#and in the dream he straight up ignored me

[callsignswan]

Military Issued

Alpha!Bradley has no regard for his own safety. He has nobody to return home to, so why should he bother trying? So, the military give him an Omega.

cw: abo dynamics, unspecified age gap

a/n: if you recognise the title of this fic and the subject matter, thats because i'm rewriting it from my old blog!

His face was pressed against your neck, breathing you in. There was just something about you, something that went straight to his head. His head was swimming the more he breathed in your scent.

It wasn't always like this. He wasn't always this enthralled with you.

No, there was a time when he hated you. He hated the very idea of you.

Back then he had been reckless.

Throwing himself headfirst into danger, no regard for his safety. He had nobody to try returning home to, so why should he bother trying? A headstrong Alpha that was determined to be the best, no matter the cost.

His superiors were watching him hurtling towards death without a care in the world.

His superiors, most of which knew his dad. Or they knew of him, greatly respected him and wanted to do what they could to keep him alive. Ice Man and Maverick couldn't just sit by and watch him try to implode in a fiery wreck.

Military Omegas weren't unheard of. Omegas were allowed in the Military just as Alphas were. There were strict regulations around Military Omegas, regulations to keep them safe when around Alphas, during heats and such.

But there was another type of Military Omegas. Jobless Omegas brought in off the street (not literally) to comfort Alphas like Bradley. Omegas given to Alphas, bonding with them so that they had something to come back to.

Everybody got something out of it. Omegas got bonded to an Alpha, got a sense of stability and Alphas had something to come back to.

Bradley Bradshaw didn't want an Omega.

His superiors spread papers out in front of him, pictures of profiles of the five pretty Omegas that had signed up for this.

(Let me explain the sign up process real quick. It wasn't just the Military grabbing random Omegas off the streets and forcing them to bond with Alphas. Jobs and companies wouldn't admit that they had an unwillingness to hire Omegas... but they didn't want to hire Omegas.

There were job agencies they could sign up for, job agencies that would lead to positions such as this. Military Omegas had to sign up for their roles, their profiles given to the Alpha that needed a Military Omega. It was up to the Alpha to pick from their profiles after that)

Bradley ignored every Omega profile in front of him. He didn't want a Military Omega, someone to get in his way and warm his bed. He didn't need any distractions while in the Navy.

That was for when he got older, when he retired. He could find a pretty little Omega then to make his mate, his wife, to start a family with. But not yet, not now.

He marched away without picking an Omega.

You were ecstatic when you were picked to be a Military Omega. You'd have stability in the form of an Alpha, a small some of money coming into your bank account every month and a chance to move away from your parents.

You couldn't wait.

It was easy to dream of your Alpha in the few days between your job offer and arriving at the Naval base. It was timed well with him arriving home at the time you were set to arrive. No having to wait while he was risking his life in the air.

He was handsome, and you couldn't help but feel lucky. Slightly older than you (but thats hot, right?), pretty face and a moustache that had you salivating.

Bradley, on the other hand, was pissed.

He was being held in this meeting room, with no sign of a way out. Someone stood in front of the door, stopping him from leaving.

He was stinking up the room with angry Alpha.

It had been explained to you as you approached the meeting room. The Alpha behind that door didn't want an Omega, but the Military had decided he needed one. They explained exactly what to do, that they would keep you safe if he got out of hands ("unlikely," the guy said to you as you approached the room. "Rooster is a big softy, really.")

The door opened and you were pushed inside of the room.

God, he was so pretty, even when he looked grumpy. His nostrils flared as he breathed in your Omega scent. It was so damn sweet, but he hated it.

"Rooster," the man that had walked you into the room said. "This is to be your Omega."

"No," he said through a growl. The sound went straight through you, sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a careful step closer, trying to project your scent. The man that had walked you into the room plugged his nose, but Bradley breathed in deep.

Fuck, he couldn't stop. He gulped down your scent, his head spinning. But still, he sat there, unwilling to move towards you.

"You're not leaving the room until you've attempted to bond, okay?"

At that, you widened your eyes. Wait, that couldn't be legal, could it? But still, he walked out of the room and locked the door behind him.

You turned to the Alpha. "Bradley... Bradshaw?" You asked, trying your best to remember his name. He grunted, staring at you.

Sitting in the chair opposite him, you patted the table and looked around. "So, they're really not gonna let us out until we're bonded?" You asked and picked at your nails.

When Bradley stood up, showed you just how big he was, your breath caught in your throat. Shit, you could climb him like a tree. He tried to the door, jiggled the handle and pulled.

Nothing.

"Let me try," you said and followed him towards the door.

"No offence, but-"

You tried it before he could stop you. Tucked between him and the door, you tugged with all of your might. Nothing, and you hated that he was right.

But he breathed in deep behind you. His Alpha scent was intoxicating, had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. It would have had your knees buckling, if you weren't so in control of yourself.

"Shit," Bradley whispered. His nose touched your neck (you had been asked to wear something that wouldn't cover your neck, to make scenting and bonding easier). His hand was suddenly on your waist, pulling you back into him. "Omega."

That was it. Your presentation growled at you had your knees buckling, leaning back on him to steady yourself. But he had you, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him.

He was still breathing you in. You tipped your head to the side and shut your eyes, nails digging into his wrist. Fuck, you loved it.

The scent he was projecting pulled a whine from your lips. Your Alpha. Your Alpha.

You were his Omega now. His, nobody else's. He rubbed his nose against your neck, scenting you so furiously, no other Alpha would dare come near you.

Not when you smelled like him, your Alpha.

[didhewinkback]

born to run

Anonymous asked: ...soo marathonrry x something old pls ?

Anonymous asked: Something old crumbs ?? 🥺

was requested a few times! these photos are a bit deceptive but leaving them anyway. pls enjoy a something old marathon blurb

word count: lil over 1k

--

He was warm, pressed up against your side, his arm solid around your shoulders, standing so close against you that you could feel as much as hear the Springsteen song he hadn’t stopped singing since you left the karaoke bar. 

“Baby let me in, I want to be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions,” he sang, louder than appropriate for the late hour, ignoring your shushes as he leant against you. Solid, warm and heavy.

“H - baby, you gotta put some weight on your feet.” you said with a laugh and he huffed in response as you planted your hand on his hip to try to push him in that direction as you turned down your street. “I know you’re sore but you gotta -”

“I hear you, I hear you. ‘M an athlete, you know. Can handle a bit of walking” he grumbles, speech slurring slightly,  the few drinks he had going straight to his head after all the running he did. The combination of how sore his legs were plus the drinks completely stripping away any sense of equilibrium was proving to be a lethal combination.  

“Today was so cool,” he murmurs as he leans slightly off you and puts more weight on his feet, his arm on your shoulders now a comforting presence rather than the dead weight it was moments ago. 

“Yeah? You had fun?”

“Mhmmm,” he agrees, his head bobbing in more nods than necessary in a way that makes you snort. He takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky and you almost brace yourself for the monologue he’s about to embark on. He’s been quite introspective this evening, dedicating his 4th rendition of Born to Run to his “fellow dreamers & doers, who did what we did best today”. 

“Was amazing.” he continues, as you turn down the walkway to your home, the Tokyo house he bought you both a few years ago, to have a place that feels like yours in a place you both love. “To be with all those people who also trained like I did, all of us running together in one like collective. No matter where we came from, where we were running from, who we were running to. The power of the people while also working for the individual goal, you know?”

You just stare at him for a moment, doing your best to not burst into laughter at his drunken musings, trying to nod in agreement to the deep thoughts he’s having and has been having all night. 

“Alright, Aristotle, let’s get you inside.” you say and you all but carry him up the steps. 

There’s no way you’re going to be able to grab the keys from your purse while he’s all over you like this so you take a few steps forward and turn him slightly, leaning him against the wall next to the front door, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches and does nothing to help. You prop him up gently, holding up two hands to make sure he’s steady, which he instantly mocks by pretending to fall over, before holding his two hands back up to you to assure you he’s fine.

He crosses his arms over his chest, the medal glinting from the few street lamps visible, still hanging around his neck despite the fact that he fully changed out of his running gear hours ago but, as he said, he “trained for months for this, ‘m not taking this off for weeks”.

You reach into your purse, digging around the bottom for the keys, feeling his gaze on you the entire time. You look up, see him watching you with a soft smile on his face. 

“Thanks for indulging me with all this,” he says softly. “Best wife ever.”

“Wasn’t indulging you in the slightest,” you said with a shake of your head, face flushing at the way he’s looking at you. “What you did today was massive, H. I know I gave you a lot of shit but it was so cool to watch you work for this and then run a fucking marathon today. I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thanks, baby.” he says, still looking at you like you hung the moon and you have to take a deep breath to loosen all the emotions swirling through you from just a look. You’re having no luck with the keys, looking back into your purse, filled with extra gel packets and bandaids just in case one of his sixteen blisters from the day ended up popping at dinner or the bar, finally seeing your keys at the bottom of the mess and pulling them out, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

“Y’ so beautiful, you know that? I think it all the time and should tell you more. Should tell you everyday, every hour. Your face is just…it’s such a great face.” 

You can’t hold back your laugh at that and suddenly he’s off the wall, latching himself to your back with an arm around your chest as you unlock the door and he follows you in, holding you flush against him.

“Laughing at me, huh? Just trying to love you.” he says, dipping his head down to nudge his nose against your neck, taking a deep breath before he presses his lips to your skin with a hum. “Trying to love on you.”

He drags his lips against your neck, kissing a line up to the corner of your mouth before he brings his free hand up to turn your face towards his and capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s sloppy, the angle’s off and he’s not at his best from a coordination standpoint but what he lacks in technique, he makes up for in passion, the way he seems determined to taste every inch of your mouth lighting your every nerve ending on fire, his groans making your stomach swoop. 

“Y’know this medal says I’m a finisher.” he mumbles against your mouth when he finally pulls away to breathe, pressing a kiss to your cheek and jaw. “Let me show you how well I finish, baby.” 

“Been waiting to say that one all day, have you?”

“You’ve got no idea,” he groans. “C’mon angel, let’s head to bed and have a marathon of our own.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh and he pouts against your neck, his hands doing their best to try to convince you otherwise. “H, you can barely stand.”

“‘S why I’m trying to get us horizontal” he says and you giggle, turning in his hold and cupping his face in your hands. His hands slide down to wrap around your waist, fingers sliding up under the hem of your shirt to draw circles on your skin. You rub your thumb along his pout and he kisses your thumb. You lean in to kiss him, just once, and he follows your head when you pull away. 

“Trust me, there is nothing I would want more than you showing me what you got. That midday shower wasn’t enough.”

“Fuck, that felt so nice though,” he says with a soft moan, memories flashing through both your heads how you helped him relax after the race, sinking to your knees in the shower and taking him into your mouth, his head thrown back against the shower wall as soft grunts left his lips. You’re getting distracted.

“It did,” you agree and his stare is like molten lava looking back at you, hot. “But it’s been a looong day. How about we head to bed and go from there, yeah? I’m going to get you some water, gonna get me some water and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, kissing you once before stepping back. “Love you.”

“Love you too, marathon man.” you say and his lips quirk up at that, his eyes still looking at you with heat though you can now, as you suspected, see the exhaustion seeping in. 

He heads down the hallway and you head into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet and opening the fridge, pouring water from the filter until the glasses are full, all the while listening carefully for any sudden loud thumping sounds. But it just sounds like his usual bedtime routine so you drink your water, placing your glass in the sink and bringing his with you.

You head down the hallway, carefully flicking off the lights as you go and head into the bedroom where you see him, sprawled on the comforter fast asleep, naked except for the damn medal around his neck. You gently put his on the bedside table and lean over to gently shake his shoulder and he snorts awake with a shake of his head, one eye squinting open at you.

“Fuck, sorry, baby. Didn’t realize how tired I was. Wanted to…” he mumbles, brow furrowing. “I think I’m quite pissed.”

“Yeah, I think so.” you say with a soft laugh. “It’s alright, let’s just get you under the covers, yeah?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, slightly helping but mostly hindering the process as you have to pull down the covers he’s on top of and get them over him, which you finally manage to do. You lean in and kiss him softly.  

“Get some sleep. We’ll have our marathon tomorrow.” you say, kissing him again and he hums into it. “I’ll let you finish wherever you want.”

He honks out a laugh, eyes already closing as he murmurs: “Holding you to that.” He burrows himself into the stack of pillows on the bed and you find yourself just watching him as his breath slowly events out and he falls asleep. 

This man who you love more than anything in the world, who you’ve gotten to spend more time with over the last few years than you ever dreamed possible given the usual insanity of his schedule. You take a deep breath, reaching up to gently run your hands through his hair. Just taking a moment to revel in the normalcy of a day like this.

Getting to just be a girl watching her husband run a marathon and then get way too drunk at the celebrations after. This man finally able to spend some years without the weight of the world on his shoulders. This man who searches out your face in any crowd, who ran to where you stood at the barricade to give you a fist bump at mile 15, who all but collapsed into your arms when he was all done in a time faster than he anticipated, who winked at you as he sung his heart out at karaoke. You’d cheer him on any time, any place. Your man, your man, your man.

--

a/n: not reallllly edited much, just wanted to get something out there took me forever cant believe how short it is. lol lmk what u think!

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[meltedroses1]

Warning: death, gun, knife, minor violence. Sylus x reader. sfw.

Main Menu

The weekend.

And he just up and left you.

For five days straight he was with you, creating actual tangible memories. You had bite marks and bruises to prove it wasn't entirely a dream. But as the weekend came around, he was nowhere to be seen. You woke up Saturday morning, alone, in despair.

Sunday morning you try to log into the game, hoping you can reach him via messages or something. But the game did not exist anymore. Everything was falling apart with your heart shattering into million pieces.

However, life must go on.

Monday.

You were standing in line to grab your morning coffee at the local coffee shop. It was busy, so pushing and shoving was inevitable. It was your turn to order but a feisty man decides to cut in line and take your place.

You are already having a shitty start to your week and all you need is an entitled asshole to ruin your morning coffee. You won't have it.

You stomp up to the counter and address your concerns. “Sir, I was here before you”.

The man just gives you the middle finger and proceeds to ignore you.

As much as you don't want to create an early morning scene, your emotions are ready to boil over. You could blame Sylus (or the absence of) for most of that.

You continue to pester him and he finally snaps. He raises a fist, ready to strike but he suddenly lets out a wail of a cry. Someone had grabbed hold of his wrist mid-strike and you swear you heard some bones cracking. Your eyes were closed shut, bracing for impact that never landed.

Gasps and whispers suddenly surround you. People either stuck around to watch and record while the vulnerable shuffled out of the establishment.

“Striking a vulnerable kitten doesn't exactly earn you street cred”, you heard a familiar deep voice that sent your toes (and something else) tingling on the spot.

Your eyes jerk wide open. And there he was, your knight in shining armour, his armour being the leather black jacket.

The man proceeds to use his free hand to take out a knife from his pocket. Sylus does the same but pulls out a gun instead. And that's where things got ugly.

Interrogating Sylus about his recent disappearance will have to wait.

“This isn't the N109 zone. You can't just whip out a gun and swing it around”, you whisper into his ears.

You could hear sirens from a distance and your anxiety was growing.

“What kind of world do you live in where you can't even defend your loved one”, he challenged, never once pointing the gun at anyone but casually holding it within his grasp.

Wait? Did he just call me his loved one?

You had to find a way to settle his nerves incase his finger ‘accidently’ pulls the trigger. The sirens were getting louder and the man holding the knife was becoming more agitated.

Sylus got distracted as police cruisers began to line up and surround the cafe. A brief moment of diversion created the perfect opening for the man to strike.

Sylus could have easily handled it. And he was about to. Until you reflexively inserted yourself in-between the two, the knife piercing through your back and hitting your vitals.

Your gaze drifted up to Sylus, but your vision was already slipping away. A numbing heaviness settled over you, your body growing weak. The last thing you saw was the anguish in his eyes.

.

.

.

.

_SYSTEM ERROR_

Your body jolts itself awake and you find yourself on your knees and inserted into a very familiar setting— surrounded by ruins and extinguishing flames. The stab wound was gone but you were hurting in other places.

As your vision comes into focus, you realize the time and place you have entered. You notice a shadow of a figure above and as soon as your eyes meet his cold gaze, he swoops downwards.

“Take out the vermin that’re still running amok”.

You hear commanding footsteps approach you and a chill ran down your spine. He looks taller, bigger and magnificent. As he got closer, your heart skips a beat. Oh you hope he would call out your name and embrace you.

Unfortunately, he did not recognize you. He saw you as an object that was meant to be used.

You however clung to the memories of the past week.

Whether you stick to the script or decide to change the course of events all depends on you.

The long awaited revelry was about to commence.

Return to the main menu

[kettleinusefornow]

Rough ride..MDNI

CHAPTER 3

Sae Itoshi X Reader fic

Contains breakup and miscommunication

Revenge sex

Iceskater!reader

eventual happy ending </3

teenage love

ALOT of angst

CHP1 CHP4 CHPLIST

CHAPTER 3: Different Fonts, same insides

Sae’s POV 

“Why is she here..? I can’t meet her right now.. Not after I just met Rin.” He thought to himself as she stood in front of him. The moonlight only did her good as it radiated the glow of her aura. Her gaze was sharp like the edges of glass shards.. The calculating coldness in her eyes drew him in. She showed a tinge of betrayal as she looked into his eyes. He felt as if there was swirling darkness in her that he couldn’t ignore, but the only thing that came out his mouth were razor sharp words. 

“What do you want?” 

Why did he say that? He asked himself that question. His time in Spain made him turn into a cold and miserable being. He didn’t find joy in having happy relationships with people when he found out how the world doesn’t care about who you are and only what you are. 

She was visibly taken aback by his bitter tone. He isn’t.. He couldn’t have such a bright star in his dark world. It would only diminish her brightness. She was a princess and he was an ogre, that's something no amount of luck or power could change. She was an unattainable flower at the end of the cliff and was limbless farmer that could only dream of climbing the cliff. She still had that shine in her eyes that still had the ability to dream and stay unaware of the real world. Sae on the other hand.. He knew how it was to be confident in yourself only for it to be easily outshone by someone better than you.. He shouldn’t bring her down with him. He almost didn’t catch her calling out his name.

“Ca-can I come in?” God.. Her voice was like honey that was freshly harvested in the middle of spring, it was almost the same as it was 5 years ago.. She had the voice of a thousand sirens.. If you get too attached you would only end up getting drowned..

“Okay.” He wanted to push her away but he couldn’t.. He just had to let her in. She came in, clearly cold. He had no right to touch her and warm her up or scold her to wear more layers. He lost it a long time ago when he saw the real worth that he had. 

She went into the living room and sat down on the couch where they had their sweet memories attached to it.. He wondered if she recalled them too.  He sat across from her. 

Seeing her could only bring the blissful memories of the past. 

“Sae, why do you keep acting like you owe me something?“ Y/N suddenly asked him while laying on the patch of grass, freely basking in the sunlight of Sae’s backyard. 

“Do you really have to make my kindness into some twisted meaning?” Y/N looked straight ahead at the sky while he looked at her as if she was an extraordinary beauty while replying to her in a calm tone. 

“Well I don’t know! It just feels weird..” She grumbled while closing her eyes. Sae didn’t take his eyes off her. What felt weird? The way he looked at her as if she was the only one for him or the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off her even though she looked like a mess after playing in the mud all day? Young love is just so pure.

”The only thing that’s weird is the fact that you are wearing mismatched socks on grass! Weirdo..” Y/N sprung up looking at him with  fire in her eyes. “You-!” She grabbed his collar but he swept her wrist and pulled her down onto him, right in front of his face.

“My fashion is just too complex for someone like you to understand!” She declared, clearly being offended. It was followed by silence after that, before erupting into laughter while Y/N fell back onto the grass grasping her stomach and laughing. Sae laughed too.. Of course he laughed. He was still a kid that was joyful in the past…

That laughter soon turned into silence again, Y/N spoke up. “Sae.. Do you think you’ll be different after you come back from Spain?” Sae pondered for a while before, “The only thing that’ll be different is the fact that I’ll be taller than you! And maybe you are meaner.” Well.. Sure their height difference was larger now but.. She wasn’t the one turned sour.

©kettleinuse4now | please do not translate, repost, refer without permission | don’t steal and say it’s your own (ahole behavior)

[buck-star]

His haven, his sanctuary

The demons of his past still haunt him in the depth of his dreams. But what if there is finally someone who’s not afraid, who doesn’t let Bucky push him away?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson

Wordcount: 2.441 Words

Warnings/Tags: friends to lovers, nightmare, angst, hurt/comfort, kisses, fluff

Authors Note: My first SamBucky Oneshot. Shout out to @holylulusworld for encouraging me to write this one. Divider made by me.

Events: Seasonal delights Bingo: Types of love [I5 | Two beds but it doesn’t change a thing | @seasonaldelightsbingo], Marvel OC Hub Bingo [Row Two-Two| Character you have never written before | @marvel-oc-hub], Fandom-Free Bingo: Dream Edition [Row Two-Three | Surprise Kiss | @fandom-free-bingo]

Masterlist | SamBucky Masterlist

A loud scream followed by the thrumming sound of fists punching against wood caused Sam to sit up straight in bed. The sounds echo loudly through the house like the punches are set right next to him. He takes a deep breath, his heart racing in his chest, hammering against his ribcage. For a moment he looks around the room, trying to find the source of the noise until the sleepy haze fades and he realizes where the sounds come from – Bucky.

With a soft sigh, he runs his hands over his face, wiping away the remains of the sleep before he gets out of the bed. Sam hisses immediately when his warm feet connect with the cold, wooden floor, but his thoughts don’t stay long at the coolness when another scream comes from the guest room.

Bucky’s words settle back into Sam’s mind, the worries Bucky had that he might interrupt Sam’s sleep when he’s sleeping there. Bucky hasn't had a night without nightmares, without crying and screaming in ages, so this was no different. But letting someone witness his vulnerability and fear during and after his nightmares was something new for him. And he felt guilty for only the possibility of waking Sam up in the middle of the night because of his nightmares.

The demons in Bucky’s mind come out at night, haunting him even in the depth of the night. They are always there, sometimes quieter and sometimes louder. And mostly in the night they are screaming, shadowing everything and leaving no room for anything else but the darkness.

But even though Sam knew about the nightmares and assured Bucky that his interrupted sleep would be fine, he noticed the guilt in the ocean blue eyes of Bucky. Sam hated the slightly hidden but still visible expression of pain in the blue orbs of the other man.

Sam walks through the hallway to the half-closed door of the guest room, quietly pushing the door further open. Bucky’s lying with the blanket tangled around his sweaty body in the bed; his arms and legs are somehow stuck in the soft blanket, and he tries to fight to get it away from him.

The brunette is sweating, his eyes scrunched shut and narrowed while his brown locks stuck to his forehead. Bucky tosses and turns in the bed; his fingers are tightly curled around the fabric of the blanket as he tucks it harshly. It only causes the blanket to wrap tighter around his limbs while Bucky’s breath picks up and his cries become more desperate.

“Bucky?” Sam tries softly. His heart aches at the sight of the other man suffering from the nightmare. Sam knows that Bucky mentioned it’s risky to get close to him during nightmares; he might choke the other person or punch around himself.

Bucky tugs once more at the blanket, his hands crashing into the headboard when the blanket gives in to the force of his movements. The skin of Bucky’s knuckles of his right hand is breaking, causing blood to seep out of the wounds, but it’s still not enough to wake him up.

Sam doesn’t want to upset Bucky by overstepping his boundaries and touching him. But the moment his brown eyes land on the man drowning in his panic that’s caused by his nightmare, and even causing pain through the ministrations of him punching the headboard of the bed, Sam ignores the thoughts of getting hit or choked by Bucky.

He moves over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it while he moves his hands to Bucky’s shoulder, shaking it softly. For a moment the brunette stops tugging at the blanket, his brows still furrowed, but he doesn’t move. “Bucky?”

The ocean blue orbs of the man tangled in his blanket flutter open, wide and scared when he stares at Sam, who’s softly smiling down. Bucky breathes heavily, his eyes scanning the room before they settle back on Sam, who keeps his hand on Bucky’s flesh shoulder.

“You’re good, all safe here, Buck,” Sam mumbles, watching the confusion and fear in Bucky’s expression slowly fading. They are replaced by relief and a hint of sadness while Bucky keeps struggling against the blanket to get free from him. “Wait, let me help you. You got tangled in there pretty much, huh?”

Sam turns on the bed, helping Bucky to free his limbs from the fabric and revealing even a few marks on the skin of the other man. Softly, to not startle Bucky, Sam moves his fingers over the marks the blanket left because of the tightness and strength Bucky used to wrap it around himself.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters, leaning his head back into the pillow. He takes a deep breath, wiping away the stains of his tears while he stares at the ceiling. “Didn’t want to wake you up or cause trouble.”

Sam chuckles softly, shaking his head while he puts the blanket down on the bed next to Bucky. His hands reach out to Bucky’s right hand, softly lifting it to have a better look at the bruised knuckles.

“We have to clean these,” Sam points out, but Bucky shakes his head. “I won’t discuss that with you, Buck. We will clean these wounds.”

“It’s not that bad; it’s just bruised. I don’t even feel them, really,” Bucky mutters, letting his head fall to the side to look at Sam. His ocean blue eyes are still filled with so much guilt and sadness, and it pulls at Sam’s heartstrings. “You should get back to sleep; I will be fine. But thanks.”

Sam sighs, running one of his hands over his face before facing Bucky once again. The tears are still filling Bucky’s eyes, threatening to just roll down his cheeks the moment he blinks. Sam has never seen the other man so vulnerable and hurt, but something inside of him screams at him to help the lost soldier, to help him find whoever he wants to be now.

“Please, let me help you,” Sam mutters.

“You can’t help me. I can’t even help myself, Sam. I don’t need help–“ Bucky says, his tone harsh and louder than wanted. Sam opens his mouth to say anything but gets interrupted by the other man. “And no, you can’t fix me. There’s nothing to fix.”

With that, Sam gets off the bed, nodding his head. Bucky looks at him with widened eyes, hating and loving the fact that Sam accepts Bucky’s words. As much as he loves that Sam is leaving him alone, the emptiness inside of him only grows, the need for love and assurance.

Bucky turns his head to stare at the ceiling again. He listens to his heartbeat; it's beating in a steady rhythm, but it doesn’t soothe his mind. The demons are only waiting to break free, to haunt him into the darkest corners before they will break every little part that’s left of him.

Sam’s footsteps get quieter, and Bucky sighs heavily. He didn’t mean to push Sam away, but he can’t have anyone close to him. Not when he’s so broken and hurt; is someone supposed to be around him with all these broken parts he hasn’t collected off the ground now? How can someone possibly like the monster he is?

“I know you said you don’t want it, but I will just ignore you. Because that’s what I can do best,” Sam says softly after a moment of silence. Bucky flinches at the sudden sound of Sam’s voice next to him; he hasn’t even noticed the other man walking back into the bedroom.

Bucky nods, his heart feeling lighter. Sam takes a seat next to him again, taking Bucky’s hand to clean the cuts he caused with the punch against the headboard. Bucky keeps his eyes on the ceiling, swallowing thickly as he thinks about anything he could say.

“I’m sorry,” is the only sentence that comes into his mind. He’s sorry, so sorry. For waking Sam up, for pushing him away, for needing him. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

“For what?”

“Everything. I didn’t mean to wake you up. The first thing in the morning will be packing my stuff,” Bucky mutters, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, trying to wipe his tears away with his flesh hand, but Sam keeps it in a firm grip. “Can you please, just for a second?”

“Why don’t you use your left hand?” Sam asks, noticing the way Bucky refuses to do a lot when he would have to do it with his left hand. He barely touches a person with his metal hand, only doing work with it when it’s necessary. “Do you have trouble with your arm?”

“It hurts,” Bucky mutters and tries to free his hand once again, but Sam doesn’t let him. Both of them know that if Bucky would like to, he could easily pull his hand out of Sam’s grip.

“Your arm hurts?”

“No. But everything… This arm is supposed to hurt everyone; it makes me a monster,” Bucky says quietly, feeling even more tears in his eyes as a sob wrecks through his shaking body. “It’s the only purpose of that arm, Sam.”

Sam nods, releasing Bucky’s hand but reaching for his metal hand. Bucky’s eyes widen when he feels the warmth and softness of Sam’s hand touching the cool metal. He tries to pull away, afraid to hurt Sam with it, but Sam only shakes his head and places Bucky’s metal hand in one of his hands.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Sam whispers, stroking the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky breathes out, his breath heavier and his eyes blown wide. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he doesn’t pull further when Sam keeps his focus on Bucky’s hand. “Sam, please. I might hurt you.”

“How? Metal doesn’t hurt when it doesn’t have any sharp edges, and your hand doesn’t look like it, does it?” He asks, and Bucky shakes his head, slowly sitting up. He watches Sam intensely, making sure that nothing in his arm is going to hurt the other man. “There’s nothing about your arm that hurts me.”

Sam even dares to bring the metal hand to his cheek, sliding the cool fingers along his neck before they reach his chin, and Sam curls Bucky’s fingers around it. Bucky’s breath hitches when Sam moves his hand, his eyes trailing along the way Sam moves the metal hand.

“Do-Does it hurt?”

Sam shakes his head with a soft smile and lets go of Bucky’s hand. But instead of pulling away, Bucky keeps his hand where it is, slowly tracing his thumb over Sam’s cheeks and jawline.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t let you touch me if it would hurt. But it doesn’t.” Sam assures, their eyes meeting, and for a moment there’s nothing except the two of them. Bucky’s tongue darts out, wetting his plump lips before he looks back at his thumb that’s now sliding over Sam’s warm lips. “Do you trust me, Buck?”

“I think I have to,” Bucky mutters, a small smile creeping onto his lips as he nods to underline his statement. “I trust you.”

“Lay back,” Sam says, and Bucky immediately does just that. He lays back down, his hand sliding down from Sam’s chin to his shoulder and muscular chest before he lets both of his hands fall down on the mattress next to him. “Close your eyes.”

“And then you’re the prince in shining armor?”

“Knight, Bucky. It's ‘knight in shining armor.’ But no,” Sam laughs softly and gets off the bed. Bucky listens to the other man’s footsteps, his eyes shut and a frown forming on his face. “You’re getting wrinkles when you look like that.”

“I’m 108, Sam,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He relaxes his face, sighing softly when the empty side of the bed is lowered by Sam, and he feels the other man lying down next to him. Bucky’s swallowing thickly, keeping his eyes closed as he whispers. “What are you doing?”

“Lying next to you,” Sam says. He inches closer to Bucky before he wraps one of his arms around the other man’s waist and pulls him with his back flush against his warm chest. “You good?”

Bucky nods, tensing slightly at the sudden movement but relaxing just after when he feels the warmth and softness of Sam’s body pressing against his. Bucky hums softly, inhaling deeply to take in more of the scent that’s surrounding him – so manly, and a bit of the shower gel Sam uses; it’s just so Sam. It smells just like home.

“It feels… warm,” Bucky sighs, leaning his head back against Sam’s shoulder. “But if you want to sleep, you–“

“Should not go back into my room because you might hurt me,” Sam interrupts. With a low growl, Bucky presses himself further against the other man before he brings his metal hand to place on top of Sam’s. Sam’s hand trails soft patterns over Bucky’s chest and stomach, caressing the soft skin. “You can try to push me out of the bed as much as you want, but I’m glued to it now. And if you decide to choke me in the middle of your sleep, it’s hopefully a dirty dream you have.”

“Idiot.” Bucky chuckles. “Can you stay the night?”

“Definitely. And the next too. And the one after. And the one after that other night,” Sam sighs, pressing his lips to Bucky’s shoulder before he pulls the blanket over the two of them and wraps himself tighter around Bucky.

Bucky hums and interlaces their fingers with a soft chuckle. He turns his head, looking into the soft brown eyes of Sam. “Thank you,” he mutters with a soft smile. His heart is filled with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long while, at least not like that. With Sam around, he has always felt comfortable and safe, but the feeling of the other man being so close feels like he’s finally where he wants to be – his haven, his sanctuary.

“You’re welcome, Buck. But don’t tangle us in the blanket. We can tangle our limbs together, but I’m not sure how to untangle us once you have us tangled together with the blanket,” Sam chuckles, causing the other man to laugh softly too as he pushes himself back against Sam as a threat to push him out of bed. Sam wraps his legs around Bucky’s, tangling them together. “Now you‘re tangled with me; no blanket tangling games tonight, Buck.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke

[enbysiriusblack]

"Nothing I do seems to work!" James threw himself onto the sofa with a loud sigh before turning to his two amused parents perched into one armchair together, "How did you two get together?"

"Oh", Fleamont flushed slightly, "I'm not sure that would be the best-"

"Please!" James whined, "I'm in love."

Fleamont sighed slightly, and Euphemia laughed behind her teacup.

"We were in our sixth year of school", Fleamont began.

~

"Monty, I will ram your head so far up your arse!" Minerva shouted, stepping off the quidditch pitch, wiping the sweat of her forehead as she chased after Fleamont.

"I'm sorry, alright?" He shrugged, "It was an accident!"

"An accident that cost us the game!" Minerva yelled again.

Rolanda hurried after the two, "Hey, not his fault, we're just better than you lions."

"Oi, piss off, Ro, we would've won if Flea wasn't so stupid."

"Can you not call me that?" The boy flushed slightly.

"Don't be such a baby", Minerva huffed.

"Fighting again, are we?" Poppy folded her arms, discreetly taking Minerva's hand in her own, with a quick glance to make sure no one else was around.

"They always are", Euphemia laughed beside Poppy, the two having just made their way down from the stands.

"Hi, Mia", Fleamont awkwardly waved.

"Monty", Euphemia smiled in acknowledgement before turning away from him to chat to Rolanda, earning an amused laugh from Minerva.

"None of you are injured are you?" Poppy frowned slightly, glancing at the three quidditch players, "Quidditch is such a violent sport, I'll never understand the appeal."

Minerva's lip curled upwards as she glanced slightly down to Poppy, "You saying I don't look good out there?"

Poppy laughed, "Oh, you look good out there, but you also look like you could break a bone any second."

Euphemia grinned, wrapping her arms around her two friends, "You two are so sweet", she sighed, "God, I want a boyfriend."

"You do?" Fleamont's eyes lit up.

Euphemia smiled at him again, "Were you not aware of my romantic endeavours, Mr. Potter?"

"You have romantic endeavours?" Fleamont questioned.

Euphemia snorted, "In my dreams."

"Who do you dream about?" Rolanda asked, ignoring her quidditch team trying to call her over to celebrate in the distance.

Euphemia shrugged, glancing only quickly at Fleamont before turning towards the lake, "I feel like a swim."

"Sudden conversation change", Poppy commented.

Minerva and Euphemia locked eyes on each other, speaking without words.

"Oh no", Poppy sighed.

The two girls grabbed each other's hands and ran straight into the lake.

"Why?" Fleamont groaned.

Rolanda shrugged and ran after them, jumping into the water with them.

"Come on!" Minerva shouted to Fleamont and Poppy.

The two merely walked over waringly.

"This such a stupid and dangerous idea", Poppy tutted, peering down at Minerva, who wore a large grin on her face.

"Hey, Monty", Euphemia called out from the water, waving him over, "Come in!"

Fleamont instantly jumped in, leaving Poppy who had sat down on the edge of the lake, leaning in to have a quiet conversation with Minerva, who had her head rested against Poppy's legs.

The boy swam over to Euphemia.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"What are we doing here?" Fleamont glanced around.

Euphemia smiled innocently, then grabbed Fleamont by the shoulders and pulled them both under the water.

Whilst under, Euphemia quickly kissed him on the lips before the two came back up.

Fleamont's hand shot up to his lips, staring at Euphemia in shock.

"You know, I was planning on doing that at the gryffindor party if we won the game, and then I thought we could go off somewhere alone. Have a quiet talk in the night air, maybe plan our first date."

Fleamont's eyes widened and he quickly swam back to shore without a word.

"What are you doing?" Euphemia shouted after him.

"I'm going to find Coach", He spoke as he squeezed the water out of his quidditch uniform, "Ask for a rematch."

"What we can do that?" Minerva's eyes shot up to him.

"I don't know!" He groaned, eyes flopping by his side, "But I have to try!"

"Fleamont!" Euphemia, laughed, quickly swimming after him, "You don't have to win for that to happen!"

He quickly turned to her as she made her way over, "What?"

"I'd gladly go on a date with you no matter how many matches you lose for us."

"Really?" Minerva frowned, earning a glare from her best friend.

"Really?" Fleamont asked.

Euphemia laughed, holding out her hand for Fleamont to grab.

He quickly stepped forwards and took it.

"Really", she nodded, before pulling him into the water with her.

~

James blinked, "You're telling me I have to lose a quidditch match for Lily to go out with me... I don't know if I can do that."

[harukaluvr]

why does this always happpoeeeeennnn

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[melverie]

@fideosfelices

No but I've been replaying a handful of the older events these past few days and I forgot just how many of them end with MC being forced to be with Lucifer in some form

Like, spoilers for Lucifer's lvl 60 phone call in Nightbringer, but this is why your brothers kept asking MC if they really are in a relationship with you behind your back because "a relationship requires the consent of both people" and considering your track record, that's not a given on your part, Lucifer.

Do you want that list to be in alphabetical or in chronological order

[pencil-n-pen]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist | ko-fi | next

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when it’s posted, please comment “tag me please!” or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)

EDIT TWO: THE SEQUEL IS UP !! It is linked at the top of this post under “next” :)

[sirompp]

i feel like my school dreams are taunting me now. this one started with me telling someone how crazy it was i was always dreaming about this exact scenario (being back in school) but THIS time it WASNT a dream and i was actually there. who was i talking to about the realness of my current situation you ask? Karkat Vantas

[hannieehaee]

BOY WITH LUV

18+ / mdi

summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.

content: richboy!jk, downbad!jk, barista!reader, sub-ish!jk, reader plays hard to get just for plot purposes, jk is down horribly bad for reader, afab reader, smut, dry humping, jk's the embodiment of needy, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 8.8k

a/n: another silly and unserious jungkook fanfic<3

masterlist | patreon

"Anyways just be careful with how many pumps you add to drinks. Customers can be extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff. Trust me," rambled on your new trainer, Jen? Jess? Something like that.

You watched disinterested, already having had a menial barista job in the past and being well aware of the high expectations of disgruntled customers. You, too, had been verbally harassed by one too many people in dire need of a drink far too specific for the average person to memorize. It was still appreciated, though, the effort she took in walking you through every step to ensure you did good at your new position.

Despite your focus on the task being demonstrated to you not being at its best, you did take notice when Jean(?) stopped her mentoring and instead spilled some of the drink she was currently making, clearly now equally as distracted as you. Her focus was no longer on the counter you were practicing drinks on, but instead looking past you and towards the counter a few steps behind you.

You meant to call out her name to question her, but without an angle on her name tag or any confidence in actually remembering the correct name, you simply grabbed at a nearby towel and cleaned off the mess, not bothering to look at whatever was distracting her. It was too early for you to bother.

Snapping out of her trance mere seconds later, she tapped at your shoulder urgently, her voice now a whisper as she leaned close for you to hear what she was about to say.

"Oh my God, don't look, but that's Jungkook," she whispered excitedly, as if letting you in on information you had any context about — hint: you had no idea who nor what she was referring to.

Turning around, you eyed another one of your new coworkers tending to the line at the counter, but more specifically helping out some guy. Focusing your eyes on him, you could now understand why his presence had caused a short-circuit in Jane (?) and why she felt the need to announce his presence to you.

The distraction in question presented itself in the form of a very tall and fit guy, one with a fully tattooed sleeve and dreamy black curls. Other outstanding attributes were the very obvious muscles encompassing his entire body and the shine that came from the various piercings on his face. In short, the man was nothing short of a dream straight from a Pinterest board — and the charisma radiating from his mere presence did not help matters.

"He's a regular. No one really knows much about him other than he's rich. He tips like 200% above his total," continued June, still leaning in your direction to whisper.

You felt bad at how obvious you were whilst staring at the boy, but he was likely the prettiest one you'd seen in a while. The blank expression in your stare did not tell on you, but it did not deny the fact that you were staring.

"We take turns serving him," your coworker informed you, "Sometimes we fight over it. He's a natural flirt, but he does it with everyone, so we're not sure if he's taken or not," she proceeded to tell you benign details about him that had you nodding along as you continued to stare at him.

The usually fast-paced place seemed to slow down when he entered the coffee shop, with most baristas' attentions going to him rather than their jobs. If he was aware of it, he was good at ignoring it, instead giving a flashy smile to the lucky barista currently tending to him. From the short distance between you, you were unable to hear his conversation, but you still had a perfect view of him as he simply existed. He could easily see you, as there was nothing in his way, but he hadn't yet, somehow oblivious to the attention he was receiving from all other baristas in the house.

As time stood still for everyone else, it continued normally for him. He paid for his drink, having it quickly bypass all other prior orders and made immediately by one of the many girls fawning at him. God, even the two baristas working the drive-thru had taken a short break from it go gawk.

It wasn't until moments later that Jungkook seemed to get a taste of his own medicine, with his own time suddenly coming to a halt. As he turned around to leave, sweet drink now in hand, his eyes incidentally met yours, causing him to pause mid turn and do a double take in order to catch your eyes again.

It was ridiculous, really. Almost too identical to those moments you'd see in those dumb romcoms you used to enjoy as a teenager. Except this was actually happening. And it was happening to you. As all your new coworkers watched his every move with extreme attention.

His eyes widened a bit. It was something the naked eye might've missed, but not you (nor the other five girls watching). His head tilted a bit to the side — maybe in curiosity due to not having seen you there before (Joanne did mention he was a regular). A ghost of a smirk took over the natural smile that had been on his lips since arrival. And lastly, a nod was sent your way — a nod in acknowledgment to your presence, but also with a flirtatious hint to it. It was hard to describe. You simply had to be there.

You remained watching him with a poker face throughout. The same poker face you'd had since clocking in to work that morning. It wasn't that you were mean or not a people person, you simply hated work. You'd been told you had a bit of a resting bitch face and gave a mean impression to those who didn't know you, but that was beside the point. The pretty boy whose attention you'd caught had gotten lucky, though, as he at least received the ghost of a smile from you before he left.

The first thing to occur upon his departure was a squeal from your left. The perpetrator? Julie (or whatever her name was).

"Oh my god!," she let out, grabbing onto your shoulder so you'd face her, "Did you see that?"

"See what?", you asked, not 100% sure of what had just happened.

"He totally checked you out . He's never done that before. Maybe he likes you? God, don't let Lila find out, she's got a huge crush on him," she informed you, once again assuming you knew who the hell Lila was.

"Hah, I think he might've just been surprised to see a new face," you downplayed, "What were you explaining before he got here? The thing with the pumps and the-"

"He comes here every morning at 8 or so. How about you take his order tomorrow? Y'know, just to test my theory," she suggested, disregarding your question.

"Orders? It's my first day here. Isn't training like two weeks lon-"

"It's fine! I'll be shadowing you. You'll do great! Now let's get back to your training-"

"Jane! I need more change at drive thru!", called one of the drive thru girls, interrupting your conversation.

"Coming, Lila!", she responded, giving you a polite smile before handing you the shaker she had just been holding, "Just practice some drinks how I taught you. I'll be right back to show you how to work the register."

So her name was Jane. And that was Lila.

At least you learned something today.

The subject of Jungkook stayed for a while after he left.

As you got to know a few of your other coworkers during your shift, you came to learn more useless details about him. Useless due to the fact that none of your coworkers had ever actually had a real conversation with him. It appeared as if he was always in a rush any time he stopped by. This bit of knowledge made it even more scandalous among your coworkers that Jungkook had stopped to blatantly check you out before continuing with his busy day.

And so the next day, you were admittedly a bit nervous when they'd suddenly prepped you for cashier duties only one day on the job. You'd done this before, but it was always slightly nerve wracking working a new cash register system and dealing with an entirely different hurdle of customers. That and the fact that you knew all your coworkers were awaiting the moment in which Jungkook came back, only this time he'd get a one-on-one with you.

For one, you didn't believe the suspicion that he liked you.

It was impossible to assert that from the simple one-over he'd given you. But then again, you didn't know the guy as well as your coworkers claimed to.

It was at 8:17AM that the theory was finally tested, when a certain heartthrob walked through the glass doors with all the charismatic energy a person could possibly carry.

He looked as handsome as he did the day prior, especially because now you had a beeline view of him, simply waiting for his arrival on the other side of the counter. His hair was wavier today somehow, and he donned a tight short-sleeve that gave you the perfect view of a sleeve full of colorful tattoos — fuck. His jeans were loose but still gave you a nice view of his physique. It was easy to tell the man was ripped to hell, yet another probable reason as to why your coworkers were all in love with him. Chunky shoes and shiny piercings accessorized his outfit, bringing an edge of grunginess you typically enjoyed in guys.

All things considered, he seemed just like your type.

However, the concept of even crushing on a guy that had every other girl at his feet sounded far too exhausting. You were just not into the idea of chasing after a guy who had a line of women waiting for their turn (or just chasing any guy in general). Today you'd simply serve his drink to prove a point and put an end to any possibility of even a mere flirtation with Jungkook before it even began.

Somehow, he hadn't taken note of you until reaching the cash register, too distracted by his phone as he made what was likely a familiar path for him — he was a regular, after all.

When he reached you, finally putting his phone away, he reacted similarly to last time, doing a double take before letting his eyes land on you for a more permanent stay. His mouth opened and closed a few times, hands reaching up as if undecided on what to entertain themselves with and remaining awkwardly on the air. A gulp took over his voice before he shook his head slightly to clear his head.

"Hi," he began, "You're new."

"Hi, yeah. What can I get for you today?," you got straight to the point.

As flattering as his reaction to you was, a line would probably form any minute now, and you'd already been thrown to the wolves, so you needed to move things along. There's never any time to waste in customer service.

"Oh, uh, the other baristas know my usual — but, uh you're new, like you just said, so, it's uhm just an americano. Medium, please," he rambled, not smooth like you'd expected someone as handsome and put together to be.

Your chuckle couldn't be helped, but at least it wasn't the girlish giggle you truly felt like letting out in the presence of such a man, "Yeah, okay. That'll be $4.95. Anything else?"

He stared at you blankly for a few moments, two silent blinks trapping his large eyes before clearing his throat, causing you to look up from the cash register to give him a curious look, hoping that was enough of a silent indicator at him to speak up.

"Your number, maybe?"

Admittedly, this caught you off guard.

You were surprised at the swift shift in confidence in Jungkook. Literal moments ago he was stammering his way through a sentence, yet the second time you looked up from the cash register he began to sport a cocky smile, confidently leaning against the counter separating you.

"God, you're gorgeous," he then added, eyes moony as he stared at you. It was said with a clear lack of thoughts in his brain, though also with an air of confidence, almost as if he were stating an irrefutable fact.

"Uhm, thanks," you mumbled, taking the money he was currently handing you with an awkward smile, "Okay, got a $5," you recited the usual cashier dialogue as you dug into the register for his change, "Here's your change. Your drink will be ready in a few minutes."

He took it, eyes still glued to yours with a dreamy smile on his face. Tilting his head to the side, his smile widened, "So, no number?", he asked with a teasing tone.

"Sorry, not allowed to give it to customers," you lied, "What's your name? Need it for the order," you asked despite already knowing his name. Disclosing this information would've only made him more adamant in asking for your information.

"That's a lie. Most of your coworkers have slipped me their numbers before," he called you out nonchalantly before giving you his name without any further argument, "What's your name? You don't have a name tag on," he seemed very okay with continuing with the small talk as much as possible, ignoring how your eyes looked past him to eye the line that had began forming.

You sighed, noting how settled he was on his spot, with his arms now leaning comfortably on the counter. He was clearly not going to leave with at least something from you.

You gave him your name, adding reluctance to your tone, attempting to send a message of disinterest.

Lifting his hand, he reached to yours which was currently lying on top of the screen of the cash register, softly grabbing its limp form to offer you a handshake. You did not grasp his hand in yours in return, making the handshake one-sided.

"Very nice meeting you. You'll be seeing me very often, gorgeous," he winked, dropping a bill way too high for a $4.99 order into the small tips cup on the counter and finally walking away as suave as humanly possible.

Internally, you groaned, knowing this was going to be the topic of conversation as soon as you clocked out for your break.

As expected, a few of your coworkers squealed at you immediately after Jungkook's departure, rambling about how clear it was that he was into you. And yes, that much was obvious — especially considering the large $20 tip he'd left you for merely taking his order. It was difficult to not give into their encouragement to ask him out or to at least respond to his advancements next time.

Most of your coworkers expressed happiness for you, simply enjoying the sight of the pretty boy coming around on a daily basis, while one or two seemed to grow an immediate dislike for you upon his sudden interest in you. Regardless, you wished to steer clear of any emotions his crush on you could bring. All you wanted out of this job was to clock in and clock out and call it a day.

The next time you saw him was two days later when you were finally scheduled to work again. Once more, you found yourself at the cashier once again. Despite it being your first week, your trainer had decided that you seemed apt for the task after the test trial with Jungkook a few days prior, so cashier duties were now assigned to you.

You didn't mind this. It was a straight forward task and far more preferable to drive-thru or clean up duty. However, you couldn't lie in saying you weren't a little on edge at the thought of interacting with Jungkook again. So maybe you spent an extra five minutes this morning on your makeup, so what?

You spent most of your morning taking orders for the early risers that frequented the store. They were all pretty nice, likely too tired at such an early hour to trouble the baristas in charge of their morning dosage of caffeine.

"Hey, gorgeous," were the words that took you out of your thoughts, calling your attention to the boy you'd been subconsciously thinking about all morning.

"Hello, Jungkook. What can I help you with?", you readied yourself to enter his drink on the register.

"What, don't remember my order? Missed you the past few days, by the way. Where'd you go?", he pouted.

"Sorry, not good at memorizing customers' orders, you're going to have to remind me. And I was off this weekend," you were straight forward in your responses.

Similarly to last time, he leaned on the counter, diminishing the distance between you as much as possible before speaking again, a smirk still present on his face.

"That's no problem, gorgeous, I'll remind you every day. Any chance you're nearing your break any time soon?", he questioned with confidence, repeating his order afterwards for you to type into the system.

You sighed, interrupting your work to respond, "No, I-"

"Actually, yes!", interrupted a sudden third voice.

You turned your head to the side to look at the intruder. It was Jane, of course.

"She's been working all morning. She's due for her 15," she let out, pushing you away from the cash register to take your place, "I'll work your order for her," she insisted.

"Great," Jungkook smiled at you in triumph, "In that case, throw in some cake pops in for my new friend," he went to take out some cash, handing what was likely too much to Jane and insisting she keep the change.

Turning his eyes back for you, he nodded in his direction as a silent request that you round the counter and head over to his side. Jane somehow completed his order in artful speed and handed it over to you with a wink before nudging you to encourage you to go. With a slight scowl, you did as suggested, handing Jungkook his drink and cake pops before he gave one back for you.

He began walking over to an empty counter, leaning against it and inviting you to do the same. Very casually, he drank from his drink and took a bite from his cake pop as he offered the other one out to you, chuckling when you grabbed it with reluctance.

"C'mon don't act like I got you hostage."

"You kinda do. My break wasn't until another twenty minutes. This just means I'll have to stay another half an hour," you quipped, more contrarian than anything.

He liked this, it seemed, indicating his amusement with another chuckle. It was probably not usual for him be met with much resistance to his flirting. And it wasn't as if it didn't work on you (it did). You were just not very willing to focus on it over your job — as menial as it was.

"I'll cover your overtime, gorgeous, don't worry about that," he smirked, "What time does your shift end anyway?"

"Hah, wouldn't you like to know?", you laughed antagonistically, continuing to nab at the sweet treat he'd given you.

Taking a step forward, he got up in your personal space. It wasn't an intimate type of closeness, but rather a standoffish one. He was challenging your own defiance against his flirting.

"You are aware I'm flirting with you, right?"

"Very."

Another amused chuckle left him, "How many visits is it gonna take me for you to reciprocate?", he asked, "Fine, maybe being so forward after my second visit was a bit too much, but I'm willing to play the long game if you are."

You listened to him with the ghost of a pleased smile on your face. Fine, maybe he was attractive and likable too. You weren't about to shut him down so easily. Maybe the long game sounded good to you too.

Taking the rest of your cake pop into your mouth with one swoop, you gnawed at the leftover candy on the stick, sucking at it with a pop before eyeing him again and nodding at him.

"You're more than welcome to, Jungkook."

He nodded back, "Them I guess I'll be seeing you here tomorrow ..." he paused with a lift of his eyebrow, a silent question for your name and groaning when you continued to grin silently, "Come on! At least give me your name!"

The giggle left you before you could stop it, continuing to sound out your name to him as a sign of peace.

"Pretty name," he murmured to himself, "Same time tomorrow?", he asked before turning to leave.

"I'll be waiting."

In the following two weeks of working as many hours as possible at your new job, you were finally no longer in your training period. You were now considered as useful an employee as Jane and Lila, meaning you got your name tag and could now comfortably settle into your cashier position.

In these two weeks, you also saw Jungkook almost every day (sans those in which you were off).

It got to a point in which Jungkook would occasionally stop by a second time in the afternoon in search of a peek of you, usually proving unsuccessful, but still trying anyways.

As summer time ended, the mornings became more packed, meaning yours and Jungkook's encounters diminished in time due to the peak of clients in the mornings. Jungkook was not shy in expressing his disappointment at this, always giving you eyes to attempt to get you to stall on his orders so he could spend a little extra time at the counter with you, or even attempting to bribe you with tips so you'd give him your number (something which had almost worked a few times).

Now, an entire month into your job, it was safe to say that Jungkook's crush was more than mutual by this point (though it really always was).

Unfortunately, your back and forth was so limited that you were yet to really find out anything about the guy other than his first name. Apart from having a vague idea of his wealth, you didn't know any basic details such as his age, profession or even his last name.

To be fair, you had never attempted to learn more about him, but this was partially due to your belief that he must've just enjoyed your casual flirtation. Likely, he liked your hard-to-get personality and enjoyed attempting to break you down. He had never actually asked you out past that first time he invaded your break, after all.

Up until today, that is.

"Please let me steal you away for your break," were the first words the boy had spoken to you when he'd finally caught you at the cash register after days of missing you altogether, "Or! I can wait until you get off. I'm finally off work for a few days. Please don't make me beg. I will do it, but it won't be pretty for anyone."

You sighed, fake annoyed at the gigantic pout on his face, "You've seen me almost every other day," you started, only to be interrupted by him.

"But you're always busy! God, why do so many people need coffee anyways?"

"Ask yourself. You're a frequent client here."

"Yeah, but that's different! I don't even come here for the coffee anymore. It's too packed," he continued, peeking behind him for a moment to make sure he wasn't holding up a line.

"Really?", you decided to play with him, "Why do you come, then?"

He leaned in closer to the counter separating you, grin copying your own satisfied one, "You know, the least you could do is acknowledge my flirting. It'd be really mean if you didn't."

"Fine," you gave in, "I work a full day today, but my lunch is in twenty minutes. Now order before my manager scolds me for letting you loiter."

He scoffed, "All your coworkers love me, that could never happen. But fine. I'll have my usual," he conceded, "I'll be waiting for you over at a table outside. If you don't come, I'll become even more of a nuance," he threatened jokingly as you processed his order, taking his payment and handing him a receipt with a reluctant nod in agreement.

"Okay, leave!", you couldn't help but berate him as you handed him his drink — which, hard to admit, you knew by heart.

With another chuckle in your direction, he made a face at you and made his way out, making sure to leave a far too large tip before exiting.

The twenty minutes before your lunch were spent boringly to say the least. Not many customers were around at that time of day, so you spent most of your time lounging around the small bar and restocking any lids or cups you felt were low enough to be refurbished. Contrary to how you'd previously expressed yourself, you were actually looking forward to getting to hang with Jungkook.

He was fun, what could you say?

Just a few minutes before your lunch break actually began, a subtle knocking sound caught your attention, causing you to focus your view on one of the many windows in the shop. Looking in that direction, you caught a smiley Jungkook attempting to grab your attention, waving cutely when you finally noticed him.

"Are you done?", he mouthed through the window, hands making a 'come hither' motion to entice you into coming out, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.

It got increasingly difficult to hold back a smile any time Jungkook would do something unknowingly cute, but you still managed.

You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, noting you had two minutes until your break. Looking back and forth between the empty coffee shop and Jungkook fawning at you from the window, you made a decision. What were two minutes, anyways?

Shrugging, you gave him a small smile, you began heading outside after clocking out of your register, having to force back a giggle at how much bigger his own smile got at your reciprocation.

"Was that a smile I saw?", he grinned when you finally made it outside.

You rolled your eyes, though the ghost of a smile didn't leave you.

"Shut up. You got me for thirty minutes, don't waste it."

You walked side by side up until the table Jungkook had been sitting at, not taking a seat but standing next to it.

"Do I have permission to take you out?", he tried, biting his lip in hopeful anticipation.

Pretending to mull over it for a moment, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips, hmm'ing at the proposal.

"C'mon! You know I like you. All your coworkers know I like you. And, y'know what? I think you like me back- Okay, wait, don't give me that look. Fine, you at least tolerate me."

"And?"

"See! You didn't deny it. That's a step in the right direction. Let me take you out. Please? I'm not in this just for the chase, if that's what you're thinking," he practically pleaded, looking down at you with those gigantic eyes you were unsure if you were truly immune to.

"Then why me?", you asked, truly unsure.

"I don't know," he began, "Call it love at first sight, I guess? Do I need a reason to like you? There's too many. I like everything I've known about you," he finished with sincerity in his eyes.

But you couldn't really buy it so easily.

"Jungkook, you don't even know me."

"But I want to! That's the whole point of dating. C'mon, I won't get in the way of your job. I'll even take you out somewhere fancy. I know you like pastries, I always see you go for the sweet drinks rather than the coffees, and you always pair them with a cake pop. See? I know as much about you as you've allowed me to know," he braved it and stepped closer, grabbing onto your hand tentatively, "So, please?"

You huffed, looking down before looking back at him, attempting to force the endeared smile out of your face.

"Fine. You can take me out. But not right now. If you want to take me out, you have to wow me. A measly thirty minutes in my work apron is not enough."

He took a few moments to wipe the huge smile off his face before responding, clearing his throat before doing so.

"Completely valid. Give me your number so you can text me your address and any time you'll be free for me to wow you," he handed you his phone, taking yours in exchange.

"Really? Any time?", you asked as you absentmindedly added your contact info to his phone, "Don't you have a job or something?"

"Huh, now who's the one who wants to get to know me?", he smirked lightheartedly, "That's for you to find out at our date," he went to hand your phone back, "Now, if I'm not mistaken, I still have an allotted seventeen minutes to spend with you."

In usual Jungkook fashion, he insisted on buying you something to eat from your own establishment, huffing at any suggestion for you to use your employee benefits and leaving a large tip as per usual. Whatever was his job, it must've left him more than satisfied. It made you curious, though his personality was even more intriguing. Against how you may have presented your lack of enthusiasm, you were quite excited for your upcoming date.

The next time you saw Jungkook, you got a very clear idea of what his job must be. Or at least of which tax bracket he sat comfortably at.

You weren't sure what model of car sat in front of your apartment at this moment, but you were sure it was worth beyond the money you'd see in this lifetime. There was also no doubt it belonged to Jungkook. The personalized JK1997 license plate was good enough indicator of its owner.

After giving Jungkook your number, you became victim to a myriad of messages from him from that moment on. Not only did he make plans for your date, but he also took advantage of how easily reachable you had become and chose to display his affection for you in the form of endless messages.

You couldn't lie to yourself, it was fun to have a guy so deeply interested despite your constant indifference towards him, specially if it was a guy that looked like Jungkook.

His messages varied from flirtatious to friendly to downright thirsty — there had been an instance of him sending you a picture of him at the gym, one which you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. You'd tease him about sending pictures back, but the most you ever gave him were selfies (to which he responded with threads of heart eyes).

Your date had been planned almost immediately. Jungkook, claiming himself a romantic, insisted on not telling you his plans, but did recommend you wear a pretty dress and some cute heels. He ached to see you all dolled up for him (his exact words).

Part of you wanted to be a brat (as he seemed to enjoy) and deny him of this pleasure. But a bigger part of you as tired of rejecting him and wanted to break him in different ways. And so you dressed up. You pulled out the dress you thought would wear him down the quickest, dolling yourself up to the best of your abilities and even donning the cutest pair of heels you could find.

The fruits of your labor manifested themselves in the form of a practically drooling Jungkook standing in front of your apartment door, stammering a greeting to you as his eyes went up and down your body multiple times, taking various stops at the parts he likely deemed his favorites.

He led you downstairs by your hand, groaning out loud at your perfume as he complimented it, claiming you must've wanted him dead before he even got to take you on your date. Maybe he was half right about that.

Once downstairs, he played dumb when you gaped at his expensive car, simply claiming that you deserved nothing but the best and opening the passenger door to you with a kiss to the pack of your hand.

His hand remained on your thigh the entire way over, nimble fingers occasionally tracing t the skin or sometimes even squeezing at the plushiness of it. You smiled in satisfaction at how blatant he was about wanting you. He'd always been loud and proud about it, but the reactions he was giving you tonight inflated your ego tenfold.

The restaurant was, once again, another demonstration of his wealth. This time you scoffed at any other suggestion to him being rich, to which he simply chuckled as he allowed the host to lead you over to your seats — some which he'd introduced as the best in the house.

"Are you going to tell me what you do for a living or should I start speculating?", you asked after a few sips of wine.

"What are your thoughts?", he decided to entertain you.

"You're in the mafia, maybe? Or a nepo baby? One of your parents married into wealth? You don't seem the lottery type. You look like you're very well accustomed to being rich," you began speculating, enjoying his amusement at you.

"All very fine guesses, but no. Gonna have to try harder."

"Can I bribe you into telling me?", there was a suggestive tilt to your tone.

"Please bribe me."

You giggled. You enjoyed how open he was about liking you. It was extremely refreshing. It was hard to remember now why you'd ignored his advances for months.

"Tell me," you whined.

"It's nothing exciting. I'm afraid you'll be bored by it," he clicked his tongue.

Maybe you should flip the script and show him your own interest?

Before you could decide, your body took control of its own, with your leg beginning to drag up and down his own under the table in a slow and seductive fashion. He instantly hiccuped at his drink when he felt the touch.

"Tell me?", you asked again, but your tone was far more convincing this time. You let the strap of your dress fall to the side, giving him a sneak peak at the strap hidden underneath it; the first hint at the pretty set you'd thrown on for later.

"A-ah, I'm just a video editor and producer. Nothing too exciting," he managed to not stutter too much as he felt your touch and allowed his eyes to zero in on the tiny sliver of bra.

"Oooh, sexy."

"Well, not as sexy as being a barista," he joked back through a stutter.

"Is that why you're always at the cafe? You're rich enough to not work a menial job like the rest of us peasants," you leaned towards the table a bit, foot continuing to tease at his leg.

"I'd say the pretty barista there is the bigger reason- Baby, you gotta stop doing that," he interrupted himself.

"What, I can't flirt with you? How's that fair?"

"You have the upper hand here. It's not fair!" he almost whined.

"Trust me, I could be doing much worse," you threatened with a smirk, "Don't make me sit next to you. I'll be even meaner up close."

He gaped at you for a few moments before readjusting himself on his seat, eyes trailing to your chest for a brief moment before attempting to refocus.

"Baby, did you enjoy your meal?", he suddenly switched the subject, sitting up straight now.

"We just got here," you tilted your head in confusion.

"Yeah, but, uh, I think I might've left my stove on. Come back home with me to check?"

Oh.

Well, that was fun enough for you.

But you could make it funner.

"But I wanted dessert," you pouted as you let your foot find higher heights on his legs.

"What I want isn't on the menu," he played along with a matching pout.

"Will you treat me to something good if I say yes?"

"I'll give you anything you want," he gave up on the double entendres, tone exasperated as he visibly itched to get up from his seat.

"Fine," you feigned disinterest, slowly getting up from your seat only to be rushed by Jungkook who had suddenly made his way over to your side of the table, ushering you out of your seat.

He scrambled through his wallet to grab a stack of cash, gesturing at the waiter to let him know it covered the bill and that he could keep any extra as a tip. You giggled as he dragged you away, not at all subtle in what his goal was. Even his grip on your wrist as he dragged you away was clear on its intent.

"Well, that was a shitty date," you deadpanned back in the car.

"You're the one who ruined it by playing footsie with me!", he rasped, attempting to focus on the road while you sat pretty beside him with an unspoken promise of sex as soon as you reached your destination.

You were happy to not be the one driving.

"But you said you'll treat me once we take care of your oven, right, Kookie?" you teased with a hand beginning to draw patterns on his leg, causing him to flinch with a whine.

"D-don't touch me! I will crash and I need you intact for I wanna do to you," he grumbled.

You laughed again, surrendering for the rest of the ride.

The next time you spoke was when Jungkook began pulling into a building that looked a few tax brackets above your own. It oozed luxury, being so high up that you could not see the end of it from the car window.

"A producer, huh? Dude, you're loaded. You could probably buy out the entire franchise of the cafe I work at," you marveled as you took in the expensive-looking parking lot you were pulling into.

"Can I? Will that get you to stop working and pay attention to me?," he pouted.

The sight gave you some cognitive dissonance. On one hand, you had an extremely attractive Jungkook donning what was likely an insanely expensive suit whilst maneuvering the car with only one hand. Meanwhile, you also had a needy boy pouting at you for your attention.

But you decided to play into the latter. The control he gave you was just too enjoyable.

"Needy," you teased.

"You have no idea."

And those were hid last words before he finally parked the car, rushing to get out and round it in order to help you out of your seat. It was embarrassing, really, the urgency in which he ushered you towards the lobby, practically dragging you all the way to the elevator before pressing a button far too high for the ride to be a short one.

Which was why you chose to take advantage of tour solitary surroundings whilst in that small ascending box.

Jungkook should've seen it coming, really. You hadn't been shy about being a tease back at the restaurant, nor had you really restrained yourself while in his car. It should've been obvious to him that you'd try and pull something whilst on the elevator too, right?

Wrong. Or well, at least if his whimper of surprise had been any indicator of his cluelessness.

The most sensible thing to do (in your horny opinion, at least) at that moment had been to corner him and catch him in a heated kiss. Apart from his initial surprise, it seemed like this was the right step to take, seeing as he fed into it immediately.

His hands were just as needy as his person, gluing themselves to your body and refusing to leave it for even a second. Every curve was felt and squeezed at as his tongue infiltrated your mouth. But his needy hands weren't even the best thing about him.

Your favorite thing was how shameless he was when it came to his sounds. If a mere kiss had him whimpering against you, you were ecstatic to know what second base would make him sound like.

Pulling at his hair, you pulled him away from you just so you could take a look at his dazed eyes (which were very adamantly glued to your lips). The sight was too pretty to ignore. But this lasted mere seconds before the poor boy drew you into another kiss, humming when you kissed back with the same amount of fervor.

Needy hands landed on your hips, long fingers digging into the plush and pushing them against his own. His hardness was already proudly present and dragging itself against whichever part of your body was closest. Pants were released right into your lips and suffocated against your tongue. No words were exchanged, as the sounds of clothes ruffling and tongues meeting were already loud enough.

Sadly, the beautiful art of dry humping had to be put to a stop when the elevator dinged, indicating you'd reached your destination.

True to his character, Jungkook whined again, immediately setting course for his apartment as he dragged you by the hand once again. You found your destination quite quickly as Jungkook fumbled to let the two of you in, practically pushing you in before closing the door behind him.

"Fuck, I want you so bad," he spoke for the first time as he pressed your lips together once more.

Blindly guiding you through his expansive apartment, he somehow managed to only bump twice before making it to his bed. Sadly, you were unable to take in your surroundings due to Jungkook's insistence in keeping your lips locked, but who were you to complain?

Landing on his bed, Jungkook remained standing, beginning to throw off his blazer and unbutton his shirt as you leaned back in a sitting position, legs spread to allow him to stand between them. You enjoyed the show, not even attempting to get yourself into any state of undress.

"Stop staring at me like that. You're making me nervous," he whined when he found himself finally shirtless, squinting at you as you quite literally ate him with your eyes.

You knew he'd be the prettiest sight from the moment you first spotted him, but he looked even better than you could've possibly imagined. He was clearly sculpted, but you didn't realize it'd be to this extent. Carrying a lean figure, every inch of his body still managed to contain toned muscle. The tattoo sleeve also did not help manners.

You ignored his whining, continuing to stare.

"Come up wrap me," you lifted your hands childishly as if to invite him to undress you, which he accepted happily.

Chuckling at your demeanor, his hands reached out to you, helping you stand up before blindly unzipping your dress and letting it fall down to reveal the other pretty garments you'd chosen to wear for him.

"Oh, you hate me," he mumbled upon a single view of what was hiding below your dress.

Pressing his forehead to your shoulder, he groaned, hands hanging by your sided as he appeared to apprehensive to touch you, not really knowing where to start.

"You haven't even looked at it yet!", you pouted, "I got it just for you. And it was expensive — maybe not by your standards, but," you shrugged.

His nose trailed its way to your neck by then, breathing you in and continuing to groan at the peak of lingerie he'd just gotten. There was no way he had gotten a good look from his proximity, but knowing that the mere suggestion of you dressing up for him already had him frustrated.

"I'll buy you a wardrobe full of them," he huffed whilst his hands felt you up, fingers lightly scratching at the lace barely covering your hips and breasts.

"If I rip it, will you be mad?", he asked after getting his fill of you. Your neck was practically wet with his saliva by then.

"Well, you did say you were gonna buy me more, so,"

Your statement was followed by a ripping sound coming from down south, your lower half now fully nude as you gasped.

"Jungkook!"

"Oh, these rip easily. That's good. I like these," he muttered, unhooking your bra before beginning to kiss his way to your breasts.

"K-kook, fuck."

His lips caught onto one of your breasts, tongue teasingly rounding the hardened bud in the middle before nipping lightly at it. A huff of air was released against your skin as he sighed in what you believed to be contentment.

"You're so pretty," he sounded pained as he said it.

He continued kissing at your breasts and feeling at your body for a few moments before laying you back on the bed, hands aiding you in scooting towards its middle so he could hover above you comfortably. His hands didn't leave you once, latched onto some part of your body at all times.

Trailing down with wet kisses, his lips acted as a magnet against your skin, finding their way to your middle slowly but desperately. Immediately once there, he nuzzled his nose into your bundle of nerves, sighing against it before letting his tongue get a taste.

"I- fuck, Kook," you sighed when you received a wide lick to your folds, followed by precise movements of his tongue.

Jungkook's proclivity towards oral became obvious quite quickly. It was as if he was trying to replace all the wetness seeping out of you with his own saliva. It sounded disgusting in theory, but felt far too good in practice.

"Hmm, fuck. Baby, I need to be able to breathe," he chuckled breathlessly when your thighs began squeezing around his head a little too harshly.

"It's your fault," was all you mumbled before whining at him to continue.

Unable to deny you anything, he kept going, tongue pointed as it poked and licked at your swollen pearl while his ring and middle finger slowly inserted themselves inside, doing a 'come hither' motion and gracing against your walls to perfection. The constant rumble of his groans against you did not really help matters either.

"You're too fucking good at this, shit," you groaned when he held you impossibly closer, nose rubbing against your clit as he licked at your hole maniacally.

"Just, fuck, it's so warn n pretty," mumbled the drunken man.

It made you pulse the way in which he described your cunt. Pretty had never been a word you'd considered, but who were you to oppose his expert opinion?

Far too soon, you felt your orgasm approach. All your senses were heightened. The smell of sweat, the feeling of his tongue against you, the sound of his grumbles of self-serving pleasure; you were done for.

When you came, it didn't come to you as a surprise when Jungkook refused to create any distance between you. His head remained buried between your legs, tongue lapping at you despite your body begging at him to stop. The sensitivity was high, but the pleasure was ever so present, you didn't have it in you to actually make him stop. Your hands dug into his hair even harder than before, though they were indecisive as to whether to pull him closer or away from you.

"God, fuck. I've been wanting to do that since I met you," he groaned out once he resurfaced.

He climbed beck up your limp and ruined body, kissing his way to your lips before nastily shoving his tongue in your mouth. Not bothering to ask whether or not you'd want to taste yourself, he took a wild guess and asserted you'd be enthusiastic in your reciprocation — which you clearly were, practically reaching down his throat with your own tongue.

Naturally, your bodies melded with one another as you kissed. Both pairs of hips became needy as they ground against each other. Bumping bellies, you ensured Jungkook remained trapping against you as you wrapped your legs around his nonexistent waist. He chuckled at this for half a second before continuing to devour your lips with his own, hips even more desperate than before.

"Wanna- fuck, wanna cum like this, but ... God, need to be inside you," he grunted out his predicament.

Pity.

Maybe you'd rebirth the lost art of dry humping some other day. It'd be far more fun to make Jungkook cum in his pants, after all. Why waste a perfectly naked Jungkook with some dry humping when he was already in a full state of undress?

"What are you waiting for?", you nudged him with your foot, opening your legs further to demonstrate your want for him.

"You're mean," he huffed as he kissed you before pulling himself away to scramble through his end table for a condom.

In an uncharacteristically non suave manner, Jungkook ripped the condom open with his mouth, peeling it over his hardness with an urgency that showed you just how needy he was. This caused you to giggle at the sight.

"You laugh now, but I'm about to fuck you into this bed," he grunted as he absentmindedly rewrapped your legs around his waist, ensuring you locked them behind his back so he could grab onto his cock and begin lining himself up.

"Fuck, baby, do you see that? So puffy and needy," he mocked, tip running up and down your folds, catching your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"Stop it. I'm the only one allowed to be mean," you complained, legs pulling him forward.

"Right," he chuckled, "What I'm about to do to you feels really mean, though."

"Jungkook, I swear to- F-fuck!"

"God, so fucking tight," he mumbled under his breath, "Feels even better than I imagined."

You panted for a few moments as you adjusted yourself to the huge intrusion, eyes faltering a bit.

"Thought about this a lot?"

"Every night, baby," he groaned when you gave him the green light to start moving.

With this, he began grinding into you with an intensity that showed you he'd been telling the truth. Despite how much of a mess he'd been throughout your date, his suave and confident persona was ever so present whilst fucking into you.

There seemed to be no thoughts in his mind that did not revolve around your pleasure. His pace was mind-numbing yet sensual, his fingers circled at your clit with the perfect precision, his lips never ceased in their smacking against your skin. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to ruin you for any other man (hint: he was).

"Feels good, baby?," he grunted between thrusts, breathless and almost unable to form a sentence.

"K-kook-"

You were unable to formulate words, and he knew as much. Or at least that's what you got from the smirk pressed up against your cheek as he trailed back up to your lips.

"You're going to cum with me, right, pretty? Hmm?", his nose nudged your own, lips leaving teasing kisses against yours, "It'll feel so good, gorgeous, okay? I'm, fuck, I'm almost there."

"Kook, I'm c-cumming, sh-shit! Fuck!", you wailed when it finally hit you, having no time to feel embarrassed at how quickly it came. It had all been too much, but you were pretty sure Jungkook knew that.

He followed you into the abyss with a groan and a small bite down the skin of your shoulder. He hummed against the skin, getting it damp with saliva, but you didn't care. The heat from his body as he pressed you down onto his sheets created a damp sheen of sweat between you. It was all very humid and nasty, but the knowledge that Jungkook was currently creaming into a condom whilst buried inside you, mind lost as his sounds filled the room, was more than satisfactory to you.

"Fuck," he groaned once he slumped himself next to you.

He lazily slipped off the condom, throwing it at a trash can laid near his bed before nuzzling his body against your limp one. You had made no move since your orgasm, simply taking in the pleasure that had just invaded you mere minutes ago.

"You're dangerous for a barista."

"You knew this the moment you saw me. That's what you liked about me."

He hummed happily, "You should actually be mean to me next time. It'd be hot."

"Masochist," you laughed.

"Guilty."

"All the girls are gonna hate me when they realize I toon you off the market," you whined as you flipped yourself to your side, scooting closer to him and practically burying yourself in his skin.

"But you love that, don't you?", he chuckled.

You giggled back.

"Guilty."

to read short 2k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on patreon!

content: more cafe shenanigans with reader and her coworkers, jungkook still being down bad, smut, afab reader, tit fucking, face riding, mentions of sexting, etc.

wc: 351 (teaser); 2k (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"What the hell are you doing here with those?"

"Is that how you welcome your boyfriend?"

Those were his last words before you rushed to round the counter and get him out of earshot, dragging him by the arm towards the exit. On his other arm, he held tightly onto the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers he'd entered the facility with mere moments ago.

"Woah, what's with the aggression?", he scoffed in jest when you finally made it far enough from your coworkers' eyes.

"Dude, I already told you Lila's been on my ass since she found out we're dating. You have got to stop bringing gifts to my workplace," you groaned, though still taking the flowers from him and giving him a peck as a form of thanks.

There had been a few instances already in which Jungkook had been far too loud and proud about your relationship whilst visiting you at your workplace. It always led to thin-veiled animosity between you and your coworkers.

"So? Who cares about Loraine, or whatever her name is?", he shrugged.

"I do! And it's not just her. They're all in love with you. And most of them keep giving me the cold shoulder because of you! Lila's just the worst of them."

He pouted and coo'd, chuckling when you complained at him for patronizing you. His arms wrapped around you, still chuckling in amusement at your predicament.

"Well, you won. You have me," he hummed in satisfaction.

"Pfft. As if I chased after you," you scoffed.

"Is that a challenge? I'm not afraid to go back in there and confess my love for you."

"Jungkook. No!"

"I won't. Just because," he stopped to check his watch, "it's 2:02pm, which means you get to clock out and I get to take you home. So get your pretty ass back in there so I can get my girlfriend in bed."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"I said what I said," he gave you one last squeeze before grabbing onto your hand and leading you towards the cafe you'd just technically kicked him out of.

...

find the continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[sunni-stuff]

P1 here.

Ghost walks through the door of your home as if he owns the place, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and shrugging off his gear by the door. He remembers your address by heart and recognizes the space he's walking through once again. 

Glancing around, he expected to see you greet him at the foyer only to be met with silence. Ghost passes by your couch, gloved fingers running against the back while his mind replays the sounds of your needy moans from when he fingered you on the cushions just weeks ago.

Ghost has had countless flings and meaningless one night stands, but never did he expect any of the doves he's played with to actively call for more. 

Though he wasn't complaining.

A creaking floorboard causes his head to snap towards the stairs. There, he sees you cautiously descending, the sides of your nightgown clutched anxiously in your palms. “I didn't think you'd actually show.” 

Simon stares at you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in every dip and curve visible through the lacey material. He lets out a heavy breath, fist clenched in deep restraint as he thanked every single god above for what's standing in front of him. “How can I ignore a civilian in need?”

Your laugh makes him still, the mirthful chuckle and the smile on your lips making the tent in his pants ache painfully.

Did you know what you were doing to him? How just your chuckles alone stirred something profound?

“So… upstairs or on the couch?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“You wanted me here, love. Dealers' choice.” Simon watches you fumble, fingers thumbing over the lacing decorating the bottom of your nightgown.

“Upstairs then.”

For Simon, everything seems to happen in blurs. Just moments ago he was standing by the stairs and the next he's in between your legs, one large hand splayed over your stomach having you lay back motioning for you to relax as he eats you out like a man starved.

He doesn't remember how he got here; all that matters now is the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Simon laps at your glossy lips, tongue gliding your sensitive folds to your clit, making sure to give both his undivided attention. He needed no words to know he was doing a good job; your knees attempting to lock behind his head was added confirmation if your whines for more weren't enough.

“Can't you just put it in?” You huff in between moans, attempting to sit up on your elbows despite his efforts to keep you down.

“Shhh…” Simon coos, pressing a fleeting kiss on your pearl before pulling away his chin and lips shining your slick. “Look at that, practically begging for me.” A thick digit runs down your slit, gathering a pool of wetness and licking it off his fingers. 

Simon gazes at your cunt, observing how just his lips hovering near causes your weeping hole to clench around nothing. He could watch this all day. Watch how badly you needed him. How only he had the privilege to hear you beg.

“Alright, fussy bird,” He stands up straight, his shadow completely consuming you, the stark differences between you two are evident. Simon is not a small man in the slightest. Everything about him screams large. His presence commands attention, from his muscular arms down to his sturdy thighs.

Simon grabs ahold of your waist, pulling you against his bulge, slowly grinding his hips up and down, teasing you along the rough fabric of his jeans. He shows a little restraint, purposely holding back in hopes of hearing more pleas. “Come on, love, tell me what you need.”

This is what you dreamed of. His hands, his voice, his lips against your skin, a true dream come true. The final stretch was so close, so near and yet he still kept you tethered to the edge. “Please, I need it,” You mewl desperately, hips bucking for more friction.

Simon chuckles lightly, watching as you practically bounce in anticipation. "Someone's in a hurry," he jokes, despite his growing ardor matching your own.

With nimble fingers, he quickly unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers until he's bare to you. His eyes bore into yours as he did so, a silent question in them. His large cock sprang free, bobbing up against his stomach in time with his rapid heartbeat. 

The sight of his length, standing proud and erect, was enough to intensify the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Finally, you'd be full once again, getting to feel that cock of his in places no one else can reach. You nod all too eagerly, laying back to fully embrace everything.

With a swift lift of your hips, Simon nudges the edge of himself against you, drawing a ragged groan as he feels the wet heat of your waiting entrance. One hand grabbing his length, he slowly guided his throbbing cock against your slick folds. The head of his erection teased your entrance for a moment, before he pressed forward, burying himself inside you. “Fuck, fuck, more, please.” 

Simon can't help but smirk at your eagerness, patting your thigh appreciatively. “Can't rush things, dove. Don't want you breaking.” It's a slow push, his cock stretching your welcoming heat inch by inch. As he bottomed out, he let out a throaty groan, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him.

You cum in that exact moment, your pussy squeezing tightly around him and milking his cock. It feels like a faucet that won't stop dripping, coating his length with your sweet juices. For a brief moment you're dazed, head swimming and unable to hear anything over the sound of your heavy breathing.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, admiring the sight of you breathless. You feel like velvet, your pussy a vice he wasn’t sure he’d be able to quit. His thumb pushes against your clit and you whine, your voice high-pitched.

“Sensitive, please,” you beg, squirming until his hands force your hips down. Your lips are forced into an o shape, a silent scream forced from your chest when he does the exact opposite.

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to stop or begging for more–it’s hard to tell when you’re being fucked within an inch of your life.

“Stay with me dove, stay with me,” Simon sneers, something depraved and feral in his voice. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Once the initial shock of cumming has passed, he begins to move inside you, setting a slow, deliberate pace. With every thrust, he claimed more of you, your bodies moving together in synchronicity. The scent of your sex mingled in the confined space of your bedroom, intensifying the intimate atmosphere.

Simon closes his eyes, wanting to savor the moment. Everything about this is mesmerizing. He'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

A hitched moan has him opening his eyes, his gaze boring into yours, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure that passes through you. Thank you, god, Simon thinks. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, but he held on, wanting to draw this pleasure out as long as possible. He wanted to give you everything and more.

“Feel like heaven,” he breathes. “Is this what you wanted? Wanted me nice and deep huh?”

His palm presses on your stomach where his cock bulges the skin, his grin wicked. “Poor girl, can’t make herself cum so she had to call me, yeah?”

You nod, a symphony of yes yes yes escaping you as Simon bears down upon you, the bed rocking with each movement.

“Had to call me because you know no one can fuck you like I can,” he says, “say it for me, c’mon.”

You hiccup through every word. “N-No one can fuck me—oh god—like you Si’—”

Your words make his ego grow, muttering of that's fuckin’ right streaming from his lips as he comes, the feeling sending your nerves on overdrive. 

As he felt you tightening around him, he knew you were close—as close as he was. His hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure. He stroked in rhythm with his thrusts, chasing your orgasm with his.

Your pleasure peaked simultaneously, his cum filling you as you cum around him, walls clenching and rippling along his length in your aftershock. After a moment, he pulls out carefully, the room filled with your heavy breathing. 

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply staring back at each other through lust-filled eyes and flushed cheeks. Simon starts his retreat, stepping back to make distance and pulling up his pants. Your hand on his makes him pause. He raises a brow, confused by your actions. He opens his mouth but you're quicker.

“We aren't done.”

-

The original prompt was supposed to be a little thing; but so many people liked it, so here <3! This most likely won't be a series.

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[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine logan seeing you again

logan x reader

warning: some deadpool x wolverine spoilers. this takes place after the movie. under 1k words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The apartment was packed jammed with friends and some foes of Wade Wilson. There might have been music playing in the background, but Logan couldn’t tell when his eyes locked with the figure walking through the front door. His heart dropped, he felt sick to his stomach as his eyes fluttered. It had to be a dream but then he quickly came to his senses.

This wasn’t his universe, his world. He was somewhere entirely new. He caught his breath as Wade shouted out an exclamation of joy. Logan watched as he drew up from his seat to greet you with an overzealous hug, pulling you toward the group at the table.  Wade held you rough by the shoulders and grinned. “Look who decided to come out of retirement, conveniently after we,” he pointed to Logan then himself. “Saved the fucking world. Avengers, who? Bunch of assholes, if you ask me.”

“You sound like a man scorn, Wade,” you teased, offering a wave of a hand to your friends. The idiot next to you was right, the whole superhero thing had been a thing of the past. You have been a regular civilian for a few years now and have been loving a more relaxed existence – not being threatened daily was like, nice. “Don’t worry, you’ll see all the details in the movie. Have you meant my little angry beaver, the Wolverine?”

Your head jerked to where the older gentlemen was sitting, and you grinned. “I haven’t had the pleasure. I never met this world’s Logan – we ran in different circles. It’s nice to meet you.”

His heart relaxed and he confidently held out a hand, ignoring the interested glance from Laura. “Nice to meet you.”

“Take a seat next to Logan,” Wade urged, winking over to his new hesitant partner. “I’m sure he can fill you in on all the fun we’ve had together. Tell her about the sex ramp we had in the car that one time.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Logan cursed, telling you to ignore him.

“I usually do,” you laughed, thanking Vanessa for the beer she slid over from her side of the table. Popping it open, you relaxed and asked Logan how this place was treating him. “Must be weird, coming here. It’s like your world, right? Just slightly different?”

“Something like that.”

“Did we know each other back there?”

Your question seemed so invasive and frank – it almost made Logan smile because some people never changed, no matter what universe. Back where he came from, you were such a firecracker little shit. He had his hands full dealing with your bullshit. You were always running towards danger with little regard for your own safety because you had him. He had always been at your side, or at least, trying to catch up but he had always been there for you.

Logan had loved you and you had loved him.

Two reckless mutants.

Then you died and that sent him straight down a barrel of alcohol and indifference, to everyone and everything in his world. Which led to his greatest shame of all, allowing his family to be murdered because he was too busy drinking his sorrows away. He had long forgotten what it felt like to see you smile or hear you laugh, to feel your fingertips on his skin. The weight of your head on his chest as you slept, he never could replicate that feeling and yet, here you were.

A different version of you but God, the same.

“We were friends, really good friends.”

The hint of sadness in his voice was enough for you to understand and maybe not truly, but something had happened. That much was evident and while it might have been silly, you wanted nothing more than to comfort this man next to you. The room seemed to fall quiet, but no one was paying attention, except the girl next to Logan. Your eyes met hers, but she just smiled and looked away. Logan’s eyes were focused on the beer in his hands, but his eyes jerked up when a gentle hand touched the top of his. Your skin ablaze his and it felt wrong to feel like he had once when he didn’t even know you. Not this version of you, a woman he knew nothing about. It didn’t feel right but he wanted nothing more to allow this to go on. To see who you were in this world.

Did he deserve that? After everything that happened.

“Were? I won’t pry but it seems like life has given you a second chance, Logan.” You smiled softly and removed your hand from his, lifting your beer can to him. “You guys saved this world; a second chance is the least the universe can give you. Why not take it?”

Logan chuckled lowly. “The version of you I knew also had a deficiency in reasoning.”

A hard smack landed on his chest, and he laughed, which made you laugh. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t look like that idiot.”

Looking over to where you pointed to Wade, who had decided to show off his hair piece, Logan smirked. “Yeah, that’s fucking terrible.”

The two of you smiled at each other and something clicked in that moment, leaving the both of you quiet until you broke the tension. “To not looking like Wade Wilson.”

Logan clicked his beer against yours and felt a settling in his heart. Maybe he did deserve a second chance, at least, he could start toward earning that second chance. “Amen to that.”

[militaryapple]

I WON'T BITE.

synopsis. you find caleb up late at night watching some video, turns out youre into it as much as he is.

cw. fem!reader , sub!caleb, degradation, p in v (stay protected girliepops), oral (giving), whiny caleb, unaware voyuerism, masturbation, usage of ‘baby’ ‘princess’, dog in heat caleb, light bdsm, caleb is so pathetic

add ons. i heard people like whiny caleb so lets see if thats true, thanks for 600 pipsquirters hehe

wc. 2.4k

sometimes, when you're quiet enough you hear something in caleb's room. you were always scared to check out what exactly he was doing - due to the door either being shut and locked or it sounding intense so you didn't want to disturb him. after all, curiosity did kill the cat and this time you didn't want to be the cat.

it wasn't until one faithful night, you were supposed to be sleep but the rustling of the tree's and the sound of the rain dawned down on you. it was hard to sleep with all the noise, and frankly you knew that just closing your eyes and counting to 100 wasn't going to get you anywhere.

you tip-toed your way to the kitchen, trying to be as silent as you can. you thought maybe, caleb was sleep soundly. his dreams overtaking his mind while the sounds of pouring rain and trees clashing together soothed him. you could only envy how much of a deep sleeper he was.

going into the fridge you grabbed cold water, gulping it down before brushing past caleb's room to get to the living room. if you can't sleep, you might as well watch some TV. you could pass time and ignore the rumbling of the thunder and the brightness of the lightning that only flashed seconds after each grumble.

that was, until you heard a faint noise from caleb's room. at first it was suspicious to you, then your interest grew. you crept gently towards the rustling room and looked at the door. it was open enough for you to peek in, which was new at a time like this. at this time, his door would be shut. keeping both you and any possible intruders out while a little sign hung from his door going "OUT OF SERVICE COME BACK LATER" as a sign that he was either asleep, busy or away.

but there was no sign, and there was an open door.

you couldn't help but peek in, looking around the room. you could make out the sight if you squinted. it was caleb, he was on his phone. he stared down at it so intently, while two headphones plugged his ear from any and all sounds. his face flushed a pink, and his body jolted in the way your eyes didn't adjust to yet.

so you leaned in, inspecting the shadow-figure of caleb. deciphering every movement of his. that's when you saw it. his hands grabbed around his cock, pumping it at a pace which made his lips spill with whimpers and low muffled moans from the cotton of his shirt that filled his mouth. his arms flexing with every thrust and his eyes rolling back while he gathered a steady pace for himself.

your face felt hot, and your body lingered with a feeling of warmth. you legs involuntarily shuffling to squeeze your thighs together as you drunk up the sight of him. you pushed the door slightly, trying to get a closer view - but Caleb was quick to perk up looking straight at your shadow.

he scrambled to get himself put together, pulling up his clothes and jumping up out of his bed. he moved towards you quickly, his breath heavy as his chest heaved up and down. "pips," he chirped, "uh, ha, 'whaddya doing up at a time like this? miss me haha? here let me go to the bathroom and we can watch something okay? you can pick the movie." not letting you get a word out he shuffled past you and headed for the bathroom obviously embarrassed from just thinking you saw anything.

and you saw everything.

you moved in his room, noticing the phone that sat on his bed. you picked it up and settled down on his bed, typing in your birthday which is obviously his pass code, and looking through his phone. you stumbled on the website he was on, looking at it. oh. oh. you watched as the women degraded the men they had. how easy it was for these women to make their boyfriends get down and do what they want. was that what caleb was into? it was definitely different then what you two usually did.

heavy footsteps filled the room as it got closer to caleb’s room. you scrolled, ignoring them until you heard a “hey,” at the doorway. you looked up, caleb stood there. dumbfounded almost. he walked over to you with his hand out, asking for his phone back. and you just stared.

“do you want to do this?” you asked, setting the phone down on the bed, he tried to reach for it and you pulled it away. “give me my phone, pips.” he said softly, avoiding your eyes. you sucked your teeth, putting the phone in your shirt, placing it safely between your bra and your chest. caleb could only stand up, his eyes looking down in embarrassment.

the visual being almost eye candy for you. you stood up and grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to look at yours. “what’s the matter big guy? why are you acting shy now? you were just palming yourself to the thought of me practically calling you a stupid mutt.” his eyes flickered from your face, to your chest then to the floor. he let out a low whine from your words, his hands shaking.

“it’s okay,” you coo’d softly, caressing his face gently before moving your hand away. smack. your hands swiftly made their way across caleb’s cheek — looking up at him. he let out a moan, his body tensing. shame waved over his face, while his head turned away from you. with that, you looked down at his pants.

he got hard from that.

it only made you scoff, looking up at him almost laughing. “are you serious? did you just get fucking hard? off a slap? you really are a pathetic dog.” your eyes rolling — you scanned his body for any signs for you to stop, for a sign that you’re over-doing it, yet there was nothing. just to make sure, you turned. your hair swaying as you started to make your way to his door. “it’s late, you should get some slee - ” before you could finish you felt something grab your arm, you turned your head and it was caleb.

his eyes were doozy. he looked at you like he needed you, his face red but avoiding you and your eyes like it was plague. “you can’t — you can’t just leave me like this baby, please.” he whined. it was like music to your ears. you swatted his hand away and moved closer to him. pushing him on his bed.

your hands rubbed against the fabric of his sweats, glancing and grazing against his boner. “say it then, baby. come on, tell me how much you want me to call you names,” your lips finding his neck, and then his face. he tasted sweet - and his face was beautiful. his hips rolled at the feeling of your hands, small whimpers falling off his lips. “how you want me to make you feel oh-so-good.” you were teasing him, being cruel to him, yet it felt so exhilarating.

caleb held on your waist, tugging softly. “please,” he begged. “please make me feel so fucking good, i’ll be a good boy i promise — i’ll — fuckfuckfuck your hand your hand,” he was practically slurring on his words, you backed away from his neck and looked at him. his body spread on the bed as you leaded close to him, your hand palming his clothed cock while he held you somewhat steady.

his whimpers made you soar. you didn’t know he could make such noises, while you also didnt know you could be this mean to him. “my hand? what is it? puppy’s ‘gonna cum?” you coo’d. caleb’s gaze lingering on your hands while his hips squirmed and wiggled for more friction. he nodded his heads, hazed and dumbed.

“come on baby, you can cum for me.” you hum, in return caleb let out a guttural moan. his hips spurting while his now light-grey sweats stained with a darker color. you placed a kiss on the top of his forehead, then moved away from him. taking a step back you got down on your legs and spread his open slowly pulling down his waist band to reveal a throbbing cock.

“fuck caleb, you’re pathetic.” you groan, looking up at him before your mouth kissed the tip of his leaking head. “i wonder how many times you’ve gotten off to the thought of me doing this,” you hummed, fondling his balls while he whimpered, his eyes glossy. “how many times you’ve came to the thought of me using you for my pleasure, makes you feel real good, right?” you could see the tears form on his face as he nodded. “i’ve - ah mph, always thought of you doing this to me.” he whimpered.

you soon took him in your mouth, relaxing your jaw as you licked and sucked him. he was big, kissing the back of your throat while you sent vibrations through him. your head going at a steady pace as caleb held back the urge to take your head and absolutely demolish you. “oh god - you feel so good princess you do, really, i’ll be good for you - all good oh fuck,” he was stupid.

you picked up your pace, your hands now stroking him while you sucked him off. you could feel him tense, pounding in your mouth while you made him feel like heaven and earth combined.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum is that okay? please? let me cum in your mouth please,” he looked down at you, his hands holding on your head while you hummed in approval. his hips pounding in your mouth, kissing every inch of your throat and violating you, his hips bucking before hearing a ‘pop!’

you opened your mouth, his tip leaking all over your face. “such a nasty dog.” you got up, wiping your face before holding his face, and opening his mouth kissing him with your cum filled lips. “taste yourself, don’t you taste so good?” you tease, moving on top of his lap.

“come on doggy, undress me.” you roll your eyes, and caleb takes no time doing as he’s told. he started with your shirt, pulling it up over you and kissing your neck, down to your breasts while his hands hovered over your bra undoing them. his hands wandering down to your pants, shuffling your shorts off before pulling a free hand up to fondle your tit.

“so fucking beautiful” he mumbled, licking and kissing over you. his busy hand making its way down to your pantie before you slap him away. “nuh uh, not yet baby. you wanna cum right? be a good fucking boy.” your words sharp, caleb moved his hands away and you took your panties off.

“you’re gonna watch me prep myself. no touching, got it?” caleb’s eyes glazed over you, and you got straight to work. your fingers pushing your panties over before they rubbed on your nub. you let out a gasp and a moan - rubbing yourself and using your slick to make it easier.

your hands moved at the rhythm of your hips, your other arm using caleb’s shoulder for balance. it was horrid for caleb — he wanted you bad, and he wanted you now. yet you teased him, making him watch while he suffered the feeling of you twitching and shaking on top of him.

you slipped a digit in your sobbing cunt, then another. in and out at a slow pace, then speeding up. moving towards caleb ear you moaned for him. begging for him to make you feel good and to take you like the good puppy he was. how good you felt whenever he touched you. it made him shudder. your hips grinding against his cock, and he pulled you closer.

“so fucking nasty,” you moaned, your slit rubbing against his cock, while you now had both hands hold on to him, digging your nails in his back. “you’re so fucking nasty caleb,” you groaned. “jerking off to me — fuckfuck, you must’ve thought i couldn’t hear you? you fucking tease.” you couldn’t take it anymore.

your hips moved up, and you aligned your cunt with his cock, slowly going down feeling his dick fill you up so nicely. “oh, stupid mutt,” you held his face, tears down his eyes while your gazed never strayed from his, “you make me feel so good, the only thing you’re useful for baby,” you coo’d kissing his face. “fuck fuck can you hurry up and move??”

he obliged, his hips thrusting up in down, filling you then making you empty, you cried out, biting down on his nape making him moan in reply. “i know , i know im nasty” he whined out, stuttering as he rocked himself on you. “you’re just so fucking pretty i can’t help it baby,” he cried out. his hands having a firm grip on your hips making you roll on him.

you bounced on him, marked him, you needed him — you needed him to make you feel whole. “nothing without me, you’re nothing without me and you know this.” your kisses moving towards his face then his lips, “say it, say you’re nothing without me caleb” you whined.

caleb’s hips bucked forward, flipping you over and pushing his hips as close as he could to you. fuck, your eyes rolled back. you could feel his cock kiss your cervix, kiss every little part of your cunt. “i’m nothing without you, i’m yours, i need you,” he groaned, his pace picking up as his hands rubbed small circles on your crying nub.

“that’s it baby” you coo’d “work me real nice, good boy — that’s how you make me feel good.” your praises sent him over the moon, his hips buffering and his balls slapping nicely against your cunt making you both twitch in pleasure. you could feel him tense as he leaned down placing kisses over you.

“i’m close, come on make me cum, make me feel good come on” you held on his face, looking at his eyes. he was truly a beautiful sight. “cum with me okay baby? yeah you can do that for me right?” you coo’d, caleb whined in agreement. his hips rutting against you, before he stopped and twitched. his seed spilling everywhere in you while you both panted and moaned.

you stared at caleb, his breath heavy and eyes swollen. his necklace dangling before you pulled on it, bringing him down for a kiss.

if you knew this is what he was into, you would’ve peeked in his room a loooong time ago.

[gloomwitchwrites]

GOOD MORNING POPPIE!, what if the reader decides to do the TikTok prank on 141 men where S/O snatched their phone wether at the car while hiding a camera to record their reaction (will the guys get worried because they're hiding something from their s/o? Who knows?

Not gonna lie, I originally read that as Poopie and I laughed about it for a solid fifteen minutes. Now, I love a good prank, especially if it’s one done with good intentions and no animosity or with ill-temperedness. So, while I love this idea, I am going to wiggle toward the more wholesome route for this one. Do I think they’re hiding something? Possibly, but not something bad.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, established relationship, domestic fluff

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is relaxing in bed, phone in hand, earbuds in as he watches something intently. You jump in beside him, rolling over as a distraction, snagging his phone away as he turns in your direction.

“What are you doing?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion as you roll away and to the very edge of the bed.

“Checking to see if you’re hiding something,” you reply, giving the cord a little tug, the wired earbuds launching at you. You hop up and onto your feet.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” mumbles John.

“Oh yeah? Why? What are you—” You stare down at the screen for several solid seconds. Tapping it, you exit out of the episode John’s watching. “Why are you three episodes ahead on The Great British Bake Off?”

John shrugs. “Told you not to look.”

“John,” you say in your most mockingly serious tone. “This is grounds for divorce.”

He ignores you and continues on. “Want to know who they’ve eliminated so far?”

“Divorce, John.”

“You’ll be devasted. It’s—"

You toss the phone and earbuds back at him. “You’re really crushing my dreams of going on the show.”

“Dove,” he laughs. “You burn toast.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He’s looking through the mail, and his cellphone is next to him.

Circling behind him, you dart forward, snatching the phone off the counter.

Simon glances behind him. “Give that back,” he mutters, snatching the phone right out of your hands with such swiftness you jump.

“What?” you ask, adding a bit of attitude in your voice. “Have something to hide? Something you don’t want me to see?”

With the biggest sigh you’ve ever heard, Simon places his phone down next to him on the kitchen counter. He stands up straight, arms crossed over his chest. Leaning in slightly, Simon towers over you, staring down at you like he’s about to chastise a child that’s been caught sticking their hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

“That last time I gave you my phone,” he says slowly. “You ordered nearly three hundred pounds in Chinese takeaway.”

You purse your lips and conveniently glance over Simon’s shoulder so you don’t have to look him in the face. “To be fair, I was really hungry and wanted crab rangoon.”

Simon shakes his head and offers you the phone. “Stay off of fucking DoorDash.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle lounges in the living room on the sofa. You casually prowl over, plopping down next to him. He ignores you, tapping away on his phone. You wait a beat, and then reach over to snap the phone up.

“Excuse me,” says Kyle. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Checking to see if you’re hiding something from me.”

Kyle nods, playing along, foot tapping like he’s following a beat. “I have plenty to hide.”

Your head tilts slightly as you start opening apps. “Hm? Like what?”

“Cheating,” he says, deadpan.

You snort. “Okay. Sure. You—” Pausing, you gaze down at his screen, and then look up. “You sly dog.” You turn the phone around to show him the screen. “You are cheating.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Caught me.”

“Is this why you always beat me at Wordle?” you exclaim. “Because you’re using hints?”

Kyle covers his mouth with his hand, but he’s unable to hide the smile.

“You asshole!” you laugh, grabbing a nearby pillow and bringing it down on his head.

Kyle laughs too, arms raising to defend himself. A few more strikes and he wrestles the pillow from your hands, turning it around to use against you.

John "Soap" MacTavish

There’s a rugby match on the television. You and Johnny are reclined in bed, relaxing against the nest of pillows. Johnny is shirtless, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. On his stomach, he balances his phone and an open bag of potato chips.

Glancing between him and your book, you conjure up a little idea. It’s harmless, really. Nothing all that significant.

With as much casualness as you can muster, you reach for Johnny’s cellphone. He jumps as your hand makes contact with his stomach. Johnny leans away from you, leaving the phone behind but snatching up the bag of crisps like it’s a life preserver.

“What are you doing?” asks Johnny, incredulous.

You shrug. “I wanted your phone. Take a look.”

Johnny shoves his hand inside the crisp bag. Digging around, he brings out a handful and shoves them into his mouth. Chewing for a moment, he shakes his head, tossing the phone into your lap. “Here. You can have it.”

“Johnny. You need to unlock it.”

With a grumble, he grabs it back, holds it up to his face, and then hands it to you.

“Thought you were going for my crisps,” he mutters, gaze returning to the television.

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