#and there’s this stupid little voice in my head saying that I need to save my money because I don’t have very much

[ariestrxsh]

bsf!chris x bsf!reader

🤍 content warning: smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, sexualization of religious imagery

🤍 summary: after a date gone bad, your best friend chris is there to make you feel better with his cock

this fic was inspired/requested by this ask that was sent in forever ago (and it was also inspired/requested by someone who asked for a plot where reader goes to chris for comfort after a bad date but I forgot to save their ask </3)

angel like u

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

You buried your face into Chris' chest, tears staining the front of his shirt, but he didn't mind at all. He didn't mind the tear stains, and he didn't mind that you'd interrupted him playing video games on stream. All that he cared about was that you were okay.

He cradled your head with one hand, and with the other, he tenderly rubbed your back. You hadn't even been able to explain to your best friend why you were so upset yet, and he still held you against his chest, smoothing down your hair.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said in a comforting voice. You pulled away, sniffled, and looked up at him with your big, misty eyes. "It's embarrassing, really," you started off, wiping away a tear with the sleeve of your sweater.

He listened quietly without judgment as you continued on. "I went on a first date with a guy, and I don't usually do this, but we were getting along really well. So I went back to his place, and things got a little heated," you started to tell him, searching for his reaction and hoping he didn't think differently of you.

"What happened?" Chris sharply asked, clenching his jaw and imagining the worst-case scenario. "It's not that it was bad or anything. It's just that he didn't make me.." you started to say, but you turned away, too flustered to finish your sentence.

"He didn't make you.. cum?" Chris speculated. "Exactly," you said, somewhat relieved that Chris had finished your sentence for you.

"He came, and then it was just over. He didn't even try to get me off after or even cuddle with me. I just put my clothes back on, he told me he didn't feel anything for me, and then he suggested that he take me home," you admitted, your lip quivering and your eyes welling with tears again.

"What an asshole," Chris muttered under his breath, wiping away your mascara-stained tears from your cheek with his thumb.

"I didn't want to cry in front of him, and I didn't want to be alone, so I asked him to take me here since it was only a few minutes away. I hope you don't mind that I just showed up unannounced on your doorstep, sobbing at midnight," you apologetically said.

"Of course I don't mind. You know I'm here for you whenever you need it," Chris comforted you. "Thank you, Chris," you replied, pulling him into another hug, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he'd float away if you let go.

"Boys like that don't deserve angels like you. How are you feeling right now, pretty girl?" Chris wondered, resting his head against yours.

"I know I agreed to it, but I just feel so used, you know? I feel stupid for giving it up on the first date. And listen, I know this is weird, but I still feel kind of.." your voice trailed off as you cracked an embarrassed smile.

"Turned on?" Chris guessed, finishing your thought again.

"Yeah, I mean, it was good up until he stopped. I was so close," you admitted, almost forgetting you were talking to your male best friend instead of your therapist. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. You didn't need to know that," you buried your head in your hands after your confession.

Chris let out a small chuckle, caressing your back with his fingertips again. "You don't have to be embarrassed to tell me things like that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I could, you know, finish you off if you'd like," Chris offered, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips as his gaze fell to your mouth.

Your eyebrows flew up. "Y-you'd do that?" You asked, seriously considering his proposal. "Yeah. I hate seeing you cry," Chris whispered, wiping away another tear as it fell. "If I could go back in time and make sure the whole situation didn't happen to begin with, I would. Making you feel good is the least I can do."

He tilted your chin up to look at him, searching your face for permission to kiss you. "What do you say? You want me to make you cum?" He sweetly asked, his gaze lingering on yours. "Yes. Pleeease, Chris," you softly begged, the words surprising you as they tumbled from your mouth in such a desperate manner.

He smirked down at you before his eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. It started off slow - a few soft pecks here and there and a gentle caress of his fingertips along your jawline, sending goosebumps across your warm skin.

Before you knew it, the two of you had been swept up in the moment. His lips passionately engulfed yours, and his velvet-like tongue gently brushed against yours, filling your mouth with the taste of a blue raspberry-flavored piece of candy he'd eaten shortly before.

You softly moaned into his mouth, the vibration tickling his lips and sending blood rushing below his waist. He reached up your shirt, gently pinching your sensitive nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He pulled your top off over your head and admired the sight of you half-nude on his bed.

His hand wandered to the button of your jeans, and he slipped his long, slender fingers into your waistband. He gasped and pinched his eyebrows together when he felt how wet you were, his face only a few inches from yours as he explored your folds.

You relaxed against his body, a few breathy, textured moans spilling from your lips. "Let's get you out of these," Chris suggested, removing his hand from your waistband and motioning for you to lift your hips, so he could pull your jeans and your panties off of you and have better access to you.

Once you were completely naked, you leaned back on Chris' bed and slowly parted your legs, showing yourself off to him. "Look at that. She's so happy to see me," Chris seductively cooed, sliding his middle finger up and down your slit. You shuddered at the sensation and his words.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your best friend toyed with you, spreading open your labia and admiring how pretty and pink it was. He placed two digits at your entrance and watched them slowly disappear into your drooling hole.

"You weren't kidding. You are turned on," Chris observed, pumping his fingers and slightly curling them. You bit back a moan and grasped at the bedsheets beneath you. "Don't be shy. I wanna hear you," Chris responded with a smile on his face, indicating to you that he didn't care that his brothers were asleep upstairs.

You nodded and released your lower lip from between your teeth. As Chris picked up the pace, another sensual sound tore through you, but you didn't hold back this time. "That's it," Chris purred.

You peered down at the way he pistoned his fingers deep inside of you, your eyes traveling to the silver chain around his wrist and his prominent veins on his arms. With his blue eyes locked on yours, he lowered his head between your thighs and took your clit into his mouth.

You jumped and squealed at the feeling of his soft tongue exploring you, fluttering around on your needy pussy. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bundle of nerves and started gently suckling on it.

"Oh, Chris," his name fell from your lips as your tipped your hand back and started combing through his soft, brown hair with your hand. He worked tirelessly, his mouth and his fingers caressing your sensitive flesh, and he was determined to do so until you were finishing all over his tongue.

"Chris.." you whispered, his name falling from your lips again, but this time in a tone that indicated that you needed something from him. He peered up at you with his perfectly blue eyes and his drunk expression as he drank from your center. "Hmm?" He hummed against your clit, causing you to raise your hips and grind against his face.

"Your tongue feels heavenly, but I need more. Please," you requested. "More?" He asked, pulling away for a moment. You reached down and gently tugged on the collar of his shirt. "I need you to fuck me, Chris," the words tumbled out of you with fervor.

He was towering over you while you laid on your back, staring up at him like he was a god whose cock was going to bring you eternal salvation. He pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing his gorgeous body to you that had become more muscular in these recent months due to how often he'd been working out.

Your eyes danced over his chest, his stomach, and the prominent lines on his lower abdomen that directed your attention to his hard on that was struggling against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

Before you had time to take in just how flawless he looked shirtless, he was hooking his thumbs in his waistband and tugging down his bottoms. His dick sprung out, and your gaze followed the way it gently bobbed.

"You ready, angel?" Chris asked, positioning himself between your legs. You stared down at his smooth, pink cockhead that was glistening with precum, and you nodded. Your jaw fell slack at the initial stretch as he pushed the tip into your weeping hole. Chris was much thicker than the man you'd been with earlier that night.

"So big.." you whimpered as he pushed it in a little deeper. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know, angel," he said in a breathy groan as you fluttered around him. He started to rock his hips back and forth, inserting more of his length with every thrust. You let out a relieved sigh as he found your gspot, and your eyes rolled around in your head.

Chris gazed down at you beneath him, arms outstretched and tightly gripping his soft sheets. You loved the way he looked hovering above you, his flushed cheeks, his desire-filled blue eyes, and his pouty, pink lips parted as the room filled with his moans.

You felt his hand brush against the inside of your thigh as he spread your legs open further. His thumb found your clit, and he started moving it in circles as he drove himself into you over and over again. You let your sounds of pleasure pour from your lips with reckless abandon as Chris skillfully brought you to the edge.

You felt that divine feeling brewing deep within your core as Chris drilled his cock into you at an increasingly harder and faster pace. He could feel you sucking him in, and the way your pussy was throbbing around him. "You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl?" He purred, looking into your eyes. "Mhmm," you hummed back desperately.

"How many times?" He asked, smiling down at you. His question surprised you. The man you'd gone on the date with couldn't even make you orgasm once, and now Chris was offering multiple? You were nearly too fucked out to answer him, but you regained your composure long enough to tell him, "three."

"Three? Greedy girl," he teased you, still making circles on your clit with his fingers as he rammed his tip into your gspot. "Show me what you've got, angel," Chris whispered, jolting his hips into you in a rhythmic pattern that he loved the way you reacted to.

Before you knew it, he was driving you over the edge, and your muscles tightened around him before you started to shake violently. You practically screamed in pleasure as you came on his cock, clenching around him uncontrollably which made it hard for him to hold on until your second orgasm, never mind your third. You felt the tension leave your body.

You'd been waiting all night for this feeling, and as you were sinking into the pleasure rippling throughout your system, you felt a second wave coming on. The pressure built so quickly this time, but the release was just as incredible as the first, resulting in you curling your toes and tearing at the sheets beneath you.

Chris was holding on for dear life, trying to get you to your third climax before he let himself cum, and with every powerful thrust into your drooling cunt, the harder it became for him to control his orgasm. He was begging to finish inside of you.

However, he maintained his stamina, pistoning into you at the perfect speed and pressure to get you what you asked for without giving in just yet. You trembled as you came onto his length a third time, leaving a thick ring of white at the base of his shaft.

Once you were completely spent, he snapped his hips forward and held them still, a guttural moan passing through his lips while he pumped you full of his heavenly substance. You could feel him release his load into you, his cock pulsating in your hole and leaving you with an incredible post-orgasmic state. He slowly pulled himself out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he'd left behind.

"How was that, angel? How do you feel?" Chris asked, checking in with you and cradling your face in his palm as he ran his thumb across your cheek. You smiled in sheer bliss, your chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath.

"That was divine. Your cock is like heaven," you whispered into his ear. "Well, angels like you are who heaven was made for," he whispered back.

[shinningdance]

Washed clean

Trying angst for the first time, tips are very welcome!!

warnings: waterboarding, flashbacks, nudity (no one sees or does anything), let me know if i need to add more

summery: After a bad mission when the enemy took you for information, they waterboarded you which left Memorys. After your team got you back, you're still having troubles.

words: 1755

The restrainments are hurting.

You keep pulling to try away, trying to get away from the water that's being poured over your face.

Your throat hurts.

The water getting down your throat results in gagging, which hasn't stopped yet.

It feels like you're drowning.

Which isn't right, it's way too little water and you're currently dodging that.

They keep talking, they want Information. Information you're not giving them, they'd have to kill you.

Every day for the last week they have been pouring water over your face, trying to get you to break.

They keep going for what feels like hours but realistically are only a few seconds up to barely a minute. But in that very moment, it can only be described as hours.

At this point, they should just end you. It would be mercy. No. No, you can't think like that, your teams gonna get you. Safe and sound.

With too much force they throw you on that stupid chair, ropes going around your arms and legs. Your head is yanked back by your hair, a cloth over you mouth and nose.

Almost immediately they throw water over your face, making you choke on it as you somehow try to dodge it. Head going left and right as the water follows.

"Dove?"

Your eyes snap open, starring at the white door fro where the voice came from. You look back and see the safe house's bathroom.

Right.

You're safe, you've been safe for the last 3 months. They saved you 3 months ago.

Water has been a touchy subject. While they understand what happened and how it might have affected your mind, they don't actually know how to help.

"Dove..? Are you alright?" The voice, Kyle, is followed by a small knock after you don't answer, again. "I'm opening the door.." He warns and very slowly looks inside.

You're sitting on the floor again, towel around your dry body and the shower is on. He doesn't need to ask what happened, he already knows.

He sits down next to you, back pressed against the marbel tiles. His arm goes behind your back and very softly grabs your waist, pulling you towards his side.

"Another flashback?" He asks, rubbing your arm.

You hum in responds, head dropping on his shoulder.

"You don't have to shower, there are other possibilities..." Kyle offers.

"My hair stinks." You counter, pointing at your hair.

"hm.." he huffs, smiling. "Think you can put your whole head under water?"

"..." You know the answer, yet you have to try. "..Maybe."

"Maybe what?" Johnny asks, stepping into the bathroom.

"Maybe i'll finally be able to wash this bird nest." You hum, watching as he flops down onto the ground next to you, leaning against the wall.

"It's not that bad..." Kyle interjects, his hand petting your head.

You stare at him, not believing him one bit. You have seen yourself, it's bad. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to step under the shower, the water on your face only bringing up bad memory's.

"He's wrong, dinnae trust 'im." Johnny whispers into your ear, earning himself a smack to the head by the other sergeant. "'ay!" He nags, rubbing the spot on his head.

"If something goes wrong just scream, yeah?" Kyle smiles, rubbing up and down on your arm.

"We'll save you from the water monsters." Johnny claims, wrapping one arm around your shoulder to pull you to himself.

You can't help but smile, nodding along to whatever they're saying. "My knights in shinning armor, hm?" You joke, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Yup." Kyle nods, standing up to give you some privacy.

You watch him leave, only for him to re-enter 2 seconds later. "Johnny, get your ass out and give the lady some space."

It's funny watching him almost bolt out, flashing you another grin before closing the door behind him.

With shaky knees you stand up, towel still around your body from your earlier attempt. The water is still running and you carefully reach out, checking the temperature. After making it's warm, you take baby steps and get in the bathtub. Washing your body isn't a problem anymore, with some help at the very start you could take small showers again. This isn't a small shower anymore, the water would be over your head, recreating the feeling you loath.

You drop the towel after getting in, making sure it stays dry. With a shaky breath you step closer, the shower head close to your face. Closing your eyes would only make it worse so you force them to stay open, making sure no one's forcing the water over your head.

It's touching your hair, a lot of the water it. One small step back and it's touching your eyebrow. The small bit of water that streams down your face is enough for you to step back out and wrap your body in the towel. Immediately walking to the bathroom door and opening it, you're face to face with the same men from earlier. With a sheepish look on your face you mumble. "I couldn't do it..."

You don't bother to look at their faces, already imagining their disappointment.

The two men look at each other before smiling at you. "Would you like some help?"

You think you misheard, how would they help you? You lift your head, looking at their determinated faces.

"I'm scared to ask but...how?" You mumbles and watch as they both start smiling.

Kyle softly grabs your shoulders and brings you back inside the bathroom, Johnny is already starting to fill the bathtub and...taking off his shirt.

"Easy." Kyle smiles and forces you to sit down on the floor again. "One will be in the water with you and the other will be washing your hair, that sound good to you?"

It takes you a small moment to process this words. In the tub. with you. One of them, not both. They would do that just so you can have normal hair again. With a small nod you watch as they prepare everything.

Kyle is grabbing your hair brush, Shampoo, conditioner and a leave in mask.

Johnny is putting stuff in the tub, lots of bubbles appearing within seconds, he keeps putting in his hand to make sure it's not too hot for you.

After a few minutes he gets in, shorts still on, and spreads his legs to make room for you. "I'm not peaking, swear!" he smiles puts both his hands in front of his face, Kyle is turning around, giving you a bit of privacy.

Slowly you let the towel drop and get in as well, back to Johnny's chest. You gather some of the bubbles and hide your body with it. Almost immediately you can feel his hands around your waist, holding you in place. You melt into him, head dropping to his shoulder.

"ay think I'm comfy" Johnny claims, his chest shaking slightly from his laughing.

"Very." Kyle affirms.

You might need to question how he would know that if you're leaning against him, but that's a question for later. Kyle slowly starts to brush your hair, adding a bit of water every now and then. He's careful to not get it anywhere near your face for now, you hardly notice, too busy chatting with your pillow.

"thank you..for doing this." You mumble, nose pressed against the side of his neck.

"Dinnae worry...we'll always help you out." Johnny smiles, one hand slightly squeezing your waist.

Kyle keeps working on your hair and every now and then you tense up, feeling the water close to your face. He places his hands by your Forehand, even if the water ran down the opposite side, it wouldn't get in your face.

You get a small warning from Kyle and a gentle squeeze of encouragement from Johnny before a bit of water streams down from the very top of your head to your ends. This repeats a few more times before you can only feel soft hands massaging your head. You hum and close your eyes, going very limp against Johnny

"Don't fall asleep now.." Kyle warns with a small chuckle, hands leaving your head to grab your towel and dry your hair for you.

"But it's no comfy..." You mumble, head pressing further into the side of Johnny's neck.

The water is still comfortably warm but the bubbles are slowly disappearing.

Kyle stands up and turns around but still holds the towel out for you. You turn your head, staring at the Scot who's eyes are already closed. You smile and slowly stand up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body once more.

"Thank you again...means a lot." You mumble, drying yourself off while the guys avoid looking at you.

"Of course, no need to thank us." Kyle counters, lips turning into a small smile as he feels your form pressed against his.

"Ay, so i dinnae get a hug?" Johnny mumbles, standing up from the tub. He's completely wet but doesn't seem to care.

"Why are your eyes open? What if i was naked, huh?" You challenge, smiling as you clutch the towel to your body.

"Then i would have enjoyed the sight." He shrugs, smirk plastered onto his face as he grabs his own towel.

"Stop being a pervert." Kyle mumbles, already walking outside with the other man following.

You shake your head in amusement and start changing clothes, something comfortable.

After that you find the two men in the common room, watching some random movie. Without words you sit down between them, they don't seem to mind with the way they get closer to you.

"This is trash." Kyle groans crosses his legs.

"What?! Take 'at back!" Johnny shouts, fully offended his silly little drama show was insulted.

"There are so many better shows." Counters the other man

"nu uh. This is the best show." Johnny remarks, crossing his arms.

"What do you even like about this? Everything is so obviously fake."

"Fake like your personality-"

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

"What am i looking at?" John mumbles, starring at the three sleeping people before him.

"No idea." Simon replies, equally as confused as his captain.

They were called because of some people fighting and cursing and what not and now they see this.

Kyle laying on his back, leaning against the couch.

You on top, back against chest.

And lastly, Johnny sleeping on his stomach and using your stomach as a pillow.

All three knocked out, hard.

...

"Tea?" offers John

"please" confirms Simon.

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

a/n: i've been sick since last week monday so you're going to take this and never talk that i didn't post this on the weekend :)) also not proofread!!!

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Hello variously irresponsible fellow losers someone please give me the mental permission to spend money on things I want because I can afford it, it makes me happy, and I’ve earned all of the money for it. Just external validation because I Earned The Fun Thing. Please.

[bi-writes]

What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide

I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit

he's not moving fast enough for you.

you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.

"repeat that for me?"

"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."

you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.

"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.

the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.

"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"

"save it."

you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.

you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.

you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.

you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.

you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.

"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"

the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.

"we? i don't got a problem."

his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.

you're sure of that.

"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."

"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"

"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."

"simon."

at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.

"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.

"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.

"simon, this is my wife."

simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.

"love, this is my lieutenant."

"the lieutenant."

"quite right."

you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. you don't say anything more to simon; he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.

this time at least.

when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.

fuck.

"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."

"mhm. i understand."

"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."

"of course, sweetheart."

he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.

you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.

"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."

"won't be late."

his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.

"your office? got ten minutes?"

"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."

"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"

john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.

"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."

"olright."

simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.

"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."

"'ow long?"

"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."

"'n why's tha'?"

"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."

you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.

the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[sparklingchim]

game on 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: lots of smoochies !! 🤭, their first kiss <3, umm mentions of jk's infamous threesome again 😔, koo talks abt taking girls in missionary what can i say he is a man

summary: jungkook and you practice acting for the cameras. kissing him feels more right than you anticipated.

a/n: yayy chapter 2 is here!!!! <3 writing this was truly saur much fun n i hope u have fun reading too !!! 😋

read chappie one here

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Just kiss me."

"Hold on a second."

"We really need to practise this."

"I know, just give me a minute."

You scoot away from Jungkook on the couch. You were sitting so close, almost about to kiss him actually, but his intense, doe-eyed gaze made you pause, needing a grounding breath.

You’ve never been this close to his face, and somehow, you can’t seem to cross the invisible line that keeps you from just pressing your mouth on his. Jungkook’s your friend, after all. You’ve known him since he was five and once saw him get his head stuck at school, so of course it’s weird.

You press your lips together in an attempt to focus, and lean in again, but once your eyes meet his, a smile urges on your mouth.

"Oh my god." Jungkook’s frustrated sigh cuts the air. "This can’t already be doomed to failure because of a simple kiss."

"It’s not! I just need to mentally prepare myself."

"I feel...offended? Kinda?" Jungkook weaves his fingers through his hair. "I’ve never had to convince someone to kiss me."

"It’s not you. I promise!" you say, reaching for his knee. "Under any other circumstance, if we weren’t friends, I’d love to kiss you. You’re hot and cute, but the situation we’re in makes me feel so stupid. It’s absurd."

Jungkook cringes when you call him cute and removes your hand off his knee.

Yesterday, when Jungkook showed up unannounced, it took him full ten minutes to convince you he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

Who would believe their friend begging you to fake date them? It’s ridiculous. Only happens in the fictional world.

But then Jungkook showed you the pap picture that was circulating online. The comments and gossip were nasty and you knew he was caught up in a deep mess.

In the photo, Jungkook was surrounded by two girls, his arms draped casually around their waists as they stumbled out of the club, a half-full drink lazily held in his hand. His hair was a tousled mess, likely from the girls running their fingers through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small peek into his defined chest. It was bold, provocative — definitely not the ideal image of a responsible twenty-year-old football rookie.

Probably the worst pap pic you’ve seen of him so far. And the worst timing too.

"You were wasted," you commented, staring at the article he was showing you on his phone.

"And I had so much fun last night." His voice was tinged with frustration, like a child whose favourite toy had just been snatched away. "But then I woke up to this picture, and a flood of missed calls and texts." He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "They just had to ruin it for me."

Noticing your raised eyebrow, Jungkook quickly backtracked. "No, I know it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have done this right before the World Cup, especially after what I promised. I just hate how everything turns into such a big deal, just because... well, just because I’m me."

The idea of fake dating Jungkook had seemed absurd, something out of a rom-com rather than real life. But the more he explained the pressure he was under, the more you understood why he needed this.

Jungkook was your best friend, and if kissing him in public could save his career, why not help him?

While you got ready for meeting his manager, stepping out of your comfy, rotting-at-home clothes, which consisted of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt (you think it’s actually Jungkook’s, but you’re not quite sure since it’s been in your closet for years now), and slipping into a casual, more presentable outfit, Jungkook busied himself fixing your laundry machine.

Jungkook’s manager knows you well – his entire team does. You are known as Jungkook’s close friend and had been spotted with him on multiple occasions.

Taesung greeted you warmly, though surprise flickered across his face when Jungkook introduced you as the solution to the fake dating plan.

You felt Taesung’s gaze assessing you, weighing your suitability for the role. Jungkook’s PR agent mirrored his scepticism, tilting her head in doubt. They exchanged uncertain glances, which made you nervous, but Jungkook was determined. Jungkook wasn’t Jungkook if he didn’t get what he wanted. With a few persuasive words and his usual charm, he quickly won Taesung over, who sighed and leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"We need to establish the narrative from the start," Taesung said seriously. "The media will dig into your background, and they’ll want to know if there’s anyone else in the picture. So, to be clear, you’re officially single. No boyfriend, no complicated past relationships that could surface. We don’t need any messy stories."

You assured them that there was none. Multiple times. No angry exes, no secret relationships – your personal life was as drama-free as it could get.

Taesung slid a document across the desk.

"This ensures that whatever happens, no details of this arrangement-"

Jungkook’s hand shot out, halting the paper. "No," he said firmly. "She doesn’t need to sign anything."

"Jungkook, it’s just a formality," Jiwoo began, but Jungkook insisted.

"I trust ___. She’s not just anybody. She’s my best friend. If she says she won’t talk, she won’t talk. The NDA isn’t necessary."

"It’s okay," you assured him gently.

Jungkook shook his head. "No, this is ridiculous. You’re not signing a stupid contract."

After more arguing, his manager eventually relented.

Jiwoo outlined the plan in more detail with Taesung – public appearances, social media posts, carefully orchestrated moments that would sell the story to the public. You felt a bit intimidated by the pressure, but you’d get used to it. After all, this arrangement is only for a few months – just until his management can announce that you’d mutually decided to break up on good terms.

But you both need to practise before stepping in front of the cameras.

Which leads you to this moment, a day later, sitting on your couch trying to practice how to act like a couple. And it’s not going well at all.

"Okay, let���s start from the basics then," Jungkook suggests. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand. "Hold my hand."

You gingerly accept his hand, standing up as well.

"See, don’t we look cute?" Jungkook drags you to the mirror. "Or maybe – let’s intertwine our fingers. I think that would look better." He holds your interlaced hands up between the two of you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "So cute, right?"

A giggle bubbles in your throat. "You act like you’ve never had a girlfriend."

"Well, it has been a while," he admits, the slightest sulk on his lips. "I’m too busy for relationships." He swings your hands. "The only times I ever hold a girl’s hand is in missionary, above their head when-"

"Jungkook," you interrupt quickly before he can delve any deeper into the story. You give him a mock glare, but there’s no hiding the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Didn’t we both agree on only talking about your bed stories after I’ve had at least one bottle of soju – preferably two, so I can mentally brace myself?"

You love him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear about his bed stories, unless you’re the slightest bit tipsy at first.

"Oh, yeah." He shakes his head apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Wait, maybe that’s what we should do!" you exclaim as an idea pops into your mind. Your hand slips out of his, and you take a step toward the kitchen. "I think there are a few bottles of soju in the fridge."

"We’re not getting drunk to build up the courage to kiss," he insists. "We shouldn’t need alcohol to pretend we’re into each other."

Jungkook pulls you closer to him, and you stumble slightly, but his hand instinctively moves to the small of your back, steadying you.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, hand on his chest. "Was just an idea to make this easier for us." The fabric of his shirt is extremely soft and your fingers glide over it.

"I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. And they know it too. We’ve been through enough to pull this off without breaking a sweat."

He’s is right. The public knows you’re one of Jungkook’s closest friends. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that you two might have fallen in love.

After all, you’ve always been comfortable with each other —hugging, cuddling during movie nights, play-fight over silly things just to annoy each other. You’ve shared quiet moments, like when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day or when he’d run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while you talked. There were times when Jungkook was exhausted and crashed at your place, your fingers gently scratching his head as he slept peacefully. You’ve kissed each other’s cheeks in thanks without hesitation.

Jungkook’s touch isn’t foreign to you.

And still, the thought of acting like you’re in love when you’re not feels strange. Sure, you’ve always been physically close, but this was different. This time, every gesture would be for an audience, every touch would carry a different meaning. It wasn’t just casual anymore.

"I guess," you reply, fiddling with the hem of his oversized t-shirt, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I think it’s just weird to be this close for show."

Jungkook watches you for a moment, his eyes softening as he considers your words. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it’s not like we’re faking the friendship part. The rest...we’ll figure out." His fingers clasp your hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your flesh. "Don’t think about it too much," he says. "When we have our first public appearance as a couple, pretend like the cameras aren’t there, act nonchalant. Just... y’know. You and me."

You pout, an involuntarily frustrated grumble leaving your lips as you drop your forehead on his chest.

"I hope I’ll do well under all the attention."

You’ve dealt with your fair share of noisy people trying to pry into your relationship with Jungkook, but so far, it’s been somewhat manageable.

"Just you and me," Jungkook repeats, his tone softer and more assured this time. "Nothing can happen to you when I’m there."

You glance up at him, taking in the gentle lines of his face.

"Maybe you should’ve hired a girl that can deal well with attention," you voice your thoughts.

"No." Jungkook’s immediate response rolls off harshly on his tongue. "You were my first thought. I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else but you."

"I was your first choice?" Giddiness makes your face shine.

"Yeah. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable with anyone but you."

"Be honest, you just really wanna kiss me."

You stand on your tippy toes, a silly smile spreading across your face.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint buried in his eyes.

"I think you do."

With a surge of confidence, you take a small step closer, your heart beating a little faster as you close the gap between you and Jungkook. Your lips meet in a gentle, fleeting touch. The contact only lasts for a moment before you pull back, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

"That was a smooch. Not a kiss."

You frown upon hearing him complain.

"What, you want to make out with me in public?"

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. "No, but maybe a little more than how fifth graders kiss."

"You’re a kissing expert now?" you quip back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungkook leans in slightly. "I just know what I like."

The challenge in his voice sparks something in you. "Then show me how you like it."

His gaze drops to your lips, and a flutter of excitement spreads in your tummy. It’s unexpected and thrilling and it catches you off guard.

Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your back, slowly glides up, his fingers curling around the side of your face, his thumb brushing delicately against your cheekbone.

Your breath hitches as he leans in. His lips meet yours again, but this time there’s more weight behind the contact – still soft, but deeper, more intentional. His lips move slowly and there’s a warmth to it, a tenderness that makes your heart race even as the kiss remains gentle. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the connection just enough to make you melt into him.

The teasing atmosphere lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it’s pushed aside by the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

Kissing Jungkook doesn’t feel weird – which makes it a little weird.

When you both finally pull back, it’s gradual. You can feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with your own.

"Like that," he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re a good kisser."

You pull back completely. "Excuse me?" you say. "You were doubting my kissing abilities?"

"No, not at all!" Jungkook shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes as he gazes at your sulky face. "You’re just a very good kisser. Like, super gentle and smooth."

Heat crawls up your cheeks. You ignore the flush of warmth and keep your composure. "Have you been using the lip balm I got you? Your lips are soft."

"I know, right? Not chapped at all anymore."

He traces two fingers along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to his lips.

"Are we done practising?"

"Do you think we looked natural?" Jungkook’s hand slips into yours once more. While he is focused on the mirror, adjusting the way your bodies fit together – tugging you closer, alternating between holding your hand and interlacing your fingers – your mind is still replaying the memory of the tender press of his lips. "For me, it felt pretty natural. Not awkward at all. What do you think?"

It’s the simplicity with which he says it that draws a short laugh out of you.

The sound grabs his attention. "What?"

"You’re just...extremely serious about this. I don’t think they’ll analyse the way we hold hands, Kook."

"But that’s their favourite thing to do," Jungkook replies. "The gossip mills love analysing every step you take, where your eyes wander, who you smile at." A note of bitterness threads through his words.

He’s been playing pro for just two years and has fallen victim to greedy people intruding on his life so many times already. Former friends who leaked private conversations, acquaintances who turned their brief interactions into tabloid fodder, even strangers who felt entitled to a piece of him just because he was in the public eye.

Jungkook searched for solace and silence at your place many times, trying to escape the madness. In the quiet of your dorm, breathing felt easier.

You never asked questions, never pried. In a world where everyone seemed out to get something from him, you just let him be, offering him the comfort of your presence without demanding anything in return.

"People were just criticising this dude – ah, who was it again?" Jungkook stares at the ceiling, raking through his thoughts. "I can’t remember his name, but this guy was getting called out for choosing the booth seat while making his girlfriend sit in the aisle seat."

"The aisle seat? Come on, it’s an unwritten rule that-" You fall silent once you catch Jungkook’s pointed expression. "I mean, yeah. It’s definitely wrong to make a big deal about it. Maybe she prefers sitting there," you shrug.

"But do you see what I mean?" he asks. "Whether you intend to or not, you’re always judging what others do. And that judgement only intensifies when it involves a celebrity."

"Ah, when did you become so famous Jeon Jungkook?" You sigh, looking down at your linked hands.

"I know, right? Two years ago, no one would’ve cared if I had a threesome." He shakes his head in disbelief. "And now I am being punished for it—kicked off the national team, and my best friend has to save me by fake dating me."

"I feel like this would make a good movie," you giggle.

“We have to practise hard, then," he says.

You pull your phone from your pocket. "What if we film ourselves kissing so we can monitor it better?" You set up your phone on a nearby shelf and position yourselves in front of the camera. "Don’t engaged couples do this? I feel like we’re practising for our wedding kiss."

"Oh, butterflies."

"Huh?" You stare at the way he holds his hand against his tummy.

"You just told me you want to marry me. That gave me butterflies."

You slap his arm. "Stop being silly, we have a whole nation to fool that we’re in love."

~

Hang outs with Jungkook often end with the two of you lounging on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, and a movie playing on the TV.

"Next one?" Jungkook asks from his spot beside you, inching closer with his pleading doe eyes.

You try to push him away by the, but he doesn’t budge.

"I need to study. Like, for real." You had warned him before starting the movie, agreeing to watch only one, but he still tried his luck.

He holds up one finger. "Just one."

You push him off your body, and this time he allows it, his back slumping against the couch. The grumble of complaint in his throat gets muffled by his pursed lips.

"You’re smart. The material is probably set in your brain anyway. No need to revise anything."

You scoff at his bratty words.

"So you won’t ever need to ditch hangouts for football practice because you’re already so good at it?"

"Well, no." He drags the word out, brows furrowed as he considers your question, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "But I know you don’t need to study as much as you do. You’re just naturally smart."

"I wish, but I ace my exams because I study as much as I do."

"Aish," Jungkook mutters, standing up from the couch and stretching his limbs. His toned tummy peeks out from under his lifted shirt.

"Karina will be home soon anyway," you say. "And I’m not ready to play pretend in front of her yet." The thought of confessing to your roommate that Jungkook is now your boyfriend makes you shudder.

It was one of the conditions that made you briefly reconsider if you could really pull this off or if Jungkook should find another girl. You didn’t just have to act in front of the cameras – everyone had to believe that you and Jungkook are a couple, including your friends and family. You dread the day you have to tell your parents.

You know they once secretly hoped Jungkook would become your boyfriend when you were older, but as he became famous and the public started scrutinising his every move, your parents grew wary of his wild, reckless side.

You follow Jungkook to the door.

"You think she’ll believe us?"

"I dunno," you shrug. "Not sure if she’ll buy it. She’ll probably be suspicious since I’ve never talked about you in that way when we gossip, but I think we’ve practised enough to at least make it look like we love each other."

Jungkook nods and hugs you briefly. "We’ll figure it out." He steps out of your apartment, typing on his phone. "My manager sent me details about our first public appearance." He scans the text, but quickly looks up at you again with an annoyed frown. "Ah, so many words. I’ll just forward you the messages." With a sweet smile and a quick wave, he starts to leave, but you tug at the back of his shirt.

You cup his face, pulling him down to you, and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You’re my boyfriend now. Act like it."

[rowarn]

TAKING WHAT YOU NEED (m.)

tags: afab!reader, no prns, a smidgen of hurt/comfort, soft!simon as usual, established relationship

cw: wet&messy, masturbation(reader), multiple orgasms, riding him<3, u pin him down and he lets u, creampie, simons uncut bc i said so, tiny praise, overstimulation

note: i wrote this against my will it was supposed to be simon bein lazy and making u ride him and do the work and it turned into a sickening beast. please enjoy it. MDNI!

; in which ur terribly horny and neglected for simon but hes so busy and tired u have no choice but to take what u need &lt;/3

3.5k words

he's been so busy lately, almost distant without meaning to. you still get the sweet little bits of affection he always gives; a kiss to your forehead, and soft hand on your back when he passes behind you in the kitchen, your hand wrapped in his while u watch tv late at night, his hand petting your hair as you lay against his chest in bed.

but you want more, you're greedy.

it's been days since he last touched you. you're not used to the dry spells, simon always willing and ready to fuck u stupid into the mattress until u cant keep your eyes open anymore.

ur fingers simply could never compare to his. he's a man who studied your body, spent the better part at the beginning of your relationship playing with you and learning what exactly made you cum the hardest and easiest -- what your favorite spots and positions were. ur fingers tired quickly, leaving you with an orgasm u knew would be better if simon was the one with his fingers buried in your pussy

what did he expect you to do, honestly? when he came out of the shower with his towel low on his hips? his back to you as he rifled through his drawers looking for something comfy to sleep in, his back muscles flexing with the movement? were you just supposed to be able to roll over and sleep, go take a shower and act as if your panties weren't sticking to you from looking at him?

you wanted him so badly that it actually brought tears to your eyes. you didn't care how silly it was; you wanted him so bad it hurt.

"si..." you whimper, unable to stop how your voice wobbled when you spoke.

his head snaps back to look over his shoulder, brown eyes wide in concern. he briskly walked to the edge of the bed where you crawled to, sitting on your knees looking up at him pitifully.

"what is it, love? what's wrong?" his eyebrows were furrowed as he cupped your cheek, thumbing over the soft skin as his eyes analyzed every inch of you for signs of injury -- a little habit he always had.

"wan' you," you whine, placing your hands flat on his chest, moving down over his stomach where his abs flexed under the ticklish touch.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes before batting your hands away, "thought you were actually upset."

he sounds a little miffed, turning his back to you again to pull out the pair of sweats he had been eyeballing. he lets his towel fall and pauses when he hears you actually whine.

he says your name low in his chest, a warning. whether he actually wants you to stop because he's not in the mood or he just doesn't want to get started with it, you don't know. but it makes you pout a little, flopping back in the bed with a huff.

you hear simon shuffling about, getting changed into the sweats before turning off all the lights, save for a little nightlight you keep on beside you until you're ready to sleep -- on the dimmer side so it doesn't bother simon while he sleeps.

he crawls into bed with a sigh, leaning over where you're still pouting into the pillows to kiss your temple.

"i'm just tired, love," he coos, no malice or annoyance to be found in his voice. his hand comes up to rub your back and you fucking whine again, making him pause, "pouting like this is a little pathetic."

he's teasing you, you can hear the huff of a laugh under his voice. tears prick your eyes again and you petulantly push his hands away to sit up. he's leaning back against the headboard, staring straight at you.

"it's not my fault you've been neglecting me!" you whine, crossing your arms over your chest.

he actually throws his head back and laughs, "neglecting you? 'cause i haven't given you dick in a few days?"

"it's been more than a few days!" you spit back. although he's taking your bratty behavior in stride, you're actually a little annoyed.

he rolls his eyes and holds back a yawn, "you'll live. just...use that little vibrator you've got, it'll get the job done."

he goes to roll over and go to sleep but you make a noise that doesn't sound like your usual pouting -- it sounds actually upset. it pauses him in his tracks and he looks at you through the dim lighting.

"it's not just that," you mumble, flopping forward to smush your cheek against his chest, "i wanna have sex because i like being close to you, si...of course it feels amazing but i like being connected with you like that....'cause i love you."

he's still for a moment before his hand finds purchase on your back, softly rubbing against you in slow circles. he hums in his chest and kisses the crown of your head.

"'m sorry, love," he coos, "didn't think about that."

"it's okay..." you mutter before sobering up and sitting up to smile at him, "u get some sleep, i'm gonna go...take a shower."

he watches you crawl out of bed and root through your drawer, pulling out that vibrator he just mentioned and slink into the bathroom. it makes his heart ache a little but he slowly lies back against his pillow. his eyelids grow heavy as he lays there and before he knows it, he falls asleep.

he wakes again when you crawl back into bed, the smell of soap still fresh and wafting off of you. you keep your back to him as you curl into yourself in that cute little way that you do. it makes him drowsily smile to himself before he closes his eyes again.

but he can't fall asleep. you begin shifting and fidgeting almost as soon as he settles, it keeps him awake. he wonders what the problem is but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

you roll onto your back and he hears you sigh to yourself. his eyes crack open and he sees you staring at the ceiling. you glance over at him, not seeing the way his eyes are ever so slightly open.

he watches you slowly spread your thighs and your hand slide under the blanket, watches the way your brows furrow as you begin to slowly work at yourself.

his cock twitches in his pants; as tired as he is, no man would be able to sit there like nothing was happening while watching the one he adored touch themself.

he watches you, vaguely hears the wet, sticky noises of you touching yourself. he wonders if you're just working your clit in tiny little circles or if you've maybe stuffed a finger or two inside to get the feeling of being stretched. his cock hardens even further against his thigh and the sleepiness he felt begins to melt away but he can't bring himself to fully open his heavy lids.

after a few minutes, you make a frustrated little huff and pull your hand out from under the blanket, using a tissue on your night table to wipe your fingers off before flopping back into bed. you don't make another move to touch yourself, instead stare into the very dimly lit room in what he can fully understand is frustration. he even hears your sniffle a little bit.

his heart gives a painful little tug. he watches you close your eyes and obviously attempt to fall asleep. his own cock is throbbing by now and he's sure you're uncomfortably wet.

"got a problem, love?" he asks softly, voice thick and heavy with sleep.

he sees you jump and your eyes snap open before you look at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. how cute, he thinks.

"si?" you whisper, "did i wake you? i'm sorry..."

he can actually hear the guilt in your voice as you apologize, "all your tossin' and turnin', not a man in the world woulda been able to sleep through it," you look even guiltier and he reaches out to place his hand over yours that's on your stomach above the blanket, "thought you went and took a shower to take care of that problem?"

you look almost defeated and shrug, then a look of embarrassment crosses your face and he feels the need to click his tongue and tell you none of that, but you speak before he can, "couldn't um...you know...finish..."

he's quiet when you say that. he could tell, obviously. the way you pulled your hand out of your panties and nearly cried in frustration. he huffs through his nose in a noise you mistake for annoyance and give him a sheepish, half-hearted smile.

"sorry, si," you mutter, leaning over to kiss his nose, "i'll be still so go back to sleep, 'kay?"

he watches you lean over and flick the switch to your little nightlight, plunging the bedroom into complete darkness at last. he feels you shift one last time and then nothing.

he should simply go to sleep, he needs sleep. he's got a busy day ahead of him, like always. his hard on is starting to flag from watching the sad little display of you so embarrassed and disheartened. he could easily close his eyes and drift off, get his precious z's in.

but he just can't. knowing that you're going to sleep with sticky panties and completely unsatisfied because you can't seem to make yourself cum despite how badly he knows you need it.

he sits up and leans over you, hearing you make a confused little noise before he flicks the dim little light back on. you're staring at him in confusion but he doesn't offer any answers as he grabs your arm and hoists you out of the blanket you'd nestled yourself under. you let him manhandle you until you're sitting on his lap with him laid back in his pillows still.

"let's get this off you, love," he mutters, hands sliding up the t-shirt of his that you wore.

you make another confused noise but let him strip the fabric off of you anyway, "si..? what are you doing?"

"what do you think?" he asks, shoving the blankets away from him and haphazardly tugging the band of his sweats down so his half-hard cock is freed.

"y-you should be sleeping, si, really--" he interrupts you by forcing you to stand on your knees so he can tug your panties down and off.

you're so wet that there’s a mess of stickiness that clings to the fabric, making little strings that break when he pulls them down all the way.

"fuckin' hell, love," he whispers, his cock quickly hardening completely once again against his stomach, "you were plannin' to sleep while you were this fuckin' wet?"

you look sheepish again, "w-what else was i supposed to do..?"

he grits his teeth because he knows you're right; he hadn't exactly done anything except brush you off and tell you to deal with it yourself. it wasn't like he gave you the green light to ask him for help.

"sorry, love," he whispers, cupping the back of your head to tug you down for a kiss, "shouldn't 'ave been such an ass."

"wha-?" you shake your head, "you weren't, si. you were tired and i was just bein’ too needy."

he huffs out of his nose and grabs your hips, shifting so you sit directly on top of his heavy cock. your eyes roll back a little at the feeling of his hot length against your sensitive cunt.

"nah, was bein' selfish," he mutters, "knew you wanted it 'nd i chose to sleep. you even told me you just wanted to be close with me and i shrugged it off. i've missed you too, love, you know?"

"really?" you ask softly and his heart gives that painful throb in his chest again. had you doubted him? that didn't sit right with him.

"course..." he whispers, biting his lip. he wasn't used to being vulnerable and open with his feelings, so being put on the spot while telling you how he missed you made an uncomfortable feeling stir in his chest.

quickly understanding this, you shift against his cock, grinding your hips back and forth in smooth, slow motions. it makes his head sink back into the pillow; you're so wet that you slide effortless against him, covering him in a coat of slick juices. your motions also make his foreskin slide along his length as well, making him twitch every time the leaky head is stroked.

"fuckin' hell..." he groans through gritted teeth, "c'mon love, you do the work, yeah?"

you desperately nod your head and stand on your knees, gripping his cock to line him up with your entrance. he stops you for a moment with a hand on your wrist, a little glare in his eyes.

"you need prep?" he asks, a sweet little question that makes your heart melt despite yourself.

simon was a lot to take, thick and long. he always bumped against your back wall before he even fully bottomed out. the stretch was a sting that always made you both pause until it went away lest it hurt too much to continue.

you shake your head, "i-i used the toy and my fingers...earlier..." you remind him.

his grip on your wrist slackens at that and you take the chance to slowly and carefully sink down on him, jaw dropping open at the feeling of being stretched so fully by him after however many days.

you're greedy and needy, not even pausing as you quickly descend and take more and more of him in. it's faster than you usually handle it and he moves quickly to grab your hips and stop you, intent on making you take a second to adjust before taking all of him that you can.

you make a strangled noise akin to a sob in your chest and look at him with angry little tears in your eyes. the sight makes him pause and his cock twitch.

you slap his hands away harshly and continue taking all of him despite his apparent protests. he's taken aback by the little show of aggression.

"shit, love," he growls, brows furrowed, "is that how it is then?"

you nod your head and let your eyes roll back. it wasn't very often that you got to ride him, simon was more of a 'do all the work' type of man but this position definitely allowed you to take more of him than you usually could when he had you folded up into whatever positions he wanted.

once you took him as deep as you could, your hand flew down to your clit and with a few little circles and slow grinds of your hips, you were clamping down around him and cumming with a cute little squeal and a gasp.

he felt you soak him with your cum, his eyes locked onto where he was buried deep inside you. when you pulled up, he could see the creamy ring of cum around the base of him.

his head slammed back against the bed as he gripped your hips, your hands on his flexed forearms for support as you began to fuck yourself on his cock with a vigor he hadn't ever seen from you.

you hadn't ever been this needy before. seeing you fucking yourself completely stupid on his cock, only moans and sobs of his name to be heard besides the underlying squish of your cunt being stretched and stuffed.

"fuck!" he groaned, feeling the way your pussy clutched and pulsed around him as you angled your hips just right to hit that tender little spot that made you gush messily around him.

you once again slap his hands away from your hips. he glares at you, preparing to scold you for being such a brat but then you do something that shocks the words right out of him.

you grab his wrists and pin them beside his head on the pillow, using the grip as leverage to really begin fucking yourself back onto his cock. his jaw falls open, little moans and gasps escaping his throat as he watches you work yourself to another peak.

your tits bounce from the way you fuck yourself back on him and he wishes he could reach up and cup them, pinch and roll your hard nipples just the way you like. but he doesn't want to break this little hold you have on him, pinning him down like you think you're in charge. it's cute, really, the little show you're putting on.

it's clear he's denied you so much this whole time that you've simply snapped and now you're determined to get your fill until you've orgasmed so much that your little brain just melts. and he's more than happy to be there, not even lifting a finger and merely being a nice, hard cock for you to cream all over.

he has to admit, it's alluring to see his sweet little love acting so desperate.

he doesn't know how many orgasms you work out of yourself, but it's enough to have covered his cock and thighs thoroughly in your cum. he doesn't mind. you've always been quite a bit messy when he made you cum. but you've never came this hard and this much before. he's not even sure you're giving yourself a chance to come down from one high before you've worked yourself into another.

he's speechless, content to just lay back and watch the desperate show you've put on for him until your movements finally begin to slow.

you go from bouncing on him and pinning him down to grinding against him and cupping your own tits. your body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the workout and he's sure your thighs are fucking burning by now. you're panting and your eyes are half lidded as you stare down at him.

for the first time in a long time, simon feels...small. you had just fucked yourself better than he ever had using his own cock. the thought of that made him twitch inside you and he sees the corner of your lip twitch up and you smile at him. the heady, frustrated, desperate look in your eyes fades and you look so satisfied. the weight that he hadn't realized had been on your shoulders is gone and you lean down.

he tilts his head up and meets your lips in a kiss. your tits squish against his chest and he finally moves his hands from the position you'd pinned him in earlier and he smooths his palms down the length of your back, making you shudder.

"gonna let me cum now, love?" he asks breathlessly.

when you nod, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back, simon pins your legs open with a rough grip under your thighs and begins working his hips.

it's clear you're painfully sensitive; your clit is swollen and tender, your whole body twitching when he meanly presses his roughened thumb against it. your hands once again find purchase on your tits and you squeeze and tug at your nipples.

he fucks you at a leisurely pace, listening to the filthy, clicking noises coming from the complete mess that you've made of your cunt. your eyes roll back and he rolls your tender little bud under his thumb until you seize up in one final orgasm that makes you kick your feet out helplessly.

“there it is…” he coaxes, tossing his head back to moan when you tighten like a vice around him, “so good f’me. that’s it, ride it out, little love.”

you've no choice but the ride out this final, painful orgasm on his cock as he fucks you through it to his own end. he spills inside you, pumping his hips a few more times, watching his own cum mix with the mess of your own that oozes and drools out of your gooey little cunt.

you flop against the bed when he pulls out, both of you panting and you trembling from the overstimulation.

he flops down onto his side of the bed with a sigh, eyes finally growing heavy once again as his exhaustion catches up with him alarmingly fast.

usually, he would clean you up and fix the mess you both left behind but he just truly can't bring himself to even consider getting out of bed. so he tugs you against him, listening to you whimper when more cum drools out of you from the way you involuntarily clench from the continued aftershocks of your numerous orgasms.

he hums and holds you close, dragging the blanket from the foot of the bed over both of you, kissing your forehead before tucking your head against his chest.

he would deal with the aftermath of the night tomorrow, when you both have clear heads. though, he's sure you're going to be sore. he can't wait to see it, he muses.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

[auroralwriting]

the gun

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…

"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned

a continuation of this story can be found here

Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.

The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.

Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.

When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.

Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.

Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.

“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”

“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”

You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”

oh, yes

Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”

Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.

“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.

“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.

How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.

His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”

oh, yes

Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.

“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”

Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.

oh, yes

“Reid, I-”

“Save it.”

Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.

they both

Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.

You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”

oh, yes

“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.

After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.

"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"

Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."

"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."

JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.

It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.

they both

"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."

You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."

Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.

Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.

Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"

oh, yes

There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.

they both reached for

You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?

they both reached for the gun

A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.

After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.

Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"

the gun

Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.

the gun

The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"

Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"

the gun

You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"

"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."

oh, yes

"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"

oh, yes

Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."

"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."

Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."

"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.

Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"

they both reached for the gun.

A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"

The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.

"How do you feel?"

Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.

"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.

Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."

You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."

"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."

"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."

Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."

"Spencer,"

"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."

You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."

Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."

"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"

You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"

Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.

"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.

You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"

"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.

"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."

Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."

You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.

[maybankswhore]

BESTFRIENDS GIRLFRIEND.

a ‘mini’ continuation of this fic here!

summary: the night at the beach seemed to be long forgotten. or that’s what you thought until a stupid treasure hunt leads you and jj sharing a place in a locked incubation device and he helps you remember where it all started.

a/n: just recently finished season four & that scene w kiara and jj gave me the perfect idea. i know it doesn’t really ‘match’ the timeline of the last one but we can all pretend that it does <3

warnings: voyeurism , , mean!jj , reader that plays naive , fingering , use of afab anatomy , mentions of cheating , heavy petting.

You should’ve known you were setting yourself up for failure. The minute you saw the slight smirk on JJ’s face the minute you offered to take Kiara’s place— you should’ve known something was going to happen.

Though , almost getting killed and getting your life saved by JJ Maybank was definitely not on your BINGO card.

Things between you and JJ hadn’t settled since that day night. If anything , it only made everything worse.

You were grateful another adventure opened up for the time being because pulling away from John B made you feel sick. You were eaten up by guilt , fear that your dirty little secret would blow up in your face and you’d have to own up to what you’ve done.

You could only imagine the devastation it’d cause John B and the disappointed looks from Kiara and Pope. The idea alone made your stomach sick.

JJ made it impossible to forget. He never brought it up. Not once. But that look in his eyes every time he looked at you made that same familiar feeling from that night on the beach wash up all over again— and you just knew.

You laid there in absolute dread in silence. Your eyes had opened before JJ’s and the immediate feeling of pure terror overcame you. Your memories washed back up and as the bends slowly faded away , the reality of the situation sunk in.

Practically quarantined with JJ , in this closed space , for twelve hours seemed like the test of a lifetime.

As he began to stir away , you swallowed harshly and scooted away. You clutched your necklace , anxiously fiddling with the string as you desperately search for nearby nurses.

“My savior.”

His voice was raspy. A hint of edge around the words as he cleared his throat roughly.

Silence filled the air pretty quickly and JJ’s mouth made a sound. He played it casual , coy like he always did. Cocking his head towards the side , he stared at you. “Ignoring me?”

Again , you decided to stay silent. Your cheek was raw with how hard you were biting it.

JJ sighed. “You know , I’ve been waiting to get you alone since that night on the beach.” He murmured. “A bit offended you actin’ like nothing happened.”

He was baiting you and you knew it. You refused to give and kept staring out the circular window.

“C’mon , Y/N. . .” JJ drug out your name barely above a whisper. You could feel him inching closer making you start to feel hot , your ears burning at the tips. “Have you fucked him yet? After me?”

His question made you flinch.

“Stop playing little miss innocent —” JJ narrowed his eyes , bringing up his index finger to your chin. Everything in you was screaming at you to not make the same mistake twice , to stand your ground , to fight him. . . but you were like putty in his hands. The minute you felt his skin on yours , you felt a fire where he touched and your head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. “I know you think about it. About me.”

JJ looked into your eyes and paused , before a wide smirk developed on his face. “You haven’t , have you?” You didn’t need to say it , it was written all over your face. You were never good at keeping secrets. You were always so easy to read.

Especially by him.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All that pining had finally paid off— in his mind.

“How come?”

“JJ stop it.” You mumbled , moving to push his hand away. But he didn’t care. Instead he turned on his side to look at you , feeling like the first time all over again.

God , he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About you.

John B was his bestfriend , his brother , but you— he couldn’t help but be addicted to you. He couldn’t change it and he didn’t want to. He’d risk loosing it all , everything , just to have you.

“You liked it—” he taunted. “You liked it so much , that I ruined your sweet little pussy for anyone else. It only remembers me. It only wants me.”

You shivered and shook your head. “No. I—I love John B. You’re acting crazy.”

“Crazy?” JJ let out a dry laugh. “You should know just how crazy I can be , baby.”

“He’s your bestfriend , JJ.” You sighed and shook your head , pushing his hand that was starting to drift downwards away. “You know this is wrong.”

“I don’t care if it is.” JJ scoffed. “I meant what I said that night. You were supposed to be for me.”

His words made you shiver. The memories crashed onto you like waves , so vividly that you could almost feel exactly how you felt sprawled out on the sand with your legs wide open just for him.

JJ noticed your reaction and smirked. It only pushed him further. “You know it , don’t you?”

You pursed your lips. Pushing your chin up defiantly as you scooted closer to the window , putting as much space between the two of you as possible.

JJ rolled his eyes. “C’mon. You might be able to lie to yourself and lie to John B— but you can’t lie to me, baby.” He murmured softly , delicately. There was a teasing tone to his voice that irritated you because you knew he was right and you hated yourself for it.

“You’re acting crazy , JJ.” You whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that this was all a dream— a nightmare. Though the warmth of JJ’s breath and how your heart beat so loudly you thought it’d beat out of your chest , you knew it was real. Too real.

“Maybe I’m just crazy about you.”

Suddenly everything began to feel hot. The all knowing fact that you were trapped in this stupid metal bubble , next to him , it all started feeling too much. Beads of sweat dripped down your forehead , and your hand twitched. Your chest began to rise and fall quickly and you weren’t sure what you were more bothered by.

The claustrophobic , suffocating feeling: or the thump between your thighs that you wouldn’t be able to blame on alcohol.

Light as a feather , his fingertips tapped across the smooth skin of your thigh. He watched you in satisfaction. Loving the way you responded to him despite you trying to fight it. “It’s just you and me in here , baby—” he cooed in your ear. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck , making your breathing hitch. “Nobody’s gonna know.”

“I–I’ll know.” You answered softly , still refusing to look at him. You hated the way it began to hurt. How it started to burn with a certain need that only JJ could subside. Everything in your body was screaming for him. To feel him again. But your head was fighting it.

“That never stopped you before.” He quipped back.

You turned your head to look at him again. Looking into his eyes that had a certain darkness swimming inside of them. You hated it. You hated him. Most of all , you hated yourself for how badly you wanted him.

Without another thought , becoming slightly delirious and deciding to cave and give in , you rushed forward and pressed your mouth against his. On instinct , he was there. Kissing you back feverishly , gripping onto you like a man starved. He tasted of saltwater and weed , the familiar taste bringing out a soft moan from your throat.

The sound made him smirk. He liked knowing you had given in. That he got what he wanted.

And he was going to make the most of it.

His hand slipped between the two of you , immediately cupping your sex. You gasped , breaking the kiss for air. He hummed in response , rubbing soft and achingly slow circles. “Beg for it.”

“W–What?” You breathed , taken off guard.

“You heard me.” JJ said again , halting his movements. JJ gripped your chin , looking down at you. “Beg me for it.”

“JJ—”

“Beg.”

He wanted to know he had the control. The power. You knew it. As much as you wanted to deny him of it , to refuse it , you couldn’t. It ached agonizingly , just looking at him ignited something within you. Your whole body was on fire and now that it started , there was no way you would have enough willpower to put it out.

“Please. . .” you whimpered , arching your back to feel some type of friction again. JJ wanted to groan right then and there, give in to you. But he refused. He ignored the way his cock was hard and angry , rubbing against the fabric of his underwear harshly. Frowning , you grabbed onto him , fisting his shirt to bring him closer. “Please touch me , JJ. Please. I need it. I need you.”

Your words were like a song to him. He let out a groan deep within his chest and kissed you again , harder , letting his tongue slip past your lips as you gasped when his hand pushed the fabric of your tiny shorts to the side.

His index finger ran up your slit , basking in the slickness. JJ smirked down at you , cocking his head to the side. “Your pussy loves me.” He boasted , and you weren’t in a position to disagree.

“Still my dirty girl , huh?” JJ moaned , sliding his finger inside of you. He grunted as he felt your walls stretch out , the tightness of it amusing him. “I knew I ruined you for him— can’t fuck him now , huh? Too busy thinkin’ bout me?”

You only responded with a moan , throwing your head back as you felt yourself fill up.

JJ watched you with a glimmer in his eyes. He swore had had never seen something hotter. The way your eyebrows scrunched up , your lips pursed , he could your feels contracting around his finger and he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. “You want more , baby?”

“Yes , JJ , yes. Please. . .”

“Tell me your mine.” He demanded but his voice was softer now. Almost pleading.

Your mind was hazy. You almost couldn’t understand what you were saying— but you knew in this moment it was true. “I’m yours , JJ. I’m yours.”

“Fuck.” He muttered. Dropping his head to kiss your neck , he added in another finger , rutting against the side of your thigh. He pumped his fingers in and out of you , curling upwards just enough to graze over the spot you needed most.

“Yes—” you breathed. Your head lulled to the side and your toes curled. It felt good. The coolness of his metal rings that slapped against your clit each time he pumped his fingers in and out sent jolts up your spine. It felt frivolous , like you were a school girl getting fingered by her first person. But JJ knew just what to do. He knew what you liked , how to make it feel good.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” JJ said , kissing your mouth. You moaned into it , shaking underneath him as the feeling of his mouth on yours amplified the pleasure you were feeling.

The familiar feelimg began building up in your tummy and you gasped , pulling away as you used him to steady yourself. He sped up , just a little , keeping the same place as before. He cooed in your ear , kissing and sucking on different places. “Cum for me. Cum for me , give it to me.”

With your head thrown back , you felt your legs shaking. A dirty , loud moan left your mouth , one that made JJ’s ears ring. You grinded against him , riding out your high.

“My fucking girl—”

You came down breathlessly , with a new urge. You quickly attached yourself to him , wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. He kissed you back hungrily , grinding into you.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the glass.

“Sorry to um— interrupt.” The nurse cleared her throat awkwardly , looking away. “We need to check your vitals. . .”

And just like that , the weight of the world and your decisions fell back on your shoulders.

[twilightkitkat]

I know people normally brand Wade as The Funny One, but can we talk about how they'd be as a comedic duo? While flirting? While fighting?

People oftentimes tend to stereotype Logan as The Straight Man, the guy who keeps a serious face no matter what. And while sometimes that can be true, if you look at his characterization in the movies and comics, that isn't always the case. I think that because his humor is more subtle and down-to-earth than Wade's they tend to overlook it entirely.

Wade's humor is more obnoxious and in-your-face. He uses a cheerful, dramatic tone to cue you in that he's trying to be funny. He makes pop culture references and rambles on and makes constant, non-stop commentary. He's meant to be entertaining and funny because it's his brand to be insane and nonchalant even in the face of danger.

Logan, on the other hand, has this very blunt, sarcastic humor. The type that requires you to think a second to get it. He'd make little quips and jabs, but either with a straight face or barely there grin, so it's harder to tell he's joking. His tone of voice is more deep and gruff, which we don't typically associate with being humorous, but he does tease enemies and joke and throw their lines back in his face and goad them.

These two together would drive everyone up the wall.

Everyone (the X-men, the enemies, Wade's friends) assumed that their interactions would be Wade making crude, obnoxious jokes and Logan telling him to shut up or acting annoyed but... that doesn't happen? Instead, Logan quietly laughs at Wade's antics or, even more shockingly, joins in.

Logan gets Wade's humor—relishes in it, even. He would find Wade funny when he makes stupid jokes at all the wrong times because he does it too but nobody pays attention because it flies over their head or he's too intimidating for them to really register his words.

(The only reason Logan was more serious in the movie was that he was a grieving, broken man who thought he was responsible for the deaths of his family. He felt completely alone. And yet, even then, he played along to some extent with Wade's jokes and acted baffled rather than genuinely annoyed unless it was a super inappropriate moment. And you could tell he found Wade funny and liked him talking by the end of the movie.)

These two would be sitting across the table and Wade would make some stupid joke and Logan would add onto it, straight-faced.

Wade would gasp and clutch his chest dramatically at someone taking the Ketchup from him before he was done and whine, "How could you!? The betrayal! I thought I could trust you, this is a crime of the highest degree! I should have you canceled on Twitter for the atrocities you just committed."

And Logan would shake his head, stoicly, and reply, "It isn't cool to steal, man. It feels good in the moment but you hurt other people."

And everyone would sit there like what the fuck? Did Logan just... play along with Wade?

(Logan was biting his cheek to not grin at their confused faces and Wade was practically cackling to himself.)

It'd be even funnier when they're fighting villains together.

"Watch out, babygirl! Daddy's going to save you!" Deadpool would scream, as he lunges in to stab the enemy as they have Logan pinned to the ground.

"Well, 'Daddy' needs to do a better fucking job at it," Logan would grunt as he threw the guy off himself.

Logan would be snarky, because that's his personality and sense of humor, but he'd play along. He'd commit to the bit so hard that the enemies would stop attacking for a second just to look at each other like, "Are you seeing this???"

"Wolvie, what did I tell you about your greasy tits? If you wanted to be a prostitute you could at least tell me so we could start an Onlyfans and monetize it," Wade would say after Logan's shirt got shredded in a fight.

"I'm not giving you a fucking cent of my Onlyfans money," Logan would grunt as he continues fighting.

"That's unfair! I'd be the best photographer out there, you need to pay me my fair share! This is a worker's rights violation!"

"Yeah, well, I'm the pornstar. I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting, you aren't entitled to shit."

And everyone would be like???? Did The Wolverine have an Onlyfans? Since when? And where could they find it—

It'd be funny to see them tear down the self-esteem of a villain together as they fought them.

"You look like Simon Cowell got dipped in a vat of acid and then grew out a mullet and got it cut by a 5-year-old on America's Got Talent just because their mom died of cancer," Wade would laugh and point at their appearance.

"That's being generous. At least Simon Cowell was attractive. More like a fucking muppet," Logan would add on.

And then they'd fight over whose interpretation was correct while the villain just stood there and took out a mirror to look at themselves because?? They didn't think it was that bad?? (It was.)

It'd actually give them the edge in fights because they'd baffle the villains so much. They'd either make them pissed off at not being taken seriously and therefore more sloppy, or just make them insanely self-conscious. Win-win.

Eventually, word on the street got around that Wolverine and Deadpool were a brutal duo. Verbally. There'd be villains telling stories about how they were disrespected and maybe an emotional support club "Fought Deadpool and Wolverine and survived on the outside but died on the inside."

They'd be a peak comedy duo that would become notorious for their chemistry (both in their fighting style and commentary).

[monzamash]

my side of the sofa — lando norris

rating – mature (language, sexual references) requested for✨monzamusings✨ inspired by the kooks' sofa song – and i kinda want to continue this lil story... lmk what you think x

lando was the andy to your april, the tom to your zendaya – on paper there was no logical reason why your dynamic worked, polar opposites in almost every way. he was sunshine personified, wildly charming and devilishly handsome. he was the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve, staunchly loyal with a smile brighter than the stars he swore you hung in the night sky.

in contrast, you walked on the darker side of life; a little mysterious, quietly confident and self assured but humble, generous and effortlessly beautiful but to some, you were intimidating – always kind and caring but scary until those impenetrable walls that had been iron clad from birth started to come down.

somehow lando norris had achieved what most thought was impossible.

it started small with knowing smiles and inside jokes – my god, you had jokes for days! and he laughed at every single one, without fail. wild curls thrown back and smile lines crinkled together, creating a jigsaw you desperately wanted to piece together. you loved in his dry british sense of humour – dark, macabre jokes sprinkled with tasteful sarcasm that he saved just for you. on paper, you couldn’t make sense of it, how your heart felt safe with someone so different to you.

“you know that giving a guy a key to your apartment means things are getting serious right? like, way more serious than a stupid label…”

lando stood in your kitchen, patiently brewing you a cup of tea – strong and dark with the tiniest dash of milk, just the way you liked it, while you scrounged around in the cupboards for the shortbread you bought on a whim just in case you had visitors, though rare it did happen from time to time. why the fuck did I put them up there, you muttered under your breath. lando placed down the teaspoon he’d been drumming on your countertop and came to your rescue, his warm hand resting on you lower back as he reached up beside your head and plucked the shortbread from the top shelf with ease.

“short arse.”

“prick.” you quipped back, snatching the delicious snack from his hand and skipping away.

“and to answer your question – no, i don’t think giving you a key means anything but being smart because it saves me having to come all the way down here to unlock the door for you... because you're here allll the time,” your drawling tone earned a pinch to the ribs as you launched onto the sofa, lando following closely behind.

“i’m here all the time because you call me, miss ‘i’m scared of the dark and need a big, strong man to look after me’,” lando mocked in a high pitched voice, causing you to scoff into the hot cup of tea nestled in your hands.

“big feels generous…”

a shocked expression swept across lando’s face – eyebrows raised as he playfully brushed off your burn, “ooh does it now?” his attitude turning cocky in the blink of an eye.

“i don’t think that’s how you felt last week in monaco – just saying,” he shrugged before taking an exaggerative sip from his mug, your eyes suspiciously narrowed but the smile itching the corners of your mouth threatened to give you away.

“admit it.”

"no way!”

“come oooon, admit that i’m big or i’m not watching vanderpump with you.”

lando quickly grabbed the remote control from the coffee table in the midst of his ultimatum and held it above his messy head of curls as you carelessly shuffled into his tracksuit-clad lap, determined to take back what belonged to you.

“don’t you dare threaten me, norris – i have so much dirt on you so you do not want to push me…” you couldn't be serious if you tried.

"all the dirt you have on me includes you, my sweet girl so do your worst,” he taunted with a whisper, his smug smile making your eyes roll.

he had no idea who he was dealing with.

“three words; facetime in singapore… or maybe you need me to re-jog your memory?” lando’s face dropped in disbelief, dragging his bottom lip between his two front teeth at the memory but as he peered into your playful eyes, a dubious scoff puffed from his mouth.

"pfft, you wouldn’t do it…”

“oh baby,” you mocked, hands pressed to his tight chest as you settled into his lap, eliciting a groan when you looked down at him, “try me and find out..”

lando's eyes fluttered shut for a millisecond as his head lulled back in defeat, placing the remote on your side of the sofa, “you win.”

“i always win.”

lando softly hummed, tilting his head with a smirk, “nah ‘cause after all that, who’s side of the sofa are you on?” the proud smile lit up his handsome face and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how goofy and beautiful he looked admiring his handy work.

“so you see, i win. and maybe you can too.”

“oh, i’m definitely winning.” you leaned in with a smile and pressed a firm kiss to his perfect lips, melting into his touch. the one thing you knew for sure was that you could kiss him all day, every day, maybe for the rest of your life.

lando was the first to come up for air, eyes blurry and heart shaped while you took a couple more seconds to return to the real world, begrudgingly opening them to see the sweetest human being staring right back. the sigh he exhaled was so deep that it reverberated through your bones, worrying you a little until his hands brushed down your sides and the smile etched on his face remained.

“why are you being such a chicken about us being together?”

“i’m not being a chicken, i’m just being realistic,” you whispered, desperately wanting to change the subject, “... your eyes look really pretty.”

lando chuckled, “i know they are so why don’t you want to wake up to them every morning and tell me that, huh? because i wanna do that.”

“tell yourself that you have pretty eyes?”

it was lando’s turn to eye roll and plant a soft smack to your backside, “such a smartarse.”

“you love it.”

“yeah i do and i love you sooooo…” lando nudged gently, searching for an answer that would ease his fear of losing you.

“soooo…” you mimicked but quickly shied away from his intense gaze, “i’m in love with you too, you dumbarse but we’re weird and so different to one another and i feel like people aren't going to understand us and ruin everything... what do you think?”

you hadn't even realised that you'd started chewing through the black varnish on your nails until lando gently grasped your wrist and laced his fingers with yours. he sighed and kissed the back of your hand – the pause in conversation gave him time to gather his thoughts while the circles he drew into your palm with the pad of his thumb calmed your racing mind.

lando answered hundreds of questions every day but he was struggling to think of a time when his response to a question held this much meaning. actions meant everything to you, and he couldn't wait to hold your hand in public and not be afraid of getting caught sneaking kisses in the paddock when the two of you were meant to be working, but words were a good place to start.

“what i think is that we love each other, yeah? and what i know is that i don't give a shit what other people think because you're fucking hot and i love being weird with you, my scary little angel of death,” he teased, tickling your sides until tears ran down your cheeks and you succumbed to his embrace, face buried in his neck.

“i love being weird with you too.”

shout out to mar (@percervall) for the prompt! more writing...

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

May I have Childhood friends to lovers with Loki or Bruce Wayne pleaseee… thank you!

.⋆｡For the Longest Time｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

You were always there in his life, just like he was for you. A little jealousy and a clingy eight year old might finally give you the push you both need

Warnings: fluff, jealousy, simp!Bruce, vague mention of hook-ups, little bit of Dick’s abandonment issues, mutual pining WC: 2.5k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Where’s Y/N?” A little voice spoke up from somewhere over Bruce’s left shoulder. He groaned and buried his face deeper in the silk pillowcase, he had only just crawled into bed. The mattress dipped as Dick hauled himself onto the bed, making Bruce swallow down a curse.

“What’s up?” He rolled onto his back and pulled back the blankets enough for a little body to slip under the covers. He received a kick to his very sore ribs as Dick clambered over him in his attempt to settle in the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. The eight year old sighed happily and cuddled up close to his adoptive father.

Bruce smiled despite the throbbing pain in his torso and the early wake up. “What did you need?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked again, propping his chin on Bruce’s collarbone.

“She’s at her apartment?” His voice tilted up, confused at the question. Sure, you were at the manor quite frequently given that you helped Bruce with Dick’s care but you had never stayed the night, save for once when both you and Bruce were too drunk to even move.

Dick huffed, his bottom lip poking out as he looked away from Bruce. “That’s stupid.” The older man swallowed back a chuckle, instead he placed a hand on the boy’s back, his palm almost covering the entire thing. 

“Why’s it stupid?” He shut his eyes again. 

“Cause I want her to live with me!” 

“Hmm, maybe you can go live with her and I can finally get some sleep.” Tiny fingers dug into his armpit, making Bruce yelp and raise an eyebrow at Dick.

“No. I don’t wanna move my toys. Make her live here.” Bruce sighed heavily, sinking further into his mattress.

Yeah, right. He wanted to say but held his tongue. He had broached the idea when he had first taken Dick in, needing an extra set of hands for the rowdy child but you had quite literally laughed him off, just the same as you did when you were both eighteen and he had tried to give you one of his credit cards. You were fiercely independent and while you loved Dick, you still had your own work and life.

“You could try, chum but I think she likes her house more.” 

“Then let’s go there today!” Dick pushed himself up onto his knees, eyes shining with this brilliant idea. 

“Chum-“ But Dick had rushed out of the room before Bruce could get another word out, leaving him to contemplate whether he was going to break his son’s heart by falling back asleep or get up for the day and end up with a massive headache later. Distantly, he could hear Dick chattering away to himself and he knew he would have to raid your medicine cabinet in a few hours.

——————

Dick practically flew up the stairs of your apartment building, his backpack rattling with the sound of loose Lego bricks and inevitably a book he would get you to read him, as Bruce trailed behind, dark sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He himself held a bag of food from Alfred and a bottle of your favourite wine as a sorry for the unexpected visit. He could at least pat himself on the back for delaying Dick just long enough for the boy to get some food and Bruce to get a couple hours of sleep.

“Come on! You’re so slow!” Dick whined as he reached the landing on your floor. He bounced on the balls of his feet before he huffed and threw open the door, darting down the empty hallway. The rattling of his bag grew distant and then, he was banging on your door with all the might his little fists could muster.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Bruce cringed, his head ducked down as he passed by the other apartments on your floor, silently apologising to each of them. 

“Chum you can’t-“ But your door opened right then and the breath was knocked from his lungs. You were wearing a dark red dress that perfectly matched the matte lipstick on your plump lips. The fabric perfectly clung to you, making your curves even more prominent. You were still wearing your slippers and only had one earring in but you were still the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen, just as you always had been.

“Well isn’t this a surprise.” Dick wasted no time, throwing himself into your arms, he squealed loudly and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You laughed as his little fingers dug into the neckline of your dress, no doubt ruining the fabric. “I thought there was a monkey at my door with all that noise.” You ran your left hand along his side as you stood up, making Dick giggle and cling to you even tighter. In a couple months, Bruce doubted you’d be able to pick him up anymore.

“I missed you!” You beamed. Bruce felt his knees buckle.

“It’s a good thing you came over then, cause I missed you too!” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “I hope I can be included in that sentiment as well.” You finally looked up at him, your eyes shining like stars. You smirked, biting down on your lip as you gave the man a quick one over.

“Depends, what did you bring me?” 

“So my child doesn’t count?” Dick laughed again, his knees digging into your side. You raised an eyebrow at Bruce who lifted the bottle of wine with a sly smile.

“Why didn’t you start with that? Come on in.” You stepped back into the apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow behind. 

Your home had always been a comfort for Bruce, a safe haven tucked away from the world and his responsibilities. The weight of Batman and being the last Wayne, and even though he loved him dearly, being Dick’s father, lifted from his shoulders as the soft colours of your walls surrounded him. 

You wandered into the kitchen, like you normally did when they stopped by for a visit, Dick chattering away about anything and everything that came into his little mind while Bruce stopped to look at the new photos you had hung up in the living room. Photos of memories he had forgotten. There was one of the both of you in a pillow fort that towered over you, your faces slathered in chocolate from bags of candy at your feet. Another was the 3rd grade dance that your parents had chaperoned, you in a bright pink princess dress complete with fairy wings and a plastic tiara and him in a tiny suit with one of his father’s best ties that was far too big for him. Your high school graduation party where you and Bruce in all your drunken genius decided to race up one of the old trees on the Wayne property and got stuck at the top.

But the most recent one made his heart skip a beat; it was of all three of you curled up on your couch, Dick sound asleep on your lap as Bruce ‘rested his eyes’ while leaning on your shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around both of you as you beamed up at the camera. All of his happiest moments had you in them and for the life of him, he wouldn’t change anything about it.

Bruce turned and spotted your heels by the door, the red-bottomed ones that you only ever used when you wanted to get laid. Something in his stomach turned sour at the thought. “Why are you so dressed up?” He asked as casually as he could though his voice cracked. 

“Yeah! You look pretty!” Dick chirped though his own voice was muffled, no doubt you had already given him a cookie that he shouldn’t be having.

“I have a date,” You cooed (to Dick but Bruce liked to pretend it was for him), “but since you guys are here now. I’ll cancel it.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can go.” Relief made his shoulders sag but Bruce still forced a frown on his lips as you came back around the corner, Dick still perched on your wide hip. You were practically glowing with joy.

You waved him off and pressed a kiss to Dick’s chubby cheek, leaving a bright lipstick stain there. “I would much rather spend the evening with you guys. It also means I get to wear comfy clothes instead of this dumb dress.” Dick slipped from your arms and went to his bag, which he had dropped on the couch.

“Are you sure?” But that wasn’t the question he was really asking. You just smiled at him, putting a hand on his bicep as you leaned in close.

“There’s nowhere else I would rather be. Now let me get changed and we can watch a movie, how’s that sound bud?” Dick grumbled something to the affirmative, making you laugh to yourself as you turned to go to your room but not without a parting squeeze to Bruce’s arm. He watched you go, his gaze dropping to your ass to appreciate the sight for just a moment before he caught himself and turned his attention back to his son.

Dick, who was already observing his father with a curious expression, suddenly lit up with an idea. He covered his mouth with his hand and then disappeared as he fell back onto the cushions, a little laugh escaping him as he landed. Bruce ignored the boy and went to the kitchen to get some snacks together for all of you. 

The TV flicked to life, dousing the apartment with a hazy background noise that served to lead Bruce deeper into the fantasy of this life of domesticity actually being his. If he let himself, he could almost imagine how perfect it would be, just his family spending time together away from the rest of the world. But there was still that nagging fact that you had a date tonight, one that you cancelled for him sure, but a date nonetheless.

You weren’t his wife or his girlfriend, and that made his blood freeze.

He pulled out the cork from the bottle with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, sending a few drops of red liquid directly onto his white shirt. “Fuck.” He groaned and grabbed the dish towel on the counter to try and scrub away at the stain. 

“I can’t leave you alone for a second.” Your smaller hands gripped his waist, turning him around so you could take the towel from him. Bruce let you manhandle him until you could easily rub against his chest but the stain had already set in. Your bottom lip poked out, an almost overwhelming temptation to your oldest friend, before your fingers curled into his belt and tugged him away from the kitchen counter.

Bruce went willingly, eagerly. “I’ve got some of your shirts in my wardrobe, go get changed and I’ll finish up here.” He nodded blankly and wandered away from you.

You watched him go for just a moment before finishing pouring out the wine and laying some of the cheeses Alfred has so thoughtfully packed on a small tray. You grabbed some hopefully not stale crackers from the cabinet and journeyed back into the living room. “What are we watching tonight Dickie?”

Dick looked up from his spot between the couch and coffee table as you sat down with an almost bored expression on his little face. “Star Wars.”

“Duh.” You replied.

Soon Bruce wandered back in. “Why exactly do you have so many of my shirts in your closet?” You shrugged behind your glass, though he knew your cheeks were heated with embarrassment.

“Cause you’re clumsy and I knew I’d have to keep clean clothes for you.” He flopped down on the couch next to you, his arm immediately finding its place across your shoulders.

“Yeah right.” You curled into his side, settling in for a nice little evening.

It was halfway through the movie that Dick climbed onto the couch between you and his dad. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” He muttered wistfully, taking yours and Bruce’s hand into his. You looked at Bruce from over his little head.

“Aw buddy, we can do this whenever you want. You’re always welcome here, you know that.” He shook his head and Bruce's heart sank.

“What do you mean chum?” He asked, wondering if there was something more going on. Dick’s chest inflated as he took in a deep breath.

“But we always go home and you never come with us! You-you don’t really want us, you live so far away. And,” he sighed heavily, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster, “and you go on dates with people who aren’t my dad. You’ll leave.” His grip on your hand tightened like you would disappear right then.

Bruce’s heart lurched as your lips parted. “You should date him instead! And then we can all live together at home like we should be!” Dick continued and then, he slammed your hand into Bruce’s, forcing your fingers to intertwine.

“Dickie-“

“No! You’re supposed to be together! Even Alfred says so! So just do it already and then we can go home. Together.” His gaze switched to Bruce, who caught his glare. The man swallowed thickly and looked at you and for the first time in his life, Bruce couldn’t tell what you were thinking.

You let out a shaky breath after a moment, your fingers pressing into the back of his hand. He could feel your pulse against his wrist, your heartbeat was fast, almost matching his own. “Maybe you’re right Dickie.”

“What?” The word escaped him like he had just been punched, making your lips curl up into a bashful smile. 

“Maybe, I should be dating you and not those other men who I always end up comparing to you anyway. Maybe I should be going home with you.” 

“I think maybe you should.” Bruce leaned over his son, his free hand coming up to hold your full cheek. “Because I have spent my whole life with you by my side and now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want you so far away anymore. I want to see your face everyday and hear your voice from beside me every moment that I can.” 

Your eyes dropped to his lips and that was all it took for Bruce to close the distance and finally kissed you like he should have done years ago when he realised that no other woman would live up to the place you carved out in his heart. You immediately melted into him, laying your hand on top of his own. 

Just as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, Dick got up on his knees between you and threw his skinny arms around your necks. You separated just as he shouted, “I told you!” 

You both laughed and hugged him back, sinking back down into the couch all together. Bruce’s chest warmed. Maybe, finally, he could get you to come home.

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[devondespresso]

Let Me Raise The Bar

T | 3,602 words | Steddie | also on ao3! | Modern AU, Meet Cute, Fluff

This fic is for the @strangerthingswritersguild fic exchange, by @starryeyedjanai and @devondespresso. Thank you to @dreamwatch and @bubblesandink for betaing for me!! <3

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

edit: oh my god i forgot the keep reading the first time im so sorry guys

This night is going terribly.

He keeps telling himself he’ll delete all his dating apps for good, but the prospect of being alone forever always has him re-downloading them.

Right now, he’s remembering why he hates them so much.

He hates Tinder, specifically—guys on Tinder only want to fuck. And if that was what he was looking for, that’d be fine, great even!

But he wants a relationship and guys on Tinder will say they want one too and then turn around and leave right after they get what they want.

At least guys on Grindr are upfront about it being just a hookup—no one’s getting their hopes up or feelings hurt when it turns out to be just that.

Tinder guys will take you on a date and pretend to be interested in you as a person and then won't fucking text back after they leave your apartment the next morning. It’s annoying and it’s frustrating and it’s a waste of Steve's fucking time at this point.

And this guy tonight isn't even trying to pretend. He tried to get Steve to blow him in his apartment building garage before they even left for the date and he really should have taken that for the red flag that it was.

But Steve looks good, and he did his hair routine that takes entirely too fucking long for no one to appreciate it.

His date drives him to this hole in the wall restaurant that Steve must have passed a million times on the bus ride to his job without ever noticing.

He thought he might be able to turn things around when they got there—it’s a small Italian place, a real family-owned type vibe to it. He knows before he even orders that the food is going to be some of the best he’s tasted since moving here.

He tries asking the typical first date questions to get to know him, but his date keeps giving him short answers. So he switches to talking about himself a little, but then he realizes his date’s been staring at his mouth the whole time he’s been talking and Steve finally snaps that he isn't getting into his pants.

Steve breathes out a deep sigh as his “date” gets up and goes to the bathroom. Some fucking date this is—they haven't even gotten their fucking food yet. What a disaster.

“Hey,” he hears their waiter—Eddie, his nametag reminds Steve when he looks up—say after a minute of his date being gone. “I hate to be the bearer of super bad news, but I just saw your date slip out the back door, and I don't know if he’s planning on coming back.”

There's a lilt of sympathy in his voice and Steve can't help but snort.

“Of course he did,” Steve says. “Why can't guys just be upfront about what they want? It would save everyone so much time.”

He’s not looking for an answer, but Eddie's mouth twists and he says, “Guys are stupid. I mean, they’d have to be to give up the chance to get to know someone as cute as you.”

Steve can't really muster up a smile at the pity, so he says, “Well, whatever the case, he was my ride home, so I think I need to call a Lyft now. Can you box the food up and bring me the check?” At least he’ll have lunch for tomorrow, which doesn't feel like an adequate consolation prize for how shitty he feels right now.

Eddie shakes his head and says, “There’s no way I’m letting you pay for such a shitty date.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie continues, “Tell you what, my shift ends in ten minutes. Why don't I show you how I’d treat you if we went on a date.”

Steve's heart thuds in his chest, a flicker of hope in this incredibly dull evening. “Seriously?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Think of it as a trial run. See if I rank good enough for a real one.” He winks and Steve finds himself nodding dumbly, still shocked at the rapid turn of events.

“Okay,” Steve says, kind of breathless.

Eddie heads back to finish cleaning up his other tables before he ends his shift, and Steve fills Robin in over text about what happened.

He’s still waiting for a response when Eddie shows back up with two plates of food, setting one in front of Steve and the other where his date sat before sliding into the chair across from him.

He’s wearing a different shirt, Steve realizes. It also looks like he attempted to wrangle his curly hair into something more manageable, maybe sprayed some water on it to smooth it down.

The thought that this guy, this random guy who happened to be his waiter on this horrific night, would put in more effort than his previous date makes Steve's cheeks get hot.

Maybe this night really can turn around.

“Alright, names. Hi, I'm Eddie.” Eddie says, sticking his hand out across the table cartoonishly for a handshake. Steve suppresses a laugh and takes Eddie’s hand with a smile.

“Steve.” He says, and Eddie’s eyes brighten before he takes his hand back.

“So, Steve, what do you do for fun?” Eddie says, leaning forward slightly with vibrant confidence, tone feeling more and more noticeably rehearsed as he goes. “Other than light up the room with that smile, of course.”

Steve huffs a laugh, blushing despite himself.

“You practice that one a lot?”

Eddie shrinks back a little, still smiling even as he messes with the hair on the back of his neck, already starting to ruffle what he’d tried to tame.

“Yeah, it’s uh…”

“It’s sweet.” Steve leans in a little closer himself, trying to match the effort Eddie keeps putting in. “Almost as sweet as the smile you're wearing.”

Eddie flushes pink and lets out a little “Thank you” to cover a nervous laugh—and christ, Steve is already hooked.

Steve hums and grabs his fork to start eating and Eddie mirrors him.

“Thank you for this by the way.” Steve continues, “Tonight's been… ugh, you know.”

“A special kind of shitty?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “So all this is… really nice.”

“I'm glad.” Eddie says, voice soft before he shrugs and continues casually “M’hoping I’ll at least do better than the last guy.”

“Yeah, of course, you haven’t even asked me to blow you yet or anything.”

Eddie turns red and busts out a nervous laugh, looking away immediately. God, he’s so fucking cute.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm not–” Eddie looks back at him, nervous still, but sincere anyway, “That's not exactly my style.”

“You a wine and dine kinda guy?”

Eddie shrugs lightly, then he seems to get an idea, leaning in again with a smile “Actually– ideally, I'm a dine and mine kinda guy.”

A smile takes over Steve’s face that he can’t fully tamp down, a little flustered and a lot amused.

Eddie preens, then continues with a shy smile.

“Though, uh, usually it's more dine and…” Eddie pauses, “Pine. Dine and pine. You know, like pining.”

Steve makes his face relax as he nods and leans back. “Oh, yeah, like the tree.”

Eddie stops and looks at Steve, and soon Steve’s smile breaks out again.

“No, I know what you mean.” He says with a little laugh that Eddie quickly mirrors.

Eddie visibly relaxes, slouching overdramatically to the side with a sigh.

“God, I swear I’m usually good at this sort of thing, words and stories and shit,” He groans, gesturing around almost like he’s talking to himself, “But apparently I meet one pretty boy and suddenly I’ve got screws loose. And they’re all falling out, all across the floor, ‘there they go!’, y’know?”

Steve bites back a snicker and hums a quiet agreement. Eddie notices, though, looks up and sees right to Steve’s amusement, so Steve decides to save them both the embarrassment and move on.

“So your job. You like it here?

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Eddie says, perking up and gesturing as he starts talking, “The owners are really cool, they were our neighbors– Wayne’s—my uncle’s—neighbors when I first moved in with him, way way back, and they were so chill, loved having people over. Then one time in highschool I mentioned saving up ‘cause I’m trying to make it big with my band, and they offered to give me a job here while we get there.”

“That’s awesome. Your band any good?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Eddie laughs, playing with the food on his plate, “Wayne says we’re pretty good, which is probably the equivalent of moms showing up to their toddler’s dance recitals, but it’s something.”

“Where'd you guys play?”

“The Hideout, a couple blocks down…”

Steve nods.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, pretty fun if you ever wanted to stop by.“

“Sounds like a great second date.”

Eddie blushes, playing with his hair again as he smiles and looks away.

“I’ll probably have to wear earplugs– not because of your band or–”

“No, no, no, you’re good–” Eddie says, almost jumping up to reassure him, “It’s metal, that’s normal– good, even.”

“Oh– good.” Steve says, a bit awkwardly, and looks back down to his food.

Eddie leaves barely a moment of silence before he pulls the conversation back together.

“So what about you? You just a professional bad-Tinder-dater?”

Steve huffs and fiddles with his fork.

“Guidance counselor, actually.”

“Oh damn, really?”

“Yeah, Middle school.”

“Oh god,” Eddie groans playfully, “I can't imagine going back there willingly.”

“Yeah, I mean, it can get pretty rough,” Steve shrugs, “It's good though. Kids start thinking about who they are, I get to try and make that a little less shitty.”

“That’s a tall order.” Eddie laughed into his glass. “I respect it though. Hell, just having a queer adult exist around me would’ve made a lot of it easier.”

“God, yeah. I've got practice, at least, for when they need more than just some guy standing around in an office.” he laughed, pulling out sarcastic air quotes for the next part, “ I ‘babysat’ kids in middle school before I graduated. Bunch of little shits but they were good kids– still are good. They're like four years younger than me though, so they're more like siblings than kids.”

“Yeah, bet they don't take well to ‘kids’.”

“Oh, they hate it.” Steve laughed and Eddie followed with him, “Always hated it, but Dustin put his foot down after highschool. Rob and I call them my ‘twenty-somethings’ now.”

“God, wait, how old are you?” Eddie laughed

“Twenty-six.”

Eddie laughed a little louder, a lively and full laugh that looked enchanting on Eddie.

“You'd love them, they're all–

Steve’s phone buzzes.

Both of them look over to it on the table. Steve moves it to the seat next to him, looked up to Eddie with an apologetic smile.

His phone buzzes again.

And again, and soon Eddie’s eyes flick in that direction, eyebrow quirking with barely-restrained curiosity.

Then Steve’s phone starts ringing, the electric guitars of Hammer To Fall creeping up in volume way too fast for comfort.

“Sorry–” Steve cringes, grabbing his phone and answering the call in a furious whisper, “Robin, are you dying?”

“No, but thank you for confirming that you aren’t.”

“I texted you what happened.”

“Yeah and it was vague as hell! I reserve the right to be a worrywart with this shit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve sighs, but can’t really argue with her on it. “This was going well, though–”

“Is.” Eddie chimes in, not trying to be loud enough for the phone to pick it up, just for Steve to hear him clearly.

“Is going well.” Steve smiles.

“Oooo okayyy.” Robin hums and Steve can hear her cheeky smile through the phone.

“Goodbye, Robin.” Steve says, failing a half-assed attempt to cover his amusement.

“Oh wait no, tell him if he tries anything I’ll–”

“M’not doing that.”

“I will though, I’ll go after him–”

“Oh woah you’re breaking up, can’t hear you.” Steve deadpans.

“Steve, I know–”

“Love you, bye–”

“Steeeeve–”

“Don’t pull your hair out.” Steve says and hangs up, coming back to the present to Eddie watching him, thankfully looking amused instead of annoyed.

“Sorry about that.” Steve says.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Eddie leans forward again, propping his head up in one hand, “So… friend?”

“Best friend, has to be to get away with shit like that so easily.”

Eddie snorts.

“What was she calling about?”

“I wasn’t clear that this new date thing was gonna be a good thing.”

Eddie nods civilly.

“She worries,” Steve continues, “Fuckin’ tinder dates, y’know?”

“Uh, not really….” Eddie smiles.

“Good for you. They’re all the same asshole in a different haircut.” Steve says, and Eddie smiles, laughing a little with him before continuing with something calmer, a little more earnest.

“Then why keep going to them?”

Steve shrugs.

“Call me an optimist, I guess.”

Eddie hums noncommittally, like he’s thinking more than he’s sharing, and continues the conversation in a lighter direction.

_

The rest of the date is wonderful. A little less chaotic, especially once they start finally eating their food for real, but what it lacks in eventfulness it makes up for in comfort. They’re not exactly quiet, but Eddie’s energy always comes with a sincerity underneath, like he’s bold and fun because he just is, and not because he’s making himself be.

It’s refreshing. And as the night goes on, it becomes intoxicating.

So when Eddie offers to save him the Lyft fee and just drive Steve home, Steve agrees, just to get a little longer in Eddie’s bubble.

Eddie leads him through the restaurant and out the back into a small parking lot with a handful of cars and one big van, decorated with a clearly hand-painted dragon on the side. Which, of course, ends up being Eddie’s.

“Dustin would love this thing.” Steve says as he hops into the passenger’s seat, not really thinking twice about it as he looks at the interior, eyes lingering on the big fuzzy dice with too many sides hanging from the mirrors.

“So Dustin is…?”

“A Twenty-something.” Steve laughs as he spins the fuzzy dice to see all of its sides. “He’s like my little brother. Loves DnD and science and… all the nerd shit.”

“Nerd shit?”

“Yeah, I mean– it's not my thing but it’s cool. I’ve played with Dustin and them a couple times.”

“Oooo, a bit of a nerd, are we?” Eddie hums in a weird, almost witchy voice.

“Casually.”

“Mmm, but you’re already down the path~~”

“Just drive, dude.” Steve says with a fond eye roll.

“As you wish, your majesty.” Eddie hums in his normal voice, giving Steve a glowing glance before shoving the keys in.

“Alright, I'm about to push your nerd-tolerance to its limits.” Eddie says, pulling out his phone with a grin. He connects it to the car and quickly turns it down before drums and guitar erupt from the speakers, and Steve flinches at the volume.

“Sorry, sorry.” Eddie whispers and turns down the music again.

Steve nods, and after a second of the music playing much more quietly, he finds it much more comfortable. Nice, even. The energy is quick and alive like Eddie is, though the aggressive vocals fit his outward aesthetic more than his borderline goofy demeanor.

“It’s not the music, I promise.” Steve says, saying it casually but meaning it sincerely.

“You’re fine, I get it.” Eddie laughs, a little too cynically for Steve’s liking.

“No, I–” Steve reaches for Eddie’s hand between them, intertwining fingers and bringing both hands up between them, “I’m serious, I like it. My head’s a little sensitive, been hit a few too many times, but it’s nice. It’s bold and very energetic… stuff that I already like about you.”

Eddie blushes hard—a sweet cherry pink—as he slouches, bringing their joined hands closer to his face like he’s trying to hide behind them. Eddie rests his forehead against the back of Steve’s hand and huffs a quiet laugh.

“God, you’re quite the charmer, Stevie.” Eddie says, and Steve finds his face warming too.

“And I’m guessing it’s working?” Steve laughs.

Eddie looks up at him, smiling wide.

“Oh, it’s working very well.” Eddie says, and brings their hands closer to him again to plant a soft kiss onto Steve’s hand.

Steve’s face goes warm again, lights him on fire, and Eddie’s smile turns slightly smug before he looks away.

“Alright,” Eddie says, looking back to the front to drive but not letting go of Steve’s hand. He even reaches his left arm over to change the gears, leaning into how silly he looks to make Steve laugh.

It’s sweet, it's genuine, and it's everything to Steve.

Eddie starts driving, hand still firmly holding onto Steve’s, neither of them willing to let go first. Steve looks at it as Eddie drives, splitting most of his attention between their hands, Eddie’s profile lit up by the colorful city lights, and the road ahead as he navigates Eddie to his apartment.

And if they miss a turn or two because Steve’s tired brain doesn’t want to watch the damn road? Eddie doesn’t mention it.

_

“Alright.” Eddie says, putting the car into park with his left hand again, though far less comically now.

He sits there for a second, quiet like something’s on his mind, so Steve waits.

“Okay, uh,” Eddie starts, looking vaguely down as he wanders through what he wants to say, “I had fun, I’m assuming by how the nights gone that you did, too…”

Steve squeezes Eddie's hand, and Eddie laughs.

“I had a really great time. And I want to do this again, if you want to.” Eddie glances up at Steve for a second before his eyes dart away again. “But I want to be sure you’re… you’re not being an optimist with me. That you want want this, y’know, because you're an amazing guy, Stevie. I don’t know how you keep having such shit luck but believe me when I tell you it's not because of you.”

Eddie looks back up at him again and keeps his gaze there, looking more relaxed now.

“So, uh, I would love to take you out again.” Eddie says, “If you want to.”

If he wants to, as if that's not the most romantic thing Steve’s heard in his life.

Steve almost says that. He also debates kissing him or pulling him into an awkward hug over the center console that he’s sure would be put up with no matter how uncomfortable it’d be. But Steve doesn’t, because Eddie continues before Steve can make a decision.

“What do you want?”

Steve resists the urge to say a cheesy ‘You’ and thinks about it, really thinks so he can put together words that make sense, so he can give Eddie a real answer.

“I want a long relationship. A real one, y’know?”

Eddie nods.

“And I want to get married, someday. I want someone who’ll stay that long, who will love and let me love them, all cheesy and clingy and shit.”

Eddie hums, searching Steve’s face.

“And?”

Steve looks down at the joined hands between them.

“And I’d love if it were you. You’re sweet, so sweet, but you’re also… alive. Everything you do, you’re…” Steve thinks hard for a moment, working out how to phrase it. “It’s like the world doesn’t weigh you down. And you’re so genuine and you’ll come and say what you mean like it’s nothing, and I think every one of the people in my life—my favorite people—would love being around you almost as much as I do.”

Steve looks back up to him, face hot with another intense flush, and tries to smile casually.

“Hate to break it to you, dude, but you’re kinda my perfect man.”

Eddie huffs a breathy laugh, face painted with disbelief and wonder.

“Okay, then. Case closed.”

“Yeah,” Steve hums, with as much fondness as possible. Steve leans in across the center console, bringing a hand up slowly, trying to signal that he’s leaning in for a kiss.

It takes Eddie a second, and Steve gets to watch him look down at Steve’s hand and look at Steve leaning in, gets to see the moment it clicked before Eddie lunges to meet him halfway and then some, making the hand that was supposed to cradle Eddie’s face hold onto the seat beneath him to keep their balance.

Eddie kisses him hard at first, bringing a hand up to card through Steve’s hair, excited and alive. Then Eddie seems to come back to his senses, moving back but taking Steve with him until they’re both leaning over the center again.

Their kiss softens, intensity melting out into fondness, gentle but passionate, warm and Steve wants to melt from it.

Still, Steve’s going home tonight, going to go upstairs to Robin and tell her all about it. He’ll get to have a good night's sleep in a bed that doesn’t need cleaning, and he’ll get to wake up to the idea of something new brewing fresh in his mind.

Steve pulls back gently and Eddie does the same, eyes flicking open one after the other, a smile on Steve’s face and another lighting up Eddie’s.

Steve catches his breath, feeling lighter now than he has in ages, and Eddie opens his mouth to say something again.

“Does this mean I can get your number?”

[anonyme-glace]

Christmas Gift

Spending Christmas break with my dad, which I’ve done tonnés of times before.

Except ever since I’ve gotten older, I can understand more and more why my friends call him a DILF. He’s built, trades man, thick legs and strong body, tall and, I can’t believe I notice this, hung.

Three weeks ago I was with him for the weekend and got to his house earlier than normal, he was showering. I couldn’t help myself, I peeked in, curiosity driving me, and maybe a bit of lust. Foggy shower door, his groans, and his hand down low. I knew what he was doing. I felt my stomach flutter.

His groans were so loud; his deep voice ringing out in the shower, talking to himself.

Fuck that feels so good baby….

Oh my god.

Keep going….

Oh my god he’s dirty talking.

You’re making daddy feel so good…

Oh my god.

…Carly.

Holy shit. What.

…

Hey Carly, sweetie, how’s it going?

I snap my head towards him, coming out of the memory.

It’s going good, dad, thanks for asking. I’m super excited to exchange gifts later, I’ve got the perfect thing for you.

Aw sweetie you didn’t have to get me anything.

I felt his eyes on me.

You’re gift enough.

I know Daddy.

…

I’ve been planning this for weeks. Now that I know he feels the same way about me. I’m gonna be the best little girl for him. I went out lingerie shopping with the girls a few weeks ago, they think I’m trying to impress Jack from fifth period. What the fuck am I doing.

Standing in my doorway, red lace plunge bra, matching panties, handcuffs in hand. He’s sitting on the couch, watching some stupid movie. I call out.

Turn that off, I’m coming out with my gift, close your eyes.

They’re closed sweetie.

I walk out, keeping my steps light, shivering with excitement. I stop in front of him.

Hands out daddy.

He laughs, a husky, sharp, inhale. Okay.

Quickly I place the cuffs on him. His eyes shoot open and I step back. He’s speechless, eyes trialing up and down my body, and I see his pants get a little tighter.

Do you like your gift daddy?

Fuck baby what are you doing? He breathes out and moves to get up. I push him back down and straddle him.

Mhm I heard you in the shower, daddy, you want me.

I don’t know what you heard sweetie, this is wrong, and illegal, and you need to get off of me. I trail my hands down his chest. You need to get off me, honey, you can’t be doing this. I’m your dad.

Daddy I can feel you. I lean into him and whisper, against my cunnie. Let me take care of you, this is your gift.

Not that he put much fight up in the first place, but his resolve loosens, and he leans back. I slide off his lap, knees hitting the floor.

I rub my hands all over him, my face rubbing his crotch. You gonna let me have it daddy? Yes baby, take daddy’s cock out. I reach for his pants but change paths and quickly unlock his hands from the cuffs before resuming.

Fuck daddy, it’s so big. I take it in my hands and begin to lick up and down, taking his balls in my mouth, and using my thumb to play with the tip. Yes baby just like that. Why don’t you take it in your mouth? I suck on the throbbing head, maintaining eye contact with him. I go deep as I can, choking myself on him, until he grabs my hair and takes control.

I can’t believe I raised such a slut. Where did you learn this slut?

I’m so sorry daddy, I’ve been with other boys.

Oh wow, you’re such a whore, you couldn’t even save yourself for me. Well I’ll just have to fill you up until you forget them, won’t I?

Yes please daddy, please give me your cock, I need it.

Good begging, come lay down and spread yourself for me. I do as he says, taking off my panties, laying back, and spreading my legs open for him. He slaps his heavy cock against my cunt before laying it on my stomach.

Look how deep I’m gonna go. Just about hits your belly button baby. I gasp and look down, just as he lines himself up with my pussy.

You’re gonna take it so well baby, all of it, all for me, forever and ever.

[irndad]

Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-

Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹

Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.

my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k

“Is Maeve okay?”

It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation. 

She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him. 

Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists. 

She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?

It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before. 

He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?

“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”

She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples. 

“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”

She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her. 

“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”

It’s only then she frowns. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”

“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance. 

“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her. 

“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”

“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“

“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”

“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”

A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration. 

She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished. 

Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her. 

Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her. 

And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper. 

“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”

Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed. 

Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him. 

“You’re important to me.” 

She has no idea how much. 

Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive. 

“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.

Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted. 

The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care. 

He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long. 

[nastybuckybarnes]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: Nothing shatters the tension of a fight quite like needing your boyfriend to rush home to save you from people who would do you harm.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fighting, Fluff, Kind of mean!Simon but not too bad, very minor violence, home invasion, I think that's it...?

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: we're gonna dip a toe in the COD water and see what happens. I love ghost and Konig so we'll see what else I do there. For any and all COD stuff, I use Canadian Military as a basis for the readers background.

~*~

"I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna argue with you about somethin' so stupid," he hisses, glaring at you with hard, cold eyes.

"It's not stupid, Simon, you just don't want to ever entertain the idea of talking about things that might make you slightly uncomfortable!"

"Oh fuckin hell." He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head.

"Everythin's always gotta end with you being right, doesn't it?"

You frown at his absolute lack of any sort of understanding or empathy.

"This isn't about me being right, this is about you at the very least hearing me out!" You try.

"You knew what you were getting in to the moment you met me, m'not sure what you're expecting of me now. S'not like I can go and change the way things are, now can I?"

You narrow your eyes at him and his blatant ignorance.

"I understand full well, Lieutenant. I've been there, which is something you seem to conveniently forget."

He lets out a humourless chuckle and shakes his head, "don't go put yourself in the same category as me now, lovey. You know you weren't exactly at my level when you served."

His words are a slap in the face.

Sure, you were never quite JTF2 or SAS level, but that doesn't mean your time in the military is any less valid than his.

Seven years of your life you devoted to serving your country, the medical help for teams like his, and all he can do is turn his nose down at it as if it means nothing to him.

"You know what? Fuck you, Simon. I never even insinuated that we were at the same level and for you to try and..." you stop, pinching the bridge of your nose as anger fills you.

"What? Got nothin' to say now? That's a shock."

It takes all your strength not to lash out at him and even more to stop your bottom lip from quivering at just how mean he's being.

Sure, he's always been a little rough around the edges, a little harsh and brazen, but never has he been so downright mean to you.

"Get out."

"What?" This seems to genuinely catch him off guard, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

"Get out. Leave."

Simon Riley isn't a man who gets scared. He's been chewed up and spat out of hell before. Nothing on Earth can get the jump on him and nothing can scare him.

At least, that's what he thought.

His palms tingle and he needs to grind his teeth together a few times to collect himself before speaking.

"So that's it then?" He asks, his deep voice barking the question like he would an order.

You two have had your fair share of fights in the time that you've been dating, even more since you moved in together, but none where he's thought you might end things.

"I'm not gonna stand here and take a verbal beating from you, Si. Get out and come back when you've had a chance to fucking cool off."

He stares at you for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting to see if you really mean it.

When you hold his glare, not backing down, he grabs his coat, mask, and keys and storms out of the house without another word.

You stand there in the kitchen for a long moment, the silence ringing heavily in your ears before you storm up the stairs to take a shower and, hopefully, argue out all your hostility in private.

The warm water runs over your tense shoulders for a few minutes and you try your hardest to relax, to let the anger seep out of you and run down the drain, but when you hear the front door open you're filled with rage once more.

You stand in the shower silently, waiting for the door to open and close again, signalling his departure, but instead you just hear boots on the kitchen floor.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you start to seethe.

As if he's wearing his shoes in the house on top of everything else.

You yank the shower curtain aside and step out onto the mat, not bothering to turn the shower off.

A crash from the kitchen makes you freeze.

Simon is never this loud.

Like a deer on the highway, you stay still, silencing your breathing as you listen to the noises coming from the kitchen.

Instead of calling out to him and potentially causing more trouble, you take a silent step to the counter where your phone lies.

You grab it and hit his icon quickly, listening to it ring for a while before he sends you to his voicemail. A loud beep sounds tauntingly in your ear and you huff out an angry breath.

You hang up and call him back, grinding your teeth together when he sends you straight to voicemail again.

The noises in the kitchen continue, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Answer your phone, Simon.

You shoot the text off quickly then immediately call him again, your stomach settling when the call connects.

"Are you home?" You waste no time on pleasantries, and instead hear him sigh heavily.

"You told me to get the fuck out, didn't ya? Why would I be home."

Your breath hitches and you press your back to the bathroom door, turning the lock silently as panic fills you.

"Simon, someone's here."

The fear in your voice has his blood running cold, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as your fight gets shoved from his mind.

"What do you mean 'someone's here'?" He asks, his voice lacking the anger it had only moments ago.

"I heard the door open and I can hear someone in the kitchen."

You hear his tires screeching on the pavement and his engine roaring as he speeds home.

"Where are you right now?" This isn't Simon talking now. You recognize the change.

This is Ghost.

"I'm in our bathroom. Door locked and shower on."

"Good. Keep that water running. As long as they think you don't know they're there, you should be okay until I get home."

"Okay." You feel a little bit safer knowing he's on his way home.

"Keep me on the line."

"Okay."

There's a few seconds of just breathing before you speak again.

"How far are you?"

"Two minutes away."

"Okay... After you deal with these guys we can go back to yelling at each other," you whisper, wrapping a towel around your body and leaning against the wall across from the door.

He chuckles softly and the sound makes a small smile tug at your lips.

As much as he pisses you off and even sometimes hurts your feelings, deep down you know you'll never love anyone the way you love him.

You don't realize you've been quiet until he calls your name softly.

"You still with me, dove?" His voice is soft and you hear him turn the car off.

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm home now, don't come out of the bathroom 'till I come get you, understood?"

"Understood."

Sometimes living with Simon reminds you of being on base, and there are times when you despise it.

And then there are the times when you don't mind it as much. This is one of those times.

You hear the muffled sound of what must be him putting his phone in his pocket, and you close your eyes as you hear the soft click of the door handle through the speaker.

His footsteps are silent, even through the phone, and you feel ridiculous for ever thinking you'd hear it if he came home.

You can hear him as he takes down one intruder, and then what must be a second one.

He says nothing to them, that you can hear. But a series of dull thuds echo through the house before silence remains.

A few minutes go by of nothing, but you don't dare speak or open the door.

Ghost gave you an order, and you have no intentions of disobeying.

There are a few more moments of silence before you hear a crisp knock on the door.

"Lovey? You can open up now."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you open the bathroom door and are immediately engulfed in Simon's strong arms.

He walks you backwards into the bathroom and squeezes you to his chest, mask hiked up over his nose so he can breathe in the scent of you.

"You all right, love?" He asks softly, his voice gruff and ever so rough.

"M'okay, Si. Thank you for coming home."

"S'my fault anyway. I shoulda locked the door before leavin' in a huff the way I did."

You frown and shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

"This is in no way your fault, Simon. I could've easily locked the door after you. I'm just happy you got home in time."

Though you're not sure what the intruders really wanted, you're glad you didn't have to find out alone.

"I'll always come home."

And with those four words, he puts to rest not only the intruder situation, but also your argument from earlier.

Because he will. He'll always come home to you, regardless of what he needs to do, he'll make sure he comes home to you.