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sanguineterrain · 6 months ago

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crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."

"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."

You look at her. "You scare me."

She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."

The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.

"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."

You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."

Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.

Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.

"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."

She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."

You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.

You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.

"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"

"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."

You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.

"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.

Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."

"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.

"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."

Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"

"Good God," Barbara mumbles.

"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"

"Old man! Where are you?"

"Jason, just—"

"Shut it, Dickhead."

The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.

Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"

"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.

"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"

"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"

"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."

"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."

"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."

Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."

"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."

Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.

You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."

He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."

"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."

"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."

"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.

Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.

"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.

He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."

Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.

"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."

Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.

"You're amazing," he says.

"I know," she says, shrugging.

Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.

"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.

"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.

"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."

"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.

"Don't need to."

"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"

Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."

"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.

"None of your beeswax, Dick."

Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.

"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"

"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."

"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."

"Jason, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"

You blink. "You remembered."

"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."

Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.

"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.

"No," Jason says.

"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"

"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.

"I just said I'm not going to the—"

"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.

Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."

Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.

"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.

The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.

"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."

"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."

"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.

"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.

"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."

You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.

"You're not coming?" you ask.

Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"

"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."

"Those weren't my exact words."

"They were very close," Damian says.

"Shut—"

"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.

Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"

"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.

He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.

"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."

"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."

Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."

You beam. "So you'll come?"

"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."

Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."

You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."

Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.

"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"

"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."

"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"

"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."

"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."

"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"

"I mean, a little, but—"

"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.

"I don't think so..."

"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."

"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.

You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.

"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.

"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."

You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.

"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."

He snorts. "Fine by me."

You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."

You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."

He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.

"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.

"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."

He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."

The guilt swims back full force.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"

"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."

You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.

"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."

He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."

"Well—"

"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"

"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."

"Before?" you ask.

You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.

Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

A beat. Your heart falls.

"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."

You heart soars.

You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.

"They did it! They're kissing!"

Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.

You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."

"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."

You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd x gender neutral reader #gn reader #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd fluff

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certaimromance · 2 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 A Picture of a Cat.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: After months of emailing back and forth, you finally meet the person you've been chatting with every day. Then you realize that Spencer is not just a girl's name.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: forensic!reader. with spencer of the early seasons very much in love in mind. the reader has a cat and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and maybe lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is pretty chaotic and not particularly serious😭 It might be best not to try to make sense of it. They're just two idiots in love, really.

To say that Spencer was dying of nervousness was not enough to describe his true feelings.

From the moment he woke up this morning without any mail from you in his inbox, he began to feel that his day was going wrong and that it was becoming an endless nightmare. He had lost count of all the times he had checked his mail at work, hoping to see even a one-line message from you to calm his anxiety.

As someone who had received your good morning every day without fail for the last four months that you had been talking to each other daily, he was completely taken aback and couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps he had said something to offend you, or maybe you were just not feeling the spark anymore. But astonishingly, none of your numerous emails that he had taken the time to reread on the jet indicated any cause for concern.

Everything had been so positive with you recently, and he was grateful to have someone to talk to, even if it was through a computer, every time he finished a challenging case and his mind just wanted to focus on something else. He found great comfort in reading about your day and your thoughts every morning, as if it were his newspaper. Even the pictures you always sent him of your cat sleeping in cute poses, eating, or doing anything else made him smile and gave him the idea of adopting a pet, even when he had never thought about the possibility of it before. You always helped him realize some desires he hadn't previously considered.

But suddenly he didn't have any of it. Nothing at all.

Reid's gaze fell once upon the computer on his desk, and his face was illuminated by its light as he reopened his email page for what might have been the thousandth time that day. His fingers tapped over and over on his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves as the page loaded at a slow pace. He took the opportunity to look at the time on the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was ten o'clock at night, and yet, once again, there was no trace of you among his messages.

His heart stopped for a second when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had to close the page he had opened on his computer at full speed before he could even realize who it was.

“Hey, take it easy, kid.” Derek said gently, removing his hand from his shoulder and stepping back a step. His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he was intrigued. “What were you watching?” He asked, with a playful smile.

“N-nothing.” Spencer's voice trembled beyond his control, and he quickly rose from his chair, trying to shield the computer with his body.

You had been his best-kept secret for quite some time, and he was content with that. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a certain level of privacy in that aspect of his life, as something just between you two. It was more special and romantic that way.

“Nothing? Is that what they call those things now?” Derek inquired, his tone teasing but not unkind. The boy blushed a little, unsure why. “I must admit I'm surprised.”

Reid had to think for a few seconds to figure out what his colleague was talking about, but even before he could understand, Morgan had started speaking again.

“Anyway, turn that off.” He said, pointing to the computer and settling his bag over his shoulder, ready to go. “Someone's waiting for you in the boardroom.”

Almost automatically, Spencer frowned and watched him, waiting for him to provide more information or at least laugh if he was making a joke. However, that didn't occur. Derek didn't laugh at him or anything of that nature.

“Go, Reid. It might be best not to keep the girl waiting.” He gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before heading off on the way to the elevator.

A girl? Waiting for him? How?

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts, attempting to grasp the meaning behind Derek's words and the circumstances surrounding the supposed visitor. With a measured pace, he stepped away from his desk and proceeded down the hallway, heading for the boardroom with a contemplative demeanor.

As he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, he was met with the most glorious sight of his life, the one he had waited so long for, the one that now quickened his pulse and seemed to bring him back to life after feeling dead all day.

You.

Standing at the table, looking intently at the various maps and data scattered around the round table in the center of the room. So deep in thought that you were not even aware of his presence. As pretty as in the pictures of you that he had seen.

He couldn't help but let out a little "oh my" at the sight of you. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he could hear it from across the room, or maybe his ears were just ringing from the blood rushing to his head. Reid stood still, looking at you, amazed. He could see how the light touched your hair and how you bit your lip as you concentrated on organizing the papers and a folder in your hand. It was real. It had to be real.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly startled you, making you realize that you were no longer alone and that the door was now open.

You look up from the documents you are examining and see him by chance. It takes you a moment to realize that he works there, and only by the FBI badge in his pants pocket.

“Hi.” You responded after giving him a very obvious visual scan.

Your voice.

It was the first time he'd heard you speak, and it was just as he'd imagined it would be.

“I’m-” You extended your hand in a cordial manner to introduce yourself, but he interrupted.

“I know who you are.” He spoke quickly, smiling at you. “I...I...you are...” Reid cursed himself for stuttering the sentence as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Okay…I'm waiting for someone.” You said it politely, but your tone showed your anxiety.

Oh, you didn't know it was him.

Spencer let out a laugh to relieve the growing tension, but it came out sounding like a cough. He wanted to hit himself. Why was he acting like a child? He was an agent, for God's sake. His job was to talk to complete strangers every day and do entire profiles without getting nervous. He found it hard to understand how that was changing so much now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more clearly.

“Yes, I know.” He replied, sounding a bit nervous. His voice was a little shaky, as if he was straining to get the words out.

“Do you know if this person is coming?” You were standing there with your arms crossed, trying to see if anyone else was coming after him.

At that moment, a look of confusion came over his face. It had not even crossed your mind that it might be him. And although it was to be expected and totally understandable since you had never seen a picture of him, Spencer still felt a twinge of pain and insecurity inside. Perhaps you expected him to look different, or at least not look like a kid playing federal agent.

Maybe it would have been helpful if he had sent you a picture of himself when you sent yours. That way, you might have had a better idea of what to expect. But you were very understanding of his insecurities and lack of comfort with the photos at the time. So he thought everything would be fine anyway…he was so wrong.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before speaking up. “Actually, it's me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide how nervous he was, with little success.

As soon as he said it, you looked surprised, your mouth slightly open, and then you laughed.

“That's pretty funny.” You said it with a slightly uncomfortable smile. When you realized he wasn't laughing, you added, “Good joke.”

Seeing your reaction, Spencer felt the urge to shrink back and disappear, as if that action could erase the last few seconds of your memory and also erase the feeling he suddenly had of having screwed up in an unfamiliar way. He felt his chest tighten as you asked him again if the person you were waiting for was coming. Was it so hard to believe that he was the person you were talking to? The one who earned your trust and affection?

“I spent several hours on a plane, so please let me know if your colleague is coming.” You spoke again, your tone conveying a hint of disappointment and fatigue. “If I'm a nuisance and Spencer doesn't want to see me, I'd appreciate knowing that.”

Hearing you say his first name gave him an unexpected shiver. It sounded so pleasant and intimate. He took another deep breath and forced herself to speak clearly.

“Wait, he does want to see you.” He paused for a moment, realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous. “I mean, I do. I'm Spencer.”

You're momentarily taken aback, unsure if the guy in front of you is joking. His nervous expression suggests otherwise, and you even entertain the possibility that he might be crazy.

Oh my goodness, you were all alone on a practically empty floor of the FBI offices with an insane agent.

“Just let me know if she's coming or not, please.” You said, taking a few steps back to be at a safe distance from him.

His mouth was so dry he could only manage a soft, hoarse whisper. “She? Did you think I was a girl?”

“You?” You furrowed your brow, feeling more confused and uneasy.

At last, he had a suggestion and reached into his pocket to retrieve his badge, holding it out to you in a gesture that seemed to convey innocence.

“I’m Spencer Reid.” He said, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he was caught off guard by the peculiar turn of events.

You looked at the badge, confused, and slowly looked up, looking into his eyes closely for the first time. You studied his face intently, not really believing it.

“Are you Spencer? My Spencer?” You asked.

When you said “my,” he felt a flutter in his chest. His brain was trying to tell him not to get too invested in the moment, but the vulnerable part of him was moved by the way you said it, like he was all yours. There was a special air of affection there that he liked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost in a whisper. “I am.”

You had to take a moment to process the information, eyes glued to his as you tried to make sense of it. Little by little, you come to understand. This was the person you had been talking to every day for months—the person with whom you had shared your fears, stories, and dreams. Yet you hadn't even asked him for a picture or a call—anything that would have made you realize that he wasn't a woman. It seems almost unreal to you to have fallen into such a confusion.

“I sent pictures of my cat to a man?!” Was the first thing you thought, and it managed to come out of your mouth clearly, in an indignant tone. “I said you were my soulmate!”

Now you were the one who sounded insane.

He stood there for a few moments, looking at you and seeing the different emotions on your face. When he finally spoke, his voice had a hint of insecurity in it.

“Yes…but your cat is cute, and you take good pictures.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit nervous. “Did you know that the evocative power of images is widely studied? They can help us verbalize and even rescue forgotten memories and stories from our collective memory and-” He silences himself. “Sorry.”

When he fell silent, your brain couldn't do the same, and thousands of hard-to-filter words began to appear. You had a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of familiarity with the way his ramblings sounded to you, just like the emails you loved so much, and confusion about the whole situation.

“This is so strange.” You said to yourself, pacing around the room a couple of times. “I was so stupid-”

He observed you with great interest, trying to discern the thoughts and feelings that were likely swirling in your mind. He could empathize with your confusion, as he was also uncertain about the circumstances. He couldn't blame you for feeling bewildered. You had embarked on your journey with the expectation of meeting a girl named Spencer, but instead, you encountered him. You had envisioned a lovely girl, and you found him—a simple individual, a nerd who had been told on numerous occasions that nerds lacked charm.

“No. You're not.” He said, attempting to manage his desire to bridge the gap and offer solace. “It was a misunderstanding. I should have provided you with more information.”

“How would you even start a conversation by saying you were a man?” You let out a laugh to yourself. “I would have stopped talking to you instantly.”

The sentence hit him right in the heart.

The two of you had the opportunity to communicate by mail when your boss asked you to send reports on several of the autopsies with similarities you had done to the BAU. It was then that a picture of your cat was sent in the middle of the files. Spencer was the one who received it and made an attempt at a joke after your long apology. And then another, and another, until you ended up talking for four months until now.

But if you had known from the beginning that he wasn't a woman, you wouldn't have bothered to get to know him at all.

“I...I don't know what to tell you..” He admitted, sounding a little more vulnerable. “But why did you think I was a woman?”

After a moment's thought, you said. “Your name made me think of a girl I knew in college. And you...you were so nice and sweet in your emails that I found it hard to believe that a man could be like that through a screen.”

When you shared how you perceived him through his emails, it seemed that a certain vulnerability came to light. The situation had turned the tables, and now he was the one standing there trying to process the information.

“I thought I finally had a friend. You know what my job is like...and yours is just as all-consuming.” You spoke again, having to sit for a moment in one of the chairs in the place, trying to calm down. “It would've been great to have someone who understood me as a friend.”

He felt a pang in his heart at your words and was instantly reminded of the times you'd confided in him about how isolated you felt in your lab, surrounded by dead people and computers.

“You can still do that.” He replied without thinking. “I’m still the same person as before, just different packaging.”

For you, it was much more than that. First of all, you trusted him in the beginning because you thought he was a girl; that's why he understood you so much and you had that special connection.

Hell, you'd even told him how bad your period was, and he'd understood so well. He'd given you tips and facts that you didn't know that were beyond your expectations of what the average man knew.

“I mean, I'm still someone you can talk to.” He continued, his hands moving nervously in his pockets. “Unless you...unless you don't feel that way anymore.”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded almost whispery and gentle. He couldn’t help but lift his gaze from the floor to you, feeling how his body relaxed just a bit with the soft sound of your voice.

“No, no. I still want to talk to you…if you’re my Spencer.”

“I am, all yours.” He replied with a smile.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #moontober <3 #spencer reid x you #matthew gray gubler

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tasteracha · 7 months ago

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the cat that got the cream.

a/n: well. i did it. also, i can't believe this is the first time i've written a daddy kink???? that's crazy. anyways. warnings: reader has a pussy, daddy!kink, minho calls reader kitten. SMUT - MINORS DNI. <1k.

you knew minho was working; he had told you he would be occupied for the rest of the night with an apology and a kiss to your forehead, but you were horny and he has never denied you before. you pad into the bedroom, the only thing keeping you from being completely naked is his white button up shirt that you had been wearing all day.

“daddy,” you tug at the bottom of the shirt, rolling the material between your fingers.

“daddy’s busy, kitten,” he looks away from his computer screen for a moment and your face is reflected in his glasses. you look a little pitiful, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you give him your widest-eyed stare.

“i don’t want to disturb you, i just…” you trail off, taking a step closer to him. “need you.”

“you can play with yourself for a bit, can’t you?” he asks, taking one of your hands in his and dragging his thumb against your skin. he returns his attention to the screen and lets go of your hand, and your body sways towards him with the lack of touch.

“i tried,” you pout, but it goes unnoticed by him. “can’t do it without you.”

“fuck,” he sucks in air through his teeth, glancing between you and his computer a few times. “alright, come here.”

he stands and your entire body sings, ready for him to drag you to bed and have his way for you, but you’re stopped short when he takes his pants off and settles back into his desk chair. he pulls you by the arm and settles you into his lap, both of your legs straddling his thigh with his arms around you.

no, not around you. reaching past you so that he could keep typing away at his computer.

“what?” you turn your head towards his, leaning in to whisper your lips against his, but he pulls back.

“i said i was busy,” he tuts, pushing your head back gently until your chin was tucked away against his neck. “get yourself off, kitten. i need to get my work done.”

you flush so hard you feel lightheaded - he wants you to get yourself off on his thigh while he works? you should feel offended but instead a rush of thrill sparks up your spine and your hips move on their own accord. your bare pussy slides against his thigh, the wetness from you collecting with every twitch of your body, and it feels good.

the sound of your breathing pairs with the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard. you push past the embarrassment of him letting you use his body like this as he ignores you completely, as if you were truly one of his cats begging for his attention. you lean into it fully, bracing your hands against his chest as you roll your hips back and forth, back and forth, gasping when your clit brushes directly against his skin.

“fuck, daddy,” you moan out to deaf ears, unable to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth. “feels so- so good.”

you’re not close yet, but the feeling is so good that it doesn’t matter whether you come or not. you drift into the pleasure, your body moving on its own as you bury your head in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. you don’t realize how long you’ve been going at it until you start sweating, your muscles settling into soreness as you start to slow down.

you also don’t notice that the sound of typing has stopped, but you feel the hands that grip at your waist as if they were molten hot, the pads of minho’s fingers searing into you like a brand. he tugs at you sharply, your pussy digging into his thigh in a way that makes your entire body jerk. he pulls you back and jerks you forward again, riding you against his thigh like you were a toy.

“that’s it,” he whispers into your ear, keeping his pase fast and brutal. “you’re doing so good for me kitten.”

the praise filters through your head even though you truly weren’t doing anything, and as you come your vision whites out and the noise in your ears turns gray and staticky. when you come back to yourself you’re still on his lap, nestled into his body perfectly.

“thank you, min,” you mumble, nuzzling him with your head and closing your tired eyes.

“of course, kitten,” are the last words you hear, drifting off with a satisfied smile on your face, looking like a cat that just got the sweetest cream.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids drabbles

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awrkive · 2 months ago

Note

this is literally tlp oc

https://x.com/jubilescent/status/1857569442672107834?t=xf9cjG_BdmBQuzW7pGPOuA&s=19

summary: something about jungkook lounging around in nothing but loose boxers with the blue plaids on the couch just snaps something primal in you

w/c: 1.2k

warning/s: explicit smut: dry humping, making out, horny tlp!oc lmfao god bless her

note: funny thing is i recently saw this on twt too and thought the same 😭 heres a super quick drabble cos i cant resist

“Slow down,” Jungkook grunts, hands tightening around your waist. He had been guiding your movements awhile ago, but as moments passed he just let you ground against his cock in whatever pace you liked. But the pace you’re going in is obviously torturing Jungkook, with him hissing in your ear and biting the tip as he feels himself getting harder and twitching in his loose boxer shorts. “Shit, baby, slow the fuck down. I’m gonna cum.”

You’re feeling particularly nice so you do slow down, only for a fraction though, peeling your face from Jungkook's neck so you can stare him down with furrowed brows and a jutted lip so he knows you’re not that happy about that. He chuckles before leaning down to kiss you, tongue slipping past your parted lips to lap your mouth, kissing you like how he’d eat your pussy – greedy like he’s trying to cut you out of your air supply.

But you couldn’t care less, really.

The moment you saw him lounging around in nothing but loose boxers with the blue plaids on the couch, there was something primal that snapped in you, making you plop down on his lap, completely ignoring the computer perched on his huge thighs. His macbook’s now disposed on the coffee table anyway, hands full of you currently grinding against his boxer-cladded crotch. The thin material produces a sweet, delicious friction against your spandex panties, his engorged head hitting your clit every now and then making you moan in his mouth.

“Baby,” Jungkook breaks away from your mouth to pepper kisses down your jaw, hands traveling north to cup and squeeze your breasts in your camisole. “Let me take my shorts—”

“No,” you quickly protest, staring at him wide-eyed and momentarily stopping your ministrations. At Jungkook’s surprise with your instant response, you grow a little flustered. “Uhm, I just wanna… dryhump.”

“Ah…” He nods. Jungkook catches a strand of hair off your face and tucks it back behind your ear. “No sex, then?”

“I don’t know… maybe later.”

“Alright.”

You resume your movements on his cock, with Jungkook making himself busy with your neck and your tits; focusing on the way the outline of his dick feels against your panties, so big and and taut, so pleasurable against your nether lips that you’re certain the wetness that’s gathered in your cunt is more than enough for him to just slide right in.

And god, the thought was so hot. Just imagining yourself sinking down his cock and bouncing up and down on it while you dig your nails on his biceps – but sliding forward and backward against him feels just as good, too. Your clit's so stimulated that you feel like you’re putting yourself on that certain edge as well as seconds pass.

“Oh, fuck…” Jungkook groans, squeezing a little harder on your tit that makes you hiss. He mumbles a little “sorry” before you kiss it off his mouth.

Soon, you plant your palm on the couch, leaning backwards to give yourself more space. Jungkook lets go of your breasts in favor of your hips this time, but his grip is loose as he lets himself relax against the sofa, hooded eyes staring at you intriguingly as you bite your bottom lip and begin rolling your hips harder against his, not breaking eye contact as you buck against his bulge.

“F-feel good?” You ask, rocking your hips in tantalizingly slow circles, feeling the way Jungkook’s dick twitch under you as you feel his head hitting your clit everytime you slide forward.

“Fuck, yeah,” Jungkook sighs out, and he begins thrusting up into you, meeting your movements halfway. With that, you feel more of him, his heavy mass under his shorts getting more prominent by each second and soon you grow a little frustrated by the barrier.

Jungkook looks at you curiously again when you lean sideways, only to bite his lip when you hook your thumb over the waistband of your panties, rolling them down your thighs. He carefully watches with lustful eyes as he sees the small hint of a wet string that connects your pussy and the flimsy fabric before you completely take it off you and throw it haphazardly to the side, sitting back on his cock and shutting your eyes close immediately to resume grinding against him.

“Shit.” he hisses, throwing his head back at the sensation. He could just feel himself getting wetter by the precum oozing out of his head and the juices that accumulate on your pussy spreading all over his shorts, his nails digging on your hip – not enough to hurt, of course.

“Ah,” You moan, clutching his shoulder tightly as your hips begin to stutter.

Meanwhile, Jungkook gets more handsy. With his thumb catching the hem of your camisole, he fidgets with the fabric and slide it up until it exposes your bare stomach, but it didn’t feel enough, and so he continues to roll it up further until your breasts are out, with your perky nipples standing peak and tall.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” Jungkook says in a hoarse voice, running his palm over your stomach in an almost feather-light touch, fingers crawling up towards your tits until they pinch your nipples in between thumbs and pointer fingers.

“Oh, Kook…” You croak out, movements coming into a stutter at his touch. When you blearily open your eyes, you see Jungkook’s zeroed in on the way you’re connected down both your crotch, with your pussy lips fluttering open to accommodate his huge bulge every grind and his shorts turning a darker shade of blue due to the wet patch forming underneath.

You can tell he’s restraining himself by the veins that are apparent on his neck and the tight squeeze he has on your breasts, but as much as you want to say fuck everything and just put him in you – you don’t want to.

“I’m so wet, you can just slide right in— ohhhh, god,” You moan, throwing your head back, rolling your hips.

“Yeah?” Jungkook grunts. “Can probably do that, huh? But you don’t fucking want to, am I right? Wanna make me cum in my pants?”

You giggle because you can tell there’s a lingering annoyance in his tone, but you ignore it.

“T-that’s the– ahh— goal, y-yeah.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Turns you on so much, hm? The fact that I let you do anything to me,”

“Not anything,” you bring your head forward to stare at him. “I let you do anything to me.”

That makes him grin, hands going down to your hips to give you some sort of a punishing squeeze that only really makes you moan in pleasure.

“You love it.” He gives you a shit-eating grin, but his fingers are ghosting way down your hips, and you can just tell where he's going with it.

You catch his hand that was getting dangerously close to your pussy, giving him a warning glare. “I let you spit in my mouth and do that weird motorboat thing with my boobs but you won’t even let me near your ass.”

That catches him off guard, his cheeks that were flushed with arousal ever since you started dry humping him have now gotten even redder. But Jungkook tries to laugh it off, cupping your jaw and kissing you on the lips to shut your giggle down.

“God, shut up.”

“Just for that, I’m cumming first, and as for you: I don't know.”

"Don't be mean."

But you feel his dick twitching under you, anyway.

#tlp drabbles #p; drabbles #jungkook smut

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peachdues · 1 month ago

Text

WISH

Compass one-shot • bad boy!Sanemi Shinazugawa x f!Reader

A tooth-rottingly sweet one-shot honoring my sweet boy’s birthday.

This takes place a few months into Sanemi x Reader’s relationship in Compass — the main story is still in the hot, sticky summer. So think of this like a flash-forward. Don’t worry if you’re not fully caught up — no real spoilers here!

CW: 6k • MDNI • the cozy comfort winter oneshot of your dreams • mostly sickeningly sweet fluff but enough allusions/references to these horny idiots’ very active sex life • some references to gang violence (not descriptive) • swearing • abuse of cake

COMPASS MASTERLIST

Good birthday?

The two words sit on his home screen, a notification labeled with Genya’s name.

It takes Sanemi a moment to make sense of his brother’s text, until he spies the date reflected in the upper corner of his phone.

It’s November 29th.

For someone like Sanemi, dates are only important as far as they signal when something is due — and when something is late. The only dates that matter to him are the ones he’s told to care about; those hard deadlines that go unmet and require Sanemi to strap his crowbar to his back and his gun to his hip, so he can pay some poor bastard a visit.

Today is one of those deadlines, and Sanemi has a list of obligations to follow through on. But Genya’s text is a glaring reminder of the other thing today represents.

It’s his birthday.

Every year, his brother asks him the same thing — though, admittedly, Sanemi thinks the text is more a reminder rather than a happy wish of another year’s passing. Without Genya’s annual good birthday? Sanemi is fairly certain he’d forget November 29th held any significance to him at all.

I’ll be damned, Sanemi thinks, walking up the back entrance to an old computer parts shop — his first stop of the morning. Made it another year.

As unenthused Sanemi is about his birthday, he usually answered his brother with some pithy little acknowledgement. A biting Still alive, ain’t I? or, if he was feeling particularly festive, he’d simply send a thumb’s up, one that signaled his brother that Sanemi was working and didn’t want to risk smearing more blood and sweat across his phone screen than absolutely necessary.

This year, though — his twenty-second, he realizes after doing a quick bit of math — Sanemi’s not in any position to reply to his brother. Not yet, at least. So for now, his phone will have to sit in his pocket; his hands are about to be busy.

He’s got debts to collect.

—

Two hours later, Sanemi sits on his bike in an empty alleyway spliced between Market and Eastern Avenue.

In the last week or so, a strong front of arctic air had swept through the City, plunging it deep into the throes of winter. For a moment, Sanemi was grateful for the chill of the air; he always gets worked up after a collection, his limbs abuzz with hot blood and adrenaline. Cold air helped him settle down faster, cleared his mind so he could approach the next job with the same, violent precision.

Except, it’s now colder than he likes, but that itch still burns hot inside him. Hence, why Sanemi remains here, tucked away in this dark, forgotten alley, huddled over his bike. He’s got nothing to keep warm with but his worn leather jacket and the cigarette perched his lips, its end flowing a faint orange.

Tobacco-tinged smoke curls around his head, mixing with condensation of his breath as he exhales long and slow. The rush of nicotine is both a welcome distraction and extra sedative and finally, Sanemi feels his shoulders relax.

He’s only halfway through his cigarette, but he flicks it to the ground anyway. He’s not sure whether the burning in his throat is from the cold air or this particular bad habit of his, but it’s enough to kill his desire for anything more now that his edge has been sufficiently dulled. Still, he considers whittling himself down to the occasional cigarette is a marked improvement from the daily half pack he blazed through in his youth, before he discovered other outlets for his stress. Maybe he’ll be able to kick the habit all together by this time next year.

Assuming he lives long enough to see his next birthday, that is.

Sanemi’s in the middle of stuffing his lighter back inside his jacket pocket when he feels his phone buzz. He shouldn’t check it, not when his to do list still has one more name to cross off, but he’s already indulged in one bad habit this afternoon. Might as well go two-for-two.

And boy, is he glad he does when he spies the notification bearing your name.

Tell me you’re coming over tonight.

Sanemi’s lips twitch up with a smile he hasn’t been able to muster in days. Leave it to you to brighten his day in so few words.

What time you want me, sweetness?

A cutting gust of wind tears down the alley, whipping and tearing through the layers of his clothes. Any other time, Sanemi would simply hunch over the clutch of his bike and speed off, thinking only of someplace that wasn’t outside.

Now, he’s got you to look forward to.

Your reply arrives a few seconds later. Got a few errands to run so I’m closing up early. Owner can suck it. It’s cold.

It is, Sanemi mentally agrees, and he feels a rush of relief that closing nearly means you’ll be home — or close enough to it — before dark. The uptick in violence through the City has crept too close to your neighborhood for his comfort, and Sanemi already hates you walking home in the dark without him as it is. The season’s shortened days only makes that particular anxiety of his worse.

Thank the fucking stars you’re less inclined to weather the arrival of winter than he is.

It’s a date, beautiful. He texts back before pocketing his phone. He cups his hands around his mouth and huffs, willing his breath to unfreeze his fingers enough to grip his bike’s clutch.

Another torrent of wind rips through the alley, but this time, it brings with it the first snow of winter, pelting his face with fat, cold flakes.

Sanemi tilts his face up toward the sky and grins. It is a sharp, feral thing, full of teeth and challenge. Good. Let it snow as hard as it wants; let it suffocate the City under a thick blanket of white. He wouldn’t care; Sanemi can’t think of a way better to warm up than by crawling under the covers with you. Maybe he’ll even treat himself and convince you to sleep in with him tomorrow. It’s been a few days since he last had the chance to see you. While he knows better than to be a betting man, he’d wager his odds of keeping you in bed were pretty good.

Huffing nice, twice more on his hands and Sanemi starts his bike, its motor roaring to life underneath him. His fingers are still stiff, but he can at least grip his clutch enough to steer it. No doubt the icy sting of the wind will freeze his hands in place, but he’ll worry about how to unstick himself later.

For now, he still has work to do.

In the northwest corridor of the City is a port marina that harbors a smattering of small house boats. It’s inside one of these drafty little boats where his next target hides, no doubt relying on the sudden arrival of winter to trick his creditors into looking for him elsewhere.

That ruse might have worked if anyone else other than Sanemi had been tasked with hunting him down. Unfortunately for him, his name fell in Sanemi’s lap, and now he’s going to have to play host to some very unpleasant company.

Slowly, Sanemi treads his bike to the end of the alley, eyes squinted against the wind and the snow, sweeping the street for any unsuspecting travelers. Finding nothing but the odd plastic bag being whipped and tossed down the sidewalk, Sanemi kicks his bike into gear.

As soon as he gets this job over with, he’ll get to see you.

The engine revs, and then Sanemi is thundering down the street, a renewed warmth spreading through his chest that even the biting cold of November can’t dampen.

—

It’s just after dark when Sanemi pulls up to your apartment, quickly killing the motor on his bike. He scans the dark alleyway behind your complex once, twice, before he glances up at the series of windows. Once satisfied that there are no unwanted eyes tracking his movements, Sanemi makes his way to the building’s side entrance, and begins his steady climb up the stairs.

He twirls his key to your place around his finger. God, he can’t wait to get kick his boots off, strip down to his sweater, and climb into bed with you. Maybe you’ll let him poach off your neighbor’s cable satellite again, and that way, he can find you a movie to half-pay attention to. Or, maybe you’ve snuck away another handful of advanced release copies from work, and the two of you can get to work reading and reviewing them. Either way, Sanemi is ready for the calm he only feels when he’s with you; he’s ready to relax.

The first thing he notices when he steps into your apartment is the smell of something burning.

“Motherfucker —“ he hears your vicious snarl from the kitchen right as something clatters to the floor. “One more fucking thing go wrong, I dare you —“

Calm is not on the agenda, it seems.

The air inside your studio is hazy with smoke, enough that it tickles the back of his throat. Hastily, Sanemi pushes your door shut before it can spill into the hallway and tempt one of the building’s ancient fire alarms. The last thing he wants is to summon the City’s finest and tip them off that a high profile gang member likes frequenting this neighborhood. Or the reason why.

“It’s me.” He calls out, crossing through your living room to crank open one of the arched windows behind your bed. Cold air floods your apartment, the winter wind chasing out the thickest of the smoke into night. “Baby?”

No answer; only more furious clanging and a particularly fierce “oh, fuck you.”

Cautious, Sanemi pokes his head into your small kitchenette. “Y/N?”

He’s not sure what he expected, but he can’t say he’s prepared for the sight of you, standing in front of your oven, hands on your hips and your foot tapping irritably on the floor. A cooling tray lays by your feet, and you don’t seem to be in any hurry to collect it; not when you’re too busy glowering down at your stove.

Sanemi’s eyes follow yours, and he finds what he presumes is the source of the stench. The worst of the smoke rolls off something sitting on your stove, though it’s too black for Sanemi to even guess what it’s supposed to be.

You whirl around and Sanemi has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

There’s flour on your cheek and dusted all down your front, along with other smears and stains of beige — batter of some sort, if he had to guess, given the cluttered mess on your counter of used mixing bowls and measuring cups. Your hair is a mess, puffed up and frizzed out from the smoke, framing a face scrunched up in pinched fury.

All things considered, you look pretty damn adorable, but he isn’t about to tell you that. The block of kitchen knives you rarely touch are too close within your reach for his comfort.

So, Sanemi takes the pragmatic approach and casually folds his arms across his chest. He offers with a measured nod of his head toward your oven. “I thought we talked about you cookin’ without supervision.”

For all the grief he’d given you about your inability to make anything more substantive than cereal, Sanemi learned rather quickly it was the most you could be trusted with. Once, you’d tried to show off your culinary skills by making him ramen, only for you to stick the dried noodles in your microwave without water. You hadn’t even noticed the acrid smell of something burning until he pointed it out, and by then, it was too late. It was only after he’d thrown the smoking bowl of scorched, blackened noodles into your sink that he hotly declared you were not to use any appliance in your kitchen while by yourself.

He’d thought you’d agreed to that ban but, as he peers over your shoulder to inspect whatever it is that’s about to set off your fire alarm, Sanemi grimly realizes the two of you are not on the same page.

“I wasn’t cooking, I was baking.” You snap, as though the distinction matters. You yank an oven mitt off one hand and snatch a loose fork from the counter, jamming it right into the smoldering center of whatever the hell it is you’ve tried to make. It pops and sags beneath the stab of the fork, more steam hissing out of the wound you’ve opened in its surface.

You hold the fork up for inspection and your eyes widen with outrage. “How is it burnt on the outside and fucking raw on the inside —?”

Sanemi glances at your oven settings and raises an eyebrow. “‘Cuz you have it set to five hundred — didn’t even know ovens could go that high.”

You chuck the fork into the kitchen sink with more force than necessary. “I was trying to get your stupid cake done before you got here. I wanted you to be surprised!”

He blinks. “What cake?”

“Your birthday cake!” You rip the other oven mitt from your hands scrunching it up before throwing it to the counter in defeat. “It’s your birthday, and I didn’t leave the store ‘til late, so I had to rush to get it done because I couldn’t swing a present other than this stupid cake!” You jab a finger toward the blackened pan still smoking on the stove. “And I couldn’t even do that!”

Sanemi’s eyes widen and for a moment, he can’t remember to blink.

All he can do is stare.

As much as he’s tried to forget them, there were a handful of November 29ths that had stuck with him over the years; a wad of chewing gum cemented to his memory that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried scraping it away.

His fifth birthday was spent clinging to his mother’s arm, begging her not to leave him alone in that dinky, unheated shoebox where they lived. His eyes had been teary, and he hated that he was acting like a crybaby, but he didn’t want his Ma to go — didn’t want to be left alone. He wanted her to scoop him up in her arms, to hum fragments of lullabies into his hair as she curled over him beneath their threadbare blankets, desperate for her body heat to sink into her son and keep him warm.

But it was winter, and Sanemi needed something to eat, so Shizu, heavily pregnant, had to go work.

She returned the next day with a lukewarm fast food hamburger Sanemi couldn’t stomach eating. Not when his mother came home sporting a new black eye, so dark and purple that not even her paper thin smile could dull her obvious wince, or the shadowy bruises peppered along her too-thin arms.

He spent his eighth birthday scavenging for spare coins dropped between the sagging, stained cushions of the old man’s broken down furniture.

Genya was nearly three and crying, his belly aching with a hunger he didn’t understand. Their mother was dead, and no one knew how to care for them except for Sanemi, and he’d been desperate; enough so that he’d clawed at the broken wooden couch slats until his numb fingers turned raw; bloody.

Because it was snowing and cold and Kyogo had left his sons at home in the dark, unheated apartment with nothing to eat.

He’d found enough loose change to justify running down to his neighbor’s place, and the old man had been kind enough to give him a packet of stale instant noodles. No seasoning packets, but the Shinazugawa boys had been too hungry to mind.

The only candles he had to mark the day were the mismatched stumps scrounged out of some cluttered drawer. His birthday wish — the very first one he’d ever made — a feeble plea that come December, Kyogo wouldn’t waste the month’s electric bill on booze his sons couldn’t even drink to keep warm. Winter in the Silo was harsh enough.

But December came and went, heralding in harsh winds and thick sheets of ice, and the apartment never once turned warm.

Sanemi never made another birthday wish again.

When he turned ten, Genya brought him home a tiny green race car, no doubt swiped from the basket of loose toys that sat next to the cashier at the nearby corner store. The paint was chipped, and one of the wheels had a tendency to stick whenever Sanemi skated it over the kitchen’s cracked linoleum, but it was a toy, and Sanemi hadn’t had one of those before. So, he ruffled his brother’s hair and the two spent the night rolling the car back and forth to one another across the floor, giddy with that childlike innocence they never got to keep come sunrise.

The corner store it came from closed not long after his birthday, its owner having been dragged out sometime in the night by hooded men, face too swollen and mouth too bloodied to scream.

Not that anyone would’ve helped, anyway. Not here.

Sanemi still has the car, though. It’s since lost a wheel, and the paint has nearly faded away, but it sits in his window sill; a prized token of the boy he’d never been.

For his fifteenth birthday, Sanemi’s lucky ass got not one, but two presents: a broken rib and a black eye. Courtesy of Kyogai, a sleazy had-been in the Corps’ ranks, whose penchant for downers meant he never had enough money to pay his dues to the Corps. Sanemi, a junior at the time, had been sent to collect money Kyogai refused to cough up, and in his youthful arrogance, thought he could simply strong-arm the Corps’ payment back.

That was when he learned never to get between a junkie and their fix — especially once withdrawal set in.

Sanemi returned the birthday generosity on a cold day in January, with his crowbar to Kyogai’s kneecaps. Rumor was he still couldn’t walk without a cane. But he never tried his bullshit with Sanemi again, and he thought that was probably the best gift of all.

So no, Sanemi can’t say he expects much out of his birthdays.

“No one’s ever made me a birthday cake before.”

It’s a breathless sort of admission, one that he’d probably be embarrassed about making if he wasn’t so caught off guard.

His admission monetarily stuns you into silence, and he almost feels ashamed. But you quickly recover and instead offer only a brittle laugh. “Yeah, well. Fucked that up for you, I guess.”

You finally look at him and Sanemi is startled by the tears rapidly lining your eyes.

“It’s just a cake, baby,” Sanemi soothes, hands reaching for you. “And today’s just a day. ‘S no big deal.”

Another great sniff. “It is a big deal!”

Sanemi is all too used to never having and not being allowed to want, so accepting what others want or try to give doesn’t exactly come easy to him. But the sight of you, nearly reduced to tears over the scorched disaster you’d tried desperately to make into something worth marking the day with has him reevaluating twenty-two years’ worth of trained indifference.

Beneath your frustration is clear upset with the situation. Because, you tried.

Sure, Sanemi’s birthdays passed without the usual triumvirate of cake-ice cream-presents he supposes other kids got. Frankly, he didn’t quite see the appeal of it anyway, but that may have been because Sanemi hadn’t known to miss what he never had. November 29th was just a day, after all; the mark of another year gone by without him taking a bullet to the head or having his body dumped in some faraway hole. The watery sun that rose that morning was no different all the others he’d managed to cheat his way into seeing. To him, it’s insignificant.

But not to you. For some reason, you don’t think you’ve given him enough.

Months of being together, and he still hasn’t figured out how to make you understand that he doesn’t need any grand gestures from you. It’s enough that you continue allowing him into your home, your bed, your life; that you soothe his fragmented heart, and chase away the cloud of numbness always lurking over his shoulder with one of your sweet smiles.

He doesn’t want for anything because he already has everything in you.

But you still want to give him more.

God, he doesn’t deserve you. And he certainly doesn’t deserve the tears swimming in your eyes or the frustration that weighs down your shoulders.

Sure, he doesn’t really give a damn about his birthday, but he sure as hell gives several about you, and your defeat is not something he’ll tolerate.

Sanemi fishes his set of keys from his pocket. “C’mon,” he nods toward the door. “We’re going to the store.”

—

“It’s not right,” you sniff an hour later as you hand him an oven mitt. “You shouldn’t be making your own birthday cake.”

“We’re making,” Sanemi corrects, seamlessly pulling the hot pan from your oven and placing it atop your stove to cool. “The present ain’t the cake, anyway.”

He tosses the mitt to your counter and turns to you, eyeing the can of frosting in your hand, one you absently stir a butter knife into, unsure of how else to help.

With a faint smile, Sanemi swipes his finger through the top layer of sprinkled sugar, dolloping it right on the tip of your nose. “You are.”

You roll your eyes, swiping your finger through the small blob of icing and bringing it to your mouth. As you suck the tip of your finger clean, you peer over his arm, nose wrinkling as you as you look down at the golden brown surface of the very much baked-through cake. “Still, box cake mix?”

“A cake’s a cake.”

The kitchen is teeming with the warm, comforting scent of sweet vanilla, one that spreads through the rest of your studio, chasing away the last remnants of burnt confectionary which lingered after your earlier baking fiasco. Boxed mix or not, you have to know that plan b smells leagues better than plan a, even if that means your ego has to take the hit.

“If you say so,” you grumble, shouldering him out of the way as you scoop out a glob of frosting, ready to slap it across the cake’s surface.

“Not yet,” Sanemi corrects, gently catching your wrist before your knife can make contact. “It’s gotta cool first, or else that’s just gonna melt all over the place.”

Your mouth twists into an annoyed grimace. “That seems stupid.” You gripe, stabbing the knife back into the canister of icing, right in its center.

“Chemistry, sweetheart. Didn’t you pay attention?”

“I slept through most of chem back in the day.”

That surprises him. “Weren’t you a goody two shoes?”

You snort. “Not when it came to science. Or math, for that matter. Always got my lowest grades in science and math.”

Sanemi rolls his eyes. “And a low grade for you would’ve been —?”

This time, you drop your head, suddenly sheepish. “Anything below an A.”

Of course. “Damn, wish I’d known.” Sanemi smirks. “Maybe I could’ve made bank tutoring instead of runnin’ around, bein’ a delinquent.” At the skeptical raise of your brow, he scoffs. “What? You think a blossoming criminal couldn’t also score a few As?”

Math had always come easily to him, though that may have been out of necessity than raw talent. Knowing numbers meant he could tally up debts quickly in his head and calculate the exact interest owed, which meant less time wasted wherein his target might be able to get one over on him. Not once had he ever finished a job short-changed. That’s what made him so valuable to the Corps, even back then.

His academic success across the various fields of mathematics and science (which was math with more words thrown in), was just an added bonus.

“Still, though — tutoring?” You laugh. “Sorry — for some reason I can’t picture you meeting some poor kid in the library to go over formulas and equations. I can’t even imagine someone willing to ask you — I mean —“ you gesture to him, and Sanemi knows that’s explanation enough.

“I might’ve. Especially if a certain pretty girl had batted her lashes and asked me all nice and sweet.” Gently, he pushes your hair back over your shoulder, his eyes watching your breath hitch in your throat; the goosebumps that spread over your skin. Smirking, he leans in and presses his lips right below your ear. “Kinda like how you did last week — ‘cept, you were asking me to give you something then, weren’t you?”

The way your cheeks darken tell him you know exactly what he’s talking about.

It was him. Specifically, his cum; you’d begged for it, actually, your recurring chant of fill me up, fill me up, baby, please! sweeter than music to his fucking ears.

You turn to grab the can of icing, defiantly putting your back to him, if only to avoid having to look at the cocky set of his mouth.

Sanemi’s gloating isn’t over. It’s his birthday, after all. “You know I’m right.”

“Oh, shut up before I make you decorate your damn cake.”

Still grinning, he lets you shoo him from the kitchen. Sanemi plops himself onto your sofa and fishes your tv remote from between the cushions. He busies himself flipping through the handful of channels you get, finally landing on some pro baseball game he only watches with half-interest.

“Ready!” You call a few moments later, and Sanemi tosses the remote aside, the game, forgotten.

You hover in front of your counter, hands together twisting nervously. The moment he appears in the kitchen’s small entryway, you step aside, revealing the fruit of your shared labor.

“Happy Birthday, Sanemi.”

The cake is small and its edges are a little lopsided. The icing looks like it was applied the same way as wallpaper paste. A lone, green candle sits lit in the cake’s center, its flame bright and merry.

Sanemi’s never seen anything more appealing in his life.

“You have to make your wish,” you sternly remind him as he leans over the cake, his eyes glued to the candle. “And you can’t say it out loud.”

A birthday cake; his very own birthday cake.

There’s a part of him that hesitates to blow out the candle, too entranced by the way the little flame dances and bends around the wick. After all, the last time he’d made a wish, it hadn’t come true.

And yet, another part of him — that silly, hopelessly optimistic part he knows better than to indulge — wonders if perhaps his eight-year-old self’s wish hadn’t worked because he’d lit the candles for light and feeble warmth. They hadn’t been intended for celebration, and he certainly hadn’t had a cake to hold them.

Maybe that was part of the magic; the spell’s missing ingredients.

This time, maybe things will be different.

His wish is simple, if not a little selfish. But Sanemi thinks that birthdays might be the chance to be selfish, and he’s not making his wish out loud anyways, so maybe he can get away with this.

Sanemi closes his eyes and he wishes for time. Time with you. Time with Genya. As much as the universe will let him have.

That would be enough.

Sanemi blows out the candle.

“C’mere you,” he says roughly, reaching for you. He pulls you into his side and presses a kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”

Your arms wind around his middle. “You did most of the work.”

“You made it a birthday cake, though.” He lays his cheek atop your head. “You turned this whole damn day into somethin’ special. Thank you.”

Without you, Sanemi would never know what it felt like to have his own birthday cake or a candle to wish upon.

Neither of you of bother with plates or cutting slices; instead, you hand him another fork and the two of you dig right in.

At the first bite, Sanemi’s eyes slide shut. Cheap box cake has never tasted so fucking good.

“Not bad,” you say thickly through your own mouthful, leaning over your counter. Another bite is already loaded on your fork. “Wonder what mine would’ve tasted like.”

Sanemi swallows. “Like raw cake batter.”

You turn over your shoulder to stick your tongue out at him, not caring that your mouth is full, or for the crumbs that fall on the counter top.

You’re about to return to the cake when a smear of white catches his eye.

“Hold it.” Sanemi sets his fork down and catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger before you turn away. He tilts your face up, and smirks.

That’s when he leans in, flicks his tongue along your lower lip. He moans at the taste of sugar, the spare bit of icing left on your lip further sweetening the honey of your kiss, his mouth capturing yours.

Your moan rights everything in his world full of wrongs, your fork clattering to the counter.

The hand he keeps on your chin slides to the back of your neck, tilting your head; the other finds purchase at your hip, tugging you closer into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before Sanemi is drunk on your lips, the warmth of the evening liquid honey that pools in his stomach.

Your kiss tastes like cake and home.

He’d stay here all night if he could, but the fervor of your lips moving with his has quickly stolen his breath away. No matter how much he craves your kiss, his body demands air.

With a faint grunt, Sanemi breaks your kiss. The hand on the back of your neck remains firmly in place, keeping you close as Sanemi traces the slope of your nose with the tip of his. “You had icing on your lip. Had to fix it.”

Through his lowered lids, he can see the quickened rise and fall of your chest as you steady your own breathing; the flush in your cheeks. Your eyes are bright, however, illuminated with equal desire and challenge.

Your tongue flicks out to dampen your lower lip and Sanemi’s eyes narrow. “Maybe you should check for more.”

Fuck oxygen. His mouth is back on yours before you can finish your next inhale.

And then, he’s moving.

Though you’re walking backwards, you’re the one guiding him, your fingers hooked through his belt loops as you tug him through your kitchenette and out into the open space of your studio.

His groan vibrates into your mouth. Sanemi doesn’t have to open his eyes to know where you’re leading him; he’s treaded this very path to your bed too many times to count.

Oh, there’s plenty of time for this later, and he’ll happily indulge himself then. Besides, you’re even more sensitive in the mornings, and that means he’s guaranteed to coax two or three orgasms out of you with just his tongue before you both have to go to work in the morning, never mind what he’ll be able to do once he’s actually inside you. It’ll be worth holding off, for now.

But right now, his heart is too full, and tonight has been mending something inside of him he hadn’t known was broken. Something shy and curious, a remnant from the boy who might have secretly longed to know what it felt like to have a birthday mean something; to matter.

Still, he can’t resist fanning the fire a little, the hand on your hip sliding to your ass and squeezing, his fingers dangerously close to the dip in your thighs.

He lets you strip him down to his underwear and you to yours, since that’s how you prefer to sleep when not otherwise naked. Only when he feels your hand sliding down his bare abdomen does he still you, his fingers wrapping delicately around your wrist.

He feels your frown before he sees it. Cautious, your mouth breaks away from his and you lower yourself down from the tips of your toes.

A dent has notched itself between your eyebrows. “You don’t want —?”

Later, he’ll be sure to tell you that he wants you all the time — so much so that it might be a problem. But that’s not what tonight is about — not for him. For now, he can’t risk you discovering that he’s half-hard already; the second your hand finds him, he’ll be too erect to function, let alone think clearly.

He shakes his head. “Actually,” Sanemi hooks his arm around your waist and tugs you back against the bed, falling into your tower of pillows and blankets with you safely encased in his embrace. “I think I just wanna hold you, if that’s cool.”

Confusion flits briefly across your face before your eyes soften. “Of course. Don’t you know that birthdays mean you get whatever you want?”

He didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Because this is why he loves you: you know, without him ever having to explain. You understand.

With a soft smile, Sanemi rolls to capture you under him, but braces himself above you long enough to allow you to sit up against the headboard. The moment you settle, Sanemi inches up beside you until he can rest his head on your stomach, his arm hugging your waist.

He swears he can hear your smile as you ask, “Happy?”

Exuberantly so; your body is soft in every way his isn’t, and warm. He’s in a heated, dimly lit apartment with no fear of the lights cutting out or the cold outside making his toes turn numb. The girl he loves, loves him back. Everything he hadn’t dared let himself wish for is now his, carding her beautiful fingers through his hair.

it’s almost perfect. Almost.

“Nah, I’ve got one more request.”

He leans over you and pulls a novel from the top of the stack that perpetually sits on your side of the bed, never shrinking. He hands it to you, meeting your inquisitive eyebrow with his smirk. “Read to me.”

He doesn’t care what book it is — whether it’s something he’s read before, or of a genre he isn’t all that into, it doesn’t matter. He just wants to hear you.

“A bedtime story? Really?” You tease, but you’re already flipping to the first page.

Content, Sanemi turns his face further into your stomach, burrowing harder into you. One hand still smoothing through his hair, you begin to read the prologue, pausing for dramatic effect where the passage calls for it. Slowly, the hours unfold as your voice weaves together the story — some high fantasy set in a distant world. Once upon a time, Sanemi would’ve wished he could dive into the pages of his book; anything to escape his reality.

Now, he can’t imagine being any place better than right here, with you.

—

It’s nearly midnight when Sanemi remembers Genya’s unanswered text still sitting in his inbox. Carefully, so as not to disturb you and your faint snoring, he untangles himself from you. One hand pats across the surface of your bedspread, searching for the small rectangle while the other gingerly removes the book still propped between your fingers. You’d made it about five chapters, your thumb still marking the page where you’d dozed off mid-passage.

Book in hand, he turns and tosses it on your threadbare rug, and it lands with a dull thump. He finds his phone near the foot of your bed. His eyes flick to you once to confirm that his gentle movements have not disturbed your well-earned rest.

Your mouth twitches with another light snore, and Sanemi smiles.

He clicks his phone to life, taking care to keep it turned away from you, mindful of the bright little screen. Quietly, he thumbs his answer to his brother. The moment he taps the send arrow, he tosses his phone back to the ground and reaches across the duvet for you once more.

A few hundred miles away inside a sleeping boys’ dormitory, under Zenitsu’s nasally snores and the odd, violent twitch from Inosuke, Genya’s phone buzzes from its place under his pillow.

Yeah. Good birthday.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny sanemi #kny #kny fanfic #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #kny x you #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi

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wonderjanga · 3 months ago

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Biblical Marvel

This is connected to the Revival post. If you don’t want to go find that, let me give a quick summary of it. In that post, Mary and Freddy die a lot in their Marvel forms. As a result of this, Billy has to revive them a lot. It honestly stresses the poor boy out too because at the end of the Revival post, Billy finds some grey hairs. So, yeah.

Anyways, so people think Marvel is god sent in human form to protect them. (Let me also connect this to the Billy is Really Old post too. In that post, Billy has been a hero since 1940.) It explains why he hasn’t aged over the almost 80 years of him being a hero. Not only that but once, a homeless person asked him to turn water to wine, and he did, though that’s more a of Jesus thing.

Speaking of Jesus, some people think Mary and Junior are Jesus split in two. I mean, Mary has blue eyes (from C.C.) and brown hair (From Marilyn) for Christ’s sake. Not only that but her name is Mary. Maybe Jesus/Mary is honoring his/her mother. And as for Junior, maybe Mary took the looks and he took the gender?

Marvel: *sorting through letters and replying to a bunch of fan mail while sitting at a table in the kitchen.*

Wonder Woman: *Sitting next to him, eating ice cream*

Flash: *zips over and is now leaning on Marvel’s shoulder looking at the fan mail* “Dude, is that fan mail?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *finishes replying to a letter and putting it in the ‘done’ pile*

Flash: “How do even get fan mail? Do they know your address or something?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid.” *picks up a super fancy looking letter*

WW: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid. He gets them, and then he gives them to me.” *opens fancy letter*

Flash: “Wait, that little dude who does the radio show?”

Marvel: *Doesn’t like being called little but thinks it would be weird for him to defend himself while in Marvel form* “…Yeah… That ‘little’ dude.” *Takes out letter and reads it before sighing*

WW: “What’s wrong?”

Marvel: “The pope asked me to dinner again.” *sighs again and puts letter down on table to slouch and spin in his chair like a depressed little kid* “Now I gotta think of another excuse.”

WW: “The pope? As in the Catholic pope?” *eats bite of ice cream*

Flash: *looks to WW* “You know who the pope is?”

WW: *looks to Flash* “Yes? Flash, I may be from Themyscira, but I’m not completely ignorant of man’s world.” *looks to Billy* “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go?”

Marvel: *shrugs as he slows his spinning to a stop, having came up with an excuse. Picks up letter and starts replying* “I don’t know. Do you want to have dinner with a guy you’ve never met?”

WW: “I see. I suppose not.” *goes back to eating ice cream*

Mary: *Watching a show on a TV in Mount Justice*

Robin!Tim: “Mary? Could you help me with something?”

Mary: *pauses show* “Huh? Yeah sure.” *flies over to Tim* “What’s the problem?”

Robin!Tim: *sitting at the kitchen at the counter with a laptop* “Can you tell me everything you know about angels? I’m writing a paper about it for school.”

Mary: “Oh. Uh, sure?” *Proceeds to talk Tim’s ear off for the next 15 minutes about angels and their different types and personalities and such*

Robin!Tim: *finishes paper* “Thanks a lot.” *closes computer and hops off chair*

Mary: “No problem, but why’d you ask me specifically? Why not use the internet?”

Robin!Tim: “Aren’t you like the primary source?” *heads back to his room*

Mary: *confused*

*Captain Marvel flies down and asks to pet a woman’s dog when all of a sudden, a mother holding a child runs up to him*

Mother: “Please cure my child!” *holds child out to him* “You can perform one of your miracles, right? Please!”

Marvel: “What?” *looks between Mother and child.*

Child: *looks really sick*

Marvel: *gets concerned at the sick child* “You haven’t taken him to a hospital?”

Mother: “It’s too expensive! Please! Just this once.”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” ‘Solomon! Help me!’

Solomon: ‘Repeat after me, Billy’ *proceeds to rattle off healing spell*

Marvel: *repeats spell and heals child*

Mother: “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” *hugs child tight* “I’ve never been much of a religious nut, but now I’ll have to start believing more. Thank you so much!”

Marvel: *Little confused by sudden mention of religion* “Your welcome? Have a good day, miss.” *floats off the ground, giving her a little wave before flying off*

*Freddy is hanging outside one of a meeting rooms in the Watchtower because he wasn’t allowed in due to the face he looked like a kid. He’s now talking to someone on the phone.

Junior: *talking on a phone he magicked from God knows where while floating a foot or two off the ground*

Kid Flash: *bored out of his mind, leaning against a wall, standing next to him cause he also wasn’t allowed in for the same reason*

Junior: *ends call*

Kid Flash: “Who were ya talking too?”

Junior: “My friend, Cain.”

Kid Flash: “What, like bible Cain?” *was joking*

Junior: “Yup.” *didn’t realize he was joking*

Kid Flash: “What seriously? The Cain from the Bible? The Cain that stabbed his brother? The Cain that’s immortal because he stabbed his brother?”

Junior: “Yup.” *starts typing on phone, a little too nonchalant about the conversation*

Kid Flash: “And Cap just lets you be friends with him?”

Junior: “Uh yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You know he’s friends with him too, right?”

Kid Flash: “Wait really? Shouldn’t they hate each other or something?”

Junior: “No? Cain’s pretty chill.”

Kid Flash: *blinks a couple times at that* “Huh.” *he seems a little surprised*

*The meeting ends and the heroes file out of the meeting room before Kid Flash can ask another question*

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #freddy freeman #mary batson #mary bromfield #wonder woman #diana prince #the flash #barry allen #kid flash #wally west #captain marvel jr #mary marvel

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genshinluvr · 3 months ago

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Dating App

Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader

Summary: Tara approaches your cubicle one day at the Hunters Association, asking about your relationship status. Of course, that is a complicated question to answer. Little did you know, you're matched with some familiar faces who are friends, coworkers, and lackeys to the men you're interested in.

Note: I had to delay this fanfic because I was dealing with some personal conflict, and it kept my thoughts occupied, so I could barely type anything for this fic. This is my first Love&Deepspace fanfic! Please be kind because some of these characters may or may not be out of character. Hopefully, the more I write Love&Deepspace fanfics, the more I will get the hang of it and capture their personalities just fine :'> Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of

Word Count: 6.3k

It’s a slow day at the Hunters Association, and you’re in your cubicle typing away on your computer. Usually, you’re killing Wanderers and are assigned to countless perilous missions, but this week, you’re working in the cubicle doing paperwork. Your eyes feel strained from staring at the monitor for so long that you have to look away, or else you’ll get a pounding headache. That is something you don’t want to deal with alongside Zayne’s lectures if you end up having to visit Akso Hospital.

Footsteps approaching your cubicle pull you out of your thoughts. You see Tara’s head peeking from behind your cubicle. A big smile plasters on her face as she rests her arm on top of your cubicle.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Tara says, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief as she lays on her arm. “Working hard as always?” She teases.

You stop typing on your computer, smiling at your dear friend and coworker. “Hi, Tara! Yes, I’m trying to get these documents completed and turned in to Captain Jenna before the deadline. Is there anything you need?”

Tara hums, shaking her head. “Not really, but I am curious about something…” She trails off, tapping on her chin, her eyes wandering around while trying to look nonchalant.

“Oh? Then it must be really important for you to approach me in the middle of work.” You joke before continuing typing away on your computer.

Tara lets out a long, wistful sigh. You continue your work, only for Tara to let out a frustrated huff. She releases another sigh, but louder this time to get your attention away from your computer. “I’m worried if I ask, you wouldn’t answer because of how personal it is,” Tara says, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her bottom lip.

You quickly save your documents before pushing your chair back, turning to give Tara your full undivided attention. You lean in your chair, curious about what Tara wants to ask you— something personal, of course, but her comment piqued your interest. “Tara, we’re friends. You can ask me anything you like! I’m more than happy to answer your pressing questions.”

Tara’s eyes light up, but she quickly fixes her composure, trying to act like it’s not a big deal. “It’s… about your relationship status and whether you’re seeing anyone,” Tara says, pretending to check her nails while occasionally looking at you from the corner of her eyes.

Your eyes widen at Tara’s response. Your relationship status? While you don’t mind telling Tara about your relationship status, you wonder why she asked all of a sudden. She’s not planning on setting you up on a blind date, is she?

You press your lips into a thin line, unsure how to answer her. You’re technically not dating anyone as of now, but there are four people in particular who have been occupying your thoughts 24/7. Is Tara going to ask you about your relations with any of them? Tara taps her nails on the cubicle as she waits for your response.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “If I have to be honest, I’m not sure,” you reply.

Tara stares at you, her mouth agape. Tara knows that you’re quite close with Xavier, your mission partner. But she’s also aware of Rafayel’s feelings for you, as you are his bodyguard. Then there’s your primary care physician— a cardiologist named Zayne. He’s a nice guy— a little dry, but nice nonetheless! Oh! Let’s not forget this mysterious man you once brought to karaoke with your coworkers. He’s definitely not the best singer, but he is quite the looker! What’s his name again?

“What are your thoughts on dating apps?”

You blink at Tara, letting her question slowly sink in. Dating apps? You turn to your computer and scratch the back of your neck. What are your thoughts on dating apps? You’ve never been on one before, nor do you plan on registering for one. Who knows how many weirdos there are on those dating apps?

You visibly shudder. “I don’t plan on being on dating apps, Tara. Besides, as a Deepspace Hunter, I don’t have time for dating apps. I’m always going on missions,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

“But the great thing about dating apps is that you don’t even have to meet the people you match with! Who knows, maybe you’ll meet the love of your life on a dating app,” Tara shrugs her shoulders, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You turn to your computer, shaking your head at her suggestion and comment. You’re not against dating apps, but it’s not for you. Besides, you have a bigger fish to fry, and that is getting the paperwork and documents completed before the deadline. You briefly tell Tara that you’ll think about it just to get her off your back about your dating life. Semi-satisfied with your response, Tara walks away. How do hunters have time to go on dates? Especially if you’re a higher rank and constantly go on dangerous missions? Your schedule is unpredictable, and you don’t have as much time as you wish you did.

You slump forward in your seat and rest your head on your hand. The quiet sound of your coworkers tapping away on their computers isn’t loud enough to drown out the questions running through your mind. While the suggestion of going on a dating app is tempting, you’re not interested in meeting anyone, especially if they’re from the internet.

☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ Zayne ☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ

Zayne looks up from his computer to see Dr. Greyson entering his office. Zayne sighs and adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose as he continues to type away. Footsteps approach Zayne’s desk as he continues to type away on his computer, too busy to see what Dr. Greyson is up to.

Dr. Greyson clears his throat, trying to get Zayne’s attention, only for the cardiologist to briefly look up at the anxious man before continuing what he’s doing. Zayne slowly turns his head, his eyes still glued to the monitor.

“Is there something you need, Dr. Greyson?” Zayne says, finally looking away from his monitor and at Dr. Greyson.

Dr. Greyson clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “How are things going with you and Miss Hunter?” Dr. Greyson asks suddenly.

Zayne stares at Dr. Greyson quizzically, raising his eyebrows at the brown-haired cardiac surgeon. Things are going fine with you, but why does Dr. Greyson want to know how things are going between you and him? Dr. Greyson continues to almost anxiously stare at Zayne, waiting to hear Zayne’s response.

Zayne sighs, takes his glasses off, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Everything is going fine between us, Dr. Greyson. Why are you suddenly interested in my relationship with her?” Zayne questions, putting his glasses back on.

A look of surprise flashes across Dr. Greyson’s face, almost like he’s caught off guard— his cheeks and ears turning dark red. That doesn’t look good. Zayne raises his eyebrows at Dr. Greyson’s reaction and crosses his arms over his chest. Dr. Greyson briefly looks down at his phone, then back at Zayne, visibly flustered. Dr. Greyson’s strange reaction and action causes Zayne’s eyes to swiftly dart down to the phone in Dr. Greyson’s hands.

Zayne clears his throat, grabbing Dr. Greyson’s attention. “Is there something I need to be aware of?”

Dr. Greyson presses his lips into a thin line, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand while glancing down at his phone again. For some reason, Dr. Greyson’s strange behavior and his constant looking down at his phone bothers Zayne. Zayne gets up from his seat and walks over to where Dr. Greyson is standing with his arms still crossed over his chest.

Without saying a word, Dr. Greyson shows Zayne the screen of his phone. Zayne takes Dr. Greyson’s phone from his hands and inspects the screen. Dr. Greyson has an app opened on his phone; it’s a dating app… huh, Zayne never thought that Dr. Greyson would be on a dating app.

“What am I supposed to look at aside from your being on a dating app?” Zayne asks Dr. Greyson, raising his eyebrows at the brown-haired cardiac surgeon.

Dr. Greyson’s eyes widen before quickly snatching the phone from Zayne’s hand, tapping away on the screen before returning the phone to Zayne. Zayne raises his eyebrows at Dr. Greyson’s strange behavior before proceeding to look at Dr. Greyson’s phone. On the phone’s screen shows a text conversation between Dr. Greyson and you. Zayne furrows his eyebrows, scrolling through the text message between you and Dr. Greyson. Why are you on a dating app? Zayne hesitantly clicks on your icon, opening a small window to your dating profile.

The profile contains a lot of your personal information, from your name to your age to various selfies. Some information provided on your dating profile is a little bit strange, and there are some things Zayne isn’t even aware of. Wait a minute, why did Dr. Greyson swipe right on you?

Zayne slowly looks at Dr. Greyson from the corner of his eyes, almost glaring at his assistant. “You swiped right on [Y/N], I see,” Zayne says nonchalantly.

Dr. Greyson’s eyes widen. “O-Oh, I wasn’t the first one to swipe, actually. You see, she swiped right on me first, and when I swiped, we ended up matching,” Dr. Greyson sputters, rubbing the back of his neck while his face turns a few shades redder than it already is.

“You still swiped on her, Dr. Greyson. It doesn’t matter who swiped first; you still swiped right when you saw [Y/N]’s dating profile,” Zayne comments, his grip slightly tightening around Dr. Greyson’s phone.

Zayne doesn’t know how to react. On one side, he’s almost angry that Dr. Greyson swiped right on you, and on the other side, he feels hurt. Almost betrayed in a way, but this dating profile of yours feels off. Without thinking, Zayne takes a screenshot (well, multiple screenshots) of your dating profile, from the information to the images and the conversation you and Dr. Greyson are currently having.

He sends the screenshot to himself, ignoring the questioning gaze Dr. Greyson sends his way. After Zayne’s shift ends at Akso Hospital, he’s going to be stopping by your apartment to confront you about your dating profile and conversation with Dr. Greyson. Zayne laughs bitterly before handing the phone back to the flustered Dr. Greyson before returning to his desk.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ Xavier ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

At Philo, Xavier is watering the plants around the floral shop, assisting Jeremiah with his shop. It’s a slow day, and only a few customers pop in and out of the shop to buy flowers. Xavier’s supposed to be at the Hunters Association, but instead, he’s at Philo doing other tasks that have nothing to do with finding the Aether Core. Plus, Jeremiah dragged him out of bed, and he did not appreciate it at all. While Xavier’s watering the flowers and plants around the shop, Jeremiah enters the floral shop with his eyes glued to his phone, typing away. Jeremiah looks up from his phone, admiring the rearrangement of the floral shop.

“It’s looking good in here so far! You know, if you weren’t a Hunter, you would be a decent florist,” Jeremiah jokes, walking toward Xavier.

Xavier ignores Jeremiah’s comment and proceeds to walk to the front of the floral shop, placing the watering can on a nearby table. Xavier pulls out his phone and starts playing mobile games, completely disregarding Jeremiah’s presence as the curly-haired man walks toward Xavier.

“So… how are things going between you and [Y/N]?” Jeremiah asks suddenly, leaning against the table beside Xavier.

Xavier continues to play on his phone, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Everything’s fine between us. I saw her two days ago at the Hunters Association,” Xavier replies, his eyebrows scrunching up as he tries to kill the monsters on his phone.

Jeremiah slowly nods, crossing his arms over his chest while still holding onto his phone. After the brief pause between Xavier and Jeremiah, Xavier pauses his game and looks at Jeremiah, raising his eyebrows. Jeremiah taps his foot on the ground, fumbling with the phone in his hands, causing Xavier’s eyes to dart down to the device.

“It’s good to hear that things are fine between you and [Y/N]...” Jeremiah trails off, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “There weren’t any arguments between you two, right? Everything is fine and dandy?”

Xavier looks at Jeremiah weirdly, wondering why his friend has a sudden interest in your and Xavier’s relationship. Xavier slowly nods his head in response to Jeremiah’s strange question, still confused about Jeremiah’s interrogation and strange reaction. Silence hangs in the air between him and Jeremiah, and no one is saying anything.

Xavier points at Jeremiah’s phone, “Why are you twirling your phone around like it’s a fidget toy? Are you okay? You’re acting strange— even more strange than usual,” Xavier says, tucking his phone into the pocket of his hoodie.

Jeremiah presses his lips into a thin line, debating how to explain to Xavier what has popped up on the dating app he recently joined. “What would you do if the girl you’re interested in has a dating profile?” Jeremiah asks.

“I don’t know how to respond to that question. Does a girl you’re interested in have a dating profile or something? What is going on? I’m confused,” Xavier sighs, running his hands through his hair as he leans on the table behind him.

Jeremiah lets out a frustrated sigh before shoving his phone in Xavier’s face. Xavier takes a step back and grabs the phone from Jeremiah’s grasp, trying to look at what caused Jeremiah to be so frustrated (aside from Xavier’s obliviousness). Xavier looks at Jeremiah, confused. Jeremiah raises his eyebrows, wondering why Xavier had the opposite reaction from what he imagined.

Xavier holds up Jeremiah’s phone to show that he is on the home screen. Jeremiah snatches the phone from Xavier’s hands before clicking on a pink app. Jeremiah then places the phone back in Xavier’s hands, pointing to what he was implying about not long ago.

Jeremiah scratches the back of his head, looking elsewhere because he does not want to see the reaction on Xavier’s face. “[Y/N] is on this dating app I recently registered on, and we matched. I wanted you to see that your… beloved… is on a dating app,” Jeremiah says, clearing his throat.

Dear god, the tension is so thick that he feels like he might suffocate. A million thoughts race in Xavier’s mind as he scrolls through the messages between you and Jeremiah— the conversation is flirty, needless to say. Xavier clicks on your profile picture, and your dating profile appears on the screen.

There is a lot of information provided on your dating profile, including what you look for in a man; there are eight pictures of you at the Hunters Association, selfies of you and your coworkers at the Hunters Association, and many other things that make Xavier’s head want to spin.

“Hey, Xavier, are you okay?” Jeremiah asks, placing his hand on the distraught man’s shoulders. “I understand you’re upset about [Y/N] being on a dating app, but—”

“You matched with her on the dating app?” Xavier interrupts, turning to Jeremiah with a glare.

Jeremiah looks at Xavier with wide eyes, his mouth agape, unsure how to respond. Yes, he indeed matched with you on the dating app. But does that really matter? You, Xavier’s lady, are on a dating app for fucks sake!

Jeremiah awkwardly clears his throat, “I matched with her because she swiped on me, alright? Besides, I wanted to investigate why she’s on a dating app when she’s with you— well, I assume you two were together.”

Xavier continues to stare at Jeremiah, unamused. Jeremiah thought that Xavier was going to be upset over you being on a dating app, but apparently, he’s more upset over the fact that Jeremiah swiped right on you. Jeremiah sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while Xavier continues to not-so-subtly glare at him.

Xavier looks at the screen before screen recording the conversation between you and Jeremiah, then your dating profile before sending it to himself. As much as he wants to confront you right now, you’re still working at the Hunters Association, and he’s going to talk Jeremiah’s ears off for matching with you on the dating app.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 Rafayel 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Rafayel stands in a corner, watching journalists, photographers, and art critics gravitate toward his newest piece. Many admiring and snapping photos of the art piece while murmuring among one another. A couple of journalists approached Rafayel for an interview, and he gladly answered a few questions and explained his inspiration for the art piece. However, the longer the exhibit drags on, the more Rafayel feels drained.

Thomas excuses himself from the conversation he’s having with journalists before walking over to where Rafayel has retreated. Rafayel has a visible pout on his face, his arms crossing over his chest, and he occasionally huffs and fixes his hair.

“Everyone is admiring your newest art piece, Rafayel. Shouldn’t you be happy?” Thomas asks, now standing beside him.

Rafayel drags out a sigh, shifting from one leg to another. “How much longer do I have to be here? I’m tired and hungry. I feel like a fish out of water,” Rafayel says, turning to Thomas with a pout.

Thomas looks at Rafayel amusingly, propping his hands on his hips. “We’ve been here for only three hours, Rafayel. You promised to do a few interviews with renowned art magazines, and you’ve only completed two,” Thomas replies.

“Only three hours? I could’ve spent those three hours with Miss Bodyguard at Twinkle Toys playing at the claw machine with her,” Rafayel huffs, kicking the ground before him.

Thomas chuckles, shaking his head. There’s not a day where Rafayel doesn’t complain about being at an art exhibit without you. Usually, when you’re not busy, you accompany him and protect him from harm. But today is not that day, and Rafayel has been pouty ever since. Could it be because he’s upset over…

Should Thomas ask Rafayel about that? Thomas is going to do it; Rafayel either knows about it already, and that is the reason why he’s pouting, or he’ll eventually find out about it, and Thomas will never hear the end of it.

“Rafayel, are you upset because [Y/N] is on a dating app?” Thomas asks casually, turning to the pouting Lumerian.

The pout on Rafayel’s face quickly disappears after hearing Thomas’s question. Rafayel looks at Thomas, eyes wide with shock, horror, and confusion. Oh, okay, so maybe Rafayel isn’t aware that you’re on a dating app. Rafayel steps towards Thomas, almost glaring daggers into his friend’s soul.

“What did you say? Care to repeat that for me?”

Thomas clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Thomas scrolls through his phone before showing Rafayel the screen. Rafayel takes Thomas’s phone from his hands and stares at your dating profile with keen eyes. Everything about your profile feels off; it doesn’t feel like it’s the real you.

Rafayel has seen those images of you before because they’re on your social media. But the information about you does not feel authentic, if that makes sense. Why did you list your type in a man when he’s clearly your type? A man with a lot of money, a sense of humor, and will spoil you with luxury items? Rafayel can easily do that! Why would you be on that damn dating app!?

Wait a damn minute…

“Why does it say unmatch in the corner?” Rafayel asks, slowly turning to Thomas with a sharp glare.

Thomas holds his hands up in defense. “Calm down, Rafayel. I was making sure to see if the person behind the dating profile is actually [Y/N] or someone trying to impersonate her,” Thomas says.

“How does that justify any of this!? You matched with my bodyguard!” Rafayel exclaims, ignoring the looks people shoot in his and Thomas’s direction as they walk by.

Even if Thomas matched with you to see “whether the person behind the profile is actually you,” Thomas continues to match with you on a dating app. While it’s interesting to see Thomas on a dating app, what bothers Rafayel is the fact that Thomas has the audacity to match with someone Rafayel is interested in.

Rafayel tightens his grip on Thomas’s phone, glaring at the screen. Rafayel’s inner monologue drowns out the noise of art critics, journalists, and photographers. His breathing starts to pick up, as does his heartbeat; the sound of his racing heart pounds in his ears.

“Rafayel,” Thomas tries to grab his attention, placing a hand on Rafayel’s shoulders.

Rafayel brushes Thomas’s hands away as he continues to scroll through your dating profile to take in every information that’s provided. You’re allegedly not looking for anything serious despite stating that you want a rich boyfriend who will spoil you with materials (he’s already doing that; is that not enough?). The longer he lingers on your dating profile, the more he feels his sanity slips away. Without thinking, Rafayel walks away with Thomas’s phone still in his grasp, leaving his friend behind.

“Rafayel! Where are you going?! The art exhibit isn’t even over yet!” Thomas calls out.

Rafayel ignores Thomas and continues to walk to the entrance of the art museum. Even if Rafayel is far from Linkon, Rafayel is determined to confront you about your dating profile on the dating app that Thomas has the audacity to match with you. Rafayel looks at the time, making a note that he will arrive at Linkon by nightfall.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐ Sylus ⋆.˚𓅆࿐

Luke and Kieran stand behind Sylus, looking down at their phones while whispering to one another. Sylus ignores the loud whispering behind him as he continues to stare at the man before him, unamused. The man is one of the dealers of the military-grade weapon that Sylus has auctioned off the black market— it’s illegal to be owned by those who aren’t part of the military, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt them now, will it?

The man— Ashton Gray, also known as Mr. Gray— gestures to one of his lackeys to hand over the briefcase that contains the weapon. Mr. Gray’s lackey places the briefcase on the table and slides it toward Sylus’s direction. Sylus reaches forward and opens the metal briefcase, examining the carefully packed weapon.

“Hmph. It’s in perfect condition and looks lovely,” Sylus mutters. He pulls the weapon out from the briefcase, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. “It’s durable; the material doesn’t feel cheap or flimsy.”

Mr. Gray scoffs, rolling his eyes, and laughs bitterly. “Mr. Sylus, the weapons we sell to consumers are top-notch.”

Sylus ignores the man’s comment and continues to inspect every inch of the weapon. The weapon is made of rare metals that cannot be found anywhere. They’re mined in the deepest depths of a repository by a small group of people in a remote location that isn’t known to many people, or at least to the general public.

“No way!” Luke gasps, grabbing attention from everyone else in the room.

Sylus turns to the twins behind him and raises his eyebrows at Luke and Kieran. Kieran quickly hides his phone behind his back while Luke rubs the back of his neck, apologizing to the annoyed Onychinus leader.

Mr. Gray furrows his eyebrows at the twins, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mr. Sylus, do your lackeys have something to share with the rest of the room?” Mr. Gray asks, gesturing to the twenty-something people in the private room in an undisclosed area.

Sylus looks at Mr. Gray, amused. “Mr. Gray, you seemed to be bothered by whatever is keeping Luke and Kieran occupied,” Sylus comments, placing the gun back in the metal briefcase. “Whatever they are up to is none of your business.”

The metal briefcase closes with a click. Sylus stands up, grabs the briefcase, and begins making his way to the exit, nodding to Mr. Gray with Luke and Kieran following. Mr. Gray glares at the twins as they walk by, almost mockingly waving at him. Once the three are out of earshot, Sylus sighs and adjusts the sleeve of his shirt.

The trio enters Sylus’s sports car, silence hanging in the air. Sylus hands the metal briefcase to Luke before turning on the car; the engine roars to life. The three sit in silence, watching the scenery go by as they leave the location. For once, Sylus didn’t blow the place up. Sylus glances in the rearview mirror to see the twins scrolling through their phones, completely occupied with whatever they’re seeing on the screen. Sylus sighs and shakes his head as he continues to drive the three of them back to the base in the N109 Zone.

“Care to explain to me what is keeping you two occupied on that phone of yours?” Sylus asks, breaking the silence in the car. “That outburst was unnecessary.”

Kieran and Luke glance at each other, unsure of what to say. Both Luke and Kieran recently joined a dating app (the N109 Zone is boring, and these two want to meet someone new when their service isn’t needed), and the twins received a match! Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! Luke and Kieran share the same dating profile (they come in a pack; you can’t separate them. If you want one of them, you’ll get the other free), and they happen to match with little ole Miss Hunter (you).

While you and Sylus have this strange yet comical dynamic, it’s shocking to see you on a dating app despite being on Onychinus’s radar. They know every piece of information about you, and by “they,” Luke and Kieran are implying Sylus. Yes, there is information about you that both the twins know, but they don’t know every little thing about you.

“Is it that dating app of yours?” Sylus asks, eyes gluing onto the road ahead of him.

Luke clears his throat, nodding. “Yes! But we saw something that caught us off guard, that’s all. I apologize for my outburst, boss-man.”

Kieran continues to stare at your dating profile on his screen, rereading every information provided on your profile. It’s a good thing Sylus meets all of the requirements of what you want in a man. However, Sylus isn’t going to be happy if he hears that you’re on a dating app when you’ve been seeing him. Speaking of…

Kieran looks up from his phone, making eye contact with Sylus through the rearview mirror. “Hey, boss-man! How are things going between you and Miss Hunter?” Kieran asks, crossing his right leg over his left.

“Things are going well. However, we haven’t been in contact for perhaps a few weeks. Why?” Sylus asks, raising his eyebrows at Kieran’s question.

Luke and Kieran look at each other, not saying a word. Luke and Kieran press their lips into a thin line, unsure of how else to answer Sylus’s question. Sylus rolls his eyes and uses his Evol to snatch Kieran’s phone from his hands. Kieran opens his mouth to protest but stops when Luke nudges him with his elbow.

Sylus looks down at the phone, letting out a scoff, and a bitter laugh follows. “I see. So this is what caused you two to have an outburst moments ago,” Sylus mutters. “And you two are matched with Miss Hunter.”

Luke and Kieran stare at Sylus from the backseat, waiting to see what Sylus is going to do next. Sylus shakes his head, sighing before tossing the phone back to the twins. Luke quickly grabs the phone and hands it to Kieran, who checks to make sure the phone isn’t damaged. Instead of taking the usual route back to Onychinus’s base, Sylus decides to take a different route, causing Luke and Kieran to be confused.

“Where are we going, boss-man?” Luke asks, looking at Kieran from the corner of his eyes.

Sylus shrugs. “We’re taking a little field trip to visit a certain kitten in Linkon City,” Sylus replies.

˚୨୧⋆. Y/N ˚୨୧⋆.

You step into the elevator of your apartment, rubbing the back of your neck. You have been sitting in your cubicle for hours at the Hunters Association. Your back is hurting, and so is your neck and your butt. While the elevator takes you to the seventh floor of your apartment, you space out, wondering why Tara asked you about your relationship status. The elevator chimes, snapping you out of your thoughts. You step out of the elevator and walk towards your apartment, rummaging through your tote bag to search for your keys.

“Found you,” you mutter, grabbing your keys hidden deep in your tote bag and pulling them out with a sigh of relief. “Now I can finally relax—”

Your eyes widen when you see four familiar men standing at the front door to your apartment. They’re glaring daggers at each other, on edge. The familiar twins stand to the side, shaking their heads with disapproval.

You press your lips into a thin line. “Can I help you?”

“Why are you acting all innocent? You have a lot of explaining to do, Miss Bodyguard!” Rafayel exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest while pouting in your direction.

You tilt your head to the side, confused about what Rafayel is implying. You rub your temples with a sigh, too exhausted to deal with whatever is happening between the four men standing at the door to your apartment. It is way too late for you to be dealing with any sort of conflict.

You sigh for the umpteenth time. “Whatever is going on, you guys can tell me when I unlock the door to my apartment. I don’t want my neighbors to overhear our conversation,” you mutter, weaving through the crowd of men.

Even though you can get your fingerprint to unlock the door to your apartment, it does not work as of now. You’re going to have to call the front desk to inform them of the issue with the fingerprint lock. Until then, you’re using keys to get into your apartment. You enter your apartment with six men crowding into the comfort of your home while mumbling under their breaths.

You hang your tote bag on the rack along with your coat, toeing your shoes off before slipping on your house slippers. You turn to the four (technically six, but Luke and Kieran are making themselves home in your living room) men, waiting for one of them to explain why they’re all standing in front of your apartment.

Sylus sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kitten, care to—”

“Why are you on a dating app!?” Rafayel exclaims, shoving Thomas’s phone towards your face.

You back up and grab the phone from Rafayel’s hands, squinting at the screen. Oh great, more screens to look at. You hold the phone close to your face, blinking rapidly. You’re not on a dating app, and you never have a dating profile in the first place. Wait, could this be what Tara was trying to ask you about earlier today at the Hunters Association?

“I’m not on a dating app,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at the men before you.

You walk farther into your apartment, scrolling through your supposed dating profile. Whoever is posing as you on this dating app is very committed to being you. You sit on the armrest of the couch, reading through “your” dating profile.

“Are you three here for the same thing, or is Rafayel the only one interrogating me over something I didn’t know I had?” You ask.

Xavier and Zayne show their phones— screenshots of the same dating profile and messages between you and whoever “you” matched with on that app. Sylus grabs Kieran by the shoulders and nudges him to hand over his phone to you. You stare at Luke and Kieran, almost horrified that they are the ones who found this dating profile of “yours.”

You pull out your phone and hand it to Rafayel. “As I said earlier, I’m not on any dating apps. Whoever these people matched with, that person isn’t me.”

Rafayel shoves your phone to your face for a second to unlock your phone before scrolling through your phone, skimming through every app you have installed. Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier join Rafayel in going through your phone.

You made a face. “I don’t remember taking this picture,” you mutter, zooming in on one particular photo. “And this information about myself isn’t remotely accurate. How did you four fall for this catfish?”

Luke coughs. “To be fair, we,” he gestures to him and Kieran, “assumed it was legitimate because “your” dating profile is a verified account. Meaning, whoever is running the account somehow managed to confirm that they are you.”

You stare at him blankly, then look at the four men, who are still glued to your phone. You sink into your couch and hand back the phone to Rafayel. Rafayel hands the phone to the closest person before stomping to you, sniffling.

“Cutie~! How could you match with Thomas!? What’s so special about him?” Rafayel whines, plopping down beside you and resting his head on yours.

You kiss your teeth and pinch Rafayel’s cheeks. “Rafayel! I told you already! I’m not on any dating apps!” Rafayel whines, grabbing your hands and ripping your hand from his cheek.

Xavier hands you your phone, standing before you with his arms over his chest. Oh, he’s pouting as well. Zayne and Sylus look both relieved but also mildly miffed with the fact that they fell for a catfish.

You stand up, stomping towards Sylus and poking his chest with your index finger. “You! You’re technologically advanced, yet you couldn’t tell that the dating profile is a catfish!?” You screech, repeatedly poking his chest over and over.

Sylus grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours. “Kitten, I had a long day. Luke and Kieran are the ones who showed me your supposed dating profile. I had to double-check with you, sweetie. Plus, it has been a while since we’ve seen each other. I wanted to take this opportunity to come and visit you.”

You glare at Sylus, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Damn him and his smooth talk! You look at Zayne and Xavier, waiting for one of them to explain— or give an excuse like the leader of Onychinus.

Zayne closes his eyes and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a long exhale. “I have no excuses, darling. However, Dr. Greyson was convinced that the person behind that dating profile was you,” Zayne says, gazing at you bashfully, the tips of his ears bright red.

You rub the bridge of your nose, trying to hold on to the last bits of your sanity. From what you’re gathering, you have matched with Dr. Greyson, Thomas, both Luke and Kieran because they share one profile for some reason, and… who else?

You look at Xavier. Xavier avoids your eyes, glaring at the ground with his jaws clenched. If you look closely, you can almost see steam coming from Xavier’s ears. His ears are so red, and you feel bad, but you can’t help but laugh at how adorably jealous he is of whoever “you” matched with on that damn dating app.

“Let me guess, it’s Jeremiah, the owner of Philo?” Luke asks, giggling behind his hand.

Xavier’s head snapped toward Luke and Kieran’s direction, glaring at them while trying to remain as calm as possible. “[Y/N] didn’t match with Jeremiah. The catfish matched with Jeremiah,” Xavier corrects Luke.

You rub your temples, too tired to handle the entire situation. If you had the energy, you would’ve been very upset over the fact that someone is pretending to be you and matching with men who are friends with the men you’re interested in. But right now, you just want to go shower and relax.

“I’m going to go shower. We can talk about this later, but for now, please give it a rest. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted,” You say.

The four men watch you walk to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Rafayel turns to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest while continuing to pout. “Is there a way for you to check and see who’s behind this account?”

Sylus rubs his temples, shaking his head. “As of now, I cannot check to see who’s behind the account,” Sylus mutters. “But I will certainly look into it. It’s a crime to impersonate someone on the internet.”

Xavier shakes his head, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “If we cannot find the person behind the account, we will need to lure them out somehow. It’s evident this person is close with [Y/N].”

“Oh? And what do you suggest?” Zayne mutters, raising his eyebrows at Xavier’s comment. “I’m sure the person behind the account will not reveal their identity easily. Who knows how long they had this account for.”

Rafayel rolls his eyes and walks to the couch, sitting on the armrest. “Whoever is impersonating as Miss Bodyguard is stupid. They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.”

While you’re in the shower, the four men hatch a plan to lure the person behind the catfish account out. Will you be in on the plan? Perhaps. But for now, they need to find a way to meet the person behind the account. Well, whoever is matched with “you” on that dating app needs to plan a date to meet “you” in person.

Note: Ehhh, I'm not really feeling the ending, if I have to be really honest. I might make a part two for this fic, but I'm not entirely sure if I should. This is my first Love&Deepspace fanfic, so, it's most likely ass. I was supposed to post this fic before Monday, but then I typed way too much, and here we are with a 6.3k word fanfic. For this brand new "series" of mine, I will be writing various men x reader and individual men x reader. Hopefully my future Love&Deepspace fanfic will improve as I continue to write for this game :) anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Love&Deepspace fanfiction #Love&Deepspace fanfic #Sylus x reader #Zayne x reader #Rafayel x reader #Xavier x reader #genshinluvr #Love and deepspace #Love and Deepspace fanfic #Love and Deepspace fanfiction

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cxrrodedcoffin · 5 months ago

Text

Nightvisions - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: This is part 2 to Dead of Night, Reader and Spencer face the fallout of an intense first sexual encounter, which leads to a second one.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: i’m overjoyed by the positive response to ‘dead of night’ and i’m a woman of the people so despite my lack of plan to do a part 2, i wrote one anyway, and this is it! tbh i’m not too sure how i feel about this but i had fun writing it anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: pervert!spencer, dom!spencer, angst, established relationships, confession of feelings, semi-public sex, noise control, hair pulling, spit, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), penetration, creampie, panty stealing, references to knifeplay, slight biting, hickey (kinda?) pet names (angel), fem + afab reader, happy ending

Rating: R, 18+

——

As the work day dragged on you could feel your initial shock and intrigue twist into an anger that burned in the pit of your stomach. Every glance Spencer took at you from his desk across the bullpen made your blood pressure spike, unable to properly focus on the paperwork you had been working through for the better half of the day. Your mind kept drifting, trying to rationalize his potential motives, but the more the thought stirred in your mind the less you could justify it to yourself. You had to hear it directly from him, as soon as possible.

“Spencer, can I get your input on something?” You called him over to your desk, masking the frustration in your voice. He scrambled to his feet, eager to be close to you again for the first time since this morning. He leaned over your desk, glancing at the paperwork in front of you.

“How can I help?”

You pointed to an insignificant line of text as you leaned forward, bringing your mouth inches from his ear.

“Meet me in the conference room in 5 minutes.” You whispered, watching as he gulped and nodded.

“That should be good.” He said as a cover, hoping not to draw suspicion to the two of you before returning to his desk.

You grabbed a file for show and walked to the conference room, checking that the blinds were pulled down over the windows overlooking the bullpen. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, starting to pace to keep yourself occupied as you waited for him.

Moments later there came a gentle knock at the door before Spencer slowly opened it, dipping quickly in and locking the door behind him. A short silence hung in the air until your emotions got the better of you, his soft expression causing tears to well up in your eyes.

“How? Why?” You blurted out, a mix of confusion, exhaustion, and desperation playing out in your features. He took a step toward you and you took a step back, keeping distance between you. If he touched you, you might break, shatter into a million pieces and never be put back together.

“Please just let me explain.” His tone held such strong desperation that you almost forgot how betrayed you felt. You wiped a tear from your cheek, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

“You left your profile up on your computer one night and I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, I always have.” He took a deep breath, for once careful to articulate his words as he watched your expression carefully, searching for any sign of forgiveness.

“I know it was wrong, but I never thought I’d stand a chance with a woman like you if I went about it the traditional way. I never intended on hurting you, but I clearly have, and doing so is the biggest regret of my life.” You wanted to believe him, he seemed so earnest, but the doubt was eating you alive by the second. What if it was all an act? Was the connection you felt that night built on lies?

“Was everything you said in our chats a lie just to sleep with me?” You kept a straight face, fighting back more tears to keep your composure. You couldn’t let him know how badly you were hurt, not if he didn’t mean it.

“Oh god no, angel, everything I said was the truth.” He grew more frantic, nervously stretching his fingers as he fought the urge to step toward you again. He just wanted to hold you, to comfort you in the simplest way he knew how, but he couldn’t do anything that might make you more uncomfortable.

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, still too frustrated with him at the moment to deal with your feelings for him. He nodded, keeping his mouth shut to resist the urge to ramble on and on about what he felt for you.

“I’m not sure I believe you Spencer, I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” Your voice cracked, biting the inside of your lip as you watched his face drop.

“You can.” He weighed the risk and took a step closer to you again, and you didn’t move away from him this time.

“How do I know that?”

“I’m in love with you.”

It was the most confident he’d been all day, his voice unwavering with every word.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Tears threatened your waterline once more, hanging on his every movement as you tried to read him.

“I do mean it, I’ve known from the first time we spent 2 hours talking nonstop on the jet. No one has ever seen me the way that you do.” His eyes were glassy with tears and your heart began to melt, dropping your arms to your sides and finally closing the gap between you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You took his hand in yours, your thumb swiping over the veins on the back of his hand.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same.” He sighed, averting his gaze from yours.

“I do.” You confirmed, squeezing his hand. He looked at you once more, the tension between you practically suffocating.

He leaned into you, his face dangerously close to yours as he searched your eyes for any lingering apprehension, but there was none to be found. He took a leap of faith, hoping he was reading you right as his lips met yours, his hand cupping the side of your face. You melted into the kiss, allowing him to guide your mouth against his. Your skin grew hot, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as his actions grew more intense, his lips pushing almost bruisingly hard against yours.

His hands moved lower, ghosting down your sides, the slight pressure against your healing cuts from the night before making you shiver. He finally reached the hem of your skirt, slowly hiking the fabric up your thighs. You pulled your mouth away from his, panting for a moment in hopes of catching your breath once more.

“Spencer, we can’t.” You sighed, meeting his hungry gaze.

“We can if we’re careful.” He countered, pushing you gently back until your hips bumped against the large circular table in the center of the room.

“What if someone hears? If we get caught we could lose our jobs.” The rational part of your brain seemed to be dueling with your primal urges, your body betraying your mind as the thought of getting caught only made the wetness between your thighs grow more intense.

“Then you better be quiet.” He whispered, his large hands gripping your hips as he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the conference table. He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up the rest of the way to bunch around your hips, humming to himself as he admired your perfect ass. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them over the curve of your hips and down your legs before pocketing the lacy fabric.

You whined, wiggling your hips back to urge him on.

“Be patient.” He laughed, his voice low. You didn’t have to wait long, his head dipping between your thighs to find your waiting pussy. His strong grip kept your thighs spread as his tongue delved between your folds, quickly giving ample attention to your swollen clit. He was hungry, plush lips drinking in your arousal with every extended lap of his tongue, practically suffocating himself as his nose brushed against your weeping entrance.

You brought your hand to your mouth, biting your wrist to stifle your whimpers as you rocked back against him, indulging in the way he devoured you. He moaned against you, muffled vibrations sending shockwaves through your body, your clit growing more and more sensitive by the second. You were starting to get desperate, riding his face until the table underneath you began to squeak with every rock of your hips. Spencer suddenly pulled away, sitting back on his calves.

“Your desperation is going to get us caught.” He brought his hand between your legs, fingers massaging your clit for a split second before rearing back and slapping against it, causing you to jolt forward. You yelped, a bit louder than you intended from the shock of it, and you swallowed nervously, anticipating his next move.

He rose to his feet, his clothed hips pushing against your bare ass as he gripped your hair in his fist, firmly pulling you upright. You bit your lip to hide your moan, letting him guide your every step as he pulled you across the room, finally pressing your back against the wall.

“Spencer, please.” You sounded more pathetic than you intended but the way his mouth felt on you got you beyond worked up, and in that moment you felt like you needed him inside you more than you needed air.

“Are you going to be quiet?” He questioned, his hand resting on his belt buckle as he waited for an answer.

“Yes, I’ll be good, I promise.” You looked up at him, giving your best doe-eyed look as you began unbuttoning your blouse. He began to undo his belt, letting his pants and briefs fall to his ankles as he held out his hand in front of you.

“Spit.” He commanded, the dominant side of him coming out more with every sweet sound that left your lips. You did as you were told, spitting in his hand to provide a bit of lubricant for him to stroke his cock, fully preparing himself to enter you.

You were mesmerized, unable to look away from the way his shirt rode up his torso, toned but slender stomach flexing with each movement of his hand, his hair falling messily in his flushed face, a thin layer of sweat forming on his skin. You pulled the cups of your bra down, toying with your nipples as you enjoyed the show, feeling like you were watching the most intimate sex tape you’d ever seen.

“Are you ready?” His voice snapped you out of your trance, blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment over how desperate you were for him. You nodded frantically, draping your arms behind his neck, pulling him to you. You raised your leg, wrapping it around his waist, looking down between your chests to watch him lineup his cock with your cunt. He pushed the head in, cutting off the gasp that threatened to rip from your throat as he pulled you into another intense kiss.

He sank fully into your tight walls, the soreness you felt from the night before melting away with every stroke he laid into you. You moaned into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you allowed him to take the reins, his controlling grip digging soft bruises into the flesh of your breasts, then your hip, electricity flowing between the two of you. You pulled away from the kiss, coming up for air, so lost in the feeling that you couldn’t make out any coherent sounds, only gentle whimpers and whines.

“You feel so good.” He moaned quietly, quickening his pace, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, the rough pad of his thumb pressing firm swipes up and down over the swollen bundle of nerves. Your whimpers grew louder, and despite your hazy state, you knew you had to quiet yourself quickly. You pulled him closer, burying your face in the side of his neck, your lips latching onto the soft skin behind his ear.

A groan rose from the back of his throat, your mouth sucking against his pressure point pulling him dangerously close to his release. You swore you were seeing stars, supernovas erupting between your thighs as you started to contract around him, your senses overwhelmed with his touch, crying out against his neck. Your knee began to buckle, your leg almost giving out if it wasn’t for his firm hold on your hip. He continued to pump in and out, helping you ride out your orgasm until you had gained a bit more of your composure, able to support yourself again despite how fucked out you felt.

Spencer felt himself falter and anchored his hips against yours, keeping himself seated within your warm walls as they coaxed him to completion. He quietly moaned your name, his head hung to observe the view of himself pulling out of you. You dropped your leg, still in a daze as you began righting your clothing. After you redid the last button of your top and yanked your skirt back down over your ass, you realized you couldn’t find your underwear.

“Looking for something?” He questioned, that familiar dorky smile plastered across his face. You turned to face him, seeing the lace dangling from his fingertip, but as you grabbed for it he pulled it out of reach.

“These are mine now.” He shoved the fabric back in his back pocket before you could attempt to steal them back again.

“Spencer, your cum is dripping down my leg, I kind of need those.” You took a stride toward him to close the gap between you, hoping to wrap your arm around his waist and take them out of his pocket. Your plan was quickly foiled as he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind your back.

“You better keep your legs closed then, I’m not giving them back.” He whispered in your ear, his tone low but hinted with mischief.

“Whatever, pervert.” You pulled out of his grip, starting to walk toward the door. Your slight annoyance with his teasing quickly faded, unable to deny that walking back out into the bullpen full of Spencer’s cum was an incredibly hot concept.

“What does that make you, then?” He laughed, running his hand through his hair to make it somewhat presentable.

“An angel, according to you.” You turned back to him momentarily to wink in his direction, giving him a comfortable resolution to your slight outburst earlier.

“Can I see you again? Outside of work, I-I mean.” He slightly stumbled over his words, his dominant demeanor fading back into his signature awkward cadence, clearly a bit flustered by your tongue-in-cheek show of affection. You almost laughed, the question feeling a bit absurd given that you’d both just confessed your feelings for one another in more ways than one.

“Take me out to dinner tonight, I’ll be ready by 6. You have my address.” You smiled, watching a blush rise over his cheeks in response to your callback before unlocking the conference room door and returning to your desk to finish out the workday, eagerly awaiting your first real date with Spencer.

——

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea @theoraekenslover @placidus

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my spencer reid taglist :)

also tagging those who requested a part 2, thank you for the inspo!: @silver138 @espressoparis @futuremrsreid @charmedkim @lilcuutiee @cryxbabyxxx @c1rcus-baby

#dividers by cxrrodedcoffin #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer x reader #dom!spencer #pervert!spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #knifeplay #my writing #mine

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wandanatsgf · 5 months ago

Text

Sugar, Sugar Part 3

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The three of you officially sign the contract and now you're their sugar baby

Warnings: this contains daddy kink, mommy kink, threesomes, dom/sub dynamic, face sitting, edging, praise, bondage, strap on fucking, other things I’m sure I’m forgetting

Author's Note: I know this is starting out kinda slow paced but it will be picking up soon! Also ignore any mistakes in this. I didn't proof read it because I'm too tired to. Anyway enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2

Harsh evening light is hitting your face, waking you up.

The first thing you notice when you wake up his how soft the bed is. It's certainly softer than anything you've ever known. The second thing you notice is the two women on either side of you. They lay there peacefully, the three of you intertwined together. Flashbacks to a few hours ago run through your mind, making you blush. You were never the type to sleep with someone so easily, but with them everything was different. It didn’t matter that you barely knew the two women.

Wanda starts to stir, averting your attention from your thoughts to her.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi baby," she says, sleepiness lacing her voice. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but I'm good." You go to scooch away from Wanda, now suddenly aware of just how close the two of you are, when she pulls you back.

"Don't leave honey," she whispers to you. "You're so warm, it's a nice change from Natalia. That woman is like an icebox," she says making you laugh.

"No I'm not, you're just always cold," Natasha grumbles, now awake.

“Aww I’m sorry baby did we wake you?” Wanda's voice is laced with mock apology.

“You know you did,” Natasha says, her piercing glare directed at Wanda. “But I’m glad because now I get to spend my morning with this beautiful little thing.” Natasha moves around in the bed until she is facing you. Her hand finds it’s way to your chin, a subtle act of dominance that sends heat straight to your core. She leans in and captures your lips with hers. It’s slow and passionate and makes you melt against her. Natasha’s hand slips between the two of you, running down your front and she almost slips it into the shorts you’re wearing when Wanda stops her.

“Hold on you two before we do anything else we need to get the contract printed and signed.”

Both you and Natasha groan in unison.

“Do we have to,” you whine out.

“Yes we do baby. It’s for your safety and ours. We’ve gotta do it.”

“Okay fine,” you grumble, but allow Wanda to pull you out of bed. Natasha follows closely behind. Wanda leads you to the room you had been in yesterday, where she turns on her computer and starts printing off the contract that one of them had somehow had the time to make. In no time the three of you sign it, officially beginning your time as their sugar baby.

"Now where were we," Natasha says. She steps towards you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other grabbing you and pulling you to her. She kisses you hard and deeply, causing you to give in to her. You're pliable to her will, willing to let her do whatever she wants to you.

"Please," you beg once the two of you finally pull apart.

"What do you want detka? Be a good girl and use your words," Wanda taunts. She's sitting in a chair, watching all of this go down.

"Come on tell us what you want milyy, or else we'll give you nothing," Natasha says.

"I want one of you to fuck me please," you beg.

"Good girl," Natasha says. She picks you up, wrapping your legs around her waist and take you back to their room. She lays you down on the bed, pulling your clothes off. You lie there naked as she towers over you fully clothed.

"Wanda?" Natasha asks.

"Can you grab the red strap and some rope?"

"Already on it." You can hear Wanda inside their closet, refiling through it, trying to find the things Natasha asked for.

"Remember if you need to stop call out red okay?" Natasha says, checking in on you.

"Ok if I need to stop I will."

"That's my good girl." Natasha climbs on top of you and gently kisses you, but breaks the two of you apart when Wanda comes back in the room.

You let out a whine, wanting her lips back on yours. However Wanda is quick to correct you.

"Don't whine unless you want us to give you something to whine about malysh."

"I'm sorry mommy."

"Good girl that's better. Now put your arms up against the headboard and your legs spread out." You do as you're asked and the two women work together to tie you up. They have you securely restrained in no time.

Wanda walks over to you and leans down while Natasha strips and puts the strap on on. She turns your face to her with one hand, her touch is tender.

“Daddy is going to play with you a little bit and then she’s gonna fuck you while mommy rides your face ok?” Wanda’s tone is gentle and her voice is soft as she speaks to you. It makes the dirty words that just came out of her mouth that much hotter to you.

“Ok mommy,” you say. You try to clench your thighs together, wanting to relieve the ache that is forming, but with your legs tied apart you can’t.

“Aww is someone feeling a little needy?” Natasha asks. You hadn’t even realized she had finished putting the harness on. But now she is standing in front of you, the strap on swinging between her legs. She looks heavenly, you think.

“Please daddy,” you beg.

“What do you want detka?”

“Daddy please touch me.” You start to wiggle a bit, once again trying to relieve the ache, but it does nothing more than make Natasha laugh at how pathetic you look.

“Is this where you want me to touch you detka?” Natasha’s hand ghosts over your inner thigh, so close yet too far away from where you really need her.

“No daddy. Higher please.”

“Right here?” Natasha’s hand caresses your stomach, teasing you.

“Please touch my pussy daddy,” you finally cry out, frustrated from Natasha’s teasing.

“Good girl,” Natasha says. She lays down on her stomach, her face right up against your pussy. She uses her right hand to hold your hips down, while her thumb plays with your clit.

“Oh god,” you loudly moan out.

“Does daddy playing with your pussy feel good?” Wanda asks. She reaches a hand down to pull at your tits, your back arching off the bed as she does.

“It feels really good mommy,” you manage to say in between moans.

Natasha continues her assault on your pussy while Wanda assaults your chest. The two of them together are sending your brain into overdrive. The only thing you can think about is your impending orgasm and how good being touched by then feels.

“Please let me cum,” you beg. You’re not sure which one you’re begging to, they’re both making you feel good.

“Should we let our little princess cum Nat?”

“I think if she wants to cum she should do it on my strap,” Natasha says, pulling away from you. That action elicits a high pitched whine to escape your mouth, upset that you were so close and your orgasm was taken from you.

“Don’t whine detka, you’ll be back feeling good in a minute,” Natasha reassures you. Natasha positions herself, but doesn’t push into you yet, knowing Wanda wants to check in with you.

“I’m going to ride your face now ok? And Nat is going to fuck you. We’re going to let you adjust so tell us when we can move. If it gets to be too much and you can’t talk tap my thigh three times ok?” Wanda says, making sure you’re alright with everything that’s about to happen.

“Ok mommy.”

“Good girl,” Wanda says. She removes her skirt and underwear and straddles your face.

“Come on stick your tongue out. Let mommy ride your pretty little face.” You stick your tongue out just like Wanda asked you to, and she slowly sinks down onto your face, letting you adjust to the feeling.

“You both can move now,” you tell the two women. Once you do, Natasha starts fucking into you at a brutal pace. Your moans are constant, but they’re muffled by Wanda’s pussy in your face.

“You’re doing so good detka,” Wanda praises, chasing her own high. She grinds down onto your tongue, moans escaping her mouth.

“You’re so pretty when you’re taking my cock princess,” Natasha groans out. Her thrusts become faster and faster, pushing you closer and closer to release.

You moan out loudly, trying to ask permission to cum, but all that comes out is moans.

"You gonna cum baby?" Natasha asks, her voice a little breathless.

You moan, which Natasha takes as yes. Wanda's movements start to become erratic above you, a telltale sign that she's about to cum.

"Be a good girl and cum for daddy detka," Natasha says. The second she says that you cum all over her strap and Wanda cums all over your face and mouth. You happily lick it all up, savoring the taste of her.

"You're such a good girl princess," Wanda says as she climbs off of you. Natasha slips out of your pussy and the two women quickly untie you. Wanda walks back into the coset and returns with some sort of cream that the two women apply to your wrists and ankles, easing the burning feeling.

"You did so good for us, how are you feeling milyy?" Natasha asks once the two women had finished applying the cream. Wanda sets the cream on the nightstand and both women climb into bed with you.

"good but a little sleepy," you answer. You're clinging to both women, wanting to be as close to them as possible.

"Do you need a nap honey?" Wanda asks. You nod your head yes. The two women position themselves so that you're sandwiched between the two of them. It's a warm and comfortable feeling. The two women whisper soft praises to you until you fall into a gentle sleep. When you wake, you're still sandwiched between the two women.

"You feeling better darling?" Natasha asks.

"Yeah I feel a lot better." You sit up and look around. It doesn't look like you were out for long.

"There's something we want to talk to you about honey," Wanda says once you're more alert and awake. "we want to take you out tomorrow is that okay?"

“I’d really like that," you say, a blush making its way across your face at the idea of going out with these two beautiful women.

“is seven ok detka?” This time Natasha speaks.

“Yes that works for me,” you say, your voice full of exhaustion.

“We’ll pick you up. Just send us your address later when you’re not so tired ok?”

“I will.”

The three of you spend the next couple of hours talking and eating dinner. You're happy to get to know these two women better. But eventually you have to leave and go back home. Nat and Wanda escort you out of their house, making sure to give you a kiss goodbye. The whole way back to your apartment you’re freaking out. You can’t believe how lucky you are. That you get to sleep with two of the hottest women on the planet plus you get paid for it.

Soon enough you’re opening the door to your apartment.

"Oh my god Katie," you loudly exclaim as you walk in.

"I've never been so attracted to two people in my life. They're just so fucking hot."

"I bet it helps that they're fucking loaded," Kate jests.

"Yeah," you say blushing. "But that's not the only thing I like about them," you say defending the two women. "They're so kind and sweet. I've never met someone that I've connected with like I do with the two of them."

"Oh yeah I bet you do connect with them," Kate says, with a wink, making her innuendo more obvious.

"Katie," you whine.

"Wait I was just joking, you've slept with them already?" Shock laces her voice.

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "I didn't plan on it, but they were just so hot. I never sleep with people that quickly but they're just so great and y’know they seem pretty caring and sweet," you say, going on and on about the two women.

"Wow, sounds like someone's a little smitten."

Kate's words bring a blush to your cheeks, but you're quick to correct her. "I'm not smitten Katie. I just like sleeping with them and the money," you say, but even as you say it, you're not sure that you completely believe it. The way those two women make you feel is unbelievable and overwhelming, but you’re choosing to ignore that for now.

"Anyway I need to go to bed, I'm exhausted," you tell your best friend.

"I bet it's exhausting keeping up with two super hot women," Kate says teasing you once again.

“Whatever Katie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she says back.

That night you lay in bed, wondering what tomorrows date (for lack of better words) will hold. Eventually you fall to sleep, excited for what tomorrow holds.

taglist (so sorry if I forget to tag anyone): @dorabledewdroop @sokovianbaby @beakami @jono723 @godhatesgoodgirls @imaginaryblogger01 @alexawynters @marvelwomen-simp @tobiaslut

#wanda x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #sugar mommy!wanda #sugar mommy!natasha #wandanat x reader

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