#and please don’t say ‘oh just keep telling yourself they don’t hate you’

[mggslover]

Valentines Savior

In which Spencer saves his best friend from a failed Valentines date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff x slight angst Content warnings: friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is tipsy, reader curses, confessions of love, vague mention of reader having abandonment issues, suggestive joke Word count: 3,6k A/n: happy valentines my lovers! 💛

Everything seemed perfect. And maybe that was the problem.

The restaurant you found yourself in had the perfect setting. There was the right amount of background noise: the clinking of wine glasses, muffled talking, occasional laughing in the back, and a jazz band playing the most atmospheric tunes. The lights weren’t too harsh—a pet peeve of yours—and the food was delicious, which you knew was a reason for you to return some other time. Just not with the person you were seated in front of now.

Kamil Everett was a good-looking guy. Slightly older than you, but not enough to doubt his reasons for being into you. He had the perfect jaw structure, covered in the perfect amount of neatly trimmed stubble. He had nice, white teeth, not the kind that you could tell was fake. He wore a cologne that was strong enough to notice, but not overpowering enough to bother you. He’d put effort into his hair and outfit, and he asked questions that showed interest but weren’t too invasive. He was perfect. Again, just perfect.

Still, the little devil on your shoulder nagged at you that this wasn’t what you were looking for. That something was missing, something neither Kamil nor the restaurant could give you.

You jumped in your seat when a pocket-sized Penelope with pink wings suddenly popped onto your right shoulder. Fuck, you’d been drinking too much.

“I am sick of this! Truly!” Penelope’s chipmunk voice peeped right into your ear.

“How many times have you come to me, saying, ‘Oh Penelope, someone has put a curse on me. There are no cute guys anywhere. The universe hates me’, and look at you now! Perfect guy, right over there!” Her small finger pointed at Kamil, and you pulled a sour face.

Angel Penelope responded by shaking her head in disapproval. “I will never hear you complain again. Now make sure to turn the poor thing down nicely and send him over to my place so I can give him some love.”

You chuckled at her comment.

“Are you okay?”

You choked on your red wine as Kamil spoke up. Devil you and Angel Penelope disappeared from your shoulders in a cloud of smoke. You coughed a couple of times before nodding, “Yeah, I am so fine.”

You looked at Kamil, seeing the genuine concern in his brown eyes. You knew you couldn’t continue keeping him on like that. “Actually, I think this is not going to work.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us,” you answered, pointing your finger between the two of you. “You’re a great guy. I just don’t feel… the spark.”

He scoffed under his breath, immediately standing up and pushing his chair back to the table. You grabbed his wrist as he tried walking off.

“I swear, you’re great! I’m the problem. It’s always me, actually.”

Kamil didn’t get soothed by your words, pulling his arm free out of your grasp and turning his back to you, walking toward the exit.

“I have a great friend!” you yelled after him. “She’s an angel. Literally!” He kept walking, ignoring your pleas.

“I could send you her address! Kamil!”

“Ma’am, please tone it down or I’ll have to call security.”

You looked up to find a stern-looking woman standing in front of your table. When you looked around, all the couples at the surrounding tables were staring at you. You offered them a tight-lipped smile and mouthed a small sorry.

Once the critiquing whispers calmed down, you grabbed your phone from out of your purse, finding Spencer in your emergency contacts as you clicked on the call button.

“Hey, how are you-”

You shushed him. “I’m in a restaurant, whisper, or they’ll kick me out.”

Spencer listened and lowered his voice. “The new one downtown? I’ve been meaning to go there.”

“Well, consider today your lucky day. If you can make it in fifteen minutes, I’ll have dessert ordered for you.”

You chuckled as you heard his keys jingling from the other end of the line. “I’m heading out right now.”

“Good,” you laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

-`♡´-

A sigh of relief escaped you when Spencer walked into the restaurant. He gave you a smile and lifted his hand as he spotted the table you were seated at.

You stood up from your seat, letting out a satisfied groan as he enveloped you in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I can’t wait for ice cream.”

You chuckled, leaning back to see his face.

“You smell nice,” he complimented.

“Oh why, thank you,” you playfully responded, grinning as you both sat down.

Spencer observed the cutlery and half-drunk glass of wine in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “I assume I’m not the first person you offered dessert to.”

“Nope,” you answered, exaggeratedly popping the p. “Was on a date.”

Spencer lifted his eyebrows. “Another one?”

“Hey, don’t judge me! At least I go on dates.”

“Does it count if they all run away before dessert?”

You scoffed a laugh in surprise, not prepared for his burn. “You’re such an ass.”

He cheekily grinned. “What was his name?”

“Kamil,” you deeply sighed, knowing you’ll be getting chills every time you hear that name from now on.

“Did you know Kamil is derived from the Arabic element kāmil? Which means “perfect” or “complete”.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your glass before taking a sip. “Of fucking course.”

You thanked the waiter as he set two neatly made plates of dessert down on the table.

“I thought you gave up on dating,” Spencer wondered out loud, humming as he took his first bite of ice cream.

“I was,” you responded, taking a bite yourself. “Valentine’s an exception, though. I don’t want to be sitting at home by myself.”

“You could’ve asked me to come over. We still haven’t seen all the Star Wars movies,” he responded, commenting on the movie marathon you started last month. Then he pointed his spoon at you, “Well, you haven’t.”

“I know. I just meant spending the day with a lover.”

“I could be your lover.”

Before you knew it, the wine shot out of your mouth, painting your dress and the white tablecloth red.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked in worry, hurrying to your side as you continued coughing.

“Spencer-” you coughed a couple more times, and his arms made their way around your body, your hands reaching out to pull them off. “Spencer, I swear to god,” you sputtered out, “do not perform the Heimlich on me.”

The fact that you were able to talk reassured him enough to loosen his grip around you. Still, he didn’t leave your side.

You looked down to see the inevitable: your dress was ruined.

“Fuck, I loved this dress,” you groaned in annoyance.

“Here, let me-” Spencer grabbed a napkin from the table, turning back to you and tapping your chest dry. His eyes were focused on the low neckline of your dress, and the movements of his hand slowed, as if hypnotized.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” He hummed as he continued tapping the now non-existent wine droplets.

“Can you stop touching my boobs?”

He dropped the napkin like it caught fire.

“I-, I wasn’t-”

“You totally were,” you widely grinned.

“No!”

“Yes, you were. You’ve been staring at my boobs all night.”

Spencer swallowed. His gaze quickly landed on your cleavage before he blinked up at you. “Well, I can’t help it when you’re wearing a dress that’s showing décolletage.”

“Ha! You admitted it.”

A red flush crept up his neck, spreading over his cheeks. “That was a ploy! You were tricking me!”

“Ma’am, this is your last warning; I need you to leave the restaurant now.”

-`♡´-

The moon hung low in the sky, the streets cast in a warm yellow glow of the lampposts. A slight breeze caught your skin as you walked out of the restaurant.

“Well, that was a disaster.”

“You shouldn’t have kept insisting on a doggy bag.” Spencer laughed.

You let out a chuckle, turning to him. “Did you see the look on her face?”

Your comment spurred more laughter from Spencer, making him fall against you in response. You widely grinned and nudged his shoulder, feeling proud of getting him to laugh like that.

“This reminds me of the time when I first joined the team and you asked me to have dinner.” You recalled once your laughter had calmed down, still trying to catch your breath.

The moment felt like yesterday. It was strange to be reminded of the fact that it happened years ago. Spencer had caught your attention the instant you joined the team, which was surprising considering the fact he wasn’t a big talker. Well, he talked most out of everyone, but it always stayed on the case, rarely sharing something personal.

That’s why it surprised you that one day, on the jet after finishing a case, Spencer moved from the couch he usually found himself on to the empty chair opposite you. You remember finding it endearing how nervous he looked as he asked you to have dinner with him in a restaurant downtown.

You’d overheard the several times he asked other team members to join him in activities, whether it was a new food chain opening or a movie screening. You didn’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides that, you were curious to get to know the so-called genius Spencer Reid better. He amazed you again when the dinner turned out to be one of the times you’ve laughed hardest in your life. Since then, you knew Spencer would be at the top of your friend list.

“You seem to have a habit of spitting out your drink.” Spencer mused with a grin.

You returned his smile. “That’s because you seem to have a habit of trying to make me spit out my drink by acting like you’re in love with me.”

Due to your tipsy state, you didn’t notice the way Spencer broke eye contact, the way he nervously tapped his fingers against his pants, and how he seemed to look anywhere but at you.

If it wasn’t for the subtle shudder of your shoulder against his, he might’ve never gained the courage to look you in the face again.

“Are you cold?” He asked considerately, his eyes taking over your form.

You looked down at your outfit, reminded again that you were just wearing a sleeveless dress. “Kind of.”

Without saying another word, Spencer took off his corduroy jacket. He held it open by the sleeves, making it easy for you to slide your arms in. His hand grazed the back of your neck as he tugged the collar up, then pulled your hair out from underneath the material, letting your locks fall over the jacket.

You softly mumbled a thanks, and Spencer responded back with a sweet smile.

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You chuckled, “Such a sweet talker.”

“Just to you,” he replied, a little too fast for his liking as he saw your gaze drop to the ground.

What he wasn’t aware of was the rush of butterflies that soared through you at his words, ambushing you in a way so surprising it made you feel nauseous. Or maybe you were still feeling the effects of the alcohol.

It was ironic how naturally the compliments rolled off of his tongue, how effortlessly romantic gestures came to your friend — actions you longed for in your dates.

Spencer Reid was old-fashioned, a gentleman, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more than just kindness to his acts. If Derek and Penelope were right every time they gave teasing looks when Spencer brought you your favorite coffee, or when he’d made sure the seat next to you on the jet was always occupied by him.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet.” Spencer noted after the two of you had walked in silence for the last couple of minutes.

“Yeah,” you breathed out in a sigh. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

His question slipped in your ears just as easily as it went out, as your attention was taken by the neon gelato sign across the street. The brightly colored flavors stood on display, a harsh white light shining down on it, luring you like a moth to a flame.

“Gelato.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, but before he could make sense of your answer, you took a leap, crossing the street as if invincible to any vehicle that was speeding on the road.

“What are you doing?!” Spencer yelped in panic, eyes flicking over the road before sprinting after you, ignoring the honking cars.

His warm hand caught yours, and in a hurry, he pulled you onto the sidewalk, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the brick wall, Spencer hovering over you as he caught his breath.

He blinked at you in disbelief, jaw tense, and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“We’re all mad here,” you dramatically quote, pointing to yourself, “I’m mad,” and then placing your hand on his chest, “you’re mad.”

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” he mumbled.

You nodded your head, a wide grin displayed on your face.

“So… gelato?” you asked, wiggling your brows.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh. “You just had ice cream.”

“Actually, I just had half an ice cream before they kicked us out. And it is not to be compared to gelato. You should know that.”

“Well, gelato does have a lower milk fat content. It usually varies between 4 to 9%, whereas ice cream has to have at least 10% of milk fat. The vast majority of brands have an even larger percentage, some even going up to 25%. Actually, now that you mention it, there are a lot more differences between American ice cream and gelato, for example, the use of eggs-”

You hummed in response as you took his hand in yours, letting him continue his ramblings as you guided him into the parlor.

-`♡´-

Your feet were dangling off the high chair you were sitting on as you licked the red plastic spoon clean that came with your dessert.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for helping me earlier. You really are my Valentines savior.”

Spencer smiled, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t mind. You can always call me.”

“I know,” you replied just as honestly. “I wish it could be as easy as this with others. I wish I could just date you.”

A flush crept onto his neck, red skin showing on his chest where his top buttons were unbuttoned. “Why-” he hesitated before continuing, “Why can’t you?”

“Why can’t I what?” you asked back in oblivion, scooping another spoonful of gelato.

His fingers fidgeted with his spoon, his gaze nervously fixed on his empty cup as he spoke the next words: “Date me.”

Oh.

The longer you remained silent, the thicker the tension grew in the air. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any thoughts; hell, your mind was full of them. Your earlier theories flashed through your mind again, now getting the confirmation that all his attempts to be close to you meant more than solely friendship. How he had indeed tried telling you about his feelings all this time, and how you’d been blatantly oblivious. How you kept telling him about going on dates with other people while he was pining over you. There were too many thoughts to articulate, to even make sense of.

“Please say something,” his voice cracked in a soft beg, his eyes twinkling with hope, or maybe an emotion closer to desperation.

“I- I don’t know what to say.”

The spark in his eyes flickered out. Spencer mouthed okay while giving you an awkward, tight-lipped smile, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his pants.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he said to you, “Let me walk you home.”

-`♡´-

People always say fresh air is the answer to everything. Feeling sick as a dog? Go outside! Feeling depressed? Go outside! On the verge of a nervous breakdown? Go outside! Turns out whoever invented going on long walks had a point.

Your mind cleared with every step you took. Your initial anxieties around Spencer’s words fade around you in a blur. Slowly coming to peace with his feelings and your own.

Dating your best friend could work.

Spencer, on the opposite, felt more tense after each second that passed in silence. It wasn’t that he regretted being honest with you; the weight of his love for you was overwhelming. It was inevitable that there’d come a time where he’d spill his thoughts. However, he shouldn’t have done it like this, with you not even sober enough to understand the gravity of his words.

So, when you rounded the corner of the street and he spotted your house, which was all too familiar to him, he knew he had to retract his confession.

“I shouldn’t have said that earlier. I just… like you. A lot.” He rubbed his forearms, either in a nervous habit or because the cold was getting to him. “And I thought you felt the same, but I’m aware that it’s irrational because, well, you go on dates. And you go on dates with people you like and-“

“Spencer,” you interrupted, having to catch his eyes to get him to focus.

“I know it was inappropriate to confess that I’m in love with you when you’re not even sober. Alcohol interferes with the communication pathways of the brain, so this might be the worst moment possible to admit to something like this.”

“You’re in love with me?”

This caught Spencer’s attention. He focused on you with a puzzled look. “Well, technically I asked you why you wouldn’t want to date me, but I-”

The words died on his tongue the second your lips found his. It felt like you finally got the confirmation you’d always longed for. Someone that knew you inside out, who understood you, and who wasn’t afraid of showing you.

Spencer’s mind was spinning. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air before he settled them on your cheeks, holding you as if afraid you’d disappear.

It was only after a couple of seconds that his IQ regained from 60 to 187, using his hands to gently pull you back from his lips.

His lips remained slightly parted, pink and swollen from the kiss, and his eyes narrowed in overwhelming confusion. “What was that for?”

“That was to show you that I love you too.”

“You can’t just say something like that.”

“But I mean it, Spence,” you stated in confidence. “I was stupid for not seeing it before. For some reason, it felt like you and I were impossible. The thought never occurred to me that we could date. We’ve been friends for so long. But you’re the only one who actually cares, the only one who stays, and I see that now.”

His eyes watered at the creaking of your voice, but he blinked the upcoming tears away. He took a deep breath. Selfishly, he didn’t want to say the next words, satisfied living in the delusion that you loved him back, but he knew he had to stay objective.

“Alcohol consumption also heightens emotions.”

“I know what I’m feeling, Spencer,” you assured. “I’ve just… I’ve been afraid of you leaving me as well, of seeing me as not lovable enough, that I didn’t even consider it a possibility.”

You let out a small self-deprecating laugh, making his heart ache.

“Just give me another chance, please. I will not be so oblivious this time,” you spoke, the corner of your mouth slightly lifted.

His expression mirrored yours, and he gently grasped your hands, his thumbs running over them to bring you comfort. “Can you call me tomorrow?”

You looked up at him.

“If, uh, you still feel the same when you’re sober, we could talk about it.”

There was nothing you were more certain of at that moment. Still, you nodded.

-`♡´-

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand was enough for Spencer to wake up with a pounding headache. His mind had worked overtime yesterday, rolling in bed in anxiety, waking up every fifteen minutes, and now he was experiencing the physical side effects of it.

“Hello?” he answered, pressing the device against his ear, too sleepy to have checked who called.

“Spencer?”

At the sound of your voice, he sat straight up in bed, his back leaning against the wooden headboard.

He cleared his throat. “H-hi, yes, it’s me.”

There was no pause on the other end of the line, your words determined. “I still love you.”

He leaned forward, pressing the phone closer to his ear, in an attempt to absorb your words.

“I’m really happy to hear that.” His fingertips skimmed along his jawline, in need of proof that he was awake, that this was actually happening. “I love you too. Still. Right now. Always, probably.”

You chuckled at his nervous rambling, hearing him breathlessly laugh in reply.

“Good. Because I don’t want to waste any more time second-guessing.”

“You shouldn’t worry. You won’t be able to get rid of me. I won’t leave you.”

He meant the words in a light, joking manner, but still your heart happily pounded at the sentence.

“Neither will I.”

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Where I Need to Be

The house was silent.

Too silent.

Marshall stepped inside, his bag slipping from his shoulder to the floor with a dull thud. He expected to hear the sound of little feet running toward him, a high-pitched "Daddy!" cutting through the air. Expected to see you standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, pretending to be mad before giving in and letting him wrap you up in his arms.

But there was nothing.

No toys scattered across the floor. No half-eaten snacks left on the counter. No signs of life at all.

His stomach twisted. He already knew.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed your number.

Straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Voicemail.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

For the next two hours, he called. Texted. Left voicemails, each one sounding more desperate than the last. But you weren’t answering.

He had fucked up. Again.

Missed his flight. Missed his daughter’s school event. Got caught up in work, told himself he’d make the next one—but there was no next one. You had told him that last time.

And now you were gone.

Jaw tight, he pulled up his banking app, scrolling through recent transactions. His pulse quickened when he saw it—a charge from a hotel downtown.

Without thinking twice, he grabbed his keys and left.

The woman at the front desk barely looked up at first, too busy scrolling through her phone. But when she did, her eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, straightening up. “You’re—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cut her off, leaning on the counter. “Look, I need to find my wife. She checked in earlier, took my kids with her.”

Her face shifted, uncomfortable. “Sir, I can’t give out guest information—”

“I get it,” he said quickly, forcing a half-smirk, the kind that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count. “Privacy rules and all that. But I’m not some psycho. I’m their husband. Their dad. I just—I need to fix this.”

She hesitated, glancing around as if checking for a manager. Then, with a sigh, she turned to her computer. “You didn’t hear this from me,” she muttered, typing something in. “Room 214.”

Relief flooded him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get me fired.”

He was already heading for the elevator.

Marshall stood outside the door, fist hovering over it. For the first time in hours, he hesitated.

He had spent the whole drive over convincing himself he could fix this, that all he had to do was say the right thing. That he’d walk in, pull you close, tell you he was sorry, and everything would be okay.

But now?

Now, standing in front of the door you had shut him out of, he wasn’t so sure.

Still, he knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, firmer this time.

Then, finally, the door cracked open, and there you were.

You looked exhausted. Hair pulled back, dark circles under your eyes, arms crossed so tight across your chest it was like you were holding yourself together.

"You have some nerve," you muttered.

Marshall swallowed hard. "Baby, I—"

"Don't baby me."

That was when he knew.

The breath left his lungs. His chest tightened. You had been mad at him before, pissed off, even screamed at him a few times—but you had never said that.

Never cut him off like that, never shut him out so completely.

"Shit," he breathed, running a hand over his face. "I—I know I fucked up. I know, okay? But please, just—just let me talk to you."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Talk to me? Now you wanna talk? Where the hell was this energy when your daughter was looking out into that crowd, searching for you?"

His throat tightened. "I know," he rasped. "I know, and I hate myself for it. But you gotta believe me, I wanted to be there. I got caught up with work, I lost track of time—"

"Do you hear yourself?" you snapped. "That’s the same bullshit excuse every time, Marshall. ‘I wanted to be there, I lost track of time.’ And what, I’m just supposed to keep pretending that’s enough? That a fucking sorry is enough?"

He felt like he was drowning. Like no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t lose you.

"I don’t wanna keep doing this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw. "I don’t wanna keep letting you down, keep letting them down. I just—I need a chance to fix this."

You stared at him for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Please," he murmured.

You exhaled, shaking your head before stepping aside just enough for him to walk in.

And just like that, he knew—he still had a chance.

The hotel room was dim, the only light coming from the bathroom nightlight and the faint glow of the television playing some kids' show on mute. It was eerily quiet, except for the soft breathing of your daughters as they slept in the queen-sized bed, tangled up in blankets.

Marshall stood just inside the door, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, eyes scanning the room. It felt surreal—coming home to an empty house, chasing you down across the city, and now standing here like an outsider in his own family.

You closed the door behind him, crossing your arms as you leaned against it. "You wanted to be here?" you muttered. "Here you are. But you’re not just answering to me, Marshall. You’re answering to them."

His stomach twisted. He had expected that. Dreaded it. He could take your anger—he deserved it. But facing his daughters after breaking yet another promise? That was a different kind of hell.

You sighed and walked past him toward the bed, gently shaking your eldest awake. "Baby, wake up," you whispered.

She stirred, her little face scrunching up before her eyes fluttered open. "Mommy?" she murmured sleepily. Then she saw him.

Marshall braced himself.

Her eyes widened, blinking a few times like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Then, her tiny face hardened. "You weren’t there."

The words hit him harder than any punch he’d ever taken.

"I know," he said softly, crouching down to her level. "I know, baby. And I’m so, so sorry."

She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes before crossing her arms—so much like you it made his chest ache. "You promised, Daddy."

The lump in his throat grew. "I did. And I broke that promise. I messed up. But I swear to you, I wanted to be there."

"Then why weren’t you?"

Silence.

He could feel your eyes on him, waiting.

He exhaled, rubbing his face before looking back at his daughter. "Because I put work first when I shouldn’t have. Because I thought I had more time, and I didn’t. And that was wrong."

She stared at him, searching his face like she was deciding whether or not to believe him. "Are you gonna do it again?"

Marshall shook his head. "No. I mean it, baby. I never wanna see you sad because of me again."

There was another beat of silence before she finally sighed. Then, slowly, she reached out and hugged him.

He wrapped his arms around her small frame, holding on tighter than he probably should have. "I love you so much," he murmured.

"Love you too," she mumbled against his hoodie.

When she pulled back, she yawned and snuggled back under the blankets, already half-asleep again.

Marshall sat there for a moment, shoulders heavy, heart still aching—but lighter than it had been before.

Then, he turned to look at you.

Your arms were still crossed, but your face had softened just the tiniest bit. You nodded toward the door. "We need to talk."

Yeah. He figured as much.

Standing up, he followed you out of the room, preparing for the second round of hell he had to face tonight.

And this time, there was no easy way out.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet tension in the air was suffocating. You stood with your arms still crossed, your jaw tight, eyes sharp as they locked onto him.

Marshall felt like a damn kid about to get scolded—but this wasn’t some petty fight. This was everything.

"You got her to forgive you," you said, voice low but laced with exhaustion. "That was the easy part."

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "I know."

Your fingers tapped against your arm, your posture stiff. "Do you?" you challenged. "Because, Marshall, I don’t think you do."

"I do," he said quickly. "Baby—"

"Don’t baby me."

That shut him up.

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Just like earlier, when you first said it, that phrase landed like a punch to the gut. Because that was when he knew it wasn’t just a fight. Wasn’t just frustration.

You were done.

"You always do this," you went on, voice shaking slightly, but you pushed through it. "Always." "You break a promise, you come crawling back, you say the right things, and for some reason, I keep letting myself believe it’s gonna be different."

Marshall clenched his jaw, staring down at the floor. He hated this feeling—being the one who made you look at him like that.

"Do you even know what it’s like to sit there, making up excuses for you?" you demanded. "To watch our daughter’s face when she realizes her dad isn’t showing up again?"

"I hate myself for it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good."

That one hurt. But he didn’t blame you.

Silence stretched between you, thick and unbearable.

Then, you sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. "I packed up our kids and left, Marshall. That’s how bad it got. Do you understand that?"

He nodded, eyes still on the floor. "Yeah."

"No, I don’t think you do." Your voice cracked slightly, but you caught it before it turned into something else. "I was done waiting for you to realize we deserve better than this. I deserve better than this."

His head snapped up, panic flickering in his expression. "Are you saying—?"

"I don’t know what I’m saying," you interrupted, and that uncertainty was almost worse. "But I know I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep holding this family together by myself while you act like we’ll always be here, waiting for you to get your shit together."

Marshall felt like he was losing his grip on everything, like he was standing on a cliff’s edge and the ground was crumbling beneath him.

"You can’t just say the right words this time," you said, voice softer now but still firm. "I need you to show me. Because if you don’t…" You trailed off, shaking your head.

He didn’t need you to finish that sentence. The unspoken words were loud enough.

He took a shaky breath, nodding. "I’ll show you."

You studied him, searching his face for any sign of bullshit. Then, finally, you exhaled and turned toward the door. "We’re staying here tonight."

He nodded again, accepting that much. He had no right to argue.

As you reached for the handle, you paused. "Goodnight, Marshall."

Not baby. Not babe. Just his name.

And as he stood there, watching you walk away from him, he realized just how much it hurt to hear it.

---

It had been a week.

Seven days of waking up in a stiff hotel bed, of cartoons playing too early in the morning, of pretending you weren’t checking your phone every few minutes, expecting—wanting—to see a text from him.

Seven days of your daughters asking when they were going home.

"Mommy, I don’t like it here," your youngest mumbled, curling into your side as the three of you sat on the bed, watching a movie none of you were really paying attention to.

Your oldest sat up a little. "Yeah, me neither. Can we go home now?"

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Not yet, baby."

"But why?" she pressed, her brows furrowing. "Daddy said he was sorry."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. How were you supposed to explain this to them? That it wasn’t just about sorry—that it was about trust, about breaking the same promises over and over?

That even though you missed him, even though every part of you wanted to see him, you weren’t sure if you were ready yet?

Your youngest reached for your hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around yours. "But, Mommy," she said, her little voice gentle, "we forgive people we love."

Your breath caught in your throat.

She looked up at you with those big, innocent eyes—the same eyes she had gotten from her father. "Especially when they say sorry and mean it."

You glanced over at your oldest, and even though she was trying to act tough, you could see it in her face too. She missed him.

And God, so did you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You weren’t ready—but maybe you never would be. Maybe you’d sit here, night after night, waiting for some perfect moment to feel safe going back. But life didn’t work like that.

Love didn’t work like that.

You kissed your youngest’s forehead and nodded. "Okay," you whispered. "Let’s go home."

Their faces lit up, and for the first time in a week, you felt the smallest bit of relief.

Now, you just had to face Marshall again. And that? That was the part you weren’t sure you were ready for.

---

Pulling into the driveway felt strange—like stepping back into a life you weren’t sure still fit. The house was exactly how you left it, but something about it felt different. Or maybe you were different.

As soon as you put the car in park, your daughters scrambled out, their excitement impossible to contain. The front door swung open before they even reached it.

"Daddy!"

Marshall barely had time to brace himself before they launched into his arms. He let out a quiet grunt, stumbling back slightly, but the look on his face made your heart clench. Relief. Love. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the second you left.

"You’re home," he murmured against their hair, squeezing them tight. "God, I missed you two."

You stood by the car, gripping the handle a little too hard as you watched them.

They weren’t the only ones he had missed.

When his eyes finally lifted to meet yours, something in your chest tightened. He looked… rough.

His hoodie was wrinkled, like he had been living in it. His jaw was covered in scruff, dark circles sat heavy under his eyes, and his hair was a mess—like he had barely run his hands through it, let alone thought about actually fixing it.

But what really hit you was inside the house.

The couch.

The blankets piled on it, the pillow dented from where he’d obviously been sleeping.

He hadn’t been in your bed.

And suddenly, you couldn’t look at him.

You turned, grabbing bags from the car, and headed inside without a word.

Later that evening, after the girls had settled in and were playing in the other room, you found Marshall in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a half-empty bottle of water in his hands.

You hesitated, fingers tightening on the back of one of the dining chairs. "You haven’t been sleeping in our bed."

His grip on the bottle tensed. He exhaled slowly, staring down at the floor. "Couldn’t," he admitted.

"Why?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Because you weren’t there."

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

"I tried the first night," he said, voice quieter now, raw in a way you weren’t used to hearing. "Laid down, closed my eyes… but it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too empty." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Figured if I was gonna be miserable, I might as well do it on the couch where I deserve to be."

Your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

You had spent all week angry—furious, even. But now, standing here, looking at him, all you felt was exhaustion.

"You think I wanted to leave?" you asked softly.

He finally looked at you, something breaking in his expression. "No," he whispered. "I think I gave you no other choice."

You swallowed hard, gripping the chair like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Because he was right.

And you weren’t sure what scared you more—that he knew it, or that for the first time, he actually meant it when he said he wanted to change.

---

You told yourself you were fine.

You went through the motions—washed your face, brushed your teeth, changed into pajamas—like everything was normal. Like Marshall wasn’t just down the hall, sleeping on the damn couch because you weren’t ready to let things go yet.

Because you were still mad.

And you should be mad.

He had broken another promise. He had let you and the girls down. Just because he looked like hell, just because he said the right words this time, didn’t mean everything was magically fixed.

So why did you feel like you were the one being punished?

You crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, staring at the ceiling. The sheets smelled like home, like him, and that made it worse.

This bed had never felt too big before.

You turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

You flipped onto your other side. Pulled the blanket higher. Stretched out. Curled up.

Nothing helped.

Your body ached for something—someone—you were trying so hard to deny yourself.

You could picture him, just down the hall, curled up uncomfortably on the couch, trying to give you space. You hated that. Hated that he was here but not here.

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw the blanket off and slipped out of bed. Your feet carried you down the hall before your brain could catch up.

The TV was on, casting a soft glow over the living room. Marshall was curled up on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting on his stomach. His hoodie had slipped slightly, revealing his bare forearm, and you noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly in his sleep.

You should go back to bed. You should not be doing this.

But you stepped closer anyway.

"Marshall," you whispered, reaching out to shake his shoulder gently.

He stirred, brow furrowing before his eyes fluttered open. When they landed on you, confusion flickered across his tired face. "You okay?" His voice was rough from sleep.

No. You weren’t.

You swallowed hard. "I can’t sleep."

He blinked at you for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Come to bed."

His brows lifted slightly, and he hesitated, like he thought this might be some kind of trick. "You sure?"

You weren’t. Not even a little. But you needed him.

So instead of answering, you reached for his hand and tugged.

Marshall let out a breath, then slowly sat up. He didn’t say anything as he followed you down the hall, back to the room that had felt unbearably empty all night.

When you slipped under the covers, he hesitated just for a second before climbing in beside you, careful, like he didn’t want to overstep.

But the second he was close enough, your body moved on instinct. You turned toward him, pressing your face into his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

His arms wrapped around you instantly. Like they belonged there. Like they always had.

His lips pressed against the top of your head. "I’m so sorry," he whispered.

Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie. "I know," you murmured.

And for the first time in a week, you finally slept.

---

It was 2 am when you woke up.

You didn’t know if you were still mad.

You should be, right?

The anger had been so sharp, so heavy when you first left. Even when you came home, it sat there in your chest, reminding you of every time he had broken a promise, every time he had made you feel like second place to everything else in his life.

But now?

Now, wrapped up in his arms, his slow, steady breaths warming the top of your head, the anger felt… dulled. Muted. Like it had been smothered by the quiet comfort of this.

Of him.

You told yourself you weren’t going to do this. That you weren’t going to let him back in so easily. That making up with him couldn’t be as simple as crawling into bed and letting him hold you like nothing had happened.

But as you lay there, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek, you weren’t sure if you cared anymore.

All you knew was that it had been a week without this, without him, and you had felt every single second of it.

Marshall shifted slightly, his arms tightening around you, like some part of him was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. His lips pressed against your forehead, barely more than a ghost of a touch, but enough to make your chest ache.

You sighed, pressing your face deeper into his chest.

"Still mad at me?" His voice was low, raspy with sleep, hesitant.

You exhaled slowly. "I don’t know," you admitted.

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing absentmindedly up and down your back. "That’s fair."

And it was.

You should still be mad. Maybe you were. Maybe it would hit you again in the morning, that frustration, that hurt.

But right now, with his warmth surrounding you, the weight of his arm draped over you like a shield from the rest of the world, all you felt was safe.

You hadn’t meant to start thinking about it. You wanted to just enjoy the safety of your husband's arms.

You had wanted to just lay there, wrapped in Marshall’s arms, pretending—at least for tonight—that everything was okay. That things hadn’t changed. That you hadn’t changed.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And the more you let them settle in, the more they made sense.

It wasn’t just about him missing the flight. It wasn’t just about another broken promise. It was about all the little things that had been slipping through the cracks long before that.

Because deep down, you had known.

You had felt it.

The way he didn’t hold you like he used to. The way his kisses had become something absentminded, routine, instead of the kind that stole your breath. The way he was always just a little distracted, a little distant.

You had noticed. You had ignored it.

But when it came to the girls? That was where you drew the line.

You could accept that maybe things weren’t the same between you and him. Maybe you had let yourself believe that was just how things went after so many years. But when it started touching them—when they started feeling the distance, the absence—that was when it became unforgivable.

"Jesus," you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly against his chest.

Marshall let out a quiet, sleepy huff. "I can hear you thinking."

You let out a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly.

You hesitated for a long moment, staring at the faint outline of his shoulder in the dark. But he had been honest with you. Maybe you owed him the same.

So you whispered, "I think I knew."

His arms tightened slightly around you. "Knew what?"

"That you weren’t holding me the same anymore," you admitted. "That you didn’t kiss me the same anymore." You swallowed hard, trying to find the words. "But I still wanted you to treat the girls the same way you always had."

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

The silence stretched so long that you almost regretted saying it. Almost started to pull away.

But then—

His arms tensed.

And in one smooth motion, he rolled, shifting you beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress before you could catch your breath.

Your heart jumped.

He stared down at you, his face barely visible in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. But you could feel it—the way something in him had cracked, broken wide open.

"Marshall—"

And then his lips crashed into yours.

This wasn’t habit. This wasn’t routine.

This was desperate.

Like he had been starving for you. Like he had been holding back for years, and the dam had finally burst.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers instinctively tangling into his hoodie. He pressed closer, deepening the kiss, pouring every unspoken word into it, every apology, every regret.

His hands framed your face, tilting your head up, and God, this was what you had been missing.

This was the way he used to kiss you.

Like he needed you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face.

"You’re right," he murmured, voice rough. "I stopped holding you the way I should’ve. I stopped kissing you the way I should’ve." His thumb brushed over your cheek. "But I never stopped loving you."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Instead, you pulled him down again, kissing him just as desperately, hoping he could feel it—

That you knew.

That maybe, just maybe, you were finally getting back to where you belonged.

You both were breathless, caught in the haze of what had just happened, and neither of you seemed to know exactly how to go forward.

Marshall’s chest rose and fell rapidly against yours as he held himself over you, eyes dark with something you hadn’t seen in years. It was like he was looking at you for the first time in a long time. Like maybe all the time he had spent fighting his own feelings was finally catching up to him—and you.

Your lips were swollen from his kiss, the taste of him still lingering. Your heart hammered in your chest, a rush of emotions flooding through you that you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long.

But as you lay there, still tangled in the sheets, something gnawed at you.

You had kissed him like that again—like you used to—and it felt right, but now, you needed to understand why. You needed to know why it had gotten this far, why things had gotten so strained between you two.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his jawline. Marshall froze, his breath hitching as his eyes met yours, but you were already speaking, your voice soft yet firm. "Why, Marshall? Why did you stop?"

He swallowed, his eyes flicking down to your lips before he glanced away, as if the truth was too heavy to bear. There was something in the way he pulled away, just a little, as if to put distance between himself and the intensity of the moment.

He finally exhaled and shifted, pushing himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a strange vulnerability that you hadn't seen in a long time. “I didn’t want to pressure you," he admitted quietly. "I knew you were juggling everything—two kids, the house, your job... and I figured you didn’t need me putting my shit on top of that." His gaze turned distant for a moment, and when he looked back at you, his voice cracked just a little. “I didn’t want to be the guy who just added more weight to your shoulders.”

You stared at him, feeling the sting of his words hit you harder than expected. You bit your lip and took a breath. “But I wanted it,” you said softly, your hand lifting to touch his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, as if to remind him that you were still here, still with him. “I wanted your pressure, Marshall. I wanted you to want me... like you used to. Not just as the mom of our kids. Not just someone who takes care of everything. I wanted to be the woman you desired. The one you needed.”

Marshall’s gaze softened, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the guilt he carried for not realizing this sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was barely a whisper.

You shook your head slowly, feeling the weight of everything you had kept locked inside. "I don’t know," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I thought maybe if I just did everything right—if I took care of everything—you’d see me as that woman again. But... I wasn’t being her, was I?"

Marshall closed his eyes, his chest tightening as he took a breath. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No... I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it through everything else.”

You bit your lip, your emotions swirling inside of you. "But you don’t have to carry everything alone, Marshall. We’re a team, remember? We’re in this together. I wanted to be there with you, not just for you... not just as the mom."

He looked down at you, his hand coming to gently cradle your face. "God, I’ve been so fucking blind," he muttered. "I didn’t even realize how much I was holding back, thinking I was protecting you by staying distant." His hand trailed down your neck, fingers pressing softly against your skin, as if to reestablish the connection between you. "I’m sorry. I... I’m so sorry."

You shook your head, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "You never have to apologize for wanting me, Marshall. You never have to apologize for wanting us to be more than just parents."

He leaned down then, his forehead resting against yours. His breath mingled with yours, soft and steady. "I promise you, I won’t hold back anymore," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ll always be the woman I want, first and foremost. Not just the mom... you."

Your heart thudded in your chest, a sense of relief washing over you, but the knot in your stomach remained—this wasn’t something that would be fixed in one night. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you might actually be able to breathe again. Like the weight was being lifted.

You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how everything would play out. But in that moment, as you lay beneath him, arms wrapped around each other, you felt like you were finally getting back to what you both had been missing.

And that was enough—for now.

[maxgicalgirl]

No but for real have we found a solution for rejection sensitive dysphoria yet ? Like does anyone else who has this have coping mechanisms that work ? I am genuinely asking please help

[pathologicalreid]

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Would they or would they not catch you…

Dick: yes. 100% yes but he’s -no pun intended- a little bit of a teasing dick about it.

He will catch you but then act as though he’s going to drop you by loosening his grip, making you scream out of surprise and cling onto him tighter, all the while beaming that bright and beautiful smile of his as though he wasn’t about to willingly let you fall flat on your ass on multiple occasions.

‘I fucking hate you!’ You whined, smacking Dick on the bicep.

‘Oh do you now?’ Dick inquires as he slowly begins to losses his grip on you, smirking.

‘Did I say hate you? I meant love you, a lot! Please don’t drop me.’ You cried as you tightened your grip on his neck whilst struggling to keep your feet from touching the floor. ‘Awww I love you too gorgeous.’ Dick coos as he pressed kisses into your face as you could only glare at the cheeky bastard.

You hate him sometimes but you weren’t going to complain about the affection you were being given. So you guess you’ll suffer for now.

Side note: he might even try and see if you can catch him. 💀

Jason: He will catch you but makes it a big deal whenever he can. He loves holding you in his arms.

He could keep you in his arms forever if he could but knew that he can’t, so he settles for going about his day carrying you throughout the apartment instead.

‘You can put down any day now.’ You’d tell him but that only makes Jason tighten his grip on you as he moved in his makeshift library for a book to read.

‘No.’ He simply replied, scouring the many book titles in front of him in the hopes that one might speak to him. You pout. ‘What do you mean no?’ Jason then looks at you and says. ‘No means no. As in no I will not put you down because I do as I like and will not be told otherwise, so the cutie currently in my arms has to deal with it.’ He then smiles as he presses a kiss to your forehead before looking back towards the bookshelves.

You end up falling asleep in his arms and Jason couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were, even if you did look like the living dead.

Damian: says no but will in fact catch you without hesitation.

However if you do try to tease him about it, then he will drop you without a second thought. ‘You can catch yourself next time.’ He would say as he walks away, leaving you with a bruised ass. Titus -who saw the whole thing- would come up to you to make sure you weren’t genuinely hurt and encourage you to get up by nudging you with his head.

Don’t test him because he will do it and then act like the whole thing didn’t happen if you were to bring it up.

‘Dick.’ You’d say as you stood up.

‘I heard that.’ He’d call back, his voice echoing off the walls. ‘You were meant to.’ You reply. ‘And at least Titus came to check up on me to see if I wasn’t hurt.’ You’d add while scratching Titus behind the ear.

Needless to say you were more cautious when choosing Damian to catch you. However he does apologise for dropping you on your ass by gifting you something he himself drew by hand; He secretly doesn’t like it when you’re upset with him and will do anything to rectify it.

What a sweetheart.

Bruce: he’s too use to you pulling this type of shit that it’s basically muscle memory for him to catch you as you’re running towards him, all with a straight face mind you.

Be grateful because he risked a much needed bowl of Mulligatawny soup just to catch you in his arms, but then again the kisses you bombard his cheek is more than reward enough, a small almost missable smile appears on his lips as he then proceeds to carry you for the rest of the day as “punishment.”

( this only occurs when Bruce is feeling particularly affectionate or playful)

Much to your batkids -Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cass and Steph- dismay. They’d want to use this as blackmail, but they know that it will backfire as you’ll probably hang the photo on a wall somewhere in the manor, reminding them of how disgustingly their parents can be when given the opportunity.

[freedomfireflies]

One Day*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you still hate Harry, but turns out, you might be having his baby.

Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, spanking, brief choking, slight angst (happy ending), mentions of pregnancy and babies! *Please be so gentle with yourself and only continue if you feel comfortable! 💞*

“I’m late.”

“For what?”

You huff. “I’m late,” you repeat, gesturing frantically toward your hips. “A week late. Which I know can happen, but…not really to me, so…I’m late. And I think we’re fucked.”

Harry blinks. Looks down at your stomach. Looks up at your face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You rear back. “That’s all you have to say for yourself is oh?”

He lifts his left shoulder in nonchalant shrug before flopping down onto your sofa. “I don’t know. What did you want me to say?”

“I…I don’t know,” you huff. “I kind of thought you’d…yell. Or freak out or something. Or ask me if I’m keeping it.”

“Do you want me to freak out?”

“Well…no. Not really.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I don’t know, I don’t even…I’m not even sure if I am yet or not.”

“Okay.” He nudges his glasses up before crossing his arms. “Well did you get a test?”

You glance toward the pharmacy bag still sitting on your kitchen counter. It’s been mocking you ever since you picked it up. Staring you down, sticking out its tongue. One, tiny little box that’ll determine the next chapter of your life. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I, um…got one on the way home from work.”

“Okay. Have you taken it yet?”

“Not…exactly.”

His brow raises. “Do you…need help or something?”

You scowl. “It’s peeing on a stick, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’d find a way to fuck it up.” He smirks. “Sure hope our baby gets my brains instead of yours.”

You grab the pillow beside him and give him a firm whack. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs as he winces. “Good. I wasn’t being funny.”

“Then, stop it. And stop being so calm.”

“You just said you preferred calm—”

“Well…it’s scaring me now. So what gives?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to waste a reaction on something we don’t even know is happening yet. Take the test and then I’ll freak out if you’d like.”

“You say that like someone that’s had a lot of pregnancy scares.”

He snorts. “No, I say that like someone who knows freaking out won’t exactly help you right now. So just take the goddamn test, Tinkerbell. And we’ll go from there.”

Unamused, but somehow slightly comforted, you oblige and snatch the box from the table before retreating to the bathroom.

Once the timer has been set, you slowly make your way back to him.

He’s still sitting on the sofa. Calm. Unaffected. Watching you without a care in the world. Like his whole life isn’t about to change. 

It drives you nuts.

“Five minutes,” you tell him.

He nods.

Warily, you sit in the chair to his left, staring holes through your shoes as your heart races inside your chest. You’re not sure how you got here. Not sure where you could possibly go. You aren’t ready for a baby. Not…yet. Especially not one with…him.

“Hey,” he calls, pulling your attention up. “S’the matter with you?”

Your eyes narrow. “What the hell do you think?”

Another casual shrug that makes your teeth grit. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?” You lean back. “Why on Earth would I be happy about getting stuck with your DNA for the rest of my life?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. You just seem like the type of girl to want a lot of babies.”

You scoff. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I am not.” You don’t think.

“Really? Is that why you begged me to breed you?”

“I didn’t actually mean it. That’s just what you say in a moment like that.”

His eyebrow raises.

You hesitate. “Did…did you mean it?”

“Kind of,” he admits. “I mean, yeah, maybe I didn’t mean right this second, but…I don’t hate the idea.”

“You actually want to be a father?” You snort. “Bullshit. You hate kids. I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t hate kids, I just don’t care about them when they aren’t mine.” He throws his arm over the back of the chair and smirks. “I like my nieces, though. They’re chill.”

You blink. “You…you have nieces? Wait, you have siblings?”

“Yeah. One brother. He’s got two kids and they’re cute as shit.”

“Oh.” Your head starts to pound. “See? We can’t have a baby when I don’t even know anything about you.”

He chuckles to himself before nodding his chin at you. “All right, fine. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.”

“What?”

“Ask me what you wanna know.”

You think. “Okay. How often do you see your family?”

“Often enough. They live in California, and they work a lot. But we call every couple of weeks.”

“Oh. That’s…surprisingly nice. Uh…do you have a history of disease in your family?”

He grins. “Excuse me?”

“I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” You motion at him. “Answer.”

“This isn’t an interview—”

“Answer.”

“No,” he says. “Not that I know of anyway.”

“Great. Do you plan to be a deadbeat father?”

His eyes roll. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“So, yes? You do? Oh, great—”

“No, because that’s not a fair fucking question—”

“It is a fair question. If I have to raise this baby alone, I want to know—”

“Of course you wouldn’t fucking be alone. Do you really think so little of me—”

“I don’t think about you at all. How am I supposed to know what you’ll do—”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he nearly snaps. He takes a breath to calm himself before adding, “Even if it wasn’t my baby, I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Your lashes flutter and you can feel your heart lodging in your throat. “Fine. Last question.”

He waits.

“Did you ever want kids…before? With…her?”

He doesn’t have to think for very long, but the mention of her makes him smile. “Nah. We talked about it, but we weren’t ready. We liked it being just us, you know? We had a bunch of shit we wanted to do. We were a long way from babies and a white picket fence.”

You try to blink back the tears swimming their way to your eye. You can still see that beautiful picture of her in his room. An entire future of love and life and adventures that he lost. Now…he’s stuck with you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” You swipe your knuckle along your cheek. “So, you probably still aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Harry, come on. You aren’t ready for a baby. I’m not ready for a baby. We…we don’t know each other, we don’t like each other…we can’t do this. You know that.”

“Do I?” He leans forward. “It’s a baby, not a bomb. I think we can handle it.”

“Well, I don’t. You don’t even like me. You can’t have a baby with me.”

“Why not? People do it all the time.”

“But not us.” You give him a firm stare. “Harry, we love our jobs. We want careers, not kids. So having a baby kind of gets in the way of that. There’s…there’s diaper changes, and teething, and potty training—”

“So?”

“So. We don’t work together well. In fact, it’s a rather well-known fact that we don’t get along. We can’t possibly raise a kid. We’d ruin it.” You study him for a beat, unnerved by the nonchalance in his tone. “Why do I get the feeling you actually want this to be real?”

Another shrug and you nearly lunge at him. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees while he glances at the floor. “I’m older now. Maybe it’s time to…think about settling down.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He laughs. “Look, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, but…maybe it could be a good thing.”

You stand from your chair and pace the length of your small living room. “This is crazy. This is crazy. I can’t have a baby, I’m…I’m not ready. I’m too young, I…I don’t even know what I’d do with one. Or if I even have a maternal instinct.”

“Probably not,” Harry offers, smirking when you glare. “You won’t really know until you have one.”

“Oh, great.”

“Listen, if you feel like you aren’t ready…we can find another alternative,” he says, softening his voice. “Okay? There are plenty of other options and we’ll find one you feel comfortable with.”

A tad wary of his sympathetic answer, you eye him closely. “Yeah? And what if we disagree?”

“We won’t,” he says calmly. “Your body, your decision.”

“Right,” you snort. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I wouldn’t be the one having to carry it.” He nods as though to reassure you. “Honestly, Tink. This would be your decision, one hundred percent. It’s not mine to make. Just to support.”

The tears rush a little faster as you sniffle and step closer. “You say that now, but what if I decide something you don’t like?”

“I will like it. I promise,” he murmurs, standing up in order to move toward you. “If you want to keep it, great. If you don’t, great.”

“I…I…” You suck in a deep breath, unable to slow the wild racing in your chest. “Fuck, I can’t…I don’t know—”

“Hey, okay, easy. Easy, Princess,” he says, quickly reaching out to take you in his arms and ease you against his chest. “Relax. Okay? Just breathe. Breathe for me.”

“I…I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can. You are.” His lips press to the top of your head while his hand runs up and down your back soothingly. “I’m right here. Do you hear me? I’m right here. You’re not alone. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

You squeeze your arms together and hold on with everything you have. Right now, he feels like your only anchor in the world. The only person strong enough to carry you both through to the other side. And for the first time since you met him…you feel glad that he’s here.

The two of you stand in the middle of the room for a long while before he finally murmurs, “I think it’s been five minutes.”

Your eyes close and you grip his shirt in your first. “I’m…I’m not ready to look.”

“Okay.” You can hear the smile in his response. “Okay, we can wait.”

So, you do as the truth starts to build in your chest. Inescapable, no matter how hard you try to swallow it down.

Finally, you can’t help but whisper, “You know what scares me the most?”

“Hm?”

“…that maybe I’m hoping it’s real.”

The apartment falls silent again. He doesn’t push you to elaborate, but you can feel his heart beating just a little faster inside his chest.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I don’t…I really don’t think I’m ready, but…but what if I should be? What if…what if we met and we started this because…because we were supposed to do this?”

He considers this. “Like fate.”

“Yeah.” You roll your lips into your mouth. “Because I still hate you. I do. I just…I’m starting to get this picture in my head of us. Being a family. Having a big house in a good school district. Tucking them into bed at night and reading them stories. Which is…dumb.”

“No,” he mumbles. “No, it’s not dumb. I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I meant what I said, I’d love to get you pregnant. You’d look really fucking hot.”

You chuckle. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh…okay?”

He smirks. “I never had a breeding kink until I met you.”

You lean back and swat your hand across his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“What? I’m being serious.” He grins and those dimples pop free. God, you hope your kids have his dimples—

No. Nope. You aren’t going there.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought. “Whatever. You’re just horny.”

“Maybe. But it’s still true.” His gentle gaze sweeps across your face. “If you wanna do this…we’ll do it. You and me. We’ll have this baby, and we’ll raise it to be really smart, and funny, and to not take shit from anybody.”

You laugh, brushing away a few more tears. “Maybe we can teach it to write code.”

“Oh, fucking obviously.”

The two of you smile before the excitement seems to fizzle and Harry’s brows pull together.

“You know I don’t actually hate you, right?” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I know that’s our thing, and I know you said it earlier, but…I don’t actually hate you. This baby wouldn’t grow up with two parents that don’t like each other.”

“Oh…I…I know.”

“Good. Because I don’t want that to be one of the reasons you think we can’t do it. I’d fucking love that baby. And I’d love you for carrying it.”

Instantly, you both seem to still. The four-letter word sounds so loud inside such a small room.

I’d love you.

He clears his throat, shifting a bit as he glances toward the kitchen. “I mean, I’d…I’d appreciate you for carrying it—”

“No, yeah, I know,” you stammer. “I know what you mean.”

“Good. Yeah.”

The two of you fall quiet again before you softly admit, “I think I’m ready to look.”

“Okay.” He squeezes your hip. “I’m right here.”

You take in a deep breath before begrudgingly pulling yourself out of his arms. You already miss his warmth and the way he felt like home and your stomach turns as you slip into the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you reach for the stick that sits on the edge of your sink. And in those three seconds, an entire lifetime flashes before your eyes. 

The good, the bad, and the everything in-between. You see a house and a dog and a big backyard. You see two little kids rolling in the grass and jumping into the pool. You hear them begging for a bedtime story and crying when they scrape their knee.

You see a dozen birthdays and holidays and visits to the zoo. You see their heartbreaks and triumphs, their successes and letdowns. You see a million goodnight kisses and cuddles on the couch. 

And then…you see Harry.

In every picture, every moment. Taking them to their first baseball game and picking them up from their first dance. Sneaking them into R-rated movies even after you explicitly said no and feeding them far too much candy and popcorn.

You see him teach your son how to tie a tie and dance with your daughter as she stands on his feet. You see him cooking breakfast in the kitchen, flour all over his face. You see him curled up in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. You hear him tell you how happy he is. How glad that he found you.

It’s a beautiful life. Even if it’s not the one you imagined for yourself. And in that moment, you decide that it doesn’t matter what the test says. If that’s your future, so be it. 

As long as you get to live it with him.

“So?” Harry calls from the hall.

You swallow thickly and slowly glance down.

Negative.

Negative.

No baby. No pregnancy. No white-picket fence.

You stare at the test for at least a full minute. You aren’t sure how you feel. Relieved. Disappointed. Upset. Thankful. Confused.

“Tink?”

You turn around. “Uh…it’s negative,” you report, handing it to him. “False alarm. I guess I’m just late.”

He glances over the stick with a rather blank expression before looking at you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. This is definitely the better outcome. I’m just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was just starting to get used to the idea.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, handing it back. “I know.”

You throw the test away. “Sorry for making you come all the way over here for that.”

“Hey, whoa—” He strides into the bathroom. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I’d be here.”

“I just…I wasted your time. I should have taken it before I called you—”

“Tink,” he sighs, taking your cheeks in his hands. “Stop. You can always call me for shit like this.” He looks at you, then amends, “You can always me. For anything. You know that.”

A tear slips from your eye without warning, and you suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. This is what I wanted—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know. It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” You hiccup. “But this is good, right? This is better?”

For a moment, he says nothing. He simply stares at you with a rather sympathetic expression. Or maybe it’s forlorn. Maybe he’s disappointed. Upset that you aren’t giving him what he wants.

Then, he dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “This is good,” he whispers, and you know he means it. “We would have figured it out. And you would have been a wonderful mom. But I know you. And I know you aren’t ready. Not yet.”

You close your eyes and melt into the feel of his palms against your skin. Into the way he reassures you and protects you all in the same breath. You never thought you’d feel so safe in the serenity of his touch, but here you are. Wishing for him to hold you forever.

“And when we are ready, we’ll do it on our terms,” he says. “Okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “This is good,” you repeat to yourself. “It is. Really. Things are going great at work, I’m finally secure financially, and even you and I are…kind of getting along.”

He smirks.

“This is good. This is better.” You repeat the mantra until you really believe it. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have been a very good pregnant woman anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’d be really cranky. Or needy. My ankles would get all swollen and I’d be hot all the time and nauseous and miserable. I’d probably try to kill you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely try to kill me. You try to kill me even when you aren’t pregnant.”

You gasp. “Rude.”

“What?” He chuckles again before his eyes slowly start to rake down your frame. “But I don’t know. I think it’ll be better than you think.”

You swat him again. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to picture it.”

“Why? I told you, you’d look fucking hot.”

“Yeah…no.”

However, he only nods, moving in to subtly brush his lips against yours. “You would. Be so fucking beautiful carrying our baby. With your tits all swollen and your belly getting bigger every day.”

Truthfully, the image almost makes you grimace, but there’s something about the way he says it. The way he talks about you so reverently. A soft, sultry murmur that goes straight to your cunt. Because you know he’s not just saying it to say it. He means it. Believes it. Would do anything for it.

He tilts your head back, thumb brushing along your jaw. “And I think you like it,” he exhales. “I think you like the idea of holding me inside you. Having a part of me. Knowing that I did it to you. No one else.”

You suck in a soft breath, knees going just a bit weak. “Harry…”

“What, baby?” His mouth ghosts along your neck. “Are you thinking about it? Thinking about how pretty your tummy would look with me inside it?”

He’s evil. Absolutely evil, and you clear your throat in a desperate attempt to regain control of yourself. “Do you…have a pregnancy kink I don’t know about?” 

His lips quirk up. “Apparently.”

“Mm.” Your lashes flutter and the urge to kiss him grows stronger. “You know…some women get really horny when they’re pregnant.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle it.”

He scoffs. “Oh, no?”

You shake your head. “I mean, do you really think you could keep up? Going for hours and hours on end? Trying to keep me satiated with your poor, limp little dick?”

He makes another noise, and you tsk.

“I mean, you can barely satisfy me now as it is. But if I was pregnant? Pfft. Forget it.”

Instantly, he’s snatching hold of your hips and yanking you against his chest. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Princess,” he nearly growls. “I’ll bend you over right now.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” you retort. “You’ve gone soft on me. Rubbing my back, kissing my hair. You wanna take care of me and honestly? It’s a little pathetic.”

His head cocks rather deviously and your pulse begins to skip. He could split you in half if he wanted to and you both know it. 

But that’s what you need right now. You don’t want to be coddled or looked after. You wanna be fucked. Tortured and teased until you’re begging for release.

You want an escape.

And in that moment, Harry decides to give you one.

He picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom while your legs quickly work to hook to his hips for stability and your arms snake around his neck.

He ignores your squeals and teasing huffs of annoyance, instead dropping you onto your mattress with a soft thud.

You glare and push up onto your elbows. “You know, you don’t have to manhandle me—”

“Shut up.”

He surges forward, lips gliding against yours as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. And kissing is easy with him. As easy breathing, like you’ve done it all your life. You know exactly what he likes, what he wants. And you give it him.

His glasses are cold against your face, keeping him from getting as close as he’d like, and after a moment, he huffs, and rips them off before tossing them aside. And even though you adore when he wears them, you happen to adore being near him even more.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging on his curls, scratching down his neck. He has the added advantage of being on top, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from turning to putty in your hands. Clay for you to mold to your liking. 

No matter how dominant he tries to be, he’s simply a man that needs to be told what to do. Taken care of. Shown. 

And you happen to like showing him.

You feel him tug on the hem of your shirt. “Off,” he breathes between carnal nips to your throat. “I want this off, Tink.”

Happy to oblige, you push him back so you can lift yourself up before you peel the fabric from your chest. You take your time with the bra, allowing the straps to fall down your arms oh so slowly. You don’t rush to reveal yourself to him, instead letting him anticipate you. Until his heart is racing and his eyes are darkening and he’s resisting the urge to do it himself.

But once he can finally see you, he nearly groans. “Oh, good fucking girl.” 

He resumes his work. More kisses are left to the warm, tender skin, and he happily sucks bruises into each swell and curve of your breast before teasing the nipple with his tongue. His hands are greedy—ravenous. Pulling at your flesh, clawing his way along your frame. 

When he reaches your thighs, you whimper. You’ve missed the way he touches you. The way he pries your legs apart and makes a home between.

In a rush, he snaps your panties off into his fist and you toss him a punishing glare.

He smiles.

You rid each other of your remaining clothes in a frantic fashion until they’re nothing more than a dirty pile on the floor. Messy and familiar. Fated.

He drops down onto the bed back first, effortlessly swapping positions as you’re placed in a straddle over his waist.

“Good girl, let me see you,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your jaw. “Go ahead.”

You reach down and take his hardening cock in your hand, running it along your cunt before teasing yourself with the tip. 

“Didn’t stretch you,” he mumbles, leaving a few stray kisses to your collarbone. “S’might hurt, so—”

You push him in, simultaneously sinking down in an effort to feel a more prominent burn., and you both make a rather lewd noise as the grip on your chin tightens.

“Tink,” he hisses with a punishing look of his own. “Careful—”

You drop yourself further, muscles tensing around the thickness until your thighs begin to shake.

“Hey—” He forces your eyes on his. “Enough. Be gentle, m’not gonna hurt you—”

“I want you to,” you pant. “Please. I need it. I…fuck, Har, I need it. Please…please.”

He’s still frowning but his expression softens. “Baby…not like this. Maybe we should wait until you’re feeling better—"

“No,” you whimper. Desperate. Fraught. “Harry, please, don’t stop. Don’t make me stop—”

“Hey, easy, easy.” He pulls your forehead to his. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

You try to obey. Try to suck in a strangled gasp of air but it’s useless. He’s gonna take himself from you. He’s gonna leave, and you’ll be empty, and alone, and maybe he won’t ever touch you again—

He places his palm on your chest, right over your heart. “Breathe,” he says again. Soft. Quiet. “In then out. Good girl, just like that.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Mimic his inhales and exhales until the two of you fall into a synchronized rhythm. 

“Good,” he says again, rubbing his other hand along your back. “There you go. You’re all right, I’ve got you. Yeah?”

Weakly, you nod. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I—”

“Shh.” He kisses your nose. “You’re okay, Tink. I know.”

A long moment passes before you finally feel in control of your own heart again and once you blink the fog from your eye, you see him. Delicate and strong at the same time.

He sweeps his thumb along your lip. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “Really, I just…I needed to feel you. And I wanted to…move on, I guess. Think about something else. Lose myself for a bit.”

He sighs but nods his understanding. “You could have told me that.”

“I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing things with you.”

“I know,” he echoes with a small grin. “But we’ll learn, yeah?”

Your gaze grows suspicious. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he says simply. “If we’re gonna make a bunch of hot, smart babies one day, we’re gonna have to communicate.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, that won’t be for a while.”

“Fine. Just gives us more time to practice.”

Your eyes narrow. “You really have gone soft on me, haven’t you? All because you thought I was pregnant."

He laughs, fingers slipping around the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. “I’d argue I’m actually quite hard right now.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I can hate you and like you at the same time, right?” he teases. “Because I think that’s my sweet spot. Wanting to kill you and fuck you all at once.”

“Agreed. You’re insufferable but you’re also one of my favorite people. Which only makes you more insufferable.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think we earned a little civility, no?”

You nod and take his lip between your teeth. “And I think we should celebrate with an orgasm.”

He laughs again. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

You dance your kisses down his chest, enjoying the way his head drops back while he sighs at the feel of your tongue. He’s so beautiful and so good and if you’re going to lose yourself, you want to lose yourself in him.

Leaning back, brace your hands behind you on his knees, and start to bounce yourself on his cock. Over and over, faster and faster, until he’s grabbing onto your hips and giving them a firm, encouraging squeeze to help you along.

Your tits bounce right in his face, and he takes advantage of his front row seat, allowing his hands to trace and tease your nipples as you whine. He sucks them into his mouth and pulls them with his teeth. It sends chills along your spine and goosebumps along your arms and when he notices, he smirks.

 Not even a minute later, he’s pulling you down so your chest meets his. His hands land on your ass with a firm grip and he drags you along his cock. Slow and sensual until your eyes flutter shut, and you disappear into the building pleasure.

You feel his kisses on your ribcage as he begins to thrust up into you. Returning to the pace you previously set until you’re both chasing that familiar high. 

“There you go,” he praises through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah, just like that—”

“Harry,” you mewl, fingers tangling in his hair. “Shit, please—”

“I know.” He leaves another kiss to the inside of your arm before he smacks your left ass cheek. “I got you, Princess. S’okay. Keep going.”

You grind yourself over his lap, knees hugging his waist as you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. Needy. Anxious. You match each other’s rhythm and it’s a dance. An effortless fluidity that brings you closer than ever before.

Then, he sucks two fingers into your mouth, and moves them between your cheeks. He grazes them over your tighter hole, gently teasing them over the other entrance before dropping them down to where his cock is fucking into your cunt. He plays with you a bit, pushing you just a bit closer while you wail—depraved—and beg for more.

“My good girl,” he praises. He spanks you again. “Fuck—that’s it, baby.”

Your staccato whimpers are consistent now. One for every thrust and you can almost taste his desperation as he turns his head in order to kiss your cheek. The sound of skin against skin is crude and delicious. The way your body slides against his. Like butter on a hot day, melting together.

He goes faster, pulls you harder. Fingers digging into your skin so hard it almost hurts. But in the best possible way. In turn, you brace yourself with a palm on his throat. Squeezing it tight as you start to get closer. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Shit…harder—”

You obey, pinching the sides of his neck until his eyes roll back. 

You can feel his heart racing against yours. You’re both warm. Hot. Shaking. A tangled mess of limps and depraved grinding like animals in heat.

“M’almost…m’almost there,” you whisper.

He nods, looking down your body to watch the way your ass bounces in his hands. “Go. S’okay, go. Let me feel you.”

He leaves more kisses to your side and the tender way his lips feel against your skin makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You grip his throat a bit tighter and just like that…it’s over.

The two of you cum together, the room filling with moans and gasps and promises. He settles beneath you while you ride out the rest of your high but he makes sure to keep his arm around you through every second.

Once you finally catch your breath, he hums. “God-fucking-damn.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He turns to see you. “I think I’m pregnant.”

You roll your eyes with a swat to his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still like me.”

“I never said that.”

“You said I’m your favorite person.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

“Right.” He helps you ease him out before he’s flipping you around and moving himself between your legs.   

You blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

He lifts two fingers and eases them along your swollen pussy. Collecting the white, sticky substance already leaking out before easily pushing it back in.

“Harry,” you scold. “I think we’ve had enough breeding for one day.”

He smirks. “Relax, Tink, m’not breeding you. I just…like to see it drip out.”

Your heart leaps. “…oh.”

“Yeah.” He rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh in order to watch. “S’always so fucking pretty.”

You reach down and card your fingers through his sweaty curls. Happy and content for the first time in days.

He looks up. “One day,” he promises, even though it sounds more like a question.

But somehow, in this moment, it makes everything else worth it.

You grin.

“One day.”

AAA I can’t believe we finally did it!! I’m not gonna lie them being soft with each other is gross 😭 BUT ALSO CUTE!! YAY PROGRESS!!

Thank you so much for reading and for always being so nice!! 🥹💞💞 and of course thank you for the amazing idea hehe

Also, if you see any mistakes……no you don’t 🫶

~  Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist:

@littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@babyyhoneyyy @swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

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@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[hyunsuloves]

super shy.

synopsis … squid game women with a timid s/o ꨄ︎.

pairings … se-mi, sae-byeok, no-eul, jun-hee, ji-yeong, hyun-ju x fem!reader (separately)

warnings … fem reader, non game au, and a few are maybe ooc?

lovely notes … two posts in two days, we rejoice again!

꩜ [ 855 words ]

se-mi / player 380 is the polar opposite of you. while you’re timid, she’s a very assertive woman who isn’t apprehensive about expressing herself.

if needed, she’d speak up or defend you from someone without a second thought. she often finds herself doing simple things like ordering your food for you or speaking for you in awkward social settings.

she finds your timidness cute at times, like when you shy away from her compliments.

“hey, you look pretty with your hair down.” “oh, thank you se-mi. it looks, like, average.” “be honest, you look stunning with it down. you should wear it like that more, pretty.”

the way she was able to fluster you every time will never get old to her. she loved to say flirty things for the hell of it, and to of course catch you off guard.

she has a habit of including you in whatever conversation she’s having, whether she realizes she’s doing it or not. it’s more of a subconscious doing of hers. though, she knows when and when to not drag you into discussions of hers.

she hates to see someone targeting you, especially if they know your shy personality. she steps in without a second thought to handle the situation for you.

sae-byeok / player 067 is alike to you in many ways. she never makes an effort to put herself out there unless completely necessary.

in social situations, she doesn’t mind stepping in and doing most of the communication for you.

she’s the first to defend you if someone tests you, because how dare someone come to you when they’re aware of your timidness? especially in her presence?

“hey, i got you. lemme know if they say something to you again.” “it’s fine. i can handle my own, sae-byeok.” “mhm. you better tell me.”

she coaxes you to keep to yourself rather than speak out. weirdly enough, she likes being the only person you trust enough to be vocal around. she likes the dependency.

no-eul / guard 011 doesn’t exactly lack courage or confidence, she just isn’t an outspoken woman. she keeps to herself most of the time, similar to you.

similar to se-mi, she likes to fluster you at every waking moment. she enjoys seeing the bashful look on your face whenever she constantly compliments you.

while she encourages you to speak up for yourself more often than not, she doesn’t mind stepping in for you.

“hey, defend yourself next time.” “i was planning to. you just.. beat me to it.” “whatever you say.”

she knows how you struggle to express yourself, but she teases you nonetheless. it’s all in good faith, though. she knows when you’ve reached your limits.

jun-hee / player 222 is similar to you in numerous ways. while she isn’t exactly timid, she doesn’t find herself speaking out in a lot of situations.

if it comes down to it, she’ll speak for you without a doubt. but if she knows you can handle your own, she’d leave you to it.

she frequently teases you for how bashful you are, as if she isn’t so similar to you.

“you’re so shy, so quiet.” “jun-hee, please shut up.” “oh, so she does speak?”

the two of you can often sit in silence for hours on end, basking in the presence of one another. you don’t speak many words because the solace between you two is more than enough.

she’s the perfect person to be around if you find serenity in quiet rather than deafening settings.

ji-yeong / player 240 is a bright difference from you. she’s very bubbly, outspoken, and animated.

you two look like an unlikely couple, like opposites that people wouldn’t expect to be together. but ji-yeong is adamant about the idea that opposites attract.

if needed, she can always speak up for you. as odd as it sounds, she enjoys speaking up for you when you’re in a non-verbal state.

“hey, want me to speak for you?” “ji-yeong, as much as i love you, i need to speak up for myself.” “okay.. but please take me up on my offer in the future.”

she feels a sort of protectiveness around you. given you’re her partner, but especially with your shy nature. it’s like a need to shield you from anything and anyone.

hyun-ju / player 120 is quite the contrast, as she was never really nervous or bashful. she asserts herself in most circumstances, unlike yourself.

she stands up for you without hesitation, mainly because she knows firsthand what it’s like to be belittled by others.

she’s been in so many situations in which others have degraded her so she knows how to deal with it easily.

“come to me if they say something else to you, yeah?” “of course. thank you so much, hyun-ju. i don’t know what i’d do without you.” “don’t mention it.”

even though it’s hard to believe, you’re able to fluster her rather than the other way around. any lovey-dovey thing you say has her gone.

she enjoys sitting in silence with you, just like jun-hee. comfortable tranquility with someone she cherishes cannot be beaten.

[nmakii]

must be love

— you find sae’s phone opened, and you decide to snoop.

or; sae gets exposed for being a fake idgafer. this is too sappy. 2.7k words, this is my longest fic in my whole life… what life feels like as a girl who loves too much core

tags: @narcjsistx

— for @itoshiluvbot. love ya, partner.

‘she seems really eager to please,

but she has quite the backbone.’

you huff out in frustration. “ah!! ugh…” you scowl. sae raises his eyebrow. “my groupmate never started on her share of the work… ugh, now i have to cram it..!” you explain your sudden outburst. sae scoffs. “then tell your teacher or something. it’s not like i can do anything about it, im not your teacher.” he, quite obviously, points out. “wh… ugh, i’m gonna… i just— needed to let out my anger.” you groan, face planting and screaming into your textbook. and he hums in response. although he didn’t show it on his face, your outburst was quite out of character for the person he had grown to know. it was… weird, to say the least. and it had caused him to make a mental note not to anger you.

‘her generosity knows no bounds.’

“sae, this is for you. merry christmas!” you hand him a wrapped box. “hm..? i don’t take christmas gifts.” he bluntly states. “i haven’t gotten any gifts since i was 10 years old.” you scoff to yourself. “maybe that’s why you’ve always got that stick in your ass.” you tease. “excuse me?” he glares daggers at you. “aaaanyway! open it!” you shove the box into his hands. he looks at the box, and then at you, and he decides to open it. “new cleats.” he acknowledges. yes, mhm. these were indeed cleats..! “i didn’t need these, i was going to buy them myself.” he states.

“i know, you could probably buy them yourself. but, i thought i’d save you the hassle, y’know?” how thoughtful of you. he eyes the cleats up and down; it’s an expensive brand, but it’s worth the price for the quality. “…thanks.” he says, at last. he didn’t expect a gift from you, he doesn’t have one prepared for you. he’ll make sure to buy you something you’ll love later. “oh! hold on, i wanted to give you some other things ♪~” you fish a keychain and envelope out of your bag and hand it to him.

“…cinnamoroll..?” he questions. “it’s cute right? i thought you’d like it.” what an odd way of thinking… never once has he mentioned anything about cinnamoroll. but then again, it is pretty cute. “…well, i won’t say i hate it. thank you.” he thanks you as he eyes the envelope. “ah, don’t read it in front of me..! i got a bit sappy, it’s pretty. embarrassing…” you awkwardly laugh. “ah, got it.”

later that day, he opened the envelope. there was a letter; it had cute doodles all over. and, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel your affection radiating off the letter. it was… really sweet.

‘what a beautiful human being she is.’

itoshi sae is what you like to call a shy lover, if you were to put it kindly.

you know for a fact that he loves you, he just isn’t good at verbally expressing it. words of affection are too sappy for him. he prefers to show it through the thoughtfulness of his gifts, and the longing touches of his hands, which seem to never leave your’s.

you know he loves you. but, you can’t help but wish for him to say it more often.

it wasn’t many nights lately that the two of you would have a date night. with sae’s rigorous training schedule and endless interviews, the only thing he wants to do at night is to fall asleep beside you.

however, today was the end of the season. meaning, sae would have much more free-time for you.

with sae’s last game for the year completed in 0-4, the first thing he had to do was call you. even though you weren’t far away at all, sitting in the VIP lounge with the relatives and girlfriends of sae’s teammates.

“s/o?” he calls your attention. “mhm? congratulations on your win, babe! i knew you’d win.” you congratulate him. “they could barely keep the ball when they had it. is it really an achievement for me to have won this match?” he says, almost sassily. “pssh— alright. i get it, mr. ‘tepid.’.” you tease.

���don’t call me that.” he huffs. “stay where you are. i’ll go to you.” he commands. you hum in acknowledgment, and he hangs up.

he doesn’t keep you waiting too long before showing up. “there you are…” he sighs in relief, kissing you as his hands automatically find themselves on your body— one tangled in your hair, and the other resting on the curve of your spine.

once he finds the will in himself to finally pull away, he’s breathless.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, his fingers flowing through your hair. “…get ready for our date later tonight, yeah? formal wear.”

you nod, and his lips curl upward. “i’ll see you later.”

you decided to go all out, pull all the brakes. and when sae picks you up in his car, he can’t help thinking that you look like a dream. ‘are you sure you aren’t a model?’ he muses to himself. his heart twists, and the fat of his cheeks redden with affection. your hair flows like silk, and that glimmer in your eyes was once a star, handpicked from the skies, he’s sure of it.

everything about you encourages him to keep staring, but he manages to get ahold of himself. “…you…look beautiful.” is the only thing he can get himself to say. but, beautiful doesn’t seem to encapsulate it, not at all. it’s not even close. beautiful is only a fraction of what he thinks. “heh, you think so?” you ask. “yeah; beautiful.” he assures. “let’s go.” he says, barely turning his attention away from you as he turns to the road.

the drive to the restaurant is quiet, but sae’s mind is screaming at him. his eyes can’t stop moving back to take sneaky glances of you. he drinks up your beauty like a serpent, and he still hasn’t had his fill.

“…we’re here.” he pulls the shift into its’ brake. he gets out, and hands his keys to the valet boy— his words are inaudible through the car door, but he quickly finishes his conversation and moves to open your car door.

you take your first step out, and his hand immediately moves to help you out. god, you might be even prettier under the gleam of moonlight, shining like the pearl of the planet.

his arm moves and snakes around your waist, guiding you into the restaurant under the flash of paparazzi cameras. he grimaces at the loud, pitchy voices of news interviewers, begging for a comment; anything for a headline quote.

the gentle touch of his fingers tighten, as he silently encourages you to walk faster, and lose the crowd. the two of you hurry up, and dash into the restaurant, where you’re greeted with a dim candlelight, mahogany walls, and the rhythmic trumpet of jazz.

“welcome, mr. itoshi.” the receptionist greets. “your table for two is right this way.” she quickly guides the two of you into a secluded part of the restaurant, just like he’s always done as to make sure neither of you are spotted and harassed in public.

lamps hang on the walls, creating a romantic atmosphere. and the curved dark-brown leather booth couch perfectly complements the dark oak roundtable.

the date isn’t too different from the others. the two of you chat about anything that comes to mind. but, it’s actually more like it’s just you chattering on, and sae listening as he admires that excited grin on your face.

on the outside looking in, it’s obvious how he has heart eyes when he stares at you. he’s in a trance as he listens to the rich honeying sweetness of your voice; his finger traces the lines on the roundtable, wishing that it’d be the crinkles of your smile he’s tracing when he blinks and opens his eyes again.

his trance is broken though, when his phone rings. damn it, he forgot to put his phone on do not disturb… “something wrong?” you ask sae, and he takes his phone out of his pocket. “not sure. there shouldn’t be a problem, i cancelled everything for tonight. ugh… just a second, amor…” he remorsefully takes your hand in his as a silent gesture of apology. he took too long to pick up the phone, it already went out…

he opened his call app, and saw that it was from his publicist, dabadie. he groaned before picking up.

“sae! you didn’t mention that you’d be going out on a date today, your paparazzi shot is already all over social medias..!” he worriedly stammers. “i didn’t? well, whatever… it’s just a date photo anyway.” sae shrugs, speaking quietly to ensure that you don’t hear. “right— but… you know the internet… they might criticize you, and say that she’s distracting you from soccer…”

sae is about to correct him— he’s about to say that you aren’t distracting him from his career, but he holds back once he remembers that you’re right beside him, eagerly waiting for his attention to be back on you.

“i… have to speak to you for a second, im already outside the restaurant… the paparazzi didn’t censor out the location well enough either… so, the agency’s security car will follow you two home…” he adds on. sae sighs. “i have to speak to you too. i’ll meet you outside.” he hangs up. he huffs in exasperation and shallowly drops his phone, making it clatter on the table; the screen is left open on his call record. “im sorry, amor… i have to quickly take care of something, i’ll be back soon, i promise.” he kisses your hand.

“hmph, don’t worry. it’s dabadie, right? he’s always worried about something…” you laugh. of course you’d be understanding about it. you always understood. “heh, that he is.” he sasses before leaving the table.

…and you can’t help but notice that his phone is still open.

his phone is practically yelling at you, “check out what’s on me, s/o! check it out right now!”, and you simply can’t resist the temptation to!

first, you simply scroll around at his call record; nothing too interesting, it’s filled with calls from dabadie, and you. as well as occasional calls from his mom. how tepid, as sae would put it. you exit the app, and find his home screen wallpaper to be a picture he took of you; you’re looking out into the distance, the large castle of sleeping beauty in the background.

you smile to yourself at that cute photo, and move to his photos; it’s filled with photos of you, and almost none of him— not unless you were beside him. you scroll down to check out his older photos; they’re childhood pictures, only a few of them are with rin included.

…

…anyways, ‘what is in sae itoshi’s notes app?’, you ponder. you open his notes app.

‘things i want to eat: 1. omelette, 2. paella, 3. pesto pasta’

‘onitsuka tiger mexico - kill bill/grey, new balance 2002r - grey, asics gel NYC - oyster grey’

‘laundry’

‘i love you’

you laugh at the randomness of his notes, quickly scrolling through them. it’s true when they say that a boy’s notes is truly random.

but that last note catches your eye. it’s a pretty odd note that just says ‘i love you’ with no additional text. and, it makes you wonder.

sae’s an organized person, more or less. so, his notes must be filed too. and, you’re correct. there are three files; ‘lists’, ‘important documents’, and a file with your initial as its’ name.

the other two don’t seem as interesting, nor seem as mysterious. so, you click on the mysterious file.

and, the file is filled with everything about you; he’s written down your birthday (including the time…), your family members’ names, foods you like to eat when you aren’t feeling well, shows that you like to watch… everything.

and, there’s a note that catches your eye. it’s a cut-off sentence, since it was too long. you decide to feed your curiosity and click on the note.

‘she talks to everyone, even the people she doesn’t like.

it takes a lot to piss her off.

she’s always kind to me, after all.

she seems really eager to please, but she has quite the backbone.

she works really hard, but i don’t think many see it.

her generosity knows no bounds, and she always knows what kind of joke to make.

i didn’t think it was possible for a soul to be so beautiful.

nor, that someone like i would meet a soul like her’s.

but, im grateful to the stars above that i met her.

someone as kind as her deserves to receive all the love she gives.

i don’t think she knows how loved she really is though.

what a beautiful human being she is.

there simply isn’t enough words to describe the way her dimples crinkle when she’s happy.

the day she was conceived, the gods must’ve tenderly sculpted her heart out of ivory and gold.

the way she enamors everyone in the room simply by walking inside, and the way her personality shines in her rushed, yet sweet handwriting.

one day, i hope she’ll finally be perpetually happy.

so, that she can always shine that enchanting smile of her’s.

she deserves all of it.’

was this a poem..? it didn’t seem like it, it didn’t rhyme, and the stanzas didn’t have equal amounts of lines… but, the way he worded it out almost made it seem like he was a poet.

you don’t… even know what to think at such a romantic confession. it’s certainly much more than sae has ever verbally said to you. but, the fact that he had written this with you in mind makes your heart pound like crazy.

you’ve always known that sae loves you, but seeing his private thoughts all written out for you to read was… overwhelming.

“going through my texts, amor? i’m not texting any other woman besides you.” sae nonchalantly jokes. shit— time went quicker than you’d thought. “ah, nn… just got a bit curious, babe…” you hum. “what were you looking at..?” he asks, and his eyes widen the moment he sees what you were reading. out of all the things on his phone, that was the last thing he wanted you reading.

he embarrassedly closes his phone. “so… what was all that writing about..? were you trying to be a poet?” you jokingly ask; you knew that sae wasn’t mad, per say… he was probably just embarrassed. “n..no… it was, ah…” he clears his throat. “it was just… something i typed out when i realized i had many observations about you that i needed to write down. i just got sidetracked while i was typing.” he explains.

you smile, your entire body feeling like you’re on fire. the love you feel for sae itoshi feels like too much to contain in your heart. “it was really sweet, sae…” you assure him. for some reason, you have the odd incentive to just… cry right now. you love him so much.

“i know. but, it’s also too sappy.” he huffs. “aw, don’t be so shy… i know you’re just a huge softie under that tough surface…” you tease, moving closer to cuddle up to his side. “im not soft. i just love you, okay?” he groans. “don’t make me say embarrassing things.”

your smile widens, making him look at you with that lovesick look in his eyes. “aww… well, i guess i know how much you love me now anyway, so that’s good enough..!” you mentally fist pump at this small victory.

the atmosphere suddenly feels light again as you start to chatter again, teasing him slightly before going back to what you were speaking about before he had left. and still, sae’s looking at you like you’re the world cup trophy, like you’re all he’s dreamed of.

and sae thinks…

‘…you’ll know how sappy i can get when it’s our wedding day.’

but he should save that for another 5 years, or so.

[spatialwave]

are you jealous?

➸ ask: “Please could we get ‘i'm not jealous. you're just mine’ for Jayce😭” ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! smut, nsfw, pwp, rough sex, dominant!jayce, jealousy, established relationship, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe, thanks for asking!!

Jealousy was a trait that Jayce buried deep within. One that he wasn’t proud of, and he hated every fibre of his being when his mind was filled with thoughts of it. Especially when it came to you.

You were beautiful, a goddess among men. The poor man couldn't watch you waltzing through Piltover without his arm stretching over your shoulders as a silent declaration of “She’s mine.”

Jayce’s frustration often translated into the bedroom, where he could get rid of pent-up anger and stress. You were happily oblivious to it, indulging in any attention you could collect from the man. He was your boyfriend; his attention was the only one you sought.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the door shutting and locking behind you as you entered your home, with Jayce lingering after—another day, another fancy charity event, with the Man of Progress at the centre of attention.

“Oh, gods,” you uttered quietly, lifting a foot behind you to help remove the uncomfortably tall heels one by one. “Remind me never to wear these out again.”

Jayce was oddly silent behind you, only the quiet hum of acknowledgement as he shrugged his coat off and hung it neatly on the rack.

“Hello? Jayce?” Your voice was louder this time, having spun on your heels to wave your hand in front of his face, “Had one too many glasses of wine, did you?”

You were met with a look of discontentment, his brows slightly furrowed together. You blinked, head tilting curiously.

“You had fun talking Salo’s ear off all night, did you?” He huffed; the accusation caused your mouth to drop.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, delicate fingers lifting to your necklace as you began taking your jewelry off. You didn’t have the time for petty arguing as you walked toward your bedroom, eager to undress, “I suppose I had a few good chats with him about the future of Piltover. Why are you so upset? I’m making connections, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” Jayce hurried behind you, footsteps heavy, “I’m just saying that you seemed to like his attention.”

His words were hushed as he spoke, obviously a bit sheepish for saying so. The wine in his stomach had done a great job removing the filter he’d so carefully put up every day.

“I can tell when you’re upset. I’m not an idiot… and quite frankly,” you looked over your shoulder once inside your room, hands behind your back struggling to undo the zipper of your dress, “I don’t appreciate the callous accusation. What’s your point?”

Jayce was quick to help, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lips met with your skin as your shoulders and back became exposed. Stubble tickling you and leaving you a bit breathless.

It was hard to stay upset with him.

“I’m just saying…” his voice wandered as he pressed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and into your ear, “You were all over him.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, hands keeping the dress pressed against your chest so it didn’t fall right to the floor. The kisses left you shivering with each movement—realization hitting when he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Jayce,” you whispered, turning your head to look at him. You stared into his eyes, hazel with golden flakes that sparkled under the right lighting. His rough hands were on your hips, possessive

“Are you jealous?” The words fell from your lips along with a smirk, the question lighting your insides aflame.

“Not jealous,” he growled into your ear, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you back so your ass was pressed against the obvious erection growing beneath his slacks, “you’re just mine.”

Oh, gods. That awoke something in you.

“Ah,” you let out a gentle moan, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his hands groped at you eagerly, practically ripping the dress from your body that you no longer cared about keeping neat as it crumpled to the floor, “So, you don’t like it when other guys talk to me?”

Jayce huffed, lips attacking your neck from behind, unafraid to bite into the skin and suck. A silent reaction that spoke volumes.

His hard cock pressed against your ass again, separated by his slacks and the lace panties you wore that wouldn’t be on your body for much longer. You were suddenly pushed forward against the wall next to you, a gasp escaping your throat as his hands reached around your body from his spot behind you and delved right into your underwear.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice heavy and laced with lust. Two fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit, and it took all your energy to keep your knees from buckling beneath you, “Laughing at his terrible jokes… your fucking hand on his arm.”

A mewl escaped your lips, ass pressing back into him with need as his fingers assaulted your clit and shot an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body. Your hands were pressed against the wall, nails scratching at it.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“You think you can just flirt with anyone you want?” He growled, licking a long stripe up your neck, lips ghosting against your ear and his other hand squeezing painfully tight on your hip, “Tell me.”

“No,” you answered obediently. You had never flirted, or at least intended so, but gods, you’d be damned if this wasn’t turning you on.

His fingers moved easily through your folds, soaking wet as your juices seeped through your underwear. 

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Jayce whispered, lips moving down your shoulder and back as he dropped to his knees behind you. Fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down your body, slowly over the globes of your ass.

“Yes,” you said softly, eager to please.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, hands fondling your ass before giving a hard smack. “I said, tell me.”

You winced in pain, “I’m yours, Jayce. Only yours.”

Jayce had never quite felt this way before, a rush of power and dominance taking over. Knowing very well now that this side of him wouldn’t go unseen again.

His eager eyes watched as his hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight hole and pussy that was so wet it dripped down your thighs. A pitiful mess, clenching around nothing.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, leaning in and licking from your swollen clit to your entrance. He poked and prodded, earning whimpers of pleasure from you that filled his stomach with heat and made his cock twitch in his pants.

He pulled away from your cunt after a minute of devouring you like a starved man, chin wet and glistening as he pushed a slow, deliberate finger inside your pussy, that squeezed impossibly tight around the digit. Having been waiting for any form of stimulation.

“Fuck—“ you choked, face pressed against the wall and ass out.

He then stretched you with two fingers, your tight heat clenching hard around them. Your hips stuttered, knees shaking, and you had to use the strength of your hands pressed to the wall to keep you upright. The wet sounds of your cunt being fingers with no remorse filled the room, mixing with your quiet moans and Jayce’s soft praises.

“So good,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh and under the curve of your ass, “Do you think I should fuck you? Do you deserve it?”

“Yes, please,” you cried, unable to take any more of the teasing as your nails scratched the wall again. His fingers pumping inside you had already made you crawl slowly towards your release, but the absence of stimulation on your clit kept you from falling off, “I deserve it—“

“Prove it,” his voice was heavy, full of lust. He moved slowly to stand behind you, the sound of his belt undoing, making you tighten around the fingers that abused your swollen sex.

You glanced over your shoulder, a pout on your lips as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Jayce, I’m all yours,” you begged, cheeks burning a furious red as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers, “Only yours, I promise.”

“Gods,” he breathed, removing his fingers from your cunt and pushing them between your lips, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You sucked around his fingers, the familiar taste of your juices heavy on your tongue. You moaned loudly around them, face pressing against the wall as he pushed his cock inside your greedy cunt with one sharp thrust. His thick girth stretched you, an amount of fullness that always surprised you, even after countless times of being fucked by him.

He snapped his hips against yours at a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing louder than your mewls.

Jayce lifted a hand into your hair, tugging your head back so he could breathe against your ear, “You take me so well, baby.”

A whine strangled in your throat, a delicious sound that settled a familiar heat in the pit of Jayce’s stomach. He let go of your hair, leaning back so he could focus both hands on your

hips, squeezing so tight that you’d be surprised if your skin didn’t form lingering bruises in its wake.

Your heat enveloped him perfectly, your inner muscles clenching tight around his length with each deep penetration. Enough to rumble a groan from his chest as he focused on fucking you brutally and senselessly, feeding off every cry of pleasure that came from you.

“Cum for me,” his words came heavy from his chest, leaning forward as he greeted your otherwise abandoned clit that was dying for attention with a heavy-handed touch, “Please, baby. I need you to cum.”

Your toes curled against the floor as you felt the tight cord in your abdomen snap, his fingers circling your clit and cock stretching you out, leaving you nothing more than a sex-induced mess. His name rolled off your tongue in repetition, walls tightening hard around his cock as you milked him–desperate for him to fill you.

“Fuck, Jayce–”

“Just like that,” he groaned, eyes watching the way his cock sheathed inside your aching cunt, “fuck, baby, you look so good. You take me so good. So fucking perfect.”

A moan caught in his throat as he leaned forward, teeth and lips pressing against your shoulder. He came hard, hips stuttering and losing his pace as his cock twitched inside you as his climax hit him with unbridled intensity. Jayce’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, grunting heavy sounds against your skin as he slammed into you with one final thrust.

His cock pumped stream after stream of hot cum inside you, your still spasming walls coaxing out every last drop.

“Ah, fuck–” he sputtered, his body nearly going limp as he let go of your hips, muscled arms instead wrapping around your waist, “... I love you.”

The sweetest giggle bubbled up from your chest, turning your head against the wall to meet his gaze, “That was hot,” you murmured, blinking slowly, “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Please, no,” Jayce groaned, chuckling dryly as he buried his face against your neck in coy embarrassment, “I hate it.”

“You’re a dork. I love you, too.” You beamed.

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR EX — GOJO, GETO, TOJI

summary: you have sex with your ex. thats it.

cw: afab!reader, smutty smut smut so mdni. unprotected sex with all of them (since I forget that condoms exist) you sit on geto face, kinda finger fucking & mild hate fucking with toji but its fun, and gojo is just lovely.

an: i was meant to post this last night but I fell asleep writing geto's part so slay. anyways I hope you enjoy lmk what you think!! not proofread so ignore any mistakes please.

☆ GOJO

“this doesn’t mean we’re back together y’know,” you remind gojo, panting as he thrusts into you.

“you’re really saying that with my dick deep in your cunt,” he taunts, admiring the deep arch of your back, the way your ass ripples every time his hips drive into you. “i’ve missed this.”

“f-fuck keep going,” you moan out, as his dick hits your spot – just how you like it.

“so you don’t miss me?” he pesters, and you roll your eyes, as although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he had a pout on his face. “you really don’t miss me?” he continues his thumb making way to your clit, swiftly flicking at it.

“i don’t miss you.”

gojo pulls out of you almost defiantly, pushing you down – turning you around your back. he stares at you with something you couldn’t quite place, and re enters you just as quickly. he smirks at the way your mouth gapes as his hands roughly grab at your tits, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

“s-someone’s mad,” you egg on, loving the way that his strokes become harder.

“y’know the reason i always loved fucking you this way when we were together?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“what’s with the trip down memory lane?,” you complain, your arms come around his neck as you take him in deeper, “i called you to fuck me, not for whatever you’re tryna do here.”

“because i always got to see all the faces you make,” he continues, completely ignoring your comment, his tongue drags up the side of your jaw, before pressing a quick kiss just under your ear. “and the face your making right now, tells me, that you're lying.”

you scoff, but didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. you did miss the way he’d plough into you, the way he knew the ins and outs of your body – how to please you. “im gonna cum,” you whine out, “satoru please i need yo–”

“you can cum when you admit the truth babe,” he teases, his strokes purposefully shift speed, still keeping you writhing underneath him but just not quite enough to get you there. “just say you miss me.”

“fine,” you force out, exasperated, “i m-miss you i do.”

“see wasn’t so hard, was it?” he kisses you deeply, driving deep into you, and you cum with a cry, you did miss being this close with your ex boyfriend. gojo is quick to finish after you, filling you up with all his cum.

he eventually pulls out of you, collapsing down on the bed next to you pulling you into his hold. you, against your better judgement, relaxing into his arms – which goes against all the rules of sleeping with your ex. “this still doesn’t mean we’re back together,” you add, knowing there was very little truth to that.

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say babe,” he smirks, his lips coming down to your forehead, placing a soft kiss, “so what did you miss about me?”

☆ TOJI

“i thought you didn’t spin the block, princess,” toji asks with a shit-eating grin, as his fingers slip inside of you “what happened to, ‘once an ex always an ex huh?” 

“i’ve always hated that nickname,” you mumble, hissing at the contact of toji’s fingers toying with your pussy, “and there are some exceptions to my rule.”

“so you’re little boyfriends not hitting it right then,” toji grins, pleased at hearing that he was the ‘exception,’ “if you’re here, slutting yourself out on my fingers.” 

“no he’s hitting it greatly,” you smirk, not rising to toji’s comments since you know what he was trying to get at, “i just missed you, that's all.”

“oh so you really have a boyfriend then?” he snapped, his fingers curling up in you.

“no i don't,” a smug smile appears on your face as you see toji’s smirk drop, “but it’s cute that you care though. are you jealous, toji?”

“shut up,” he says moodily, swiftly removing his fingers out of you, pulling you onto his lap.

you straddle him, your face inches from his, “aww are you mad toji?” you taunt with a mock pout. you’ve always loved getting a rise out of toji, you know your ex boyfriend very well, the more pissed off he was, the harder he fucked.

“sit on it,” he commands, the ‘it’ in question being his hard dick that he was furiously stroking at the sight of you. there was something about you that got on toji’s nerves – hence why you didn’t last long as a couple – but that special something was good for times like this. where you could both unleash any pent up energy you have, on eachother.

you welcome his dick eagerly, practically jumping on it, the wetness of your pussy was inviting. his dick slotted in perfectly, making you both curse at the contact. “fuck, you always feel so good,” he praises, loving the feeling of you clenching around his dick whilst you ride him.

there was a forcefulness coming from the both of you, as you were fucking each other as if you had something to prove, as if there was some unspoken competition to see who could get the other to cum first.

“f-fuck,” you mutter, the feeling of toji’s dick pistoning into you becoming too much.

“whats that princess?” toji mocks, grinning seeing your eyes gloss over, he could tell that your dick-stuffed cunt was about to release all over him, “y’gonna cum for me?”

you ignore him, continuing your mission to get toji to fold first. you manoeuvre your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on his exposed flesh, and he takes a sharp inhale – bingo. you knew toji’s body as well as he knew yours, and he was always was weak for the way you’d nibble and bite on his neck as he fucked you dumb.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you mock mirroring his question, his strokes was getting sloppier, you could tell he was close. but you were not far behind, squirming in his lap about to reach your climax.there were no words that needed to be spoken as you and toji both cum together, your cunt too overloaded with both of your cum, making it drip out all over his dick.

“we should do this again sometime princess,” toji suggests, as you eventually hop off his dick and start putting back on your clothes, “you always know to fuck me right.”

“i’ll think about it,” you conclude, knowing that you’ll probably be back in less than a week, “and stop calling me that fucking nick name,” you say as you leave the room, the only response you hear being toji’s howling laughter.

☆ GETO

if there was one thing that you couldn’t deny your ex boyfriend had, it was his head skills. everytime without fail, he could have you sprawled out on any surface as his tongue laps your pussy. 

“s-shit, you’ve always been way too good at this,” 

“only, to please you,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, before going back to sucking on your clit. your hands knot his hair, pulling and tugging as he works on your folds. he loves it when you play in his hair, showing that he’s getting what he’s aiming for – giving you pleasure. 

your moans only encourage him to toy with your pussy harder, nipping and biting as your thighs clench around his head. he’s been at this for ages, tonguing your cunt for as long as possible, as if to see how long he’d be able to go. 

“sugu ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, pressure building up inside of you, “please let me cum.”

but he doesn't. ignoring your request completely, geto removes his mouth off of you. his lips were practically shining, coated in all the juices from your pussy.  “you know there was one thing we never got to do when we were together,” he starts to say, eyeing with a mischievous smile,

“which is…” you prompt, slightly upset at the lack of stimulation you were getting at your, now throbbing, pussy.

“you never sat on my face,” he utters just above a whisper, licking his lips at the thought of it. 

“but what if I—“

“don’t worry about any of that,” he murmurs, pushing himself further back on the bed, his eyes still focused on you, “come sit.”

you slowly work your way up his body, the mischief in his eyes making you feel excited. you pause, straddling his chest, your hands rest on his shoulders, “are you sure about this?”

“girl if you don’t–” he starts to say, but the rest of his sentence is muffled as he pulls you onto his face, his mouth enveloping your pussy. your hands immediately grip onto the headboard in front of you, as his tongue gives long strokes to your wet pussy, lapping up all the juices spilling from you. 

you were riding his face, your hips moving back and forth against his mouth with his head sandwiched between your thighs. “f-fuck sugu, it’s too much,” you moan out, throwing your head back. 

he grins in response, his hands gripping your ass pushing you onto his mouth deeper. he couldn’t get enough of you, the way you taste, the sweet scent of your pussy that he practically inhales, burying his nose in it.

“s-shit,” you curse, as your cunt explodes onto your ex’s face. you pause, catching your breath, still feeling the pleasurable high he just gave you. he still had his mouth on your pussy, eating up all the cum that was dripping out of you.

“hey suguru, wanna go and–” you turn to see gojo burst into the room, “oh shit, yn? are you two back together?” you scramble off of geto’s face, giving gojo the hardest glare for interrupting. 

“satoru, can’t you see that im busy,” geto chuckles, his mouth still covered with your cum, “im eating here.”

“right…” gojo nods, “i’ll leave you two too it,” but just before he leaves the room you here him yell, “im gonna tell everyone you’re back together.” you both chuckle at your friends antics, and geto pulls you back into him.

“get back on,” he smirks, “who said i was done?”

AN: so there we go. I love geto's part so much but maybe im biased idk. but yeahhh hope you enjoy the thoughts that I had at like 7 am. DIVIDERS BY @/CAFEKITSUNE

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: omegeverse, bullying, near noncon, sexual assault, somewhat fluff

♡ FEM reader

Plenty of Alphas would think you’re a cute Omega, so he’s had to be careful with keeping you away from prying, preying, predatory eyes. 

It's a hard feat, you know?!

Thankfully, after all his berating comments, you’ve resorted to wearing bigger and baggier clothing, which in turn has resulted in you fading into the background despite being a rather desirable Omega for any Alpha who’d bother to look. A good thing. He’s the only one who should be allowed to see your body anyway. The bad thing, of course, is the backlash—where, because of his benevolent mockery, you don’t want anything to do with him anymore.

But what can he expect when he bullies you? 

He hadn’t wanted to. Honestly, you pushed him to it when you started wearing all those short skirts and small tops where he could see your bra straps. Of course, he had to say something! For your protection! You can’t go parading around like that! Everyone would think you’re up for grabs when you most certainly are not! 

So yes, he had to tell you to cover up—that you look like a common cheap whore when you dress up in so little, that you look desperate for it, that even a bitch in her heat would have more dignity, that you ought to mask your scent glands before someone takes the open invitation as is.

Was he a little harsh? Yes. Could he have said it differently? Yes. Does he know how? No!

And now you hate him—and want nothing to do with him. Skittering away any time you see him. Hiding yourself. A sad look on your pretty face as you hang your head and run away somewhere you can be alone.

He feels bad. But… at least you’re kept out of everyone’s reach this way—so he has the time to make you his before another Alpha catches sight of you and does better at courting you than him. Yes, this way, you’re hidden and safe and secret—kept as his buried treasure until he finds the courage to come find you again.

“Oh, come on, I said I was sorry—now just take it off already,” some guy standing over you drawls with his canines on display.

You’d sought out the empty classroom to be alone, but now you were drenched in milk and surrounded by a pack. It was still unsure whether the guy with the carton had done it on purpose or not. But the result was the same—a soaked sweater and a pushy Alpha trying to lift it off as if in an act of assistance.

The mixed crowd of Alphas and Betas all stand watch, keeping you trapped in the classroom with them while you cower beneath the bigger hands pulling on your milk-soaked sweater—easily prying it off against your will and leaving you in the wee little crop top you had on underneath.

The guy whistles shortly, leering across your exposed figure with a sloppy grin. “So this what you’ve been hiding under all these lumpy clothes, huh?”

The crowd jeers behind him, egging him on with catcalls and hollers. Making him laugh as he towers over you, throwing your sweater to the floor with a splat before coming to grab your wrists, keeping you from covering up.

“Who’d’ve known, huh?” His grip is painful where you try and fight it, nearly enough to snap your joints, as he spins you against his chest and shows you off to the thrilled onlookers—pretty cleavage and all, and that unmarked neck that has them all drool. “Such a pretty little Omega right beneath our noses all this time.”

“Please—” you whimper, shying away with your eyes closed shut and your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Aw~" your manhandler croons, nuzzling his chin into the grove of your neck, then whispering hotly at you ear, “Don’t worry, sugar—they’re just going to witness. Only I will be doing the honors.”

The tears spring loose as the panic grips your chest. “Stop—stop it—” 

Before you can think, you’re already lifting your heel and planting it down on his toes—hard—making him roar and loosen his grip for only a split-second opportunity to escape. And in the small moment, you break free—attempting to run away, only for the crowd to catch you and throw you right back—all of them chuckling at your cute effort as if it were all some game to them—making you their unwilling toy. 

“Some nerve on you, huh,” their leader mutters in a growl, angry now, gripping you even harsher before slamming you down over a desk, bent at the hips with your face against the wood. “Tch—denying an Alpha like that…” His hand finds your hair, tangling the tresses to get a meaner hold on your head, keeping you down as he slots his crotch right against your rear—voice at your ear as he bends over you in a closing trap. “I oughta teach yah some manners.”

You sniffle, writhing and shaking with broken sobs now, hearing the belt being undone, “No, please—I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, jackass.” A voice declares from the crowd. You can’t see through the blur of your eyes, but you’re sure his silhouette hadn’t been there before. “Quite sure she told you to fuck off.”

You don’t know what happened next—it all went by too quick for you to catch—but one moment, you’re held firm against the desk, and in another, you’re behind someone—the newcomer—standing between you and the others, his broad back turned to you and both his hands clenched up into fists by his side. 

Closer now, you know who it is by his scent. And, although it shouldn't—because he broke your heart with so many nasty words—it brings on a rush of relief so profound that, for a moment, you can’t help but want to forgive him for it all.

You peek around his arm to see your manhandler on his ass on the floor, a bloody crooked nose with a warped look on his face, glaring up at your unlikely protector. “Tch—” He gets up—flustered by the looks of it—casting you a mean glare as he brushes himself off, spitting out a “Not worth it” before whipping around and leaving—with all his lackeys following in suit.

And then it’s silent. Beyond awkward as your bully-turned-saviour turns halfway around. You’re still crying. And his fists won’t unwind. He knows he ought to ask you if you’re okay, but it seems like such a dumb question. And he already knows the answer.

He scoffs—this is unbelievable. He thought making you hide yourself away would make you invisible, but you just can’t help but attract attention, can you? The worst unwanted kind at that!

Shit. He sighs, then grips the edges of his sweater and pulls it off over his head. Balling it up, before reaching it out to you. Muttering under his breath, bowed head and all, “Cover up already.”

You’re unsure whether it’s a welcomed offer or not. You know it probably shouldn’t, but somehow… it still feels comforting. And so, you accept it. Taking it in your hands, you pull it on and let it dwarf you like a big, cozy safety blanket. 

“Thanks,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself—hugging the fabric close and, with it, his scent—which, for some unknown and odd reason, somehow makes you feel all better.

“Y’know…” he begins, looking at the floor. “Stick to wearin’ my sweaters, and my scent will keep you safe.”

And there he goes, saying what he ought to have told you from the very start.

And though it doesn’t make up for his actions, it does shine a light on them.

You suppose beggars can’t be choosers, and this dumb Alpha is what you’ve been stuck with. The part of your heart that broke back when he’d been so mean you thought you’d never be able to breathe again slowly pieces itself back together—leaving a fuzzy warmth inside that has you blush.

 “Is that so…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Megumi, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[obsesssedblerd]

Shut me up

“No, no, please, you don’t understand—we need to have a room with two beds instead of one.” 

From the middle of the bed, Satoru scoffs at the sound of your desperate pleas to the receptionist over the phone. You pace back and forth, groaning when you’re told that it was the last room. “I know that we booked last minute, but— Oh…. this is the only room available? …I see. Goodnight.” 

When you hang up, Satoru doesn’t stop his laugh, and the sound of it immensely amplifies your frustration. “You’re so pissed off,” he says as you cross your arms and glare at him. “It’s hilarious. Well, princess, looks like we’re here for the night. Get comfortable.” 

“Hell no,” you say, reaching into your bag to grab your phone. “I’m gonna ask Yaga for another place. There has to be another inn that’s close to the curse we’re tracking, and has two beds.” 

Satoru gets up from the bed and walks over to you, gently plucking your phone out of your hands and placing it on the dresser. “Yaga is asleep right now, and he worked his ass off to get this place for us at the very last minute.”

Good point. “Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“Quit being ridiculous.” The asshole smirks, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “So flustered at the idea of sharing a bed with me. We’re just sleeping. You’re not thinking about anything dirty, are you?” 

“Huh?! No,” you hiss. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

He doesn’t stop his teasing. “Hm. Sounds like you’re lying.” 

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you say, walking over to your bag and grabbing some clothes comfortable to sleep in. “And I’m not flustered. Just hate the idea of being so close to someone I can’t stand.” You head into the bathroom to shower and change before he can say anything else. “If you snore tonight, I’m kicking you.”

—

You can’t sleep. How could you? The room is quiet, and all you can think about is the man beside you. Speaking of, you hear Satoru shift, and the faint aroma of the expensive body wash he used while showering fills your nose. You hate to think it, but he does smell good. You look at the clock on the nightstand, and sigh quietly. Almost midnight. 

“Are you awake?” Satoru asks, and you pretend that you don’t hear him. 

You feel a poke in your ribs, and you shriek. “What the hell?!” 

“Pfft. Knew you were up.” He chuckles. “Ticklish?” 

“Do you need something?” 

“Nah, I just wanted to bother you.” 

You inhale sharply in an attempt to calm yourself, then turn around to face him. Though the room was mostly dark, you can still see him due to the moonlight shining through the window of the room. He’s lying on his side with his head resting against his arm, which was propped up on his pillow. 

“You’re like a child,” you say flatly as you roll your eyes. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement. “Mhm.” 

“And you talk too much.”

“Tell me more.” 

“Extremely annoying, I can’t stand when you show up to missions late sometimes because you want sugar, and you joke around way too much when we’re supposed to be serious. Yaga, Suguru, and Shoko think that, too.”

He chuckles again, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the sound of it. “Aw, come on. You tell me that almost everyday. Give me something new.” 

“And give you that satisfaction? Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ as you turn back around to face the wall. “I think you’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever worked with,” you conclude. 

“Well, you know what I think?” He asks, and you hum in question. You hear the bed creak as he moves, and your heart begins to pound when you sense him directly behind you. If you were to shift back even just a tiny bit, your back would be against his chest. 

“I think you’re full of shit,” he says near your ear, his voice dropping an octave lower. You feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. 

“How so?” You whisper.

His hand begins to slowly slide down your arm, goosebumps rising on your skin. “You think I’m the most ridiculous person you’ve ever worked with, but you keep working with me,” he purrs, his breath fanning the shell of your ear. “At any moment, you can tell Yaga to quit having us do missions together, but you don’t. I always end up seeing you even though you say you hate looking at me.”

You feel his hand softly drift across your hip, then rest there, his fingers lightly playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, they slip underneath, drawing light, teasing patterns on your skin. Your breath hitches. 

You feel warm. 

“Saw how you looked at me when I got out of the shower earlier,” he says, and your stomach twists. Of course he did. Nothing ever gets past Satoru Gojo. “You were practically drooling while watching me put a shirt on.” 

“I-” You clear your throat. “I wasn’t.”

“You’re such a liar.” 

His lips press a feather-light kiss to your neck—on a spot where you’re very sensitive, and you gasp, but instinctively tilt your head to give him a bit more access. When you catch yourself, you straighten, and Satoru only scoffs. “See? It’s obvious.” 

“...What’s obvious?” 

“You want me.” 

You turn around again, ready to tell him that this was the dumbest thing you’ve heard him say all night, but he puts a finger to your lips, effectively stopping your words before you can get them out. “You want me,” he says again, “but you don’t know how to deal with that. So, you pretend that you hate me when you and I both know that it’s not true.” He then smiles again, his eyes dark with want. “But I see right through it. You’re not subtle. Anyway, you have a choice. You can either continue with your lying, or you can actually do something about it.” 

It takes a lot out of you to keep your hands out of the way so you don’t strangle him and then pull him closer. “Something like what?” You ask.

“You think I talk too much.” He leans closer to you; your faces nearly touching. You swallow once, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you do. Then his smile grows, inviting—no, daring you to make a move. 

“So shut me up.”

[distantdarlings]

HIS OWN MEDICINE Pt. 1 // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Your best friend, Pansy Parkinson, suggests fixing your boyfriend’s flirting problem by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in v) Unprotected, spanking, top!theo, bottom!reader, fem!reader, mean dom, innocent reader?, degradation, name-calling, weird authoritative thing going on with Theo (idk), one (1) use of ‘daddy,’ mild breeding kink, flirting while in relationship, jealousy, not fully proof-read (lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

nobody - Toby Mai

- - -

“I don’t want to hear another fucking excuse, Theo!” you screamed, rage flushing your cheeks. It took everything in you not to strangle him right now.

After the third time catching him flirting with another girl, you were ready to walk again. You weren’t even sure how many times you’d broken up with him, and how many times he’d broken up with you.

But you were about to add another time.

“Please, baby, you know it’s not what you think,” he begged, trying to grab your hands. “She’s just a friend—we were just chatting.”

“Usually, you can chat with people without your hands wrapped around them! You seemed pretty fucking cozy with her!”

“Baby, come on…,” he cooed, trying to press some kisses to your fingers. Angry, you yanked your hand out of his grasp and tore out of the room. You heard the door slam behind you and ignored the gasps of shock as you shoved through a group of students moving in a unit down the hallway.

You could hardly stand that stupid man right now. If you saw his face again within the next 48 hours, you would punch him.

As you flew down the steps of the Slytherin dormitories and toward the mostly empty common room, you nearly knocked a petite woman over.

The two of you crashed into each other and grunted on impact.

“Watch where you’re going—Merlin! What are you doing down here, honey? Are you crying?”

It was Pansy, one of your best friends in the entire world. Though the tears had been pooling in your eyes since you stormed out of Theo’s dorm, her question had pushed you over the edge. An angry sob left your lips.

“Oh no! What happened?” she cried, wrapping you up in her small frame. Shamelessly, you wept into the folds of her robes. She smelled comforting, like home and daisies. You could hardly hold back the tears that poured down your cheeks.

“It’s Theo!” you gasped. “I broke up with him again!”

“Oh…again?” You could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What did he do this time?”

“He was rubbing up on that stupid Gryffindor girl from last time—laughing and going on! I hate him! I never want to see him again!”

“Why do you let this keep happening?” she asked nonchalantly, patting your head soothingly.

“Me?” you scoffed. “He’s flirting with other girls!”

“Okay, but…you also keep getting back together with him,” she shrugged.

You pulled away from her and glared a bit. You knew your decision-making on the love aspect of things had never been terrific, but you couldn’t help it. Theo was so good to you (besides the flirting thing).

You had tried to rationalize it repeatedly, telling yourself he was just a friendly guy, but he never acted that way to other guys—only girls. And you’d realized your rationalization was stupid. And that he was just flirting.

“Listen,” she started again. “I get it more than anyone else. Theo’s very hard to resist—I’m just saying he’s attractive!” She quickly rushed to defend her words because, after all, though you and Theo were “broken up” right now, you’d likely be back together before the end of the week. That’s how pathetic you were.

“If you don’t want to break up with him, how about you talk about it with him,” she suggested. “You need to sit him down, get stern with him, and tell him that he’s not going to talk to these girls the way he is anymore.”

“I’ve tried that already, Pans! I practically scream in his face every time he does this shit!”

There was a moment of silence while the both of you seemed to mull the issue over.

“Well, then, how about we try something else?” Pansy said, her eyes glinting mysteriously. Your shuddering breaths paused for a moment as you looked up at her. Whatever she was planning couldn’t be good just by the look on her face.

“Er, what do you mean?” you asked, a bit of anxiety creeping up the back of your neck.

“If you can’t get him to stop in your own way…maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine.” She smirked wildly, her eyebrows rising above her bangs.

“You don’t mean—? Oh, no! No, Pansy! I’m not doing that. I can’t do that when I’ve shouted at him for doing it for so long!”

“Exactly,” she said. “You’ve asked him to stop repeatedly, but he’s not interested in discussion. He needs a threat.”

Despite the growing burning in the pit of your stomach urging you to accept her suggestion, you still felt horrible even considering it. Theo had never cheated on you; you just felt as though he was too friendly with other girls. But maybe Pansy was right. Maybe he wouldn’t understand how frustrating it was until he experienced it himself. It wasn’t like you were going to actually cheat on him. Maybe you could just talk to one of his friends and pretend to flirt. Just a little bit.

With the end of your free period growing closer, you decided you would make Theo jealous at dinner. You just had to decide who you would select to help with your antics.

***

Your eyes surveyed the Great Hall, flashing back and forth across the immense tables. Familiar faces glanced back at you in passing, their eyes aimlessly wandering as well. You couldn’t help but smirk just a bit, knowing your plans. Poor Theo had no idea what he was in for.

After weighing your options for a few minutes, you finally decided that if you really wanted to get to Theo, you needed to hit close to home—too close to home.

Your eyes locked on a familiar face you had often stared at, even before you got together with Theo. Mattheo Riddle.

A dark, brooding masterpiece of a boy. Truly, someone you’d be fawning over if you weren’t currently with Theo. But, saying that sounded like a broken record, considering how many girls and boys begged Mattheo for a second glance. You watched him closely, observing for a few moments.

His dark was clenched just a bit as he ran long fingers through his raven curls. It was entirely too much for you to watch…just looking at him had a bit of heat pooling in your stomach.

You couldn’t lie. In the few moments you’d forgotten about Theo and planned to make him jealous, the rose-colored glasses had come off, and the dark green ones had slipped over your eyes. Your chest was pounding, and it wasn’t for Theo at this very moment.

A prick of courage coursed through your veins and with a deep breath, you were moving quickly toward your target.

Enzo, Theo, and Mattheo sat at the edge of the Slytherin table closest to the Great Hall’s entrance. They gathered around each other, snacking and laughing. Mattheo sat on the table with his feet settled on the bench, Enzo sat just next to his legs on the bench, and Theo sat opposite Enzo. Maybe it was cheesy, but even Mattheo’s small rebellion of sitting on the table rather than the bench was calling your name. To not sound like every Gryffindor currently drooling over Mattheo, he really did have the perfect bad-boy vibe. He was like a sexy Muggle film.

Mattheo’s legs were spread with his elbows settled on his thighs—a dominating posture. His robe was settled over the edge of the table, and his tie was loosened, exposing a sliver of bronze chest and a singular chain dangling beneath the collar of his shirt. Merlin, this was sinful.

Theo caught your eyes and smiled brightly. He waved you over. That particular movement snagged the attention of Mattheo and Enzo—both of whom found your eyes and smiled in return. Maybe you were over-confident, but you could have sworn Mattheo had looked you slowly up and down as you approached.

Granted, you had changed up your outfit before coming to dinner. It was simple, but you were sure it’d get the job done with how it framed your figure and dipped down your chest. Your hair was styled, and Pansy had granted you her talent for makeup. You felt gorgeous, so you assumed you looked it.

Your wand was slid into the small decorative belt that came with the dress, and your hands were tightened behind your back in a sort of mock innocence. You smiled brightly, eyes only on Mattheo.

Completely ignoring Theo, you walked straight up to the two boys sitting before him. The both of them were looking you up and down now.

“Hey, Matty,” you giggled, stopping just before him. Smirking, he slid his arms around your waist and pulled you between his legs, your hips bumping against his core.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “You’re awfully bubbly this afternoon.” His voice vibrated against your ear, sending a violent chill down your back. You tried not to let your facade fall, but damn, he was good. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing along, seriously into it, or reading your mind. Who knew? Legilimency ran in his family.

“Baby?” Theo asked gently. You could just barely hear his voice past Mattheo’s warm body. “Matty?”

His poor, confused voice made your heart sink a little bit. You immediately felt bad. But this was for his own good. He was feeling what you felt every time he pulled this shit with other girls.

“I can’t help it,” you smiled. “I was excited to see you.”

“What the fuck? What did he do to get all the attention?” Enzo joked, smiling crookedly.

“Aw, but I was excited to see you too, sweetheart,” you cooed, leaning over Mattheo’s thigh to gently touch a finger to his chin.

“I think someone’s had a bit to drink,” Theo said sternly. You finally made eye contact with him. He was fuming. You swallowed nervously but ignored his threatening gaze. You were doing this for a reason.

“I’m completely sober, Theo,” you said blankly.

“You wanna go somewhere, mama,” Mattheo whispered against your cheek, his lips brushing your jawline. His arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist, his grip domineering and his scent overwhelming. Why did you want to say yes? Were you a bad person? You weren’t sure. This was a bad idea.

You giggled to avoid answering his question. Enzo’s eyebrow quirked at you before giving a glance to Theo.

“Well, I didn’t want to have to be the one to say this. But, personally, I feel that we are all close enough now to discuss these things.” Enzo nodded his head. “Have we truly ever considered the possibility of a foursome?”

Theo choked on his drink, Mattheo pretended to gag, and you gasped sharply.

“I’m just saying…it’s a valid question.”

“Enzo, shut up. Now.” Theo gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles bleeding white across his skin.

“Mattheo, take your fucking hands off of my girlfriend,” he said, turning to the man above you. “We need to fucking talk.”

His eyes never left yours as he pulled himself away from the table and walked toward the door. He didn’t even need to look back to know that you were trailing behind him with a half-defeated look on your face.

You were a bit frightened of the consequences of your actions, but you were certain that once you explained yourself, he’d be more understanding. You hoped.

Once the two of you were just past the doors of the Great Hall, Theo grasped your hand roughly, and, after being forced through a sickeningly tight tube with a loud suctioning sound, you were standing in Theo’s dormitory. You were a bit dizzy from Disapparating after not doing it for so long, but no amount of churning in your stomach could distract from the raging boy storming straight for you.

“What the fuck was that?” Theo shouted, forcing himself up against you. The pressure of his chest pushed you back up against the footboard’s bedpost. As the wood dug into your back, a gasp left your lips.

The way he looked down at you, fuming and jaw clenching, had you flushed ever so slightly. You didn’t know what it was, but his anger wasn’t pleasuring you as you thought.

An hour ago, you’d have assumed that you would feel amazing because of revenge. Not … something else.

“I was just…,” you trailed off, his eyes drilling holes through yours. Your hands wrapped around the bedpost behind you as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. “I wanted to make you jealous.”

His jaw ticked.

“You what?”

“I’m sorry,” you flinched at the volume of his words. “You’re always so friendly and touchy with all of your girl friends—I just wanted to make you feel the same way.”

“Feel what way?” he demanded.

“Jealous,” you whispered, embarrassed. Your eyes tore away from him and cast to the floor. Despite the confidence you’d had a few hours ago, you felt like the smallest woman in the world now.

“Jealous? You’re so pathetic,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft and chiding. The word made a heat pool between your legs. Your lips parted in a silent gasp. You refused to look at him.

“Instead of just working through our argument earlier like adults, you thought it’d be a good idea to throw yourself on my friends to get a reaction out of me?”

“Well, when you say it like that—”

“Was it Pansy?”

“What?”

He sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration. “Did Pansy Parkinson put this stupid idea into your head?”

You looked down. You were too embarrassed to answer, but he knew. He scoffed and placed a surprisingly gentle finger beneath your chin. He tilted you up to look at him. His eyes were softer now.

“I know that Pansy is a bad influence on you, but you still have to be taught a lesson,” he murmured, his eyes ranging from soft and caring to lustful and mean.

“But, I–”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, voice stern as steel. “Don’t talk anymore, okay?”

Your lips snapped shut and, falling into an embarrassingly well-rehearsed routine, you nodded and forced yourself to keep eye contact with him. However, he had no issue doing so. His crystalline eyes never left your face except for one agonizing second when he dragged them down the length of your body.

You then forgot all of your previous endeavors and realized that Theo was going to have his way with you. He wasn’t more understanding, nor had you gotten your revenge. But none of that mattered right now. The heat pooling between your thighs had blurred all possible thoughts that might pass across your mind. The only thing you could see, smell, taste, hear, feel was Theo, Theo, Theo. You sucked in a shaky breath.

His fingers slid around your upper arms, pulling you closer to him. The way he touched you was gentle and slow—a precursor for the aggression that was to come.

“Turn around and bend over,” he whispered. His voice was nothing less than demanding. You couldn’t help but comply as if everything depended on your ability to follow his directions. Which, at this moment, it felt that way.

You turned and laid your torso across the length of his bed, tucking your arms beneath your chest. Your cheek lay against the satin comforter as your breath exited your body in short, shuddering pants.

“You deserve this,” he murmured. “You know you do.” His hands—so gentle—pushed themselves beneath the hem of your skirt. Your eyes clenched shut as your core pulsated in time with your rapid heartbeat.

The tips of his fingers caressed the curvature of your bare hips. With your intent to seduce, you’d figured you better dress the part as well as act it. For exactly that reason, you’d worn no bottoms beneath the tight dress. You could hear Theo inhale deeply as a single thumb slid over wettened, hot folds. You gasped sharply at the sensation.

“You wanted this,” he growled. Honestly, you hadn’t considered this as one of the outcomes of your little venture, but you wouldn’t deny what you currently wanted. With a whimper, you nodded your head and pushed your hips back against him.

A small grunt left his lips as your ass came into contact with his core, already engorged and pulsing, just as you were. You concealed a smirk. Perhaps it was the false persona you had put on this evening, but your confidence shone through the room like a lightbulb.

“Very well,” he sighed. “You’ll get exactly what you wanted, you pathetic slut. The only way you can get what you want is to show your ass in front of all my friends, huh? You couldn’t just fucking ask?” With each rhetorical question, he tore another piece of clothing from himself. His anger radiated off of him.

“My advice, love?” He rolled the fabric of your dress over your ass, allowing the cool air to bite at your core. “Next time…just fucking ask me to ruin this perfect cunt.” He pushed into you with a relieved groan.

The lack of any preparation had you biting into his comforter. Perhaps no foreplay was your punishment, but he felt too good for you to complain about it.

His hands gripped your hips like a vice as he pulled you back onto him at a sickening pace. He hit every spot inside of you with a bruising force, so hard that your face slid back and forth across his slick comforter. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep a hold on the surface. Theo’s rage-filled thrusts knocked you loose from any grip you gained on his sheets like it was nothing.

“If you ever pull something like that again, I swear to Merlin, I’ll beat the fuck out of any man who touches you,” he breathed through ragged thrusts. “I don’t care if it’s Mattheo or Enzo or some random guy—I’ll fucking kill him.”

His words pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Shamelessly, you moaned his name as if it were the last thing you’d ever say. He looked like a god behind you with his hair stuck to his forehead and his lips parted, his sweat circled the air, his name tasted perfect in your mouth, his moans were glorious, and he felt delicious inside you. Again, Theo was all you could see, smell, taste, hear, and feel.

“Yeah, baby? Does that feel good?” he whispered to you, taunting you endlessly. “Who fucks you like this, huh?”

“You,” you whined, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t hear you, baby. It sounded like you said Enzo. Was that right?” he cruelly teased you. His hand came down hard across the brunt of your ass cheek. “That’s what you fucking get. Now, who fucks you like this?”

“You!” you tried again, desperate to feel your release.

“Mattheo? Oh, you’re really trying me today!” he shouted, bringing his hand down against you again. You yelped beneath the bite of his hand. You could practically already see the handprint forming across your skin.

Theo suddenly grabbed your hair roughly and pulled you against his body. Your back was pressed to his front, and his cock was hitting a devastating angle inside of you.

“Who fucks you like this, bitch?”

“You, Theo! Fuck, nobody makes me feel like this! Theo, Theo, Theo…,” your voice trailed off pathetically as he pounded into you with a force like no other. You wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.

One of his hands was wrapped around your stomach while the other remained tightly curled in your hair as he fucked up into you relentlessly. The coil in your stomach that only seemed to build when Theo handled you the way he did began to wind up in your stomach. Each thrust from the man behind you had it curling tighter and tighter, threatening to combust at any moment.

“Fuck, Theo, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna cum for me? Cum for me, baby…cum on my cock, sweetheart. Let me fill you up, darling. Please, baby, let me cum inside you. Make me a daddy, baby.”

And with those words, you were cumming against him harder than you ever had before. Honey spilled from you and coated his lower stomach and your thighs. The tension from your entire body locking up had Theo’s legs beginning to shake. Whispers of strained “fuck, fuck, fuck”s resonated throughout the room as Theo fucked himself through his orgasm. Just before you could protest at the overstimulation, he came into you, filling you up just as he had promised.

The feeling of every inch of his arousal overflowing from your core nearly made you needy all over again. You might've asked him for a round two if not for the overwhelming exhaustion that had just flooded your body.

Between the rapid pace he’d set and the abuse you’d taken from behind, the two of you were laid out. Both of you collapsed against his bed, chests rising and falling rapidly, beads of sweat dripping, eyes fluttering closed. You were sure you’d pass away if you attempted to move, so you laid completely still.

“How was that?” Theo asked, chuckling breathlessly. You refrained from rolling your eyes at his awkwardly-timed question.

“It was really good, you dummy,” you laughed, wiping a bit of sweat from your hairline.

“Good,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “Because if you ever pull anything like that again, I’ll kill the man who touched you then I’ll fuck you in front of him.”

Merlin.

- - -

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[luveline]

if you are looking for spencer and bombshell requests, what about the first time a girl flirts with spencer after they start dating, but bombshell is fully secure because she knows her worth and understands that he’s a catch? if you need more ideas i can squeeze my brain really hard

love ur brain pls keep squeezing it <3 fem!reader

You’re the cheesy girlfriend no one expects you to be. You change your phone contact for Spencer to ‘My Sweet Boyfriend’ with a heart, you hold his hand in stupid places (though you’d done that before, sometimes), you bring him coffee, you fluster when he kisses your cheek no matter your disposition —you're overwhelmed in the honeymoon phase, and everybody’s surprised. 

“That’s not very cool of you,” Morgan says, having noticed your ducked head, your smile dripping with a private pleasure and your cheek still shining with Spencer’s quick kiss. He’s gone to find plastic cutlery. 

“I’m not that cool when it comes to Spencer,” you say. 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” 

Morgan is as pleased for you both finally getting together as anyone, even if he finds it foreign. It is weird to suddenly be openly in love with each other, and likely stranger for the team to see you in anything that isn’t total calm collection. 

“He’s so lovely.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Morgan says, more earnest now as he slaps a rolled sandwich down in front of you. “He’s a catch. I asked for no mayonnaise, was I supposed to do that?” 

Emily tucks her seat in next to yours. “He’s totally trapped by that secretary again, I hate to tell you.” 

You turn around. 

“Why would you tell her that?” Morgan asks. 

“What?” 

You peer out of the office door, where Spencer’s being chatted to by a stunningly attractive secretary. She has dark skin and darker hair, alluring almond eyes that light her sweetheart face with a bright charm. “Oh, she’s getting prettier,” you say. 

You’ve got Spencer Reid locked in. Nothing in you doubts that he’s currently infatuated with you. You don’t even care when he laughs at her joke, or when she dips her head bashfully toward him. 

“You better go and get your man,” Morgan says. 

“What for?” 

“She’s flirting hard,” JJ says. She’s only just looked up from her phone. “He’s gonna start blushing.” 

As if. You turn back to the table, unwrapping the paper from your sandwich with a happy sigh. Spencer looks so cute when he blushes, his cheeks turn pink and he smiles like he’s being tickled, it’s adorable. If that pretty secretary wants to do the hard work for you, it’s her prerogative. He’s your boyfriend. 

“I don’t need to do anything, he’s fine,” you say. 

You’re cutting your sandwich in half when you feel a presence behind your back. A familiar hand closes around your shoulder, a voice in your ear, “Thanks for nothing.” 

You giggle at his embarrassed tone, turning your face up to his, immediately delighted by his pink-tinged cheeks and neck. “You looked like you were having fun!” 

“You’re not gonna pretend to be mad?” he asks, leaning over you to open your sandwich. He pulls out a sad looking tomato and a similarly wilted slice of lettuce and closes it again. “Did you want a drink? I can’t believe you.” 

“Spencer, did you want me to come and get you?” you tease. 

“It would’ve been nice of you. Drink?” 

You laugh again, tugging him down by the wrist. “No, Spencer, I don’t want a drink, just sit down. What was I supposed to do? I’m not gonna pull her off of you.” 

“But why?” he asks, nearly not quite pouting. “She asked me if it was too hot in here for me.” He sits in the chair beside you, his hand dropping to the soft inside of your thigh as he leans in imploringly. “If you cared about me at all–”

Everybody laughs, including yourself. He’s clearly joking, and for once nobody on the team mistakes it for ineptitude, which seems to cheer him up. He gives your leg a rather bold squeeze considering who he is and where you are, and again when you gesture for him to lift his face to plant a kiss on the ridge of his jaw. “I do care about you, Spencer. Sorry I wasn’t jealous. Should we try again?” 

He turns your face away from your coworkers, eye to eye. “You’re making fun of me.” 

His hand trails to your elbow. “No,” you say, your skin tingling under his touch. 

“I don’t believe you. And I know you need a drink, they didn’t send your bottle of water. I didn’t manage to find those forks, either.” 

He gets up again. He hasn’t so much as glanced at his own food, patting your back in a promise that he’ll return before he edges out of the office and into the station’s bullpen. You take a smug bite of your sandwich. You can’t hide it.

“Told you,” you say once you’ve swallowed. You hadn’t needed to do anything, and you really aren’t worried about other women. “He likes me a lot.” 

“Understatement of the year.” 

You send Morgan a loving smile. When you glance over your shoulder, Spencer’s taking the long way through the office to the water cooler.

[k9wa]

⟁ A BULLET A DAY, ft. BOOTHILL.

⠀ — where teasing, annoying, poking and prodding all fall under the same category; flirting.

⚠︎︎ more mechanic! reader, gn, boothill being an idiot, flirting, suggestive, he has fake teeth to me, something about tension + leaving him high and dry is soooo ….

from this request !

it’s a miracle, truly, how boothill manages to be so tempting and endearing yet so utterly irritating and infuriating at the same time. 

and it’s hot, sure, but that just makes it all the more annoying, leaves you frustrated and with an odd pool in your stomach.  

boothill managed his way into your supply of bullets, happily tossing back the brass casings like a simple snack. it was a genius idea at the time, really, giving him a stomach that can store ammunition. though had you expected him to chew on the damn things instead of swallowing them— you know, like he was intended to— you would’ve just given him a little side bag to save yourself the work.

you half hoped the lead stuffing the things would seep into his still intact brain, but chastised yourself for the thought soon after having it. you don’t hate him that much. your brain should check back and try the thought again in twenty minutes. 

“y’know what’d be real neat, buttercup?” boothill’s legs were kicked up lazily on your workbench as he sat next to you, waiting for you to finish a small modification on his revolver. “spikes in my boots.” he lifted a foot up, rolling his ankle a bit. “you know, them retractable ones. be able t’a have some real fun with those things.”

you snorted, his efforts to dodge his synesthesia beacon as entertaining as always.

“since when do i take requests?” you asked, eyes focused down on your work— far too used to his antics to lift your head anymore.

“since when d’you deny gettin’ to tinker with me?”

he brought his feet down to the floor and leaned forward on his thighs, the denim of his pants tightening around them. “what, gonna make me say please and thank ya now?” 

you truly wanted to reply, say it wasn’t a half bad idea and that you’d look into the upgrade. until he started shaking a few bullets around in his palm like they were fucking almonds.

now boothill noticed the clench of your jaw, and oh how he revelled in it. he’s fully aware how the crunching of brass and lead peeves you, ie. you telling him to knock it off an hour ago— (“it ain’t hurtin’ nobody, is it now?”—) but you’re just so darn cute when you’re ticked off. he’s gotta push your buttons just a lil bit. 

“somethin’ the matter?” the way his sharp teeth gleamed through that damn grin weren’t doing anything to help. 

he took a bullet between his thumb and forefinger, the shiny gunmetal digits pinching the ammunition as he held it up next to you. “d’ya care for one, sugar plum?”

fine, you thought. two can play that game.

you tore your attention away from the old steel revolver, finally turning to look at him. boothill prepared for an insult, one he’d tell you was ‘flatterin’ and all,’ but it didn’t come.

you leaned towards his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his that glowed a familiar and faint red. 

then you took the bullet between your tongue and top front teeth, gently pulling it out of his hands with your mouth.

his smirk actually dropped— you’d think someone stuck an infected usb into his ear with all the ideas that flooded the forefront of his brain, making his circuits just tingle with excitement. something about the hot single mechanic in his area.

you turned back to your desk, removing the bullet from your teeth and twirling it between your fingers idly as you gave a once over to his revolver, as if nothing had happened.

boothill blinked, chuckling gruffly with a shake of his head as he slumped back in his chair, flicking another bullet into the air with his thumb and catching it in his palm with a gentle clink! the cyborg gave a low whistle as he kicked his feet back up.

“ain’t you somethin’,” he drawled, earning a chuckle from you. “y’sure know how t’keep a man on his toes, don’t ya buttercup?” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.” you only offered a hum, willfully ignorant to boothill’s colourful imagination.

“oh i’m real sure y’don’t.” he shook his head, another chuckle rumbling his chest and sending a shiver down your neck.

“say,” he leaned towards you, his shoulder to yours, feeling a little lucky and dropping his voice to a knee-weakening purr, “if that pretty mouth a’yers likes metal, i’m more’en happy t’a—” 

“all done.”

all bets go down the drain. boothill deadpanned as you clicked the barrel of his gun into place and handed it back to him, standing up to stretch your arms.

“shops closed for today,” you fold them, leaning back against your bench. “you better get a move on before i have to kick you out.”

boothill’s eyes trailed up your figure, taking his sweet time finding your face. the cowboy raised an eyebrow into a cocky arch despite him swearing his body was on the verge of its cooling protocol. 

“you keep woundin’ me, sugar.” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.”

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[sushiyuzu]

mountain man

warning: fluff — husband!sylus surprises you with his facial hair for the 1st time 🧔

dragon's heart | sylus fanfic book

"oh my—"

"no."

"oh my g—"

"quit it," sylus cuts you off, turning his head slightly but clearly not quick enough to avoid your staring. you're standing there, mouth hanging open, eyes wide as you take in the sight of him. he’s grown a beard. a beard and a moustache. and they actually look good.

you blink rapidly, trying to process the new image of him that’s now permanently burned into your brain. "since when did this happen?" you ask, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

"not long," he says, shrugging nonchalantly like it’s no big deal. but you can tell by the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips that he’s enjoying your reaction. "figured i’d try something different."

"different? different is an understatement," you mutter, stepping closer, eyes locked on the sharp lines of his jaw. his facial hair is neatly faded, not scruffy or unkempt, but perfectly trimmed in a way that looks... deliberate. you almost hate how well it suits him.

without thinking, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his beard. you pull back instantly, gasping. "oh my god, it’s sharp!"

sylus smirks, clearly amused. "that’s what happens when you grow a beard."

"it tickles!" you laugh, rubbing your fingers together where they touched his stubble. it’s coarse, prickly, the kind of texture you wouldn’t expect on him.

"you’re acting like you’ve never seen a beard before," he teases, leaning back casually, arms crossed as he watches you process this new version of him.

"not on you," you retort, narrowing your eyes. "you always keep your face smooth. what happened to the sylus i knew?"

"he evolved," he says, deadpan, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "is this better or worse?"

you hesitate, squinting as you take another closer look. he looks... different, yes, but not in a bad way. there’s something oddly charming about the beard, the way it frames his face, makes him look a little more rugged but still polished. like he’s stepped into a new version of himself.

"i hate to admit it, but..." you sigh dramatically, "you look kinda hot."

sylus raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. "kinda?"

"don’t get cocky," you warn, though the grin spreading across your face betrays you. "i’m just surprised, that’s all. i’m not used to this... mountain man version of you."

he chuckles, reaching up to rub his own jaw, the sound of his fingers brushing against the coarse hair somehow making the moment even more real. "mountain man? please. this is still low maintenance."

"low maintenance, my ass," you laugh, shaking your head. "you’ve probably been checking yourself in the mirror every five minutes to make sure it’s perfect."

he shrugs again, unbothered. "i like to look good."

"you always look good," you mumble, almost under your breath, but he hears it.

"oh?" sylus smirks, leaning in just a little, his voice low. "is that a compliment?"

"don’t push it," you grumble, trying to hide your smile. you can still feel the sharpness of his beard on your fingertips, the way it tickled when you touched it. the memory makes your cheeks warm, and you find yourself wondering how it would feel against your skin if he kissed you now.

before you can dwell on that thought, sylus reaches out, taking your hand and placing it back on his jaw. "here," he says, a challenge in his eyes, "feel again."

"i already did," you say, but your hand stays where he put it, fingers trailing along his stubble again. it’s sharp, tickling your palm in a way that sends a strange shiver down your spine.

"told you," he says, his voice softer now. "i’m still me. just... with a little more edge."

you roll your eyes at the pun but can’t help the smile that creeps up. "fine. i’ll allow it. but don’t expect me to get used to it right away."

"take your time," sylus says, pulling you closer. "i’m not going anywhere."

you snuggle into his chest, resting your head against his shoulder, the familiar comfort of being wrapped in his arms mixing with the new feeling of his beard brushing lightly against your forehead. it’s different, but in a way that makes your heart flutter just a little more.

"you’re lucky i love you," you mutter.

"i know," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, the tickle of his beard making you giggle against him.

and as you relax in his embrace, you realize that whether clean-shaven or not, sylus will always have the ability to surprise you—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"i love you most, sweetie."

backup acc: @sushibelle