking you up with his DNA. He encases your now engorged bundle of nerves between his lips once more, giving it another hard suck but this time his teeth graze against it.

“C-Captain, oh-oh my God–Ah!”

It’s when Steve finally forces his one finger inside you that you squirt, drenching his digit as your walls clamp down around it. And God-fucking-dammit, he can’t believe how tight you’re squeezing his one singular finger, how tight and sexy and soft you feel around it. How your slippery walls pulsate around his digit like you’ve never cum before in your life – which would explain how quickly you’ve come undone. Some of your wetness lands on his face, some of it on the sheets beneath you, and that’s when Steve realises he’s given a virgin her first orgasm.

He can’t help but smirk, his finger still lodged inside you, but not even halfway because you’re still so fucking tight.

“Doesn’t seem like you want me to stop after all, sweetheart.” He says, not realising he’s used the pet-name on you until it’s already out of his mouth. He sets the lower half of your body back down on the bed, his finger still inside you.

You sniffle as your whole body shakes with the remnants of your orgasm, “P-Please,” you say faintly, and you can’t even raise your head to look down at him, “Please, can I go home now?”

Steve’s lip curls into a snarl, and he drives his finger inside you with renewed force, curving it upwards even when he feels resistance. You scream bloody murder, and he knows if your orgasm hadn’t sapped all your energy, you’d be flailing your legs again. But for now, he easily holds you down, feeling your soft walls encase his finger which is now up to the hilt inside you. That’s when he grabs the bottle of lube, squirting out a generous amount onto the rest of his fingers.

“N-No, Captain, please, I can’t take another one, I can’t, I can’t!” You plead, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “Captain – Steve – please listen to me, please, look, I can’t take another finger, pl–”

His palm lands on your clit with a wet smacking sound, and you howl in pain, your pelvis lifting off the bed except he pins you back down with just one hand.

“Don’t fucking use my first name. You will address me as Captain. One more slip up and I won’t do you the favour of stretching you out.” His intense blue eyes meet your tear-filled ones, “And trust me, you want to be stretched out for when I fuck you.”

With gritted teeth and a cock that’s now painfully hard, he gets to work trying to stuff another finger into your pussy. His other hand grabs your hip in a bruising grip, and his fingers stroke your smooth, bouncy ass every so often like he can’t help it. You’re turning him on so fucking much; with your crying, how you’re begging him to stop, how weak and small you are, how fucking tight your pussy is. It makes Steve want to say something just so he can hear you speak in response, despite the fact that he’s never vocal during sex.

“Tell me, why is your pussy so fucking tight?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me.”

You sniffle again, shooting him a pleading look that he doesn’t even bother acknowledging. He just looks at you with waiting eyes as he nonchalantly continues to force his second finger inside you. He wants to hear you say naughty things with your innocent little mouth, and talking would get you to fucking relax so he could penetrate you with his digits properly in order to stretch you out in preparation for his dick.

“I-I’ve never done this before…” you scrunch your eyes shut, but a quick slap to your thigh has you opening them again.

“You’ve never fingered yourself?”

“No!”

“Tell me why not.”

You bow your head, “I don’t know… I just… I never did, okay? I’ve never done any of it.”

A wicked thought crosses Steve’s mind, “Oh yeah? You’ve never done anything naughty, huh? You’re a good girl?” His second finger curves up to join the first, and your hips jerk forward as you suck in your breath. It makes him smile, and he slowly begins to pump his two fingers in and out of you, “You’ve never, say, humped your baby cunt against your pillow at night? Or your stuffed animals?”

The way you freeze and how your eyes widen is all the confirmation Steve needs. He chuckles darkly.

“So that’s the type of girl you are. Riding your pillow at night when you think no one’s watching, and you probably touch your body all over, too, don’t you?” Lightning quick, his other hand leaves your hip, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to your chest. Through the material of your bra, he makes you cup your breast like how he would, wanting to watch with dark eyes as you play with your tits, trying to imagine how hot you’d look doing just that all alone in the privacy of whatever girlish bedroom you had.

Steadily, he continues to finger you, pumping his digits in and out of your greedy, wet pussy, and it makes slurping sounds as it swallows his fingers in over and over again. And he observes you carefully, notices your wide eyes, the sweat on your brow, the way your lips are parted as your breathing shallows out. He even sees the slight buck of your hips, and he knows he has you where he wants you, hanging on to his every filthy word despite your mind screaming at you to continue resisting.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve mutters lowly, “I know that’s what all innocent little girls like you do when they think they’re alone. You play with your tits and you rub your cunt all over your pillow, till you’ve got it all wet and messy. All while you fantasise about a man like me fucking you, taking care of you, huh? I’m right, aren’t I?”

You’re full on panting now, as if his beguiling words have made you forget all about your resistance, and you rock your hips harder against his thick fingers, little pants and moans sneaking past your pouty lips as he watches you closely.

“And then you act like a good girl, and you lie to me and tell me you’ve never touched yourself. But you and I both know that’s not true. Not when you spend your nights alone in your bedroom riding your little pillow while mommy and daddy sleep in the next room, and then when you’re done, I bet you bring it up to your face, just so you can smell your own wetness, right?”

This time, he gives your ass a swift slap when you don’t reply, and you cry out in pain before squeezing your eyes shut.

“Y-Yes,” you breathe softly, so softly that he barely catches it. But it makes him grin wickedly all the same. He hasn’t had this much fun with a reward since God knows when. He never bothers speaking to the lowlife girls brought to him as post-mission rewards, let alone engaging in dirty talk with them as he was with you, hanging on to your every word because it makes his dick so fucking hard.

“Of course, I’m right,” he mutters, “Captain always knows. I know you’re a little slut in the making just like all the other college girls of this century. You bring your pillow up to your face and you smell your cunt on there, and you lick it too, don’t you? You taste yourself because you’re curious, and you don’t have a man like me to show you how it’s done.”

He slips his fingers out of your cunt, your walls automatically squeezing around them as if they want to keep him inside you. But his digits are dripping wet, and he brings them up to your face. He shoves them past your lips, and you protest but all it does is create vibrations around his fingers as he smears them inside your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he orders you, “suck on daddy’s fingers, don’t be shy.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that he’s just referred to himself as daddy. He hasn’t done that in a while – not since the forties, at least. Back then, it was quite common for women to call their man daddy, and Steve remembers enjoying it when he used to fuck the show girls during tours. But now? He usually stuck to being called “sir” or “captain” or just nothing at all. Because “daddy” was way too intimate, it suggested that he was going to take care of you. And he wasn’t going to take care of you – he was going to ruin you before you’d be taken away tomorrow.

And yet you look so sweet and cute as you suck on his fingers, too scared to fight back any more although your eyes blaze with objection, and tears stream down your face. He doesn’t think you’ll stop crying at all tonight, but he doesn’t give a fuck about that. Not when your pouty lips look so hot sucking yourself off his fingers.

“That’s right, get ‘em nice and wet,” he murmurs lowly, before deciding he misses the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his fingers – and he still has to stretch you out, too. He removes his digits from your mouth, watching as you gasp to breathe. He trails them down your front, down your chest, down your torso, all the way down to your clit. He gives it another smack, loving how you jerk upwards like you’re so damn sensitive.

He grabs a pillow, putting it underneath your ass so he has your cunt propped up and he can examine it better. Your cream is pouring out of you almost, dripping down to the pillow below you while you cry and pretend you don’t like it. But the signs are all there, he can even see how your pelvis shakes and humps upwards, because you need a man to fill you up no matter how much you protest.

“Tight little baby cunt,” he says softly as he spreads your pussy lips once more. You look so wet and slippery and yet he knows he needs to pour some more lube into your fuckhole, which he does. And then, without giving you much time to react, he shoves three of his fingers inside you, pushing harder and with more force when he’s met with any barrier.

“STOP, NO, PLEASE! STOP, CAPTAIN – TOO MUCH!” You scream so loudly that the walls seem to vibrate around the two of you.

“Shut up and take it,” Steve says, narrowing his eyes up at you before he focuses back on your gorgeous cunt, watching as your leaking hole finally swallows his three digits, “Look at this greedy little virgin pussy, so ready for my big dick to split her in half.”

You shake your head violently, crying and protesting, but it’s when you bat at his head that he sees red. How fucking dare you hit him? Just now, when he was thinking you’d been raised well, but clearly not if you didn’t think it was a problem to hit your superiors.

“You raise your hand at me again, and I’ll hit you back twice as hard.”

His menacing words make you freeze, and you whimper quietly in absolute fear as he continues to play with your pussy. He fingers you in earnest now, three of his digits stretching you out as he scissors you open, amused by the squelching sounds your cunt makes as it swallows his fingers over and over again.

“Apologise to me,” Steve demands, “say you will not raise your hand at your superior ever again.”

You sniffle, “S-Sorry…”

“Sorry, who?” He pinches your ass unforgivingly.

“Sorry, Captain! I won’t raise my hand at my superiors, okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You squeal the last few words, your pitch going higher and higher as your hips begin to meet his thrusts. And bless your innocent fucking face, you look so confused by what’s happening. Your pussy’s jammed tight but he knows it must’ve started feeling good. All greedy little girls like you needed was a little push in the right direction.

Off their own accord, your thighs lock around his hand as you cum for a second time, your walls squeezing and pulsating against his fingers so fucking tightly as you mewl and cry above him. You’re absolutely gushing with wetness now, and the pillow below your ass is stained dark with your juices. For someone who kept claiming she didn’t want this, you sure were receptive to his touch.

Steve snatches his fingers out of you, smirking when you, despite everything, cry in protest at the loss of friction. He bets your pussy feels all gaping and empty now, because he knows how big and thick his fingers are. A normal-sized man would’ve had trouble stretching your virgin cunt out with his dick – Steve had had that same problem with just his fingers.

But he knows he’ll somehow manage to fit his cock inside you if he prepped you well enough. Or else he’d spend the whole night trying to. Often, with the women he’d slept with in the past, he’d be too impatient and couldn’t be bothered to prep them properly. Because of that, he’d only be able to fit half his dick inside them, and he’d grown used to fucking them like that, only because it was physically impossible to go any deeper. He won’t let that be the case tonight.

He climbs up your quivering body, and you look spent already after two orgasms, your eyes fluttering like you’re about to pass out. Steve can’t have that though, and he taps your cheek not so gently, hovering on top of you till you open your eyes and meet his gaze.

“Please, Captain,” you whisper faintly, “E-Enough, please. Can’t take any more.”

Steve ignores you. He’s grown distracted by your lips. How wet and warm and pouty they look, glistening with a mix of your salty tears, your cum and your saliva. Fuck. He never kissed any of his “rewards” before, it was too intimate and Steve didn’t do intimacy. But maybe…

He spits down on your face, his saliva landing on your cheek as you cringe. Fuck intimacy, Steve thinks, using his hand to smear his spit all over your face, till it’s shining with a mixture of both your bodily fluids. So messy yet so pretty…

“N-Never been kissed before!” you blurt out once more all of a sudden, as if you’ve read his mind. Your eyes plead up at him, a tiny bit of hope in your eyes as if you truly believe he’ll show you empathy and spare you, “P-Please, Sir. I’ve never been kissed, a-and I want it to be special…”

How cute. You were worried about him spoiling your first kiss as if he hadn’t just finger-fucked you to two orgasms in the span five minutes. Amused, he brings his thumb up to your mouth, stroking your pouty bottom lip gently.

“You don’t let the boys at your college kiss you?” He asks, again not fully understanding why he’s even bothering to talk to you, but he figures it’s simply because he finds it amusing.

“N-No, Captain.”

“Why not?”

“I’m t-too shy, and they’re not… they’re not interested in me,” you sound so shaky, peering up at him as if you expect him to just get off you now you’ve told him your sob story about wanting to save your first kiss to be something special.

Steve snorts. And just how fucking naïve could you be? You’re fucking delectable, he bets the lowlifes at your college creamed their pants thinking about you. Suddenly, he bristles at the thought of sending you back tomorrow, back to the dumb idiots you went to college with. But he shakes the thought out of his mind to focus solely on you.

“There’s nothing special about kissing,” he tells you, “Love, intimacy, saving yourself for that special someone – none of that’s real. The sooner you realise that, the better.”

He kisses you, cupping your cheeks with his hands so that you don’t move your face aside. At first, he’s rough, unforgiving, pressing his tongue into your mouth because you taste so sweet and he needs to get more. And then he slows down, registers your soft, quivering lips on his, how rigid they are as you don’t kiss him back. He snorts inwardly, not caring in the least. He’d kiss you all he wanted – he doesn’t care if you don’t respond.

Steve sighs into your mouth, so tuned in to your senses that he feels your breath hitch, and a tiny squeak sounds past your lips and straight into his. His thumbs, seemingly moving off their own accord, stroke your cheekbones, and he feels your body instinctively relax underneath his – probably because that’s the first and only gentle gesture you’ve felt from him this whole night.

Slowly, he sucks your bottom lip almost sweetly, as if lulling you into a false sense of security. You’re still too scared or shy to kiss him back, but that doesn’t make the kiss any less enjoyable for him. His tongue plays with yours coaxingly, because he can’t remember the last time he kissed a girl and liked it so much. And then he feels you give a tiny little kitten lick, as if you’re testing the waters as you move your tongue shyly against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick.

He pulls away slightly to watch your face, amused when he sees your eyes scrunched shut and your lips slightly pursed, as if awaiting another kiss. And that’s what he does, giving you one, two, three quick pecks that have you inhaling deeply, and your eyes open cautiously. But they flutter shut almost immediately when they find him staring back at you.

Steve goes in for another kiss, as if one wasn’t enough because suddenly it’s like he’s parched, and his raging hard on would have to wait a second longer. His dick is as hard as a metal rod, resting against your bare stomach as he makes out with you. One of his hands reach down to cup your breast, and he can feel your nipple, hard as glass, poke against his palm even through the material of the bra. You squeak into his mouth again, as if him touching and playing with your breast is making your body invertedly respond to him.

He can definitely feel you kissing him back now, even though it’s shy and periodic… Your tongue moving slowly against his for a few seconds before you remember you’re not supposed to be enjoying this and you freeze. And then you start again, your tongue timidly stroking against his once more. Then you stop again. Repeat. It makes him smirk against your lips, feeling a rumbling in his chest like he wants to chuckle in amusement.

He pulls away, examining how breathless and cute you look. And you gaze up at him with glassy, wet eyes, those perfect, pouty lips still slightly puckered, as if you’re asking for more. But he continues to just drink in every detail of your face and how you look a mix of scared and curious, afraid and confused.

“W-Was I bad?” you breathe, and your innocent face is begging for reassurance. He knows because little girls like you always want reassurance, are always seeking out the approval of men like him. And a part of him wants to tell you no, no you weren’t bad at all. In fact, he rather enjoyed kissing you. But he keeps his mouth shut, because it wasn’t his job to reassure you. And maybe he wants you to be a bit insecure; you’d work harder in pleasing him if you thought he didn’t like your kiss.

He’s still cupping your breast with one hand, and he suddenly feels a wave of irritation at the lacy material of your bra. Quick as a wink, he tears your bra apart, the two ripped pieces now lying on either side of you. A hungry growl emanates from him, and he feels like an animal, he really just wants to suck on your tits but his dick is growing impatient, and you’d probably pass out from fear and dread if he stretched this out any longer.

He reaches to grab a condom from where he stashes them in his bedside drawer. Protection was a must for him – who knew what kinds of diseases all these modern, promiscuous girls were carrying? And yet, his hand falters before he draws back completely, his mind clouding with thoughts of how sexy your soft pussy would feel around his dick if he fucked you raw. Yes. He had to fuck you raw, feel your tight virgin pussy around him as he ruined it. He deserved as much.

Instead, Steve grabs the lube once more, acutely aware of you watching him with eyes round as saucers as he squirts a generous amount of it on his dick. He looks back at you, lying deathly still underneath him, looking like you’ve seen a ghost. He wonders if your pussy’s still tingling from the two orgasms he’s just given you, and he absentmindedly pumps his dick at the thought. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on before in his life, his dick so hard he feels he’ll blow his load right there and then.

He lines his cock up against your entrance, his hands holding your silky soft thighs apart. A part of him wishes you’d fight back just one more time, just so he could exert his dominance over you once more, just so it would highlight how weak and small you are. But you lay there, quivering in fear, definitely too scared to fight back, or too distracted by his dick he glides it up and down your wet slit in anticipation.

Suddenly, you grab his arm as if to stop him, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“W-Will it hurt?” You ask softly.

“Yes.”

You whimper, your grip on his arm tightening as another tear trickles down your cheek, and you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please, Captain, p-please could you… could you make it hurt less? Please?” You beg him so prettily, and he can’t help but focus on how your tears get caught in your lashes, and how you sniffle like a baby. “Please, I’m sc-scared, I– maybe if you were slow–?”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” Steve says briskly, feeling impatient beyond belief, and yet a part of him wants to brush and collect your tears. “In fact, if I go in slowly, it’ll hurt more.” He wonders if he should say more, say anything at all to ease your discomfort. But he reasons that that’s not his job – he’s not a lovesick boyfriend who needs to worry about your feelings. This is for him. He deserves this.

You start crying softly once more, your whole body shaking. Steve tries to ignore it, focusing on your cunt instead. His dick is twitching with excitement, the tip an angry red as he brings it up against your fuckhole. He grits his teeth and pushes in, but he can’t. You’re too tight – and he’s way too big. He sighs in frustration.

“Stop being so tense.” He orders you, pouring another decent amount of lube all over his cock as well as your entrance. He’d scissored you open with three of his fingers, but it had been an extremely tight fit. And three of his fingers didn’t compare to the girth and thickness of his dick – not even the tip of it. He frowns down at you, “You need to relax. It’ll hurt less if you relax.”

A panicked look flits over your face as you look down at his dick, and he knows you’re intimidated by his size. But then you take a deep breath, close your eyes and he feels your body get less tense underneath him. He smirks.

He grabs his cock by the base and lines it up against your hole once more. You flinch away from him, your innocent, puppy dog eyes blinking up at him. He doesn’t give a fuck though, and with a lot more determination this time, he grits his teeth and forces his way inside you.

Your scream is earth-shattering. But it’s music to his ears.

“NO, PLEASE, NO, TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT! TOO BIG!”

You thrash violently underneath him, limbs flailing before he pins them down. But for a handful of seconds, he can’t even really focus on you. Not when he’s finally basking in the glory of being inside your tight little snatch, and it feels almost euphoric. You feel so sexy around him, so hot and velvety, squeezing the life out of his fat cock. Well, he’s only got a bit more than his tip inside you, but it already feels fucking heavenly.

“Oh fuck,” Steve mutters under his breath, trying to get a grip and not get too lost in the feeling of your gorgeous fucking pussy. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and yet he feels like his balls are about to blow with how fucking hot it feels being inside you like this.

“It hurts! T-Take it out, Captain! Please!” Your tiny hand grabs his forearm again, lips puckered so sweetly, even the grimace on your face looks beautiful. You’re beautiful when you’re in pain, and he’s addicted to the sight of it. For a split second, he imagines it’s his wedding night, and you’re his beautiful bride – sweet, innocent, beautiful bride and he’s just popped your cherry and now you’re his forever.

The thought makes him shudder, and he quickly pulls out (not that there’s much to pull out, since only his tip had entered you. You were crying and screaming just from being penetrated by only his tip, and this makes Steve smug, despite everything).

You’ve barely caught your breath when he drives his dick back inside you, and this time he really forces it in. Now that he’s got a taste of your warmth, he wants to be completely enveloped in it. His hands grab your hips tightly, forcing his fat cock inside you inch by inch. He doesn’t care if it takes all night, he was going to fully penetrate you if it was the last thing he did.

“Shhh, shut up and take it,” he orders you as you scream and protest. If any other one of his girls had screamed bloody murder the way you were doing right now, he would’ve smacked them unconscious. Not you though, and he doesn’t know why that is. “God fucking dammit, how is your pussy so fucking tight?”

“Y-You’re too big,” you answer, shaking your head over and over again, “th-this… this isn’t normal, Captain, y-you won’t fit! Please stop, something’s gonna break, I-I’m scared, I–”

He wants to break your pussy. He wants to break you.

“Shut up,” he snarls, before a thought occurs to him. Out of nowhere, he kisses you once more. Silencing your protests as his tongue works against yours, and he finds that he was already missing kissing you. God, you felt so good. Your warm, sexy lips against his and your warm, sexy pussy gripping his dick. God, fuck… So this is what great sex was, huh? Maybe he’d been fucking the wrong girls this whole time. Maybe he should’ve sought you out from the beginning – or someone like you. Someone young, innocent, unexperienced, delicate, fragile, a cry-baby. Just the complete opposite of him.

Despite everything, you kiss him back once more. Steve bets it’s because your girlish mind is trying to convince him (and yourself) that you’re a good kisser. He makes a mental note never to give you this reassurance – that way you’d just keep kissing him as if you had something to prove. Or at least that was the hope. Nevertheless, the kissing distracts you enough for him to still inside you (he’d only gotten less than a quarter of his huge dick in) and then he pulls out.

The third time he penetrates you, he does it with more force than ever before. And he bites your lip hard, grunting against you till he can taste your blood. That’s when he finally pushes more than halfway inside you, and he hears something rip from within. And you scream, you scream so fucking loudly and straight into his mouth, but he continues to kiss you, basking in the feeling of being inside you properly now. His dick feels so constricted inside your tight walls, but it’s the best feeling he’s ever felt.

He breaks the kiss to look down into your eyes, and savour your reaction to being impaled by him, to being filled up by only half his length. But your head lolls to the side, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You’ve passed out.

“What a fucking baby,” Steve hisses, shallowly thrusting in and out of you. “Can’t even take daddy’s dick inside this tight little snatch of yours without passing out, can you?” Truthfully, he doesn’t even want to pull out, he’s so obsessed with how good your pulsating pussy feels around his dick. But he knows he needs to draw back so he can thrust back in even deeper. He’s only got half his dick inside you now, but he’s determined to get in balls deep before the night is over.

“Wake the fuck up!” he commands, wanting you alert as he defiles you. He slaps your cheek lightly several times, to no avail. He sighs, reaching for the glass of water on his side table. He dips his fingers into the liquid before sprinkling the water over your face. He slaps your cheek again, harder this time, and it turns him on when he hits you, taps into his darkest, most masochistic desires that he keeps under wraps from even himself.

It's only when he pulls out and slams back into you that you suddenly rouse, and it takes you a nanosecond to start screaming again, panicking and flailing underneath him once more. But he’s not having it this time, and quickly plasters his palm over your mouth to silence you.

“Tell me... how does daddy’s dick feel?” He asks you darkly, and he can sense the sadistic smile on his face fuelled by the sheer power he has over you right now. “And I’ll backhand the fuck out of you if you start screaming again, so don’t even try it.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and focuses on pushing more into you, and you pant underneath him, silently sobbing and cringing in pain. And yet you swallow and look up at him bravely.

“I-It hurts!”

“Address me properly.”

“C-Captain, it hurts!”

He narrows his eyes, “No. I asked you how does daddy’s dick feel?”

Your jaw drops open, and it looks like you’ve momentarily forgotten that he’s currently trying to impale you with his huge dick. Your face has the audacity to look mortified, and he wonders how innocent you truly are.

“I can’t… I can’t call you… That’s wrong!” you sputter, looking almost – dare Steve think it – cute. With your wide eyes and indignant gaze and delicious pouty lips in the shape of an o. You seem to blurt out your next words without even thinking: “Y-You’re not my dad!”

Steve barks out a laugh before he can stop himself, but he straightens his face almost immediately, reaching up to grip your chin harshly between his thumb and forefinger. Faced with your horror-struck reaction to calling him daddy, he now wants you to address him as that and nothing else.

“Listen, sweetheart. You may have noticed by now that you don’t get much of a say in what happens to you tonight,” he licks up your jawline before his lips brush against your mouth, and he speaks in a whisper, “Now answer my question. And address me properly. Or else.”

You look mortified, scrunching your eyes shut as you breath rapidly in and out. “It… It hurts…daddy.”

Steve feels like he’ll bust a nut right there and then. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on. You’re so small and shy, so tiny and naïve and scared like a baby, and now you’re calling him daddy in that sexy, shaky voice of yours. Goddamn, what a sexy little slut you were. And he’d take care of you tonight, just like any daddy would. Oh… damn right he’d be your daddy tonight. God fucking dammit, you were such a little slut for calling him that!

With a renewed, carnal type of lust, Steve grabs your legs and hoists them over his shoulders. You yelp as he folds you in half like a goddamned pretzel. And the juxtaposition, the visual of your naked body underneath him still in his bloodied suit from the mission – God, it turns him on so much. He presses another kiss to your lips, guiding you into making out with him, wanting you to get obsessed with the idea of kissing him. And then he pulls away, and looks you right in the eye.

“Now you can scream.”

“Huh?”

He slams into you so fucking hard, he’s sure you see stars. And if you were screaming loudly before, it’s nothing compared to now. His entire floor is sound-proofed, but he’s sure the people above and below can hear you. He’s pushed himself far deeper into you, so deep that he senses something rip inside you again. And you’re crying, your little fists pounding against his chest, and yet Steve grits his teeth and mutters, “take it, just fucking take it,” pushing into you bit by bit, inch by inch, so determined to finally get his cock all the way inside you. Pulling out a bit, then pushing in some more while your tight walls try to push him out but he’s so much fucking stronger than you.

A deep rumble emanates past his lips when he finally – fucking finally – bottoms out inside you, and he leans down to press his forehead over yours so he can savour the moment. You were his, completely, irrevocably, undeniably his. You whimper and cry underneath him but it’s music to his ears, your sweet reaction to him popping your cherry, completely snatching away your virginity and possessing it as his forever. He looks down to where you two meet, sees your pussy stretched out completely around his girthy dick, and it makes him want to spontaneously combust.

“You’re mine.” Steve breathes against your lips, and for the second time tonight, the image of you as his little bride flits through his mind. Yes, you’d make a very fitting bride for him. Small and submissive and innocent. And he’d never taken marriage seriously before now but… well, how could he give you up? When he’d taken your virginity and made you his? How could he possibly send you back to wherever you’d come from? The mere thought fills him with vitriolic rage. No. You were to stay with Steve, and you’d be his bride. His wife. His. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You don’t argue this time, or even hesitate. He knows he’s broken you when you look up at him, dazed expression on your face. “I’m – I’m yours, daddy.”

Fuck. And you’d gone and called him daddy again without him even having to prompt you. Yes. That more than sealed your fate. You would be his now. His girl. His wife. He’d keep you locked up in his room forever, the same reward that he’d look forward to coming home to after every mission.

“How does it feel to have your baby pussy split open on my cock, sweetheart?” He presses kisses down the nape of your neck, excitement rippling through him at his impulsive decision to make you his wife. The thrill of finding a bride as cute as you makes him want to kiss you even more, and he nips at your neck before reaching your lips, pecking them once, twice, three times. All while you look up at him with glassy, wet eyes and a pitiful expression mixed with something else.

“Please,” you breathe quietly against his lips, and with sapped energy you manage to grab a fistful of his suit, pulling it to get his attention, “Please, make it hurt less. Please.”

Steve smirks, pulling out of you and preparing to slam back in. But he grows distracted by the sight of his cock, completely coated scarlet with your blood. Your virgin blood. The pillow under your ass is stained with drops of dark crimson too, and he’s never seen anything like it. Fuck. He’d really done a number on you, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t even begun fucking you yet.

I deserve this, he thinks to himself.

He slams into you again, the gasp dying in your mouth when he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look down at where you two meet. Your eyes grow wider, your mouth dropping open as you shake your head in disbelief at the sight of your pussy so stretched out to accommodate his girth.

“What’re those conservative parents of yours gonna think when they find out their good little girl just got her pussy ripped apart by a man twice her age?”

You swallow and shake your head, “I–I…”

“Answer me!”

“They’d be d-d-disappointed!” You cry out, ripping your gaze away from the sight of his dick penetrating your formerly virgin pussy, instead looking up at him instead, your mouth looking so deliciously pouty.

Steve smiles wickedly, “It’s a good thing you’re not their little girl anymore, huh? You’re mine now, so their opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Th-They like you! They’re fans of you… They wouldn’t like this at all! OH MY GOD!” You gasp, and he has to hold you down to keep you from sliding upwards from the power of his thrusts. You cry out once more, “W-Was supposed to – ah! – wait till I was married…”

The mention of marriage has Steve imagining you as his little bride once more. He already owned your body, mind and soul – but the marriage certificate would make sure he owned you under the eyes of the law too. His kept woman you’d be, fluttering around his apartment like a bird in a gilded cage. Or maybe he’d move you into one of the suburban properties he owned, where he could come home to you and relieve all his tension and worries. Yes. It would be perfect. He’d make all the arrangements tomorrow…

For now, he focuses back on fucking you silly. Pulling out all the way, he rams his dick straight back into your cunt, and you let out a sound that’s a mix between a squeak and a moan. He looks down at you curiously.

“You like that? You like daddy’s big dick?” He grabs your hands, squeezing them tightly.

“T-Too big!” Your eyes flutter shut as if you’re about to pass out again. “C-Captain, please slow down! H-Hurts so bad!”

Steve bristles. Hadn’t he explicitly told you to call him daddy? After all, he’d be your daddy now. You wouldn’t be your father’s property after tonight. No, you were Steve’s. He was your daddy, and he’d take care of you because you’d soon become his bride. But he wouldn’t have an insolent, insubordinate wife who couldn’t take instructions well. That wouldn’t do at all.

He grunts, letting go of your hands and wrapping his fingers around your throat instead. You squeal in protest but it lands on deaf ears. His other hand presses down over your mouth once more.

“Shut up!” He snaps, “Stop squealing like a little bitch. It hurts but you’re just going to have to take it. And you better start calling me daddy, or else I’ll drag you back downstairs and fuck you in front of everyone.” He only means it as a threat, but he knows by the way your breath hitches that you’re innocent enough to believe him.

He removes his hand from your lips and taps you roughly on your cheek, “Tell me you understand.”

You nod, receiving a harder tap on your cheek and a menacing look.

“I-I understand, daddy, I – oh – oh my!”

He thrusts into you with such force, he knows you’re seeing stars. And it’s subtle, but Steve catches it. He catches the shift in your expression, this unfamiliar spark in your eye as if you don’t know what’s happening with your body. But Steve knows. Your body is finally starting to respond to his cruel ministrations – just like he knew you would. You were an innocent little baby but you were also a horny little slut who was enjoying getting fucked by a man like him.

“It’s starting to feel good, huh?” Steve whispers against your lips, imagining the different ways he’d take you for the rest of the night. Of course, you’d probably pass out again once he was done with this first round. But after that? Maybe he’d put you on top of him, bounce you up and down on his cock and get in even deeper that way. Or he’d make you suck his cock, or maybe he’d manhandle you till you were on his face, rubbing that sweet, gorgeous little baby cunt on his –

“I-I don’t understand!” You cry, and he feels you wiggle your hips subtly as if you’re trying to do it without him noticing, “Feels…feels…oh, oh god!” With abandon, your head lolls back and you rut your hips up against his dick, meeting his thrusts. Steve chuckles, a satisfied feeling spreading across his chest.

“All that crying and screaming, just for you to enjoy getting fucked by me,” Steve murmurs, brushing your hair off your face so he can gauge your expression better. You look so pitiful, biting your lip and looking up at him with wet eyes, humping up against his dick and your eyes reflecting the confusion you felt. “But don’t worry, all little girls like you love getting fucked by their daddy. It’s only natural, sweetheart.”

“D-Daddy, please,” you pant, and now your hands come up to grip a fistful of his suit, and he knows that you don’t even understand the pleasure you’re slowly starting to feel. And you’re gripping his cock so tight as he rams in and out of you, building up a steady pace now. He knows he’s found your g-spot and he’s pounding against it, but you have no fucking clue and it’s the hottest fucking thing ever.

“Look at you, humping your baby pussy up against daddy’s dick,” Steve shakes his head as if he’s reprimanding you. He spits down on your face, wanting you even messier. His hand leaves your throat as he shoves two of his fingers past your lips, spreading them open and spitting again. His saliva lands on your tongue, “Swallow it, you nasty fucking slut. I knew I’d make you my little slut before the night was through. I said fucking swallow it. That’s right. Good girl.”

“Ah, ah, ah– tingles… I – daddy! P-Please, I don’t know what’s – AH!”

Your breathless moans and nonsensical garbles are like music to his ears, but nothing compares to the way you clamp down on his cock when you suddenly squirt around it. The way you squeak and clutch him tightly, and he fucks you through your orgasm. Your very first orgasm while getting fucked, and it’s so fucking sexy the way your tight walls flutter around him. God, he could get used to this feeling – buried deep inside your wet, tight snatch every single night from here on out.

“Did daddy make you feel good?” He breathes, hips moving like a jackhammer, his balls slapping against your pussy as he continues to fuck you.

You nod timidly, wiped out from your orgasm to say anything else. He smirks, watching your breasts bounce up and down as he fucks the living daylights out of you and you just lie there beneath him and take it. As if a part of you had understood that this was to be your job from here on out – his little fuckdoll, his little prize after God knows how many listless years of saving the world, saving people who he didn’t give a flying fuck about.

He’d won countless medals of honour, rewarding him for his bravery in serving his country, in saving his people. But you were his true prize, with your tight cunt that was his and his only. And how jealous every other man would be! He knew they already envied his physique, his fame, his authority. Now all those assholes would have another reason to envy him – because his little bride was the most innocent, most vulnerable, most beautiful girl they’d ever lay their eyes on. And it would be his bed in which you’d be, night after night, waiting with spread legs for him to fuck you.

Of course, he’d fuck other women if he so wanted to. Steve didn’t believe in love or monogamy. He believed in ownership, though. And he owned you, every part of you from your cunt to your soul. You wouldn’t even look at another man ever again, or else Steve would have you killed. And the thought of you with another man is what incenses him even more.

With a low growl, he pulls out of you. Your eyes shoot open, your mouth pausing mid-moan to look up at him desperately. Your cunt shamelessly humps the air, and he can’t believe what a little harlot you’ve turned into after your first taste of sex. He looks down at his blood-covered dick, grabbing it by the base. He lays his fat cock on your stomach, painting your smooth skin scarlet with your own virginal blood. The sight turns him on even more, and with another growl, he puts your legs down and flips you over on your stomach.

He grabs your ankle, dragging you to the foot of the bed while you squeak in protest and confusion. He gets off the bed, standing up to his full height as you cower beneath him, looking back at him over your shoulder warily, a trail of blood on the sheets from where he’d dragged you.

“Hands and knees,” he orders, “and don’t fucking make me repeat myself.”

This time, you do obey pretty quickly. Mustering up whatever energy you have left, you shakily get on your hands and knees. He grabs your hips just in time, keeping you upright before your body has a chance to collapse. Your legs are shaking and he knows your body can’t take much more. He doesn’t care, because he owns your body and you’ll take what he gives you.

“Nice ass,” he smirks, squeezing and kneading your ass cheeks liberally before giving your ass a hard smack that has your knees buckling. He hoists you back up by your hips, “Thank me for the compliment, sweetheart.”

“Th-Thank you, daddy.” You answer almost at once, and Steve grins wolfishly. He’s broken you. He bets you’d do just about anything to please him now. He bets you’ve forgotten about your life back home, and all your tiny mind can think about now is your daddy and his big cock.

With a grunt, Steve pistons his fat cock inside you once more. And god, from this angle, with your gorgeous, perky ass right in his fucking face, he feels like he’s going to blow his load any second. You start moaning again, rocking your hips backwards, garbling “please” and “daddy” and other nonsense. Your ass bounces with each thrust, and Steve can’t help but slap it brutally hard, over and over again, wanting you even more bruised and bloody than you already are right now.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” he asks, slapping and pinching your ass while he watches his dick disappear inside your sexy cunt over and over again, “you tried to act all innocent and cute, telling me you had fucking homework to do tonight, fuck!” He lifts your hips up off the bed to get a better angle, till he’s holding your entire lower body up in the air. It gives him better leverage, since he’s so tall, and he fucks you on his dick like you were nothing more than a fleshlight.

“I – ah, daddy! – I d-do have h-h-homework – OH MY GOD!”

It just gets Steve even harder, hearing you be so innocent despite being held up and fucked like a dog. You’ve got your elbows propped on the mattress to keep you up, your legs flailing helplessly as he holds your hips in the air, ramming you repeatedly with his fat cock till he knows you’re seeing stars.

“Forget about your fucking homework from now on,” he spits out, grabbing your ass lewdly and jiggling it, fascinated by how it bounces so cutely. “There’s no way I’m letting you go back to that college of yours.”

“Wh-What?”

He doesn’t answer, and the room is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, the carnal sound of Steve staking his claim on you. With all his other rewards, he’d be done in about fifteen minutes. You, he’d have you all night if he could. Well, he can – he’s built like a fucking tank with stamina for days. You, on the other hand, keep looking like you’re going to pass out and he’s pretty sure he’s done some type of damage to your pussy. He’d have SHIELD’s physician check you tomorrow.

He throws you back down on the bed, not giving you a chance to even catch your breath before he’s on top of you, flipping you on your back and urgently pressing his lips to yours. Much to his smugness, this time you respond as if it’s muscle memory, kissing him back as best as you can. And for a person who’s just learnt how to kiss, you sure were extremely desperate for it. You keep kissing him even when he enters back into you for the third time, fucking you on your back and this time you wrap your arms and legs around him like a goddamned koala bear, your kisses growing more fervent till Steve pulls away and chuckles against your lips.

“You like kissing me?” He finds himself asking you, holding you in place beneath him as he fucks you hard, but his one hand comes up to grip your chin so you don’t look away, “be honest, baby. You like kissing daddy?”

Your eyes widen in fear at the direct question, and he watches the panic on your face. But then your features contort in pleasure as he repeatedly hits that spot deep inside you, and you nod desperately, surging up to kiss him again but he pushes you back down.

“Use your words.”

“Ah, y-yes, I do, okay!? I like it! P-Please!”

You start doing that thing again, humping pathetically up into him as if to meet his thrusts. And he wonders if you realise how easy he’s truly going on you. He reckons he’s using about five percent of his power right now as he rams into you repeatedly. Any more than that and he’s sure he’d shatter your pelvis or cause permanent damage.

“Kiss me, then.” Steve says, not knowing why he sounds so gentle. He probably had something stuck in his throat, but he doesn’t dwell over it because, like a good little girl, you obey him. Your needy lips, your desperate tongue poking against his in a perfect kiss. He groans into your mouth, his thrusts going sloppy as your cunt squeezes around him because you’re so turned on by him kissing you.

“Am I… A-Am I doing this right, daddy?” You breathe, batting those fucking sexy, innocent eyes up at him.

Steve smirks, “You’re fine.”

You’re more than fine, of course – but he doesn’t need you knowing that. He needs you to be as insecure as possible. It made you even hotter, the look of self-doubt that you have on your face right now. He’s violated your body, he’s still violating your body, and yet all you seem to be focusing on is the fact that he thinks your kissing is “fine.” Not good, not great… but fine.

You kiss him once more, even more desperately this time, as if you’re trying to prove something. Steve relishes how easy it is to play with your mind, how naïve you are. How much he’ll enjoy playing with you when he makes you his wife. He continues pistoning his dick inside you as he lets his mind wander.

All the others would be so fucking jealous of him – even Bucky, who had a girl already but Bucky’s girl was nothing compared to you. He’d drag you around the whole building, the whole headquarters, the whole compound, showing you off like a shiny, new toy. That’s what you were – his very own toy.

He’d take you into meetings with him, make you sit on his lap and play with you in front of everyone. And he’d chop the dick off of anyone who looked at you in a way he didn’t like. He’d make you wear pretty dresses, make you look like a cute little housewife, train you to answer his every command. Fuck yeah, you’d be his reward. He deserved you, after all he had sacrificed for his country, for the world.

“D-Daddy, I’m feelin- tingly again!” you moan, your words shaky from how hard he’s fucking into you. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist and in return he clutches you harder, determined to make you squirt again before he had his own release.

“Oh yeah? What does it feel like?”

“D-Daddy – nngh…ah, I–I–”

He swats your clit harshly, making you howl in what he knows is pleasure. His dick hammers in and out of you unforgivingly, and you’re such a fucking slut, humping up against him, crying for your release. And it’s such a far cry from how much you were resisting him at first, he can’t believe what a little slut he’s reduced you to in such little time.

“Stupid girl, can’t even talk anymore, can you?” he mocks, pinching your clit meanly, bullying it as he rubs it fiercely. Till you’re thrashing underneath him, so desperate to cum that you don’t even care that your body is betraying you. “Tell me you’re a stupid little girl!”

“Oh fuck! I’m a – a – a stupid little girl!”

He can see the remnants of your tears stained to your cheeks, and he feels a carnal level of possession within him. With a growl, he lewdly licks the side of your face, claiming his territory, tasting your salty tears. Roughly, he tugs your hair, pulling your head to the side and biting down on your neck. So hard that he draws blood, and then he licks that up too. God, what a little slut you were – a slut disguised as an angel and you were making him act like a motherfucking animal.

And now the side of your neck sported his bite mark, your porcelain perfect skin marred by his branding of you. And this was just the beginning – Steve already knows that he plans to mark you in many different ways. Tomorrow, he’d get one of the agents to bring over a tattoo artist to tattoo his initials somewhere on your body. Maybe right above your baby cunt, just so you would always remember who you belonged to. He smirks, and wonders what your conservative parents would think of that.

“What would your parents think now, sweetheart?” He asks, grabbing one of your legs and hoisting it over his shoulder for a better angle. And you’re so pliable, so easily going along with whatever he’s doing to you like a perfect little doll. “What would they think of their perfect little girl getting fucked by Captain America like it’s her fucking job?”

You panic, as if the mention of your parents is a reminder of how wrong this all is for you – not that Steve gives a fuck. Biting your lip to keep from moaning at all the sensations you’re feeling, you shake your head. Only for him to slap you not so lightly on the cheek.

“Answer me, baby girl.”

“They’d – ah – they’d hate this, they’d be upset, they’d – OH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” You scream out all of a sudden, your pussy walls gripping him like a vice, “O-Oh, I’m feelin– I gotta–”

“Hold it.” Steve hisses warningly.

But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. Babies like you couldn’t hold orgasms for shit. And you cum, crying for him and gripping him tightly, and Steve feels like he’s going to lose it with how sexy it feels. It feels like your cunt is trying to swallow him up, crying for his seed as it pulsates around his fat cock that continues to move in and out.

“Bad girl,” Steve chastises, giving you another not-so-gentle slap on the cheek because you look like you’re about to faint again. He jostles you with the forces of his dick, still ramming in and out of you at lightning speed. “You do things without permission a lot at home?”

You have the audacity to, despite everything, look indignant: “N-No, never, I never–”

“Then what made you think you could cum without your daddy’s permission?”

Your lips purse as if you’re about to cry, and you blink up at him so goddamned innocent. Steve’s honestly surprised he’s still going, surprised he hasn’t busted a fucking nut with how goddamned cute and sexy you are.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I couldn’t – ah! – I had to, I–I–”

“Give me another one,” he orders you darkly.

“Wh-What–”

“You heard me. Cum for daddy again. Since you like doing it so much.”

Frantically, you shake your head, “C-Can’t! Too much, daddy, it’s too much– O-O-HHH GOD!”

He reaches down to strum your clit before a dark thought crosses his mind. His fingers slip lower, gathering the wetness of your pussy along the way. Lower, between the cleft of your ass cheeks. He can’t resist giving one of your perky cheeks a hard smack, before going straight for your puckered hole. He circles it with his thumb and your body stiffens in shock and horror.

“N-No, daddy, no please, that’s wrong, that’s–”

Steve shoves his finger in your tight, virgin asshole. He hadn’t been planning on defiling that third hole tonight, but oh well. And it’s even tighter than your pussy, and you clench against his digit like a fucking whore because he knows you like it. You like your daddy’s finger up there. His fucked up little wife-to-be… God, you were so perfect for him.

With his fat cock, Steve fucks your pussy and at the same time, his huge finger fucks your tiny ass. Pumping in and out of your tiny hole while you cry and yet once more you slowly begin humping up against him. As if the depravity of it all turned you on even more – which he knew it did.

Your hand tugs at his bicep, making him shift his gaze back up to you.

“It’s happening again, daddy, it’s– d-don’t stop, I–”

Steve licks his lips, “Say you’ll marry me.”

Your eyes widen the most they have all night, “Wh-What?!”

“Say it!” He orders, “Say it or else I’ll fucking stop and leave you hanging. Say you’ll marry me, be my wife and do whatever the fuck I tell you to do.”

“N-No, I–”

He stills his hips, only for you to shake your head and grip his arm harder in desperation, humping up against him hopelessly.

“Say it. Say you’re daddy’s little bride. Fucking say it.”

“I-I’m daddy’s little bride, okay? I’ll do it, daddy, I’ll marry you, I – OH FUCK, PLEASE – I’ll do whatever you say, I, just please, I–” You’ve lost it, completely lost it as new tears swell from your eyes and you beg him as if you have no shame at all. And Steve feels all the pride and smugness in the world as he resumes fucking you, knowing he won’t last any longer after this carnal display of submission from you.

“Cum.” He orders you, “right now, sweetheart, do what I say and cum for daddy.”

You squirt so violently around his cock, that your whole body shakes and shudders, you’re so overwhelmed by pleasure. Toes curled and tears streaking your face, you hold him so tightly that he’s surprised by your strength, and you keep moaning his name, you keep moaning “daddy” over and over again as if he got his agents to reprogramme your brain and it’s all you know how to say now.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he mutters lowly, “squeeze that pretty little princess cunt around daddy’s dick. You’re such a good fucking girl.”

“Th-Thank you, daddy,” your meek response, barely audible by how quietly you say it, is not something he expected, and it goes straight to his dick. Not you, not his little bride, thanking him for deflowering you in the most brutal way possible? Fuck, he’d broken you. You’d be licking the palm of his hand by tomorrow; he just knew it.

The thought makes him shudder, his dick twitches and then he unloads inside you. Spurt after spurt unloaded straight into your pussy, and it’s such a satisfying feeling, pumping you full of his seed. Filling you the fuck up, and he’s glad he didn’t use the fucking condom. And there’s so much of his cum, because of the serum of course, so much that it doesn’t even fit inside you. It pours out of you and you watch with wide eyes before letting out a soft cry.

“I’m not… I’m not protected, I don’t take birth control, I–I…” Your voice trails off, too weak to voice any more protestations as Steve continues to empty himself inside you, your words having no effect on him whatsoever.

“Good. You’d be lucky to carry my child.” Steve informs you, his cock already thickening again at the thought of him knocking you up. He’d never had an interest in having children before now, but fucking a whole family into you seems like the hottest fucking thing he could do right now. Captain America: the family man. It made sense for his image.

Your protests fall on deaf ears, and he remains inside you, till he’s finally emptied out and your poor, raw pussy is overflowing with his cum. But he stays on top of you, propped up on his elbows as he watches you underneath him. Your chest rising and falling as you breathe, and you’re so pretty, and he can’t help but lean down to kiss you again. Once, twice, three times. He frowns when you don’t kiss him back, drawing back to take another look at you.

Your eyes have fluttered shut. Your body couldn’t take it. You’ve passed out once more.

Steve smirks, feeling himself hardening up again inside you. He had absolutely no qualms with fucking you back to consciousness again.

***

It’s gone past midnight when Steve hears a knock on his door. He calls for them to come in, and two SHIELD agents appear in his doorway. The same two who always come to take away his rewards after he’s done with them.

The female agent’s jaw twitches at the sight. Steve on the bed, having changed and washed up with a quick shower. And you’re next to him, passed out on the bloodied sheets. Steve reckons you look beautiful, like you’re sleeping.

“Would you like for us to take her away, Captain?” The male agent asks.

“No. She will stay with me. Contact her family and let them know, make them pack a bag for her and make sure it arrives here by tomorrow.”

The male agent nods, but the female – it’s always the damned females, Steve scorns – she hesitates.

“Captain, she looks like she’s in bad shape. Maybe–”

“That will be all.” Steve interrupts, “you can leave now.”

They do, and Steve turns his attentions back to you – his little girl, as you begin to stir.

“Shhh,” he orders, when you open your mouth to speak. Your eyes look bleary, you look confused, wondering whether all this was a dream or not. Steve’s in no mood to indulge you, and yet he presses his thumb past your lips. And fuck, it goes straight to his dick when you readily accept it, sucking his thumb like a baby as you blink up at him.

His beautiful, broken little bride.

“Go back to sleep.” Steve tells you, “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day for us. You need all the rest you can get.”

Yes, tomorrow. When he’d parade you around his teammates as Captain America’s little bride. It would be perfect. His forever reward.

Tony had his alcohol, Sam had his parties, Bruce had his research and Bucky had some girl. But Steve? Steve had drawn the best cards out of all of them. Because he had you. Your submission, your devotion. You.

He deserved this.

AKFSLA THE END!! Steve's inner monologue was unhinged af. I know! Please, please let me know what you think!!! It would mean the world, please do reblog and leave feedback!!! I have been writing this for around two weeks and would love to know what you think!!! As usual, thanks so much for reading my work and supporting me!!! I love you guys!! SORRY IF IT SUCKED ASDAGNL.

ALSO please forgive me if i got anything wrong about shield or hydra or any of that. like i literally am not an expert asnglagl okaybye!!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction

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ssahotchnerr · 4 months

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a bit late but i have a request for protective aaron 😓😓 reader and hotch having a date night and they run into someone who claims to be from the fbi like that one guy who prentiss garcia and jj came across?? maybe they play along for while? i love ur writing btw 💕💕 and congrats on 5k!!

brad's back

let's pretend this hasn't been in my drafts for ages, and what if it is the same guy they came across 🤭 cw; jealous!aaron, bau fem!reader, bar setting, light drinking mentions, suggestiveness, brad LOL wc; 1.2k

Saturday night. Date night.

Aaron and yourself had already finished dinner, and had stopped at a nearby bar for a drink or two before heading home. Jack was at Jessica's for the night, having fun of his own at a sleepover with his cousins.

That meant a wonderfully empty apartment was waiting for you, and all of its advantages.

You were giddy with impatience, eager to head out. As you waited for Aaron to return - he had run to the men's room - out of your peripheral you sensed someone lingering, just a few feet away from where you were sat.

You turned your head, subtly brushing your fingers through your hair so your glance didn't seem purposeful. It was a man in a suit, hair swept cleanly, looking greatly out of place in the casualness of the bar.

But your discreet attempt at observing did go noticed; the man took it as a plausible excuse to approach you.

"You should be careful."

Your eyebrows quirked quizzically, evaluating whether or not his statement was a threat or hopeful flirting. "How so?"

"Saturday night. It's getting late. We're in a high crime area."

You widened your eyes in feigned surprise, "Are we?"

No, you were not.

You quickly deemed him harmless, for now. And while you waited, why not play into it; he obviously had some story going, without a doubt a highly entertaining one at that. Not only, with Aaron due back in a few short minutes, you wouldn't mind seeing his protective side in the slightest.

"But lucky for you, I'm around. I just so happen to be a part of the FBI."

"Really." Your chin pointed downwards, not wasting a second to rack through your brain. He didn't look familiar, and you were quite good at remembering faces. You definitely hadn't come across this man before in practice.

When nothing unveiled, "I didn't catch your name."

"Brad."

Holy shit. You've heard the infamous Brad story from the girls, numerous times, and this had to be him. It had to; he was just as they described: vain, a bit gawky. You quickly stifled the laugh that wanted to burst through your chest. It's been months since, and evidently he was still using the same pickup.

"Brad the FBI agent." You nodded slowly, toying with your drink, fingers on the rim. "That's quite the title. What department are you in?"

"That's classified," he answered, leaning against the counter on an elbow. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"I see..."

Your eyes shot to the side as Aaron approached, landing on him just in time to see him stop in his tracks. As expected, a scowl deepened on his face as he saw Brad talking to you, also taking notice of his close, flirtatious proximity. His feet began moving once again, more urgency in his step.

"You must know Aaron then." You gushed, grabbing onto Aaron's arm and drawing him close as soon as he was in reach, and before he could ruthlessly interrogate Brad. Aaron lightly stumbled in surprise at the sudden pull.

Brad blanched, "I, urm-"

"Aaron," you grinned, "this is Brad."

Aaron shot you a look, one that read: 'And why the hell would I care?' but as he gave you said look, he immediately eyed the mischievous, fiery glint in your eyes. You were up to something.

The tension lessened in Aaron (barely), offering a rather stiff, "Hello."

"Brad," you turned, your hand clutching onto Aaron's bicep, your thumb grazing it calmly. "Aaron's in the FBI too."

Aaron's shoulders relaxed, probably coming to the same realization; he's heard the story also, as Penelope all but sprinted into the bullpen to share the hilarious encounter.

"No, I don't believe we have met." He activated his Hotch Stare, "What department are you-"

"Oh, he can't say. Classified." You interrupted, lips developing into a pout. "Strange, isn't it?"

While Aaron's notorious expression was enough to make Brad squirm, he also put an arm around you, keeping you close. Very close, your shoulder was practically digging into his chest.

Brad forced a laugh, his voice painfully strained. "Actually, it's uh... the big one. In DC."

"The big one." Aaron deadpanned, his brows furrowing more into a hardened line above his eyes. "You mean the J. Edgar Hoover Building?"

"Yes sir, that one." He rushed out, his gaze darting to the side. Probably looking for a quick escape.

"And your speciality?"

A dreadfully, humorously weak answer, "Crime."

"Crime." Aaron repeated, with an undertone of idiot.

"Modern day hero, clearly." You inputted. Aaron's lips twitched, holding back a smile.

"Your Superior is?"

"Superior... you see, I really can't stay. My boss wouldn't be too happy with me giving out the details."

"And you are aware that impersonation can be charged as a criminal offense," Aaron laid it on thick, his tone nothing less than strictly authoritative. "Aren't you?"

Brad opened his mouth to respond. Much to his avail, only silence came out.

"If I were you, I would try to find a better use of your time than using a forged title to pick up women. Perhaps being yourself may work? Although, I believe that needs extensive work as well."

Humiliation glassed over Brad's eyes, a blush rising to his cheeks. He turned on his heel, retreating.

"One more thing."

Your heart skipped a beat. From Aaron's tone of voice, the protectiveness you had anticipated - deep emphasis was about to come to the surface.

"I'm not the only one in the FBI." He spoke with pride in his chest, cocking his head towards you. Aaron's lips also quipped into a smile, whereas a smug look was on your face. "She's more than capable to take care of herself. And if for some reason she couldn't, that's where I come in."

Brad merely stood there, helplessly. From the irritation present on his face, he was completely over it.

"Have a good night."

"That was something, wasn't it?" You stated humorously once Brad was out of earshot.

Aaron snorted a laugh into his drink. "I'll say."

"I wonder how often it's worked." You thought aloud, feeling for those who had unknowingly fallen for it.

"Not enough if he's still using it as a ruse."

"It's kinda sad." While it was well deserved, long overdue and hopefully ceased any future endeavors of his, you still couldn't help but feel bad. Partially bad.

"It is, but he doesn't deserve your pity sweetheart." Aaron's hand fell atop yours, giving your knuckles a gentle pat. "Ready to head out?"

You nodded yes, "I've been ready."

After tossing some bills on the counter, Aaron properly grabbed your hand this time. The two of you headed for the exit, Aaron's hold on your hand tightening - to not lose you amidst the crowd, or for anyone else to make a pass at you.

"Is this the part where I say I can show you what a real FBI agent can do?" Aaron teased, a delightful little smirk on his face as he opened the door.

You laughed. "Whatever makes you happy. And benefits me."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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spencerreidenjoyer · 2 months

Text

insatiable | spencer reid x reader

Spencer learns how amazing sex is with you, but gets caught up with work. You show your boyfriend how good it can feel even if you’re not together physically, and he shows you how much he misses you when he gets back.

part 1 - addicted to you | part 2

wc: 4.6k, rating: 18+/explicit

tags/warnings: established relationship, phone sex/video sex, mutual masturbation, public (bathroom) sex, brief mentions of typical BAU stuff (not in detail), meeting the family (literally reader meets the BAU), brief mentions of alcohol, making out, vaginal sex, getting caught (not in the act but afterward lmao)

a/n: this is what an insane person does when they're sick for two days and have nothing better to do over the summer. this is a second part to addicted to you (you don't have to read the first part but it does provide some context for some details within the fic), with inspiration taken from a lovely comment I got on ao3 that made me feel kinda crazy. i included some textfic elements in this fic as well which i hope reads well (bold text is spencer)! also I know early seasons spencer technically sets this around 2005-2007 but they have smartphones and video calling (aka present day) so please suspend your disbelief for the length of this fic lmao (p.s this fic is also on ao3!)

Your boyfriend gets whisked away for work sooner than you expect. Spencer’s supposed to have time off the rest of this week, but you suppose killers aren’t exactly respectful of an FBI agent’s time off of work. It’s downright cruel when he’s called in to work on a Friday evening, when you have dinner and wine set at the table, having gotten ready to spend a quiet, romantic evening in with Spencer.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, rushing to change out of his sweatshirt and joggers into his typical work attire. You stand in the doorway of his room, mildly amused while Spencer panics to put an outfit together. “I know you had a whole evening in planned, but–”

“Don’t be, baby,” you assure him. “You have a killer to catch. Oh, that one– the blue cardigan looks good with those pants. It matches your socks.”

Spencer smiles as he looks up at you, reaching for the navy blue cardigan to his left. He tugs it on rather hurriedly, comes up to you and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the best. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You shake your head. “Just find the bastard quick and come home to me.”

“I know. I will,” Spencer says.

After the both of you found out just how much Spencer liked fucking you, you were really hoping that your weekend together could be spent in his bed, but duty calls. Technically, JJ had called him in, but you’re not concerned about specifics right now.

You spend the evening alone in Spencer’s apartment, half of the wine finished and his TV playing reruns of some show you haven’t been paying attention to. Your eyelids feel heavy, and Spencer’s bed is so comfortable you can’t bring yourself to leave it. That is, until your phone buzzes on Spencer’s nightstand, and you’re suddenly very alert.

I miss you, darling. > hey, i’m surprised you have the down time to text. i miss you too I’m really sorry I had to leave so suddenly. We’re on the jet right now. > i told you it’s okay! i’m surprised the jet has wifi lol Taxpayer money, I guess? We land in LA in a couple of hours and we’re heading straight to the PD to work on the case. > my poor boyfriend is working so hard instead of cuddling me in bed :( How you tempt me, lovely. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Are you going to sleep soon? It’s late. > yeah i’m staying at yours for the night and maybe until you get back? really miss you already Okay, that’s good. I know. I’ll call when I’m in the hotel and settled for the day? :-( > yes please. also stop sending emojis with noses they aren’t supposed to look like that!!! They aren’t anatomically correct without them. The way you send them > babe they’re emojis it’s ok if they’re not anatomically correct Hahaha I love you. > lol i love you too! Goodnight, love. > goodnight spence <3 <3

You can imagine, especially from the way Spencer recounts it, how his coworker Derek must be teasing him about smiling at his phone, about how pretty boy’s lucky lady must be one hell of a woman to get Spencer so smitten.

You would say you’re rather independent, especially in relationships, but Spencer has you acting like a clingy girlfriend. You can’t help but feel an ache in your chest as you long for him while he’s away, feeling like a military wife whose husband is out instead of being normal. To be fair, being with Spencer has never been “normal” – he always has something interesting up his sleeve, or some quirk that makes you even more enamoured with him.

Your Saturday is relatively uneventful, milling about Spencer’s apartment. You laze around in bed for way too long, enough where Spencer would’ve definitely hauled you out of bed himself an hour ago if he were here. You make yourself breakfast, unsurprised that Spencer only has cereal in his pantry and almond milk in his fridge. You sit down with one of his very sophisticated literature books but you don’t get very far with it, and opt to clean Spencer’s apartment instead.

It’s when you’re sweeping the floor that you realise just how much you like Spencer, feeling so strongly attached to him already. You’ve said your ‘I love you’s, given him his firsts. You were staying in his apartment even while he was away– hell, you’re even cleaning his apartment for him.

Just for a moment, you let yourself fantasise about this being your apartment – yours and Spencer’s; about waking up to him every morning, about making breakfast for the both of you that isn’t cereal and almond milk, about coming home to each other instead of an empty apartment.

You sigh and get back to cleaning.

You’re settled into his bed, surrounded by the comforting scent of him when Spencer finally does call. You almost drop your phone in your excitement to pick up.

“Hey! Hi, Spence,” you say, unable to help the smile that’s forming on your face.

“Hello, love,” Spencer answers. He sounds a little tired. You can imagine the little furrow in his brow, obviously exhausted and dissatisfied from a full day’s work of catching some bastard in LA, and you wish you could be there to kiss his frown away. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Spencer. Long day?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer sighs tiredly. “This UnSub is so slippery. No convictions, no paper trail, nothing, and he’s killing every other–” Spencer starts to ramble but he catches himself. “Sorry. I won’t talk about work right now. It’s pretty grim.”

“It’s okay,” you hum. “Do you want to talk about work right now?”

Spencer makes a little noise. “No, no. I don’t want to bring that to you. Let’s talk about you. How are you, honey?”

Honey. The name makes your insides feel all gooey, soft and warm and lovely. “I’m- I’m okay. I stayed at your place, cleaned up around here. I’m thankful it’s not as much of a man cave as I thought.”

Spencer laughs through the phone, a breathy chuckle. “Thank you for cleaning up for me, love. It’s just a lot of nerdy stuff, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s endearing. I tried to read one of your books earlier and could barely get past the first ten pages.” You tell him, garnering another chuckle from Spencer. “I like your place a lot.”

“I miss you,” Spencer says again. “Waking up to you and having you around is so much nicer than this dingy hotel room I’m in.”

“Aw. Taxpayer money couldn’t upgrade you to a better room?”

Spencer snorts. “No, but I lucked out on getting the room all to myself.”

There’s a pause as you figure out what to say, and Spencer is quick to follow up, “I didn’t mean–”

“Does this have something to do with you missing me, baby?” You can’t help but grin. Spencer makes a distressed little noise over the line.

“Well, I– Maybe, but we don’t have to–” Spencer stammers, unable to find the words. He’s absolutely adorable.

“I want to, Spence,” you coo. “I miss you so much.”

You hear Spencer exhale shakily. “What– What do I do?”

“A genius like you hasn’t forgotten how to touch himself, has he?” you tease, Spencer whining on the other end at your words. “Does that eidetic memory of yours come with an overactive imagination too?”

“Surprisingly, no. Hyperphantasia is more of being able to visualise different types of situations in one’s mind, and that’s what usually is associated with an overactive imagination. Having an eidetic memory is more about high-precision recall after seeing something even just once. I think having an eidetic memory pretty much ensures you don’t have aphantasia, or the inability to see and create mental images, but yeah.”

Ah, even his nerdy ramblings turn you on.

“So does that mean you can recall the way I looked in bed a few nights ago?” you prod, and you wish you could see how red Spencer must be by now.

“Well, yes. Of course I can. How could I ever forget how beautiful you looked then?” Spencer’s words are sweet, earnest, and you melt.

“Then picture that,” you barely get the words out because you’re so smitten. “Imagine I’m right there with you, Spencer.”

You hear the rustling of the sheets, and Spencer’s little telltale whine as he wraps his hand around himself. “O-Oh–”

“I miss you, Spence,” you drawl. “Miss the way your cock fits inside me. You miss my tight cunt, baby?”

“Your mouth is filthy,” Spencer laughs breathily. “But yeah, I do. You always feel so good around me.”

“You’re touching yourself, yeah?” you ask. You get a little whine from him as an affirmative, but your imagination is running wild – you want to see him. “Can you show me?”

“Yeah, I just– Do you wanna switch it over to a video call? I can’t–”

You laugh at your boyfriend’s lack of technical prowess, tapping at your phone screen until the top half of his face comes up. “Hey, I’m just trying to find a good angle–”

“Don’t just flip the camera and show me your dick, please. That would be so unsexy.” You say.

Spencer furrows his brows. “I was not planning on doing that, for the record.”

You watch the phone move until Spencer comes into frame, the phone likely propped up at the foot of the bed and exposing all of Spencer to you. You might be drooling right now.

“This is… a lot,” Spencer laughs nervously. “I feel so naked.”

“You’re mostly clothed,” you quip.

“Ha ha,” Spencer laughs dryly. “I’ve just… I’ve never done this before.”

“Phone sex? Or calling your girlfriend so you can jerk off for her?”

Spencer gives you a deadpan look. “Both, honey.”

You grin. “I’m glad to be your first. Now, show me how you make yourself feel good, baby.”

Spencer’s cheeks are a gorgeous rosy red when he takes his cock into his hand again, his tip leaking as he strokes himself slowly. With his eyes fluttering shut, Spencer’s lips part as he indulges himself in his pleasure. Like this, you indulge yourself in admiring all of Spencer – the flush on his cheeks that runs down to his neck, his breathy panting as he touches himself to the thought of you.

“Spence,” you sigh. “You’re so pretty.”

His eyes shutter open as he looks at you, somehow even redder than he already was. “You’re the pretty one, darling. Are you– Will you touch yourself for me?”

You hold back your moan as you nod. You were already in your underwear when you had slid into Spencer’s bed, but now all it takes is you sliding your fingers past the waistband to feel how wet you already are between your legs. “Oh, Spence.”

“Do you feel good, love?” he hums, voice only a little bit strained from his immense pleasure.

The embarrassingly loud squelch that results when you sink your fingers into yourself is enough of an answer. Spencer grins, and you’re red in the face as you rock your hips down onto your own fingers. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything, honey,” Spencer laughs. “But I wish I could feel you right now.”

“I know, I miss the way you feel inside me,” you pant. “Please, Spencer–”

“Take off your underwear,” Spencer’s voice is breathy as he pleads with you. “I want to see you.”

You prop your phone up so your angle matches Spencer’s, both of you on full display for each other. You watch the way Spencer’s eyes widen when you slide your panties off, the way his eyes are trained on your figure through the screen. He says, “You’re so wet…”

“All for you, baby,” you sigh, leaning back as you slide two fingers back into yourself. You scissor them rather hastily, craving the hurried way Spencer fucks you. “It’s not the same without you here.”

“I know,” Spencer hums. “You look so good like that. I wish I could make you feel good right now.”

You moan, pushing your fingers into yourself deeper, barely hitting where Spencer reaches easily. The squelch from between your legs is obscene. “You do, baby. You’re making me feel so good, just thinking about you.”

In practically a whisper, Spencer admits, “I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

You let out a weak cry, impossibly turned on by your boyfriend’s filthy admission because you didn’t even think he had it in him to say it so bluntly. You slide your fingers in and out hurriedly, your palm giving you the friction on your clit that you crave so desperately. “Spencer–”

Spencer lets out a strangled cry, muffled behind his hand, when he comes. It’s sudden, Spencer’s load painting the soft skin of his stomach, his cock twitching. You moan as you follow suit, wetness drenching your hand as you ride out your own orgasm, imagining his cock inside of you.

“Oh, fuck.” Spencer gasps, head thrown back as you watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes heavily. His forehead and neck are covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his cock out against the rest of his rather soft, innocent looking outfit is making you giggle just a little.

“You look really hot right now,” you say instead, wishing you could be laying next to him while he recovers.

“I think I should be saying that about you,” Spencer laughs. “You’re gorgeous. You’re so stunning.”

“How long are you going to be away?” You pout. “I like it when I can actually kiss you after you compliment me.”

Spencer smiles sympathetically. “I’ll be back soon, my love.”

“I’ll take phone sex with my boyfriend as a consolation, then.” You wink, making Spencer laugh.

“Remind me not to get too loud, though. I think Emily is in the room next to me and I really hope these walls are thick enough.” He says, sounding vaguely concerned.

You laugh, and stay on the line a little longer just to relish in a peaceful moment with Spencer.

The next day, when you’re out getting groceries to stock up Spencer’s fridge, you get a text from Spencer.

I don’t know how much Emily heard last night, but she’s been looking at me funny all morning. > lol oops? If we call again tonight, we might have to keep it down. > if? not when? :) I love you so much. > i know and i love you too :) and you should probably apologise to emily about last night Well, if we’re calling again tonight then maybe I should just give her one big apology when all of this is over. > good idea. now go catch your killer so we can go back to having sex irl Okay!

Unfortunately, Spencer gets too busy to call you again that night, the team working overtime to catch their UnSub, whose kills were escalating exponentially. You don’t find yourself bothered by it, by Spencer disappearing for the night with nothing more than a message sent your way, instead relishing in the fact that it’ll feel even more rewarding when he comes home.

You’ve never felt this way before, craving Spencer so desperately while he’s away at work. While you’ve only been together a couple of months, you respect that Spencer’s work takes up a lot of his time. It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him, though, as much as you enjoy your alone time.

All of the team’s hard work pays off, though, because they’re storming into the UnSub’s lair by Monday afternoon, and Spencer texts you when you’re just clocking out of the office.

Great news! We caught the guy. We’re packing up at the PD and coming home soon. > omg!!! that’s so great The team wants to go out for celebratory drinks. > you should totally go ahead and celebrate with them spence! you guys worked your asses off on this case We did. But I’m telling you because I want you to join us. I want you to meet the team too. > oh? i would love to but are you sure they want me there? Of course, sweet girl. Derek wants to know who has me smiling at my phone half the time, and Emily is asking who I’m calling in the middle of the night. > omg so she did hear you … I think so, love. > … i will apologise to her tonight then I’ll send you the address. Love you > love you too spence <3

There’s just enough time for you to get home and change into a nice outfit – a tight, red dress that hits your mid-thigh, your hair curled and your makeup touched-up before you head to the bar Spencer’s sent you the address to. While you know Spencer’s team is lovely, you do want to make a good first impression.

You see Spencer’s gangly form at the bar when you get there, the rest of his team facing away from you as they get their drinks. You see Spencer’s face brighten as he spots you, raising his hand and waving to you excitedly. The rest of his team notices, and turns to look at you too. You would be shy at all the attention, but Spencer’s unabashed adoration of you, especially in front of all his friends, is giving you more than enough confidence to walk up to the group.

“Hello,” you smile, and the warmth you feel from the team makes you feel welcome already. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

You shake hands with Hotch and Rossi as you introduce yourself. While you had heard of Hotch as a rather cold, serious Unit Chief, the way he warmly smiles at you makes you feel at ease. “So, you’re Spencer’s girlfriend. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“It’s great to meet you too, sir,” you answer rather instinctively, making both Rossi and Hotch laugh heartily.

“Aaron might be Reid’s boss, but he certainly isn’t yours,” Rossi chuckles.

Before you can feel embarrassed by it, you get pulled into a tight, warm hug by Penelope, and when she lets you go, JJ hands you a drink, and Derek and Emily are regarding you with knowing smirks.

“Reid, you are one lucky man,” Derek says, after pulling you into a welcoming hug. “Don’t mess this up, lover boy.”

“I know,” Spencer says, his hand reaching for yours. You lace your fingers with Spencer’s, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “And I won’t mess this up.”

“Lover boy is right, considering what I overheard the other night,” Emily says, looking at you and Spencer pointedly. JJ also has a knowing smile on her face, and you feel your cheeks get hot.

“I’m really sorry about that, Emily,” you smile sheepishly. “I hope Spencer’s apologised for it too.”

“Again, I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Spencer says, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Emily. “I would say ‘We won’t do it again’, but…”

You shriek amidst the laughter of Spencer’s coworkers, Spencer laughing along as he holds onto your waist. You feel adored, so readily welcomed by Spencer’s friends, and you feel like you belong, by Spencer’s side.

After you chat with the rest of the team for a little more, they eventually disperse to do their own things, leaving you and Spencer alone. Spencer looks at you with such adoration in his eyes and you feel like you’re going to melt. “Hi,” he says warmly.

“Hi, Spence,” you say. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Spencer smiles. “But I’m here now.”

“You are,” you breathe, giddy with excitement, and lean in to kiss him. It’s a quick peck, but Spencer pulls you back in like you’re the air he needs to breathe. He kisses you deep, eager, pouring every drop of himself into you. His hands cup your face sweetly, kissing you until you feel breathless.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you giggle when he finally pulls back, eyes wild as he regards you. “You really missed me, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Spencer laughs.

“Do we need to pretend to keep our hands off each other or do you just want to go and make out in the bathroom?” You say simply. You don’t expect Spencer to be down, considering how quickly he’d rattle off the statistics about the germs in a public bathroom, but Spencer smiles at you and pulls you toward the single stall.

You’re thankful it’s a relatively big, clean-looking single stall bathroom, Spencer locking the door behind you as you lean back against the sink. Spencer’s taller figure crowds you in with ease, and you feel swallowed up by him as he kisses you again. He’s desperate, eager as his tongue slips into your mouth, his little noises so deliciously sinful as you kiss him back.

“Spence–” you gasp, in between kissing Spencer back. “Oh, baby–”

“What we did over the phone wasn’t enough,” he murmurs, eyes unblinking as he gazes at you. “I need you right now.”

Sure enough, Spencer’s hard in his pants. He pushes his hips forward, pressing his erection against your thigh. You whimper, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. “Please, Spence. You can take me right here, right now.”

You feel just as desperate as Spencer seems, his hands eager as they roam up your body. He’s eager to touch and squeeze and grope whatever he can get his hands on, and you relish in the way his large, sturdy hands grab your thighs, your waist, your breasts.

“You look so good tonight, my love,” Spencer grunts as he presses his face to your neck, his lips kissing up the column of your neck hurriedly. “So gorgeous. Letting me show you off to all my friends too– Thank you, you’re so perfect–”

“Spencer,” you gasp, hand sliding down to rub at his hard-on. You’re so turned on by how aroused Spencer is already, from just kissing you, from just touching you. “Fuck me, please?”

Spencer exhales shakily, lifting you up slightly so you can sit back on the countertop, your legs spread to accommodate Spencer between them. You’re soaked through your underwear, and you watch Spencer marvel at the sight. His hands are shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, pushing his pants down just enough to get his cock out. He’s hard and heavy and leaking, and you find yourself drooling as he strokes himself momentarily.

Spencer’s biting his lower lip in utter concentration, pushing your dress up and out of the way. You expect his hands to slide your panties off, but instead his fingers push the fabric aside, revealing your slick, wet entrance that he presses the head of his cock to. “Oh–”

“Like this,” Spencer says, breathless, his sentence not even fully coherent but you understand, especially when Spencer pushes the tip of his cock into you. You muffle a sob into your hand, feeling so on edge as you accommodate Spencer’s length.

The burn is perfect, the slow drag of his cock inside of you teetering between pain and pleasure. It’s a primal urge the both of you desperately need to fulfil, and the way he presses into you satiates you so perfectly. Your arms slung around Spencer’s neck, you cry out weakly as he rocks his hips into you, already brutal and hurried with the pace.

You’ve never felt this undone, so desperate that you’d let yourself get fucked in a bathroom stall. You barely have any alcohol in your system, for you to feel reckless enough to do something like this. Hell, Spencer hadn’t even taken your panties off before he’d started fucking you. The fact that prim and proper Spencer of all people is making you like this makes your head spin.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” you whimper into his shoulder. “So good, Spence, oh–”

“You feel so good,” Spencer groans, hips stuttering as he tells you just that. “You’re so perfect. I love you.”

“I love you so much,” you hiccup, feeling Spencer drill into you, the muffled slap of his thrusts hitting the back of your thighs. You’re so overwhelmed, pleasure zipping through you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, as Spencer fucks you like you’re the only person in the world that matters right now.

“I’m close,” Spencer gasps, pace growing uneven, hurried, as he chases his pleasure while trying so hard to make you feel good too. “Please, I–”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you, too sudden, too quick. You clench around Spencer as your body shakes, Spencer fucking you through it with desperation. You don’t expect to come so quickly, but you suppose missing Spencer has an effect on you.

You squelch obscenely with your release as Spencer continues to fuck you, needy and hurried, moaning in your ear as he stumbles into his orgasm too, wracking through his body like he has no control over it. You feel his load spill inside of you, hot and messy, his hands trembling as his thrusts slow.

“Oh, fuck,” you say, laughing slightly. “Holy shit, Spencer. We just had sex in a public bathroom, this is crazy.”

“We just had sex in a public bathroom,” Spencer echoes, sounding mildly panicked. “Oh, my God.”

“It was very fucking hot.” You assure him, holding his face in your hands to look him in the eyes, stopping him from overthinking. “But we should probably go home, because I’m a fucking mess between my legs right now.”

“I might need to take a shower,” Spencer says, his voice wavering slightly. “The sink is technically the most germ-ridden surface in a public bathroom, the damp environment makes it a–”

“Spencer, I love you so much, but for your sake and mine, let’s not talk about germs right now.” You shudder at the thought. “I think I need to take a shower after that too.”

“Let me clean you up, and we can go home.” Spencer, despite his germ anxieties, is rather sweet in cleaning you up. Your panties are ruined with fluids, and you’re starting to feel Spencer’s load trickling out of you when you stand back up, but you relish in the fact that you’re going to be back at his apartment soon enough.

(The fact that Spencer hadn’t corrected you when you called his place home, makes your heart sing.)

You clean up your makeup and make your hair look as presentable as it can be, especially after your boyfriend has literally fucked you in a public bathroom, and when you both look presentable enough, you try to slip out of the bathroom casually.

Unfortunately, Derek and Emily are right there, catching you in the act of leaving, obviously noting the way you and Spencer look absolutely dishevelled.

Derek raises his eyebrows, grinning. “Damn, lover boy.”

“Shut up,” Spencer retaliates weakly, his voice slightly shaky.

“We’re heading home first,” you say with all the confidence you can muster, trying very hard not to feel extremely embarrassed in front of Spencer’s very smug friends. You’re still holding Spencer’s hand, and you feel a little less afraid. “It was fun getting to meet you guys.”

Emily shakes her head playfully, smiling. “We’d love to hang out more with you another time. Maybe when Reid isn’t so desperate to get alone with you?”

Spencer makes a displeased noise, but you smile and nod at her. “Definitely.”

Derek and Emily let you slip out of the bar without saying much else, and you hope that the rest of Spencer’s team doesn’t hear about it.

As you and Spencer step out of the bar and into the cool, evening air, you kiss his cheek once more. “I love you. Now, let’s get home so we can shower. And then we can have sex again in the comfort of your bed?”

Spencer grins, any earlier embarrassment seeming to melt away. “That sounds perfect. God, I love you.”

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