#cannot wait for the weird looks when I have to take him out of my bag at airport security

[reikunrei]

feltward is being born btw. if you even care.

[ellecdc]

i have a small idea! (this totes bounced off that one poly!marauders pregnancy post)

sirius would absolutely find comfort laying on readers belly later on in her pregnancy animagus style🐾

I loved this! you must've read my mind; yesterday I was considering sending out a request for any pregnant!reader or dad!marauders prompts!

poly!marauders x pregnant!reader who Padfoot is obsessed with [1.4k words]

CW: fem afab!reader, pregnancy, discourse regarding shower temperatures

“Wait, so, explain to me why you can’t both just take a shower together?” Remus asked as he followed Sirius and James into the flat, the two boys having argued nearly the whole way home from the shops over who was going to get to shower first.

Sirius made a derisive scoffing sound as if Remus had asked something particularly ridiculous. 

“Remus.” He muttered like he was talking to a troublesome toddler. “My hair and skin are only as beautiful as they are because I don’t scald myself under water heated by hellfire.” 

“My showers are not that hot, Pads.” James argued, though Remus could hear the smile in his voice. 

“My gods.” Sirius breathed out. “It’s starting to affect your brain cells too.” 

James made an offended sound and swatted at Sirius. “Fine, out with you then; go take your freezing shower, but don’t come looking for me for cuddles when you can’t stop shivering.” 

“I’d sooner find Moons for warm cuddles.” Sirius responded haughtily. “Those werewolf genes keep him nice and warm.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement. “Dove may just have me beat there soon.” 

All three boys took a moment to sigh lovingly at the thought of you; growing and stretching and likely more than a little uncomfortable but doing it so gracefully nonetheless. 

“Sirius if you’re just going to sit here with hearts in your eyes…” James started, though he didn’t need to finish his threat when Sirius turned and took off in the direction of the shower.

“You do come out of the shower a little pink, love.” Remus murmured into the side of James’ face once he knew Sirius was out of earshot. 

James scoffed but leaned into Remus’ embrace. “How does he know that hot showers aren’t how I get my hair and skin so beautiful?” 

“Fair enough.” Remus laughed before he moved to put the groceries away. “But I don’t want Y/N getting into any showers with you; we don’t want her blood pressure rising.” 

James hummed in agreement. “But you may have to tell her that; her showers are equally steamy.” 

“Okay,” Remus agreed, “family meeting tonight about appropriate shower temperatures.” 

The two worked through the kitchen in relative silence before James slowed in his movements; dark brows furrowing behind his wire frames. “Speaking of showers, I don’t hear one running.” 

“Did he seriously fight you for dibs over the shower and then not get into the shower?” Remus laughed, causing James to stalk down the hall muttering something under his breath along the lines of “stupid no good sodding handsome boyfriend, going to be the death of me”. 

Remus waited for the inevitable yelp when James startled Sirius from behind, digging his fingers into his ribs in punishment.

He waited for the two of them to start trading insults - far louder than necessary - that quickly divulged into heated kisses where they pressed each other up against various solid surfaces.

Except no yelps, no tickles, no insults, and no passion could be heard.

In fact, it was quiet…too quiet. 

“Is there some weird portal in the flat that my partners keep disappearing through or something?” Remus called as he moved in the direction of the bedroom. “And where’s dovey?” 

But the answer only came when Remus rounded the corner into their bedroom - nearly colliding with James who had paused just inside the doorway - to find you asleep, curled up on your side in bed with a placid looking Padfoot curled up behind you and his head resting on your waist; your ever growing bump (that you’ve insisted cannot possibly grow anymore) dutifully under his chin.

Remus made an affectionate tsking sound as he took in the sight. “Did you get distracted, Pads?” And the dog’s tail began thumping loudly against the bed, though Remus could tell Padfoot was working very hard to not move his body in any other way lest he disturb you. 

The three of you always joked that whatever Sacred 28 gene allowed Pureblood's to appear impassive, bored, and to expertly save face was absent in Sirius, who never bothered hiding a single one of his emotions; the way he was feeling always displayed loudly and proudly on his face, though he claimed that was by choice rather than design.

But for as expressive or closed off as Sirius could or couldn’t be, Padfoot didn’t have a poker face to save his life.  

An almost embarrassing coo left James’ lips as he made his way to the bed, kneeling carefully on the edge of the bed so as to not disturb you, before reaching over to place a hand on your bump.

Padfoot, for his part, snapped his jaw playfully at James, pretending to bite his wrist only to then lick his arm aggressively when James diverted his loving caress to the top of his head instead. 

“She’s been so tired lately.” James murmured to no one in particular once Padfoot seemed appeased and he moved his hand to push some hair back from your forehead. 

“You try building an entire new person from scratch.” Remus chuckled quietly, moving to stand behind James but pausing when Padfoot’s head shot up.

The canine stared down at your midsection with his ears standing straight up in the air before tilting his head comically at a nearly 90 degree angle.

James laughed, making a breathy ‘wha-’ sound when Padfoot’s head snapped in the other direction, snout still pointed dutifully at your stomach. 

The dog let out a quiet whimper and pressed his wet nose into your side, causing James to laugh and Remus to tsk chidingly at him for risking waking you up.

“Is he kicking, Pads?” James asked then, moving his hand to the now damp spot on your shirt from where Padfoot poked you so rudely as the dog’s tail thumped excitedly on the bed. 

“Please.” Remus scoffed playfully as he reached forward to place his hand next to James’. “Don’t you mean she?”

“They” you corrected suddenly - though your eyes remained closed - as your boyfriends (two human and one currently canine) hovered around your midsection “are lucky they’re so loved when they’re currently using my ribs as a kick drum.” Your breath hitching in time with James and Remus’ hands feeling a strong thump and Padfoot’s head tilting the other direction. 

“Awe, I’m sorry, angel.” James cooed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You should be.” You grumbled, though Remus could see the faint upturn in the corner of your lips. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?” James shrilled. 

You hummed in agreement. “They were very well behaved before you showed up.”

“How do you know it’s not Moony’s fault?”

You cracked one eye open to look at Remus who simply winked at you. 

“Just do.” 

“Pads?” James tried then.

“If it was Sirius, I would say the chances were equal.” You admitted as you settled back into the pillow. “But baby is well behaved for Padfoot.” 

“Well…” James started, looking helplessly between his partners. “Well this is just not fair.”

You let out a groan and shoved your face into the pillow at the interruption of your nap when Remus finally took pity on you.

“Wasn’t someone supposed to be showering?” 

James looked over at Padfoot who simply stared back at him before letting out a long sigh and resting his head back down on your belly. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Looks like there’s been a change of plans, Jamie.” Remus translated. 

“Fine.” James grumbled, though Remus could tell his ire was only for show. “Do you wanna join me, Moons?” 

“I showered this morning.” Remus declined as he took James’ spot next to you on the bed.

“I’ll shower with you, Jamie.” You offered as you went to rise, pausing when all three boys protested. 

Well, James and Remus protested. Padfoot let out a bark. 

“You should rest, angel.”

“Leave Jamie to his hellfire showers.” Remus agreed. “I’ll run you a bath after dinner, how does that sound?” 

Apparently that sounded lovely, because you easily fell back into your pillows with a smile on your face, a dog resting its head on your stomach, and Remus rubbing his thumb lovingly against your temple.

[januaryembrs]

LET IT ONCE BE ME | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [7]

Description: The THREE times she waits + the ONE time she doesn't have to.

length: 17.9k

trigger warnings: criminal minds gore + violence. jealousy. talks of sex and male and female anatomy. they get horny for one another basically. talks of Maeve + day of the dead. yearning idk? mention of one twin absorbing the other one in the womb (sorry if this is taken the wrong way but I conferred with my friend who did this when she was a foetus and she said it's not offensive and is okay to talk about so?)

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‘Let it once be me, who do I have to speak to 

About if they can redo the prophecy?’

The one where they pretend to be married

“I will not be exploited in my own home,” Bugsy chided, the faint smell of burning toast filling the small kitchenette. The butter knife sat ready in her hand, salted spread dripping down the handle where she’d been busy making breakfast before she had been called. 

He blinked back at her, unamused. 

“No. You cannot just scream at me whenever you want something from me. This relationship is toxic,” She huffed, turning back to butter her toast with the thick goodness. Sometimes she loathed living with three boys who had her wrapped around their fingers. 

The second piece of bread popped out of the toaster, which she quickly grabbed and began spreading, her fingers gripping onto the crusts gently as she did so. The squealing started again just as she readied herself to take the first bite, and she whirled around to see the two orange eyes that stared at her from on top of the counter. 

“Sergio, stop. You’ll get Niko all wound up-” She hadn’t even finished her sentence when Spencer shuffled into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his long plaid pyjama bottoms skirting high up his ankles where he’d impossibly hit another growth spurt and forgot to find better fitting clothes. Niko darted in between his legs, rushing to jump up on the breakfast bar, where Sergio was already interrogating Bugsy for more treats, a low yowl leaving his throat at the thought of being left out of feeding. “You boys are driving me crazy, no more biscuits for today-”

The yowl grew in decibels, a second one symphonying it, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the whiney babies, turning to hand Spencer his piece of toast, crust already cut off and split into halves the way he liked it. 

“I warned you not to treat them when I’m not here, they’ve become spoiled brats,” She huffed, though she felt her entire body warm up when she looked at his doe eyes, still half idled with sleep as he watched her swan around his kitchen, their kitchen technically since she had all but moved in to his little apartment meant for two housemates. 

But they weren’t just house mates. They weren’t even dating. But she knew he wanted to. Because he loved her. 

“How could you expect me to say no, they’re so compelling,” He said, his voice gravelly where he’d lightly snored, as much as he always denied he did, fussing Niko behind the ear with long, gentle fingers. He took the plate out of her hand, his eyes swirling with a moved expression when he saw she’d cut his crusts off, his gaze snapping back up to where she’d sweeped her hair out her face, a large shirt and a pair of his clean boxers adorning her figure, “Thankyou,”

He hadn’t said the three magic words since, neither of them had. But they felt it. The weird static that had been thick in the air between them before was crackling along their skin with every glance, like they were both thinking the same thing.

I love you, and you love me.

He smiled at her warmly, the urge to grab her by her face and kiss her skin all over almost overwhelming him, because he counted himself lucky every single day. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in every heart beat, like a mantra that his chest clung to since the words had spilled from her soft lips. She was waiting for him, for his head to settle with the idea that Maeve was gone, and he could let her go and not feel terrible about it; waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Coffee?” He asked, watching her eyes soften as they trailed over his face, and he worried he looked a little worse for wear since he’d rolled out of bed and headed towards the source of the girl he loved arguing with someone in the kitchen even though that someone had turned out to be the greedy bastard they loved dearly.

He knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to have her waiting on him, and he never let himself forget it. 

“Yes, please,” She said, and he brushed past her, close enough for it to be on purpose when their arms touched, his hands busying themselves in between the plate and munching on the first bite of breakfast, because he didn’t know what he might do if they spent one more second looking at one another like that. 

She watched him move towards the kettle she’d sent him for Christmas when she was in London. After using one for two weeks she’d seen the light and realised he would love the nifty little invention. Her arm burned where he’d touched as if he’d taken a flame to her skin, her chest boiling up with every single thing she could think to tell him, like how good his hair looked when he didn’t do much with it, or how hot his voice sounded like that, or that she really really did love him the way she’d never even thought possible outside her silly romance novels, that she’d never believed Pip when he’d told Estella; “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read,” and yet when she thought of it now, watching Spencer busy himself shovelling sugar into two mugs, it made entire perfect sense. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew him, and she didn’t ever want to know. 

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to say those three little words again, or just to tell him he smelled good even when he hadn’t put any deodorant or aftershave on, but her phone’s ringtone cut her off. 

Already knowing it was going to be Penelope with a new case, she flicked the call on to speaker phone, “What you got for me, baby girl?” She said, trying to make her voice as deep as it would go, and she heard Spencer snickering where he was stirring hot water into the instant coffee.

“Was that supposed to be Morgan?” Pen’s voice replied, a small chuckle of her own evident even through the digital tone.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Bugsy replied, stuffing the last of the toasted bread into her mouth.

“I thought he was right in the room with us for a moment there,” Spencer chimed in, humouring her, as he also took an enormous bite from his breakfast, knowing they were more than likely about to be called in and their game of house, one where they flustered every time they spoke, was going to be over, “I was like, woah, Morgan, when did you get here-”

“Alright, my little rascals. We have a case, Hotch wants everyone in,” Penelope said, no doubt already paging through JJ, “No more coffee for either of you, you’re both being weird enough as it is,” 

“Definitely not,” Spencer said, sliding the mug of milky, sweet caffeine over to Bugsy who smiled at him wickedly.

“Wheels up in twenty, Garcia,” The woman added in the same voice as before, Spencer laughing with a shake of his head and moving to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm winding around her waist to give her a small, affectionate squeeze on the hip. 

Penelope sighed, already accepting that their mercurial attitudes weren’t going away any time soon, the sudden mood change entirely odd to the rest of the team who had no idea that they had almost kissed just one week ago. To everyone else, they just seemed to have bounced back to normal, reverted back to Bugsy and Spencer; attached at the hip, only the eye contact and secretive smiles had been dialled to a hundred. The line went dead, and her head shot to look at him, where his hand had yet to move, and it was scoldingly hot against the soft fat that gathered at her hips.

“I’ll get your good shirt, I put it out to dry yesterday,” She said, her voice suddenly much less brave than it had been when she saw his eyes crinkling with a small smile. 

He nodded, and she caught his gaze trailing down her nose, darting over her lips for a second in a way that made her chest rev like a Ferrarri out of gear. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he looked back up to her eyes, his forest hues entrancing like he was playing some silent flute song and she was a snake dancing under his orders. 

He took a second to realise they were standing in his kitchen, his body pressed against hers like he hadn’t even realised they were so close, like he’d just gravitated to her that way, like he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried to. He’d had a taste of nectar, and he was a drunk man ever since. 

Spencer wrangled a hold of himself, allowing himself to stroke the back of her head lovingly, and pressing a kiss to her crown, before he stepped away from her, and the siren song dropped, the two of them dispersing to get ready for the case. 

Bugsy swore she could hear her heart pounding the entire drive to headquarters.

–

“I think the real question is why married couples?” Hotch mused, a steaming cup of black coffee sitting in front of him on the jet, his nose in the file on his lap. 

Bugsy scanned over the manilla folder in her hands, her legs swinging rhythmically beneath the table she sat on, Rossi to her left, her own second cup of coffee squeezed between her thighs. It was a heavy case for a weekend morning, three married couples found slashed and dumped together, the UnSub showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

“If he’s a sadist, having a witness to his torture heightens his pleasure,” Alex added, her lips pursed in contemplation, her hair primped surprisingly neat considering they’d been called in with little to no notice on a Sunday. 

“Israel Keyes kidnapped a husband and wife at gunpoint, got them in a car, took them to a remote location, and then killed the husband in front of the wife,” Spencer said, trying not to look straight at Bugsy when he felt her eyes on him.

He’d never been one to keep a good poker face, never been good at hiding how he felt especially when he was happy. And she made him happier than he deserved to be. He knew their little arrangement would become glaringly obvious to the rest of the team if he let himself look at her. he had no control of his face when it came to her, how he felt his eyes soften, his lips turn up into a dopey smile, his hands itching to touch her just to confirm she was real.

He saw her head tilt down, into her lap as she tried desperately to focus on the words on the page, but he caught the small smile that she kept for herself, and he had a feeling she was struggling just as much as he was. 

“Keyes was a sexual sadist, though,” Rossi interjected, his hands wrapped around a scolding cup of the green tea Penelope had bought them because she’d read of the stress relief benefits. They’d taken it, but David and Bugsy were the only ones who had tried it, “This guy, I don’t know,” 

“Cutting a husband and wife to death, it’s more like he’s mocking their marriage bond,” JJ said, her bluebell hues dancing to Bugsy when the girl chimed in.

“Mutilating both of them, killing them together, it’s like the idea of couples and happy marriage is a trigger for him; it’s personal. He wants to make them pay for their happiness, likely because something’s stopping him from having it too,” She said, taking a long sip of her coffee, Rossi nodding along with her. 

“That’s where my head’s at. ‘You took each other for better or worse, now I’m going to show you worse’,” He said, leaning back against the table, his shoulder nudging the younger girl. 

Derek stroked a hand over his stubbled beard, “His home life’s probably a wreck, at least one ex-wife, not to mention mom and dad,”  

“Alright we need to hit the ground,” Hotch said, flicking a glance at the youngest agent where she was all but inhaling her sweet beverage, “Prentiss and Reid, I want you mapping out a geographical profile,”

She nodded, her eyes slowly trailing to Spencer’s as Hotch distributed jobs around the team, but her head subconsciously tuned his stern voice out into static. Because when she looked up at his face, he was already staring at her, and the sound of her heartbeat racing crawled its way back into her ear, the thrumming so loud she was sure David could hear it too, she might as well have held a megaphone to her mouth and announced “Spencer Reid, you make me so nervous in the good kind of way,”

His hazel eyes trailed over her face, her expression unreadable as she scrambled to keep a lid on her feelings, and she wondered if this was where the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’ came from, because him so much as looking at her wiped her mind completely, which was not ideal for an agent working on a case. But she couldn’t help it, he was enchanting, and she guessed he was having just as much of an inner quarrel as he looked away from her, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his earlobes turning a strawberry ice cream pink. 

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the day so close to him. 

–

“First couple were last seen on the corner of Hill Avenue, Bella Mia Italian restaurant,” Bugsy read from her scrawled notes, as Spencer took a purple white board pen to the map of Detroit. Drawing a circle of a 5 centimetre radius around the little dot, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Hearing her pace behind him, he didn’t need to look up to know she was chewing her cuticles again. 

“Stop biting,” He chided lightly, hearing a guilty silence where he knew she’d caught herself with embarrassment. He tried not to show his amusement, knowing it would only make her feel worse, he bit down a smirk and raised his pen back to the map, “Next one?” 

She’d been on edge all day. He would have probably brushed it off as caffeine jitters seeing as she was on her fourth cup already, but Spencer knew her too well to know her tolerance was so high she had about two more mugs in her before she’d start to crash. 

He knew what it was, the memory of her skin beneath his lips burning his cheeks all over again, the look in her eyes when he’d been close enough they were sharing breath. He knew what it was because he felt it too. It was like their confession had set off a ticking time bomb, one that neither of them had the countdown to, and the clicking of every passing second sounded oddly like a pulse in their throats. To put it short, just the sound of her footsteps was making his skin pimpled with gooseflesh. 

“Uh, next one is Bowlarama, about ten stores down from there, Couple number two were seen getting milkshakes and heading towards the parking lot before they went missing,” She recited, her fingers firmly clutching the paper in her hand to resist the urge of gnawing at her nails again. Why was she so nervous? She lived with Spencer, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Spencer, spent almost all her evenings either playing chess or watching movies with Spencer, or on the odd occasion he found a book in reach he hadn’t read yet, he’d read out parts to her he found particularly engaging to those million, trillion, billion neurological pathways of his. 

The squealing of the pen against the board was the only thing keeping her head in the case, Spencer’s messy handwriting dotting around the map with points of interest, and she begged her brain to kick into gear the way it normally did, tried everything to yank herself out of the head fog she’d found herself lost in where thoughts of him emerged through like Mr Darcy strolling through those clouded moors, like how his voice sounded when he smiled, how his hand looked gripping that pen, how his body was lithe and handsome even from the back. 

She shook her head, jamming her face back into her files, to the gory images of couple number three, mutilated and bloody, and reminded herself she had a job to do. 

Get it together, Prentiss.

“Couple number three’s last known location was on the corner of Whittier Avenue, outside a wine bar named Blue Mates,” Bugsy read out, hoping her hot cheeks would dissipate before he noticed, “It seems couples out on date night really agitate this guy,” 

Spencer hummed, focused on his third circle, the three of them overlapping with almost precise measurements. It was hard not to notice the pattern to them. He heard her draw nearer with his profile complete, and they stood beside one another, so close they knocked hands when they leaned in to take a closer look at the rings.

“He hits the same street of stores every time, one after another,” Spencer said, his long forefinger trailing down the strip of shops and bars the UnSub seemed to have a taste for, “I mean, excluding retail and supermarkets, since they’re unlikely spots for a husband and wife to go out on a date, the pattern is really quite linear where he hits next,” 

Gently taking the pen out of his hands, Bugsy leaned up to colour in every single store that would be considered retail, crossing out a pet shop or two, leaving only the cafes, bars, restaurants, even a cinema. And sure enough, the three spots the victims had been last seen lined up perfectly as the first three ��date night’ locations on the strip, the next being a steak restaurant named The Greasy Grill. 

“How much do you want to bet our UnSub is getting a craving for Sirloin right about now?” Bugsy said, putting the pen down onto the table and they exchanged a look of accomplishment, just as Hotch walked in with the Chief of Detroit police. 

“What did you find?” Hotch asked, his eyes falling to the asterisks drawn on the whiteboard, the rest of the known locations Penelope had sent dotted around the map. 

“Date night is very important to this UnSub,” Spencer said, the two of them turning to their boss, his shoulder bumping hers, and it was only then she’d realised she was all but pressing up into his side. 

“He goes on dates?” The chief of police asked, his brows furrowed. Taking a step away, her eyes darting to the map as a means of distracting herself, she pointed to the ink marks they’d squiggled on the paper.

“No, but the victims do and he knows that,” She explained, tracing a chewed fingertip down the street, “The UnSub hit here first, where our first couple went out for pizza. He then moved down here where the second victims had their date night in a bowling alley, and onto our newest victims, they were last seen having wine here, each kidnapping site along the same strip with the next possible location being right here,” She said, her finger slapping against the Greasy Grill, Hotch nodding in thought as the Chief got on the phone with his own team. 

“Good work, you two,” Hotch hummed, and he opened his mouth to speak again when Bugsy’s phone began to ring.

Snatching it out of her pocket, she caught sight of Alex’s name before swiping to answer, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?” 

“Fourth victim has just been found dumped in a car.” The woman said immediately, and Bugsy switched her mobile to speaker so the other two could hear her. Turning on her heels to face the white board, she grabbed the pen resting on the table beside her, yanking the lid off with her teeth.

“Where?” She asked, Spencer picking the plastic from between her lips to help her communicate, her eyes focused on the road names as she waited for Alex’s response. 

“Back alley between Warren and Forest Avenue, one woman found alone in a white Buick,” Alex said, and all three of their faces scrunched in confusion as she said it. 

“He’s changed his victimology,” Spencer murmured and Bugsy nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line, “Alex, is the woman married at least, or has the UnSub completely altered his preference?”

“We have her husband here right now,” Alex confirmed, and Hotch stepped over to where the two geniuses inspected the map, “He said he missed a dinner reservation they had two nights ago at a restaurant called-”

“The Greasy Grill?” Spencer and Bugsy spoke synchronously, and Alex paused audibly. 

“I take it you two have figured out his pattern already?” She asked, though she didn’t sound all too surprised. 

“See if the husband knows anything else, Blake. We’re going to figure out the next location that fits the pattern,” Hotch ordered, and they bid each other goodbye, as Bugsy and Spencer were already coordinating which plots of land were retail stores. 

By the time the line went dead, there was a big red mark circling a mini golf course slash cocktail bar, and the duo looked at him expectantly. 

“If the UnSub keeps his victims for around three days at a time, and the woman was found this morning, my guess is he’s going to head there tonight,” Bugsy said, capping the pen and dropping it back onto the desk, feeling Spencer nodding behind her, “And if the victim was supposed to be at the restaurant with her husband, it means he’s still looking for couples, he just happened to get unlucky. He’s going to want another happy-go-lucky husband and wife pairing,” 

Hotch’s face became unreadable for a moment, his gaze switching between the two of them, like he was assessing the risk factor of sending his two youngest agents undercover for the second time. But they seemed to have worked together seamlessly the first time, in that casino, so he didn’t see the qualms about asking them to work the same act this time.

“What?” Bugsy asked, the look in his eye unnerving her, and she flicked a glance behind her at Spencer’s equally lost expression, turning back to see Hotch dialling Dave’s number to update him on their plan, “Hotch, what is it?”

“He wants a happy couple,” Hotch said, his phone already up to his ear as he eyed the little to zero space between the two agents who swore blind they were just friends, “We’re going to give him one,” 

–

She had to admit, this was a little nicer than the red dress she’d been stuffed into last time. The sundress was flowy enough she could hide her gun strapped to her hip, and still compliment her figure nicely enough that she couldn’t complain. And best of all, it meant she could wear her ballet pumps instead of those god awful stilettos she’d pulled out last time they were undercover. 

She still remembered that evening in the casino, watching Spencer’s big brain tick faster than she’d thought possible even for him. The briefing of this even seemed much more relaxed, seeing as their aim was to look like the happiest couple alive. ‘You worry about playing your parts, we’ll worry about playing ours,’; was what Alex had said when she’d brought in a dress about Bugsy’s size, the woman already styling her hair to look like she was really going on a date. 

Because she was, sort of, not really, going on a date with Spencer. Except none of it was real, like someone up there had to have one final laugh at her luck, like that carrot on a string she’d been waiting patiently for the past week was looking a lot more delicious by the second as it dangled in front of her.  

There was a knock on the small hotel room Hotch had booked them in for the evening, seeing as they were going to be scoping out the area until late, and Bugsy headed for the door without pause, thinking it was JJ returning with the fake wedding rings they’d gotten from a cheap jewellers down the street. 

She swung the door open, only to be greeted by two dark eyes looking at her done up face, her primped hair, her floral dress. 

“Spence,” She said, picking over every inch of him, breathless already, because she always thought he looked hot in a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, “You look-”

“You look beautiful,” He rushed, like he might just burst if he held it in any longer, and she smiled sheepishly, her face flooding with heat all over again. Damn you, Reid, with your stupid charm and ridiculously good looking lips.

“You look beautiful too,” She complimented, noticing a gold band on his finger then and she realised he had something in his palm, “You run into JJ already?” 

He nodded, smiling with a stammered breath, “Yeah, I said I’d come check if you were ready. Hotch and Dave are already there scoping out the bar,” 

She simpered under the weight of his nervousness, “Well, I’m ready,” Holding out her left hand, she raised her ring finger, “Marry me, pretty boy,” 

He snickered, shaking his head at her clear diversion from the stifling tension in the air, and held her hand in his delicately, his skin warm as it encompassed hers entirely, and he was careful to slip the false engagement ring over her digits, following it with a gold band of her own. 

“You ready to get your ass kicked at miniature golf whilst our friends catch a criminal, Mr Reid?” She asked, and he had yet to let go of her hand as she shut the door behind her, slipping her hotel room key into her purse. 

“That’s a bold statement from such a sore loser, Mrs Reid,” He said back, a smile so wide he thought he might burst a vessel as she laughed, and tightened her fingers around his, interlacing them just like she had done a handful of times before, and his chest crackled with white hot excitement when she knocked her shoulder into his side in affection. 

His lips scorched with the words Mrs Reid the entire drive to the bar. 

–

“Any eyes on him, yet?” Bugsy whispered to the women in the stalls, touching up her lipstick as JJ and Alex hid in the women’s bathroom for the signal. 

“Not yet,” Blake said, sitting on the closed toilet seat in her kevlar and jacket, all but twiddling her thumbs and wishing she’d brought a sudoku, “Are you guys having fun at least?”

“Pretending to be married to my best friend while a serial killer eyes up my guts for the taking; yeah I’m peachy,” Bugsy replied, rubbing her lips together and making sure her gun was still strapped tight to her hip, “Besides, he really is kicking my ass at golf,”

“He’s going to let you win anyway, you know that right?” JJ said, tucking her feet up onto the seat in her own stall in case anyone who wasn’t on their team came in to the bathroom, “He always lets you win because he knows it makes you happy,”

Bugsy paused, the tissue that was collecting rogue lipstick smudges from her face almost falling in the sink, and she was quick to gather her voice with a clear of her throat.

“Maybe I just win because I’m good, Jennifer,” She said, a lilt of teasing in her tone, binning the scrap tissue paper and heading for the door, “Keep an eye out, kiddos. I’m going back in,”

They chirped a goodbye, the two of them sighing as they waited for Hotch’s message, and Bugsy walked back out to where Spencer was waiting by Hole Seven. It was a classic windmill on top of a hill, a small tunnel where the door was supposed to be leading to a lower level behind the plastic decor, where the hole lay waiting for them. 

“You ready, honey?” He said, holding out a purple putter they’d chosen at the start of the course, and she smiled genuinely at him. She had been telling somewhat of a lie when she’d been so unenthusiastic in the bathroom, though she thought telling the women just how much fun she was having being married to Spencer might just rub salt in the wound considering they were bored stiff sat in the bathroom.

That and she wanted to keep whatever it was they were feeling theirs and only theirs for just a little bit longer. 

“Ready, my love,” She sang in response and let him go first. He had to lean over a fair bit seeing as he was so tall he made everything on the course look particularly miniature, including the putter that seemed dwarfed by his height. Taking a quick look at the hill, no doubt calculating the angle and force he would need to hit it with, he gave the little, pink golf ball a generous tap and it raced up the slope, straight into the tunnel. They heard it knocking around a little in the chamber, before it came careering out the other end and rolled no closer than a yard away from the hole. 

Bugsy looked at him with wide eyes, to which he pretended not to look almost arrogant with how easy he’d made it seem, only when he looked back at her with a shit eating grin, she knew exactly how pleased with himself he was. 

“I bet it’s not that difficult, it’s all just a matter of force and drag and whatnot, right?” She said, strolling up to place her lilac ball on the inky dot marking the start. 

“Totally, although this is where, I don’t know, say a degree in Engineering would come in useful, I bet,” Spencer chimed in, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he had that smirk on his face. 

“Mr Reid, get ready to eat your words,” She replied over her shoulder, smacking the ball hard enough it flew up the slope, bouncing off the wall of the windmill and racing all the way back down the hill, rolling right back to where they stood, Spencer hiding a laugh behind his hand. She gaped, her face hot with annoyance, “Wait, wait! That was a practice run, I get another go,”

“Practice run, I see,” Spencer said with a chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching her scramble to set the ball back on the marker, “So out of interest, how many of these practice runs are you getting,”

“Just the one,” She said, hitting the plastic globe again, though this time it barely made it half way up the incline before it rolled right back down again, “Two, I get two. This one’s the real one, starting now,” 

“The real one? So this one’s really the one that counts, right?” He teased, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, a look of the cat that got the cream smeared all across his face as he took a stance behind her, wrapping his arms around hers with the oldest trick in the book, “Why don’t you let your dearest husband help you out, huh?” 

“I have a masters and half a degree in medicine, I think I know what I’m doing,” She hummed, though the feeling of his hands resting over hers soone quietened down whatever fire was stoked in her belly from losing their game. Spencer was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck, feel his chest on her shoulder blades, and worst and most heinous of all, feel his crotch pressing against her tailbone. 

“Alright, alright. Just humour me,” He murmured, a new found confidence in him that he only seemed to get whenever they were playing the part of being other people. He gave her a salacious lick of his lips, smiling at her with a pink parted mouth, his eyes dark in this light like he knew what she was thinking as well, and he couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty when he flirted with her a little. He’d always thought that when she was stunned into that quiet tone, the mousy look she got on her face was rather cute. 

His hands engulfed hers with a mesh of pornographic veins and sadistically handsome knuckles, his mouth at her ear as they lined up the shot together. 

It was as if a murmuration of birds had flocked together in her chest, dipping and diving and creating all manner of shapes in her stomach as she felt it flip three or four times, his body so entirely pressed against hers she never wanted to move a muscle. She’d had the odd thought pop into her head about what sex with Spencer Reid might feel like, and yet all she could think about in the haze of the putter and fake grass beneath their feet was how delicious he felt pressing into her like that. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she looked forward again, and she could have sworn she held back a moan when he breathed out down her spine. 

“Hotch has eyes on a guy at the bar watching us,” He whispered, her back straightening as she was reminded with a slap to the face they were still working the case. That as much fun as they were having, as happy as they were supposed to seem, they still had a very real job to do, and she felt stupid for thinking the flirty glances and erotic embrace was for anything more than to sell the married couple act. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not committed to her job. So instead of worrying if Spencer had felt anything real in the last hour or so, she decided to double down and give their UnSub a real show. 

Sticking her ass out so she brushed against Spencer’s crotch more, she intertwined her fingers with his, and hit the dimpled sphere the direction he guided her; and sure enough it rolled straight into the tunnel with little qualms.

Spinning in his arms, the smile was nearly wiped off her face when she saw Spencer’s eyes had darkened to a rich espresso hue as he looked at her. But she hid it well, despite the fact she caught the way his pupils were blown wide, and simply leaned to kiss him smack dab on his cheek, a smirk on her face when she pulled away.

“I guess I just needed the correct motivation,” She said with a flirty undertone, and she revelled in the way his lips parted enough she saw the whites of his absurdly pretty teeth. 

“Remind me to not take you out to mini golf for our first date,” Spencer huffed, his ears red as a mushroom top as they both stepped over to where the hole was and she snickered, trying her best to ignore the wings hammering away at her ribcage when he said that. 

“Duly noted, Mr Reid,” She said, watching him lineup his next shot with a smirk, and she wondered just where exactly they would go on their first date. Her smile only got wider, a girlish glee to her eyes. “So, theoretically, where were you thinking of taking me?” 

“Theoretically,” He said, lining up his shot, the ball only a small tap away from the hole, his feet spreading a little wider so he could lean down to putt the pink sphere, “I was thinking of going to that book cafe out in Delaware, the one where they have a bunch of drinks inspired by different authors. We could play a game I used to with my mom, where we choose a book for each other we think the other would like,” He took the shot, his ball rolling into the cavity without much effort as she watched him meticulously, her entire body softening with his sentiment right down to her marrow, “And then I was going to say we build a sofa fort in the living room and watch whatever movie you like, maybe get some popcorn on the way home,” 

He looked up at her, and almost reeled back in surprise to see her looking at him with something so vastly emotional in her eyes, like he’d offered her a winning lottery ticket or a chance to go back in time in a flying police box, her expression a complete window into her soul because she’d never been too good at hiding how she felt when she was around him. 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, only for their earpieces to jump to life, Hotch’s voice out of breath as he reported down their ear. 

“We have the UnSub, we caught him trying to sneak into your car like we profiled.” He said, and she knew his brow was creased without even having to see his face, “We’re taking him in for questioning now, you kids wrap up and head to the station,”

Bugsy hummed in confirmation, fighting the disappointment that their show was over, and they’d have to go back to their usual act of pretending there wasn’t three little words hanging over both their heads, gnawing at the back of their brains. 

Clearing her throat, she set up her shot ready to finish their game, “Well, theoretically speaking, when you’re ready to ask me on that date, I’m there,”

He smiled to himself, perhaps ready to flirt with her just a little more before they went back to being Bugsy and Spence, not Mr and Mrs Reid, when she hit the golf ball just the tiniest bit too vigorously. It rolled straight past the hole, bouncing off the wall and heading further away from the end than when she’d started, and she groaned in frustration. 

“How are you so terrible at this-” Spencer burst out laughing as she stomped over to the lilac ball, lining up another shot with a grumpy expression. 

“Not another word, Lover boy,” 

2. The one with an old flame.

“I wonder what Hotch wants,” She mused, her head resting on the arm of the seat, her eyes shut for the duration of the flight. Rossi had called them into the office startlingly early for a Friday, the entire team sleepy eyed and annoyed as they’d strolled onto the sixth floor. 

Yet the minute that they’d heard Hotch needed them, they’d soon perked up in interest, seeing as it was Aaron’s only appointed week off to see Beth in New York, and they had quickly jumped in to help with whatever it was he needed. 

“Penelope’s still waiting for NYPD to send her the autopsy reports for the previous victims,” Rossi said, him, Strauss, JJ and Alex playing a few rounds of Shithead with a peeling deck of cards because for once they had no paperwork to be looking over while they travelled. Bugsy had laid on the couch, the one Spencer usually commandeered, except this time he let her take the comfy seat, instead letting her legs drape over his lap as he read from his book, another two sat next to him for when he finished that one. 

“He sounded panicked. DEA thinks we might have a bad batch of something making its way through the club scene causing the deaths,” Strauss added, putting down two sets of three on top of JJ’s ace, “Aaron’s brother just happened to have been caught in the crossfire,”

“Men are almost twice as likely to die from drug overdoses than women, just last year there were forty-one thousand, five hundred and two cases.” Spencer said without lifting his head from his pages, his thumb caressing over Bugsy’s ankle bone, “The fact that the majority of the victims are women suggests it’s more than likely is a date rape drug that has been laced since they tend to be targeted towards female victims more often than males.” 

“Ecstasy can be made in pill, powder or liquid form so it really wouldn’t be too difficult to slip it into someone’s drink,” The girl mused, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she attempted to catch up on another half hour of sleep, “Or to convince people the drug they’re taking willingly is safe,”

“Even regular users might not know they're being dosed until it's too late,” JJ agreed, setting down a seven on top of Rossi’s two fives. 

“What about the two victims who were clean, Linda Heying and Eric Sullivan’s family claimed they never touched the stuff,” Alex questioned, as Morgan looked over the list of victims that they had been able to track down, despite the majority of the information waiting for them at New York. 

“Either the victims are good at hiding the truth or the UnSub is killing for another reason,” David said with a sigh, as Strauss set down the six of clubs, “We should take a closer look, see how they’re connected,”

“Well for now, let the princess get her beauty sleep,” Bugsy said, snuggling into the throw pillow Spencer had passed her as they’d sat down, “I’m feeling weird today,”

His head ripped from his book at that, the rest of the team going back to playing their cards, his hand skirting up to her calf to stroke her leg gently, “You okay?” 

She huffed, “Yeah, Penelope said it's because my Mercury is in Retrograde or something, I don’t know. I just feel strange,” She grumbled, resting a hand over her stomach, “Probably just coming on my period early,”

He frowned, moving her legs off his lap and standing up. Before she could ask where he was going, he stepped to the opposite end of the couch, picking her head up gently by the crook of her neck and sitting back down, resting her back onto his lap. 

His fingers were in her hair before she could say anything, scratching gently at her scalp the way he knew she turned to putty for, and she smiled, swearing blind she’d be purring if she could. 

“We’ll get you some breakfast when we land,” He murmured, and she snuggled her cheek into his thigh, his slender fingers massaging her skin kindly. 

“Thankyou, Spence,” She whispered back, all but slurring her words as sleep caught right back up to her, and before long she was drooling on his black trousers, the sight of it making him smile sweetly to himself. 

And it was for a moment like that he wondered what exact feeling he was waiting for in the first place. 

–

“Any updates?” Bugsy asked, as they entered the New York Police Department and saw Hotch waiting for them, his arms crossed in a casual shirt and jeans, clearly having had no intention of working this week, “How’s your brother?”

“A little shaken but then he never exactly made the best choices in life,” Hotch huffed, putting a hand on her back as she leaned in to give him a small hug because he seemed particularly stressed, “Emily always said you were bad, I’d take you over him any day,”

“Thanks,” She murmured into his shoulder, with a frown, “I think?”

He smiled, amused the way she had a knack for, though the worry in his mahogany eyes didn’t budge, and Spencer was all but a step behind her as the team filed into the building. 

“You guys have coffee?” Spencer asked, his eyes subconsciously trailing after Bugsy as she moved to talk to one of the detectives, and Hotch nodded, pointing him over to the small kitchenette at the back of the precinct. 

“Over there, I’ll get you guys set up with the lab reports now that you’re here. Autopsies came back for Linda and Eric,” Hotch said, and Spencer murmured in agreement, heading straight for the instant coffee and creamer, worrying about the girl who was already nose deep in a file by the time the machine had poured the first cup. 

He wondered whether there were any pharmacies nearby for anti-sickness tablets, or if she needed a heavy dose of water and sleep instead of the caffeine goodness he was whipping up for her, but then he knew she’d rather shrivell into a ball in the precinct bathroom than ask for a day off, would rather suffer in proud silence than make herself look weak. 

Bugsy remembered it happening in choppy intervals. One minute she was heading up the steps towards where Spencer stood patiently by the coffee machine, something already popping up as a point of interest in her overworked brain. Her head was down, muttering to herself the points of the victimology that conflicted with one another, when she felt herself slam right into a solid body, and she jumped back, steadying herself with an embarrassed expression. 

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” Her eyes snapped up to see a messy blonde sweep of hair, wide blue eyes she’d known ten years ago and a thick beard that happened to be the only thing new about him. Her gaze locked onto him, and she felt a fury she’d not thought about in over a decade rile up inside her, “Sean?” 

“Bugsy,” He breathed, the horror sweeping over his expression, a hand shooting up to slick his hair back nervously, “What are you- how are you-” 

She shoved him back with two firm hands, tossing the file onto the table beside her, and shoving at his chest again, his own hands coming up to defend himself lightly even though his expression read nothing but guilt. 

“Woah, woah, let’s just talk about this, I was just a dumb kid-”

“You left me, Sean. You left me in a foreign country alone with no boarding pass, no cell phone,” She snarled, and the sound of her tone rising turned a few heads, Spencer all but ditching the spoon into the sink when he saw her going nose to nose with some guy who looked purely terrified, “Your dumbass friends spent all my money on hookers, I’d still be in Italy if it wasn’t for the fact you graciously decided not to steal my bank card-” 

She shoved him again in between her growls, and it wasn’t until two hands came up to stop her did she realise Derek and Spencer had all but appeared behind her, the former’s arms wrapping around her waist to draw her back. 

“Woah, woah, talk to me, pretty girl. What’s with the aggression?” Derek asked, his eyes wide with concern as he looked between the youngest agent and their suspect. It seemed her volume had reached the other side of the room where Hotch had been talking with Strauss and Alex, and Spencer could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he whipped around to their trio. 

He could already hear the lecture coming, and the thought of it made him gulp.

“This is Sean,” She spat, and Derek and Spencer’s head snapped to the blonde man who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, “You know, the asshole that ditched me on another continent and stole my money,”

“I didn’t mean to steal your money, I thought you had it in your purse, I-I didn’t think to check before we left the hotel room,” He tried to interject, though the girl's glare intensified, unaware her boss's shoes were now thundering across the steps. 

“Where you left me to miss the flight I paid for, you inconsiderate prick-”

“You told me to leave you alone! You said you were sick of us waking you up-”

“I meant playing your music too loud, dumbass-”

“Well sorry, last time I checked I’m not a mind reader, Bugsy-”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Hotch’s voice was a crack of lightning through the precinct, and the two of them shut up immediately, like two school children caught squabbling in the halls, Sean turning to his older brother with an exasperated expression. 

“Aaron, I swear, I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Sean pleaded, and Derek, Spencer and Bugsy turned to their boss in unison with bewildered faces. Hotch looked back at them, his own anger dissolving into utter, raw confusion. 

“Do you two know each other?” Hotch, Aaron, asked the girl in the middle, the other men all but positioned as bodyguards in the midst of their little spat, and he saw her cheeks hot with anger deflating as she drew a breath to answer. 

“Unfortunately,” She spat, scrutinising the familiar tone Sean had used when he’d said Aaron’s name, “Do you two know each other?” 

“He’s my brother,” The Hotchner’s replied in unison, their tone almost identical and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

Bugsy felt her face drop, her eyes scanning between them for any signs of a lie, except all she found were the tiny details of their face that seemed to half match. Like their cheekbones, and the crease between their brows, the shape of their lips. 

Her face blanked, gobsmacked silence passing between the five of them as she digested exactly what that statement ment. 

Sean, her Sean, the Sean she’d been sleeping with on and off for six months straight, who used to make her tea way too milky and without sugar the way she hated it, but would bring it to her in bed and stroke her back when they were finished, the Sean who once tried to ask her to be his girlfriend when he was stoned and she’d laughed at him and snatched the blunt away, told him to get a hold of himself because that was the exact opposite of how friends with benefits worked. 

Sean, who she had trusted to keep her safe, who’d ditched her naked in a hotel room in a foreign country and made her feel stupid for ever believing a word a man said.  

She stuttered for a response, a wide eyes mix of terror and confusion and repulsion washing over her in stages. 

“I need-” She swallowed thickly, her mouth drier than sandpaper, gently pushing Derek’s arm from around her waist, “I think I need a walk- a walk sounds good- yeah-”

Rossi paced over to the five of them, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. He almost paused at the wall of awkward tension around the group, each participant seeming stuck for the right thing to say, the entire situation so bizarre that Spencer debated faking a migraine to get him and her out of the room for some air. 

“Hotch,” Both of the men turned to look at him, and the sight of it made Bugsy shudder, feeling almost completely out of her own body at the thought of her nude body on top of Sean’s because now all she could see was Aaron in his place, “Six new bodies found in a nightclub-”

“I’ll go!” She jumped, all but bolting past the men, trying her hardest not to touch either of them because her skin crawled with a sickening uncanny valley looking between the brothers, “I’ll go inspect the crime scene,” 

And no one stopped her, because they’d seen her be all manner of strange before, but never quite like that. Aaron nodded his head to Morgan, and the man took it as a sign to follow her. He quickly obeyed, hot on the girl's heels as she kept her head down with an odd, freaked out expression on her face like she was about to throw up and scream at the same time. 

Which left Sean alone as Spencer and Aaron whirled around on him, similar looks of annoyance on their face as the younger agent looked the man head to toe. 

He was handsome, handsome in a rugged way like he was used to bar fights and late nights and drinking until three am with pretty ladies like her. He was built wide like Aaron, his shoulders broad and muscles stocky, a few tattoos dotted around his arms that only added to his rough looking appeal, and Spencer wondered if she’d always liked the bad boys, wondered if he was an outlier in her dating history. 

Except they weren’t dating, not yet at least. 

“So I take it she’s one of your agents,” Sean said, wringing his hands together in anxiety as the two taller men looked down at him, equally unimpressed.

Though, Spencer hated to admit, his was more green faced jealousy than anything else. 

“Agent Prentiss is one of the best,” Reid corrected, his tone cold and stern, and Sean visibly shrunk in on himself, looking to his big brother for help, only he found Aaron was just as annoyed, glaring down at him. 

“You have some more explaining to do, Sean,” His brother snapped, and the two men diverted him into one of the interrogation rooms, Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard he felt his temples ache, “Or next time I’m not stopping her from handing your ass to you, and believe me when I say you’ll wish you’d told me sooner,”

Sean gulped, all too aware of the way eighteen year old Bugsy had never backed down from a fight, when men twice her age shoved her in clubs or girls bitched at her for dancing too close to their boyfriends. He didn’t imagine she was any different at twenty eight, except this time she was trained and licensed to handle a gun. 

The door slammed behind them, and Aaron pushed his little brother into the seat with a firm hand, the sight of his unit chief just as protective over her as he was making Spencer bite back glee. The image of Bugsy laying into the guy was burned into his memory, eidetic or not, and it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him blowing his top as Sean opened his mouth to explain what had happened between him and the younger Prentiss woman. 

–

“What did you do, Thane?” Sean’s voice crackled over the feed, the wire on his chest brushing against his shirt as he paced in the wine cellar. Aaron, Morgan, Spencer and Bugsy sat in the van, listening to the conversation through shared headphones, Spencer and Bugsy’s heads pressed together as they followed the voices as best as they could, waiting for a confession or anything they could tie to the victims' gory deaths. 

“I spiked the wine, you idiot,” Sean’s boss, Thane, snapped, his breathing laboured and Bugsy took a shot in the dark to say he was pacing, worrying now that there was concrete evidence linking his date rape drug to the deaths of atleast nine people so far, “Oh, God. Oh, god, Jim is going to kill me.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sean seethed, his patience wearing thin as the man all but confessed to killing his girlfriend. 

“For a laugh, I thought it was X. Girl’s love that crap,” Thane replied, his voice louder as Sean stepped closer to him, and she exchanged a look with Aaron.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, was it?” The younger Hotchner barked, and she quickly let go of the headphones to grab a kevlar and her gun. 

“He’s going off track, Aaron, he’d not going to keep his cool much longer,” She said, and Spencer’s eyes trailed up to her face, her brow furrowed as Aaron moved to slip his own bulletproof over his head, adjusting the straps at his side. 

“Tell SWAT to stand by, we’re going in to support, but we may need back up,” Aaron ordered, unholstering his gun and switching the trigger off safety, “You two stay here and see if Thane says any more about the wine,”

She drew her gun to her side just as he did, and Spencer made a move to stop her, even just to check where her head was at because he knew she had this tendency of throwing herself in harms way and asking questions later. He selfishly worried what that upset look in her eyes meant, like she loathed that Sean was in danger as much as she loathed him. 

But he wasn’t quite fast enough, because by the time he’d reached a hand out for hers to ask if she was feeling alright, she had slid the door to the van open, hopping out onto the tarmac as Aaron shadowed her. 

And something ugly and envious reared its head in Spencer’s gut as the doors slammed, so much so that his jaw feathered and he took a deep breath out, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The two agents moved as one, their footsteps pounding over the linoleum floor of the night club. They swept to the back of the building, where the door to the stock room was, and it became apparent almost immediately from the grunting and shuffling the other side of the door that the two men were much closer to brawling than they’d guessed. 

“FBI, drop your weapon!” Bugsy called, bracing herself as she felt Aaron’s domineering figure at her shoulder. She raised her leg to kick the door in, and it swung on its hinges, smacking into the rack of beer. They caught the two men in the middle of a fist fight, Sean with a split lip, Thane with a gash on his forehead, his head locked under the younger man’s arm with a deathly grip.

She holstered her gun, seeing that neither of them were carrying, and moved forward to break the two of them up.

“Alright, Sean- Sean, that’s enough,” She scolded, her fingers prying his muscled arm off his boss’s trachea, and Sean took a second to realise it was disappointment in her face, not the white hot anger it had been not even a few hours before, before he let the man go, some colour returning to his bluing lips.

“He killed Linda,” The blonde Hotchner said softly, and something wavered in her eyes, something close to pity, and she nodded at him while biting her cheek hard. Aaron holstered his gun, surging forward to grab Thane with rough hands as he fought against the taller man’s grip. “She was sober, she’d gotten clean and he killed her,” 

“I know,” Bugsy said lamentingly, and against her better judgement she patted his shoulder kindly, more kindly than he probably deserved, and the thought of it made Sean’s baby blue eyes turn away in sorrow. 

Before she could say anything else, Thane wretched his hand out of Hotch’s grip, grabbing for the sharp box cutter and lunging right for Bugsy where she turned away from him. 

Sean’s expression morphed into fear for a moment, grabbing for her to yank her out of reach, but it was too late. She felt the slash across the back of her arm, where her kevlar couldn’t cover up, and she yawped in pain the way a dog sounds when its tail gets crushed. Turning towards the source of the danger, Sean’s hand weaved around her waist to tug her backwards as Aaron scrambled to grab the suspect. 

Thane’s hand gripped the blade and slashed down again, across her cheek and only inches away from her eye, her hands too late to grab his wrists to stop his advances. By the time he drew back to swipe for her again Aaron had already tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the wine soaked floor and fumbling for his cuffs. 

“We have an agent injured and needing medical, repeat, medical unit required on scene,” Spencer was out of his seat before Hotch could even finish his sentence, forgoing his own vest as he darted from the van, his heart racing at the sound of the scuffle echoing through Sean’s wire, and he felt his chest seizing at just what kind of a state she’d be in when he saw her. 

She was the only other agent on the scene. That call had to be made for her, the voice in his gut told him, but the twisted part of him hoped that it was someone else, anyone else, that had gotten hurt, because he might just throw a punch of his own at Thane or Sean or maybe even both of them if she had so much as a single hair misplaced. 

Spencer had only just about reached the bar area when the four of them emerged from the stock room, Thane in cuffs, looking rattled and aggravated. Spencer let himself take a long, hard look at the man with a glare that soon made him cower away, though he found little luck elsewhere as Hotch’s hands gripped him so tight Spencer thought he might be trying to strangle him through his arms. 

But that wasn’t who he was looking for. And there, trailing behind his unit chief sheepishly, with Sean’s hand on her back as he watched her carefully, his eyes worriedly darting over her skin when he saw how fast the blood was pouring from the laceration on the apple of her cheek, was Bugsy. Her expression was shaken, no doubt from nearly having her corneas slashed open had Sean not pulled her away even a second earlier, and she seemed in some sort of a daze, until she spotted the sweater vest she’d shoved in the wash about a hundred times, and two supple hands reached for her shoulders, snapping her attention out of her head. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, all but ignoring Sean as the man went to flag down medical, his own appearance dishevelled and stunned, and it irked Spencer something childish when her head snapped to the blonde, watching him head for the paramedics. 

“I’m okay, Spence, it’s just a superficial wound,” She said as a reflex, meeting his eyes finally. But she simpered when she saw just how terrified he seemed, a warm palm raising to cup his face affectionately, “He just nicked the skin, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it looks,” 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her face stung like a bitch, but the feeling of her cheek dribbling with the ichor was worse than the actual pain, and made her feel queasy more than anything. 

He went to say something else, or perhaps even gently caress the clean side of her face with his own loving gesture, but he was quickly interrupted by the medical team all but grabbing Bugsy out of his grip and assessing her themselves. 

“It’s probably best if you come take a seat, Agent Prentiss,” The woman said, pointing to where Sean sat on the back of the ambulance getting his nose checked over, “We’ll be over with some stitches and glue,” 

And Spencer made a move to follow the two of them, only to be stopped by Hotch, who called his name with that direct tone he took when he was worried.

“Reid, I need you and Morgan to interview Thane about where he got the drugs he used to spike the wine,” Aaron ordered, even though he seemed to watch the girl go just as bothered as the younger agent, and Spencer seemed conflicted between rebelling against his boss’s instructions or keeping to his track record of following them to a tea. 

He paused for a second, his gaze flicking to the girl who sat with her old flame, Sean’s eyes roving over her head to toe worriedly, and he looked back to Aaron, “But-”

“Now, Reid. She’s going to be fine.” 

And Spencer was forced to listen, even if his face burned with annoyance at the sight of the man watching her so tentatively. 

–

“Would you quit fidgeting, the medic said it was a surface wound,” Bugsy snipped, feeling the ocean hues burning a hole into the side of her head. She dusted her knees off of invisible dirt, braving a look up at her ex-fling where she was met with a wall of guilt.

And it was like for a split second she remembered all the mornings she’d wake up to him twirling the tips of her hair between his fingers, or when he’d shake his head whenever he’d look over her shoulder at her lab reports she’d be writing and make a passing comment on how a hot girl like her could have brains and looks. 

Or how he could be kind to her, genuinely sweet when he wanted to be, when they toed a weird line between friends with benefits and something a little more, because at his core she knew he was a good guy, he was just incredibly dumb for an eighteen year old. 

“Listen, Bug,” Sean sighed, looking down at the ground where they were perched on the back on the ambulance, Bugsy’s face stitched up so tight she hoped it wouldn’t scar very deeply, “I really am sorry for how I treated you,” 

His voice shook with something remorseful, and she let her eyes cast over his face that had grown even more handsome in the ten years since she saw him. With the good memories came the bad ones in equal measure, and the arguments over stupid shit like leaving cupboard doors open and playing music late at night and the time he forgot to feed her gerbil for two days when she was out of town washed back to shore from the deepest crevices of her mind. 

She’d been with men after him, had flings and meaningless kisses with boys who’d treated her much less kindly than he had. And when she thought about it, the anger and resentment she’d felt when she thought about those few days she spent lost in Italy stemmed from the fact she’d been forced to confront what she’d always feared since she was little. 

That Bugsy was alone in the world, forgettable, someone you could leave behind and sleep soundly. 

But when she thought of that now, the first face she pictured was Spencer, and how he would tell her to knock it off if she ever said that out loud, because he would never leave her, in a foreign country or even at a gas station if she needed to get fuel. He always walked up to the pump with her because he knew exactly how many women got kidnapped in places like that every year, he'd told her so already. 

And she knew the person she was when she could have loved Sean, the person who was reminded just how easy it was to leave her behind, was gone. In its place was the girl who Spencer loved like it was as easy as breathing. And the thought of it made her feel just that little bit less bitter towards the blonde man who fiddled with his rough, bloodied hands. 

“I was a dumb kid, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of,” He swallowed heavily, his frown looking strikingly similar to Aaron's as he did, but she would never remind him, “But I did always wonder whether I’d see your name in the news curing some disease I could never pronounce or being the first person to learn like every single language there is,” He smiled sadly, and the old her knew him just well enough to know he was being honest, because his nose turned red whenever he lied. 

The thought of it made her lips curve up, despite how annoyed she’d been to see him again, and there was something bashful about the way the slid a hand into his to give it a quick squeeze.

“We were eighteen, Sean. No one has themselves figured out at eighteen,” She said earnestly, her head dipping to meet his ashamed gaze.

He shook his head, “You deserved so much better than I could ever give you, we both knew that,” He pulled his hand away, and her expression contorted into confusion, “It’s probably why you're with that doctor, right? Aaron said he’s like a whizz kid,”

“He’s not-We’re-” She sighed, running a hand over where the EMTs had stitched the gash on the back of her arm, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated like we were complicated?” He asked, her fingertip tracing every single nook where they had looped the suture through her skin. 

She smiled to herself and looked over at him, something weighty like closure passing between the two of him as he watched her take his tired face in, knowing they were nothing more than just passing ships in the night now. 

“You meant something to me once, Sean, no matter how much we drove each other up the wall,” She snickered, and something like an exhausted chuckle matched her, “But it’s different with him. It’s like everything I do means something to the world when I’m with him, you know?” 

Sean took in the wistful look in her eyes, the girl he’d known who had only gotten stronger, scrappier, wittier with age, and he thought he’d be lucky to ever get someone like her again.

“I hope I do,” He said, and she knocked her shoulder into his to dispel the bad memories of two teenagers figuring out what feelings and kisses and sex meant in the messiest of ways. 

“Do me a favour?” Sean hummed at her, and she looked surprisingly like herself again when she smiled at him wryly, “Call Aaron more. It’s difficult being the only disappointment child in his life,” 

Sean barked a laugh at her words, and she smiled into her lap. Who’d have thought closure would be so healing. 

–

She felt eyes on her even as she tried to nap on the jet, having returned back to their original position on the couch, her head on Spencer’s lap. She had a sixth sense to who it would be, the Spider Sense they’d been calling it despite the fact Spencer tried to tell her it was mere intuition, she glanced up to where something melancholic swirled inside his forest gaze, already watching over her despite his book being open in his lap. 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak before his obscenely large hand had sneaked under her jawline, tilting her face up so he could take a better look at the messy cut. 

“Have they given you anything for the pain?” Spencer said quietly, because the other’s were already trying to sleep, and she blanked for a moment, before her hand came up to snake around his wrist gently. 

“They gave me Naproxen for two days. Spence, I’m fine, really,” 

His teeth ground together, his other hand placing his book down beside him and moving to smooth the back of her hair, the sealed wound staring daggers at him as his eyes darted over the rest of her face, just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. 

He nodded to himself, as if to conclude his consultation and his thumb stroked down the curve of her jaw, his head whipping up to quickly make sure no one else was watching.

“What, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat nervously, her expectant eyes looking up at him, “What were you and Sean talking about?”

Her brow quirked in confusion, and it wasn’t until she felt his delicate strokes hesitate that she realised he seemed on edge, “Why?”

“N-No reason, I just was wondering, you looked like you were-” He coughed again, even though there was nothing tickling his windpipe, nothing except embarrassment, because he’d never thought he’d be the envious type. 

He braved a look at her again, worried she would be annoyed with his crass and intrusive questions, only to see her smiling at him wickedly. 

“We were what?” She asked, and Spencer went so quiet he could have heard a mouse knitting if he tried, his cheeks flushing with raspberry red heat, “Are you jealous, Spencer?” 

He shook his head fast, unable to formulate anything that wasn’t a stammer, and she sat up in her seat, throwing her legs onto the ground so she could scooch up into his side. 

“Because if you were, you know I’d find that wildly attractive right?” She murmured, his cheeks burning an even hotter shade, the sight of it all but a bone to a hound to Bugsy who loved teasing him. She snickered, leaning in close to his vermillion ear, and leaving a tiny kiss on his clenched jaw, “Don’t worry, Wonder Boy. He knows I’m all yours,” 

3. The one with the day of the dead.

“Thankyou, thankyou, my helpful little mice,” Penelope chirped as the three of them stepped into her apartment, their arms filled with shopping bags, “Set them down on the counter, I’ll unpack them later,” 

“Wow,” Bugsy gawped at the altar stood in the corner of the woman’s living room, an assortment of sweets and tissue paper flowers decorating the layers, “Oh it’s so pretty, they’re going to love it. We spent a Summer in Mexico when Mom was having talks with their President, but we moved out before October rolled around so I never got to see a Día de los Muertos,” 

Penny smiled, though she quickly looked around the rest of her apartment that had yet to be decorated, “There’s still a lot to do before the party next week and,” She huffed, the bags taking up the entirety of her kitchen table as Bugsy frowned at her, “I’m scared. I’ve never had the whole team here before,” 

“Relax, Pen, I can help you set up,” The younger woman reassured, helping unload the groceries that needed to go in the fridge as Spencer helped her carry the larger items. 

Penelope perked up watching her guests move towards the cooler, a devilish smirk twitching at her lips, “Hey, while you guys are there, can you see if I have enough hot sauce for the party?”

“Sure,” They replied in synchrony, Bugsy putting the milk and soda in the side drawers as Spencer shelved away some of the meat. They both looked at the top row, where some kind of jalapeno salsa was resting next to a jar of fake eyeballs, and the flicked a casual glance at the woman who was pouring vials of red viscous liquid made to look like blood down her cheeks for a Penelope version of a practical joke.

Bugsy blinked once, not quite surprised as she would have thought seeing Penelope attempting to scare them with something they’d seen a thousand times over for real. 

“Now, are the eyeballs marinating in anything spicy or is it just like a pickled onion type of thing because all you seem to have is the jalapeno sauce,” She said, and Penelope deflated at her bored tone, looking at the two agents in discontent. 

“You guys didn’t even flinch,” She said sadly, her dark eyes flicking between them, “My poor babies, what has the world done to you?” 

Bugsy smiled, shutting the fridge door and handing the bubbly woman a leaf of tissue paper. 

“JJ’s right, I told her I wanted to go scary this Halloween and she just laughed at me, and said that I don’t have a scary side,” Penelope whined, and Bugsy giggled. 

“Sorry, babygirl, you wouldn’t be Penelope Garcia if you were capable of scary,” She teased, waltzing around the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping, even as the woman tried to shoo her away from helping, “I’ve seen puppies scarier than you, Pen,” 

“If it helps, you probably do,” Spencer interjected, helping Bugsy shelve something on one of the higher cabinets, his long arms weaselling over her own as he reached past her, “The building blocks of the human personality are complex, varied and multi-faceted. It’s essential to one’s mental health to want to express these hidden personalities and it’s just a fact of nature that everybody has one,”

“Everybody?” Penelope asked, ignoring the way the two of them bumbled around her kitchen, handing things between one another the way she imagined them putting away the groceries in their own kitchen, like they worked just as well in the home as they did in the field. Dare she say it, like a couple who had been married and knew each other's routines for years. “Even the two of you?” 

“Oh, absolutely, yeah,” Spencer agreed, and Bugsy flicked a smirk up at him as Pen turned to her expectantly.

"I mean, you can't tell me Bitch-Slapping our boss or fist fighting with my sister was exactly usual behaviour for me," She pointed out, and the two of them nodded in agreement, although they wouldn't have exactly called it out of character for her.

“Okay, okay, I want to see it. I want to see Dr Spencer Reid’s hidden personality,” Penelope said, a smile growing as thick and fast as a weed when he seemed thrown off by her request, and it only took one look at the younger Prentiss to know she wanted front row just as badly. 

“R-right here? Like right now you want to see it?” He stammered, all too aware of Bugsy’s amused lashes batting up at him, the innocent expression she knew made it difficult for him to say no to, and he wondered for a second if she understood the exact amount of control she had over him when she wanted to. 

“I wanna see this hidden personality, pretty boy,” She smiled with her teeth, and he felt his hands turn jittery in embarrassment. 

“Okay, alright,” Spencer shook his arms out, clearing his throat with a growling sort of husk that made her raise her brows, and in a single blink he’d locked stern eyes with her, pointing to her with a completely un-Spencer-like stance; completely rose to his full height, confident and domineering, “I know what you’re thinking,”

She really hoped he didn’t. Because what she was really thinking was just how hot he sounded with that deep sort of timbre, that cocksure attitude. 

“You’re thinking ‘Did that guy just fire five shots or did that guy just fire six shots?’” He went on, his tone deadly serious, as her lips parted in surprise, and what had started out as a game turned into some wildly lewd thoughts fast, “You’re going to have to ask yourself a question; Do you feel lucky, pun-k,”

She swallowed haughtily, as he squeezed his eyes shut and when he looked at her again he was entirely puppy like the way he usually looked, none the wiser to the way her stomach had coiled in want. 

“That was Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry,” He explained, looking to Penelope because he had no idea what that strange look on Bugsy’s face was, only to see his techy friend just as in awe, “I mean I know it’s not as effective as my dominant personality, but I really think it’s there-”

Penelope’s phone sprung to life with a call from Hotch and she quickly spluttered an excuse that they needed to leave right away, grabbing for her keys and heading for the door. 

Spencer made a move to follow her, only to feel a hand grab his shirt and turn him right back around, Bugsy still staring at him with that look in her eye, like she’d had too much caffeine or been told there was a million dollars cash waiting for them at home.

“Is everything okay-”

“Is Clint Eastwood strictly a party trick or would I be able to have him on request, maybe?” She said, her hands oddly tight as they grabbed at his soft stomach, and it was like he heard the click in his brain when he realised what she meant. 

“R-request, I guess,” He stumbled for composure, finding his footing when he felt her palms were clammy, “You got a thing for cops?” 

“Just the one, I guess,” She said with a clenched jaw, and he laughed though it sounded more like a choke, as she darted right behind Penelope to avoid suspicion. 

–

By the time the party rolled around, Penelope had decked her apartment out to the nines, marigolds and tissue garlands and lights and food of all sorts spread out across the altar, a mix of alcohol and juices available in pitchers, because Penelope was nothing if not a people pleaser. 

The doorbell rang right as Alex and Bugsy poured themselves some margarita, complete with the eyeball ice cubes ofcourse, and Penelope fussed in her beautiful dress, muttering under her breath the way she did when she was nervous. 

“What, what, what,” She murmured, her blonde curls bouncing with her steps as she reached for the door, “I thought you said you couldn’t come!” 

Bugsy’s head whipped to the door, Aaron looking much more casual than they were used to seeing him as he entered the decorated home, his colleagues all dressed smartly and in some shade of black. 

“Jack got a last minute sleepover invitation so I hope it’s okay,” He said, a bottle of rosé in his hand he’d brought as a contribution. 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse,” Penelope sang, leading him over to the altar where everyone stood with their offerings, sipping on their glasses of liquor, “Okay, everybody, I guess it’s time to start, here you go sir,”

She handed him a freshly poured glass of wine, chilled courtesy of the eyeball, and Aaron thanked her kindly, taking a generous sip to catch up with the others. 

“I want to thank everybody for doing this with me, and our altar’s burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here,” Penelope started with a grateful smile on her painted lips, a handful of old photos between her fingertips, “I will start, um, this is my mom and dad,” She said, nostalgia idling her tone as she gently placed down a worn picture of a teen couple holding a beautiful, blonde girl, eyes bigger than moons and full of curiosity, just how Bugsy would have imagined Penny as a baby, “I miss them. And this is my cat, Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He was a weird cat,”  

The team chuckled, looking at the enormous ginger Tom that lapped at the bubbly liquid. Bugsy took a sip of her drink as JJ took a step forward with a smile, her own photo in hand. 

“This is my sister, Roselyn. Ros.” JJ said, placing down a photo of a fifteen year old with identical eyes and nose to her, sitting it next to a small statue of the eiffel tower, “She always dreamed she’d live is Paris so um,” She swallowed, looking at her sister laying in the grass of their childhood home, something girlish in her gaze, “It didn’t happen but I thought this would bring her some happiness,”

They took it in turns bringing their offerings and pictures: David bringing some Cubs tickets for a soldier he had lost in Vietnam, Alex bringing a crossword for her mother, Spencer sliding down a picture of Maeve silently, alongside a cut out picture of Nikola Tesla, Morgan bringing his father, Hitch putting down the picture of Haley he kept in his wallet. 

Which left them all to turn to the youngest agent, who seemed flustered.

“So, I fortunately have not lost anyone properly thus far, so bare with me here guys,” She said fishing out an old scrapbook photo of her as a seven year old, a small orange snake wrapped around the length of her arm, twenty two year old Emily standing right behind her, the pair of them with beaming smiles as the snake seemingly poked its tongue out for the camera. 

Penelope clutched her chest in horror, “Is that a-”

“This is Tigger, the corn snake Emily gave to me when she left home,” She explained, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the million dollar grin she had in the photo, three of her front teeth missing sweetly, “I had him until I was about twelve before he kicked the serpent bucket, but he was cute for a slithery little guy,” 

She drew another photo, an ultrasound showing two tiny embryos and she put it beside the picture of Tigger, and the group drew a shared breath. 

“Bug, I never knew you were…” Spencer started, his stomach flipping when he saw the outline of the foetuses, only for the girl’s eyes to widen. 

“No! No, it’s not like that, this is um,” She cleared her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her hand with a guilty look, “This is the twin I absorbed in the womb,” She said, and she felt the rest of her team gawking at her without having to look, “I guess I’d like to say, uh, I’m sorry pal. It was nice while it lasted, I hope you can forgive me,” 

“You’re being serious?” Morgan asked, gawping at the girl, right as Hotch broke out into disbelieving snickers, probably spurred on by the wine, and Alex was quick to join him, her hand over her mouth.

Bugsy turned to him with a ‘duh’ kind of look on her face, “Oh, 100% serious, yeah,” 

“Is that why you’re a little…” Rossi started, only he found himself stuck for words when she looked at him betrayed. 

“A little, what?” She asked, looking to JJ who cracked into a chuckle, putting her head in her palm.

“What he means is you have a big personality,” Alex said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and giving her a motherly squeeze, hoping they hadn’t offended her, “And we wouldn’t change it for the world,”

“I should hope so, she got a double helping.” Morgan cackled, and Bugsy smacked his arm with a smile. 

“Every time I think I know everything about you, you come out with something new,” Penelope said, her own snickering laugh meeting the girl’s ears, “You’re like Jason Bourne,” 

“God help us if there had been two of you, Prentiss,” David added, patting the girl on the head as they laughed, and Penelope raised a toast to their altar, the rest of the team doing the same before they sipped out their cups and allowed themselves to enjoy the rest of the party. 

–

“Oh, I have something for you!” Bugsy said, springing to her feet and almost tripping over Sergio who had curled up by her legs. 

She’d cut herself off after her third, and by the time midnight rolled around she’d almost completely sobered up enough to the point her and Alex had been playing hangman except with only Old English words.

Her and Spencer had gotten home twenty minutes later, the two of them exhausted from an evening well spent, the melancholy happiness in the room draining them to the point Bugsy had immediately changed into her pyjamas when she got into the house.

Her pyjamas being Spencer’s boxers and one of his shirts since he’d inadvertently been hiding all of the underwear-top combinations she’d gotten from other flings that she’d brought when she moved into his. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” He said earnestly, and she simply waved his humble attitude off, the two of them sat on the sofa in their nightwear, flicking through the late night TV. 

He smiled, watching her bustle into her room and root around her closet, before she emerged with a terracotta coloured pot of lilac flowers, whirling on her heel to head for him. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked, standing to meet her and Bugsy simpered, because she’d felt silly for buying them in the first place. Perhaps it was some left over guilt considering she’d spent the majority of Maeve’s existence in her life hating the girl, or atleast hating what she had that Bugsy thought she could never be privy to. Perhaps it was because all things considered she wanted Spencer to know that it was okay for him to mourn, because she’d never force him to hurry up his process when he’d been there for every second of hers. 

She handed him the potted plant, the small purple petals in the shape of half moons lighting up at him, and his mind raced as to what species they were since he’d certainly never seen them around the East Coast before.

“Scaevola aemula,” She said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt around her waist as she spoke because his eyes were unnervingly doe-like when he looked at her in the dark lamp light, “It’s called the fairy fan flower. I thought-"

She paused, her expression morphing into embarrassment, "Wait, this is so stupid, I’ll send them back,” She shook her head, the worry overtaking the rational part of her as she grabbed for the pot to stash it back in her room, but he held it out of her reach, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body against his hip, as the other stretched out to keep her from snatching back the plant. 

“Tell me. What?” He said, his lips stretching into a devious smile to see her so shy suddenly, and she buried her face into her hands as he watched her, “I'm not going to think it's stupid. Why did you get me these?”

“They’re not for you- well, they are, but I just thought,” She stumbled over her sentences, her heart thumping that this was entirely the wrong move, that she was poking at an open wound no matter how caring she was being. Clearing her throat, she let her forehead thump onto his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, “I thought you could keep it so that you can think of Maeve every time you water it, since Maeve was the name of the fairy queen,” 

He was quiet. God, why was he so quiet? Her breath was thick as molasses as they sat in the silence for a second. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when two of his fingers ran delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head up enough that he could see her face and she drew a sigh of relief when she saw he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. 

His eyes were soft as pools of honey as he looked at her, his brows stirring into a sad-happy mix. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” She whispered, their faces so close they were sharing breath, and he shook his head, his fingers never leaving her skin where they forced her to stay near, gave her no choice but to keep her looking at him. She didn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. Everything pretty about him was dialled to a thousand whenever she got close, and his thick lashes blinked at her like he was seeing a mirage, a daydream. 

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Bug,” Spencer murmured back to her, his every word fanning over the bridge of her nose, and she sighed in content, melting back into his side as he pulled her into a hug, his own face burying into the crook of her neck, “Thankyou,” 

She smiled and hummed in happiness, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him so close she got a whiff of his shampoo. 

“I have a bigger pot in my room, if you like, then we can keep it in the kitchen sill, away from the boys,” She offered, beaming at him when he stroked over the back of her hair affectionately. She hopped out of the embrace, “I’ll go get it for you-”

“You’ve done enough, Bug,” Spencer reminded, something grateful in his tone as she paused and waited for whatever he was going to say, “I’ll go get the pot, you go decide what movie we should watch,”

“You’re sure?” Bugsy asked, her brows furrowed as she checked for signs of an escape in his movements. But he just smiled back at her tiredly, the purple flowers his accomplice as she gave in and headed back towards the sofa, “It’s by my dresser, where my paper bin used to be,”

He set the gift on the kitchen table, the lilac hues brightening up the kitchen already like they just knew how touched Spencer felt to have received them, like there really was some kind of fairy magic burrowed into the soil as they watched the two of them dance around one another, heading to opposite ends of the apartment with lingering glances and bashful smiles.

Spencer thought his chest couldn’t swell any bigger in size, his heart so inevitably full of her, it left room for no one else, not even Maeve, which was the first time he’d brought himself to think that in months. 

+1 The one with the book.

He opened the door to her bedroom, her duvet tossed everywhere because it was a rare occasion she made her bed before they left for work, her clothes strewn about the floor in the general direction of the bathroom, like she’d stripped on the way there, and the thought of it made his stomach seize with a heat, the idea of her undressing little more than a wall away from him knocking his every thought from his head.

The vase. He needed a bigger vase.

Quickly collecting her clothes up and shoving them into her laundry basket for her, he diverted his attention to her dresser, where the slightly roomier pot sat on the floor, a towel underneath it to catch any water remnants and he stepped over her various note pads and books she’d clearly tossed off the bed before she went to sleep. 

He tried to ignore them, he really did, but his scratching urge to keep things tidy for her wrestled with his conscience that said to leave her stuff alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself organising them into a neat pile in his hands and placing them on top of her dresser where one of her books had made it safely, or at least safe enough she wouldn’t trip over it. 

His gaze dropped to the book already on there, its leather cover entirely melting into the background of the dark chestnut dresser, yet it stared daggers up at him like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.

The book looked old enough to be easily from original 1900s, at least one of the first few hundred published. It was scuffed a little on the edges, the black lettering of the printed title choppy in places where it had been handled recklessly, and the leaves of paper were atom thin. The smell of dust and paper clouded his nose when he picked it up delicately.

Opening the front cover curiously to see its printed date, he was stopped in his tracks to see a little post it note on the title page, covering Mr Dickens’ name with a scrawled handwriting he’d known for six years. 

Six whole years. Nearly seven. He felt like he’d known her his whole life, when in startling reality he’d not even known her a third of it. 

And there it was, where he was expecting a list of notes or her thoughts on how David Copperfield had much more likeable characters, anything that she’d thought important enough to scratch down on the front page, instead was his name. 

Spencer,

He felt his breath catch the second he read it, contemplated slamming the book shut right then and there because this felt illicit to read whatever it was she’d scribbled out just for him even if it was dedicated to the stupid man who’d been asking her to wait on his stupid head and stupider heart to align so he could give her exactly everything she deserved. 

His gaze snapped away from the page, that voice in his head telling him this was wrong, that if she’d wanted him to see that book she would have given it to him already. And yet, like it did most days, the beating organ in his chest writhed in annoyance that he’d looked away, that he’d followed the rules one too many times for its liking. He bit his cheek, the two halves of himself arguing amongst themselves. 

After a second of debating, his eyes fell slowly to the note, a creeping guilt skirting down his spine that he was reading something private. How could something be private and yet meant for him? His brain scoffed at the dichotomy of it all, while his chest lurched when he caught a glimpse of more of her writing. 

‘Spencer,’ His heart trembled almost as much as his hand as he traced the writing with his forefinger, imagining her writing it out in a little ball point pen, her body slumped over the book with every intent of having him read her little note. He imaged her breath fanning across the page, her hand warm as her knuckles stroked over the paper, and it felt so much more intimate than a little post-it when he thought of her like that, ‘By the time you’re reading this I’ll be back home from London and we’ll probably be in your apartment doing that stupid thing we do when we pretend like I haven’t missed you more than anything in the whole world while I’ve been here in England,’

She wrote this in London, probably in that tiny apartment her and Emily had rented on a short lease, the one she’d said smelled like mildew and dust and wet wood but had a gorgeous view of Hyde Park when she looked out her bedroom window. 

She’d written it months ago, so why hadn’t she given it to him?

‘I miss you every day. You’re all I think about when I go for a run, and I think sometimes you’d really like it here. I’ve mapped out all the bookshops I’ve found and all the places that do really good coffee if you ever did want to visit England, but I think I’d be happy with you even if we lived in a little ditch on the side of the road like two drowning rats,’

His chest seized, tears lining his lashes when he thought about that day she’d yanked him into a hug the second she saw him, when he’d been too busy thinking about Maeve and burying whatever he felt for Bugsy entirely behind him. 

You should have called, Bug. He’d said, like his eidetic memory wanted to twist the knife in just that bit deeper, and he didn’t need his freaky brain to remember how her face had fallen when he’d said it like that. Like he didn’t even want to see her. 

He hated himself. He hated himself more than she’d ever had. Even if she had more rights than anyone to despise his selfish guts. 

‘Anyway, I know Dickens isn’t your favourite or anything, but I got you this because I know you like the original copies and because it made me think of you (but then again, what doesn’t?). 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. And so I guess that means I’ll love you until the life part stops too. 

All my heart,

Bug.’

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he finished the note, digesting every single word the average speed instead of his usual method of inhaling the letters faster than should be possible, like he wanted to savour every single one because they’d come from her. 

He heard her saying every single one, the thought striking him like someone had cracked him across the face with a paddle. She’d wanted to say all of this when she was in London, when he’d been too busy for her, when he’d been too busy with Maeve. 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. 

“Did you find it?” Her voice called from the other room, no doubt where she was settling down to flick the movie on, her heart so delicate and gracious because she was still waiting for him. 

Even now, even when she was in his clothes and under the blanket she’d brought from her apartment for them to use on movie nights because it got cold too fast in his house, when she was waiting for him to come back. 

Spencer felt knocked out of a dream, like someone had yanked the chord on his music, shaken him awake into the freezing realisation she was waiting for a reply. 

He’d made her wait long enough. 

He barely heard her footsteps entering her own room, probably worried when he hadn’t responded and she said his name, “Spence?” A shudder rolled over his neck when he heard it, a siren song he’d been hearing like a mantra for weeks and he felt something fat and full well in his chest when he turned to look at her, standing there in nothing but boxers and a shirt, just as she had when he’d first met her. 

Except she was his. She was waiting on his call, on his signal, on his word go. 

And it was like the idea of being with her for the rest of his life made his living part worth it too. Like it always had done. 

Her eyes fell down to where his hand rested on top of the book, the page splayed open where he’d delicately flicked it open, the yellow post-it catching in the light and making her expression fall. 

They looked at each other, the same thought channelling between them, their brains meshed together on some other kind of bluetooth the same way they’d always done, only this time it was a prickling hive mind that gave them both gooseflesh the second they locked eyes. 

“Why didn’t you give me this?” He asked, his voice small because he already knew the answer, not daring to move a muscle like she was some kind of deer ready to be spooked. 

“You were busy,” She said equally as sheepish, her thumb moving to pick the side of her nail when she saw his still stature. They went quiet again, neither of them daring so much as to breathe too loud because they both knew what was on that note. It was the closest she could ever come to splitting open her own chest and handing him that thumping wad of bloodied muscle herself, and it was only when he turned to look at her did she panic, words tumbling from her lips; anything to stop him from walking away because she’d been poking around a fresh wound, “You weren’t supposed to see- I mean you were but only when you wanted to, I didn’t want you to think-”

Except he wasn’t heading for the door like she’d thought, he was heading straight for her. 

“Spence, please, I wasn’t going to tell you until-” But she’d shut up, because instead of replying anything back to her, instead of telling her she could have his heart and his soul and everything in between if she’d ever ask for it again, instead of telling her she was the thing that had kept him alive, like she might as well be the blood that rushed through every one of his veins, he grabbed her face in his hands so hard her back hit the wall, her hands flying out to stop herself from falling. 

And he kissed her, so hard he thought he might cry because it was better than any high he’d ever had, any drug on the market, better than his wildest dreams. She froze for a second, worried she’d tripped and fallen on her way over, that this was a concussion spun wild, because there was no way he was kissing her with every inch of their available skin pressing against one another, his hands swallowing her cheeks whole, his body invading her space, his breath rushing through her nose that bumped against his clumsily. 

Bugsy woke up after a second, her hands gripping onto his slender waist like he was pulling her drowning out of water, like he was dragging her from a flame which she didn’t think sounded too far off since her skin had become molten, her cheeks hot, her chest wrenching for control like she’d inhaled black smoke. 

But he was there, kissing her like she was all he had left, and she kissed him back with equal fervour, whimpering when he bit her lip, a hand wrapping around her waist to tug her just that bit closer to his stomach. Any molecule of her that was left behind was stolen by the action, and all she could think was that every inch of her was his, entirely his, his forever if he wanted it. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” He gasped, drawing away for a split second of air before he took her lips to his own once more, twice, and a third for good luck, their teeth knocking together as he wanted to tell her that a million more times while still kissing her, “I love you, I love you. God, I don’t think I ever want to stop saying it,” 

He pulled her to him again, silencing his own stupid ramblings of a mad man, a whine dragging from his throat as his brows furrowed, his lips soft and plump as he kissed her like he was begging for honey after a hundred day fast. 

And she smiled into his mouth, because Spencer was finally hers. 

--

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[leighsartworks216]

You make me feel like a fool (Waiting for you)

Sylus x gn!Reader

Thank you @comatosebunny09 for encouraging me to keep writing this fic!! I'm really glad I was able to finish it. That being said, I have not proofread it at all so lmk if something is weird or messed up 👍

Title from "Fool" by Frankie Cosmos

Warnings: fluff, light angst, kissing, sleepiness, literal sleeping together, established relationship, cuddling, injury, bruises, soft + kinda clingy Sylus

Word Count: 1,418

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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You’ve been away on mission after mission for almost an entire month. You have had no time to look at your phone; any spare moment you can find goes toward sleeping or eating a protein bar. Messages go unread and unanswered.

When the day finally comes that you get to go home, you have to put what lingering remnants of your energy into remembering how to live in your apartment again. You’re battered and bruised, worn to the bone, physically and mentally exhausted. It’s all you can do to drag yourself all the way to your bed before you pass out, fully dressed and all.

You wake up to insistent knocking on your door. You have no idea what time it is. It could be extremely late, or absurdly early. Time is a concept for people who can process it, and you definitely cannot.

You stumble, wincing the whole way, to the door. The knocking is really starting to give you a headache. You’d be shocked if it didn’t wake anybody else up.

You’ve barely unlocked the door when it’s being shoved open, and suddenly a mouth is slanted firmly over yours.

Sleep vanishes for the moment to provide stark clarity to what’s going on. The flurry of white hair and the leather gloves that hold your face assure you that this isn’t some random guy off the street. Sylus’s lips press against yours desperately, passionate but not heated, like he needs to just feel you there. Before you even get a chance to respond, he pulls away. His hands fall from your face in favor of holding your waist. Red eyes scan your body, latching onto every inch of exposed skin; he frowns deeper with every bandage and bruise he sees.

“You look like hell, sweetie.”

You blink up at him. “So, you’re just not gonna tell me what that was all about?”

You catch a glimpse of a smirk as he turns away to shut the door, clicking the locks into place to play off the rampant energy that vibrates in his entire body. “Mephisto said you got back. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Some check-up,” you giggle. He faces you once more with a soft grin. How he missed that sweet sound. “Is my mouth okay?”

“With that sharp tongue of yours? I never had any doubts.” He lightly touches a butterfly bandage on your forehead, observing the cut underneath. “The rest of you could use some attention.”

As the fear of his entrance wears off, the exhaustion begins settling back in. You’re suddenly aware of the tremble in your legs, the weight of your arms, and the chill in the air. You hum noncommittally as you lean into his body for support. He hugs you to him without question. “What time is it?”

“Almost 9 in the morning,” he answers. “You didn’t notice?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head. His hand cradles your neck, affectionately thumbing at the baby hairs there. You feel more of the cold apartment air as he lifts the hem of your shirt (definitely not suitable for sleeping in) to reveal more of the dark purple marks littering your body. He covers it back up when he feels you shiver.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime…?”

“All the more reason to take you to bed. Can you walk?”

You nod against him. His shirt is cold from the drive. He smells like gasoline and open roads, undoubtedly from riding his motorcycle. You smell like sweat and disinfectant. A shower is not feasible right now when you’re so precariously two seconds from collapsing.

He gently pries you from his body, just to turn you around and tuck you against his side. His arm wraps around your waist, trying his best - and failing - to avoid your injuries as he keeps you standing. He leads you deeper into the apartment. “How much time off did they give you?”

“Couple weeks, I think.”

He scoffs, sounding offended. “Ask for more time. They’re going to bury you in the ground if they put you back into the field so soon.” With all the familiarity of someone who lived here - as opposed to someone who’d only been allowed to visit enough times to count on one hand - Sylus pushes open your bedroom door and helps you over to the bed.

You wince as you slide under the covers. He supports your back to ease some of the pressure off your spine, and slips it out from under you once you’re laid down. You sigh heavily. “I didn’t break anything this time,” you mutter.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your glare is harmless with the exhaustion dulling your eyes. You watch through the growing haze of sleep as Sylus strips off his jacket, boots and gloves, leaving them in a pile by your desk.

“You’re gonna sleep in those pants?”

He chuckles, smirking at you as he rounds the bed. “I figure we should both have some modicum of discomfort, given you’re still in your uniform. Besides,” he continues as he slips under the blankets, head propped up on his elbow, “I wouldn’t want to give you any ideas with the state you’re in.”

You giggle stupidly. You can’t be embarrassed right now. Your blankets block out the cold air as you draw them weakly up to your chin. Your pillow cradles your head just how you like it. And if you shift your legs a foot to the side, you bump into his, that tangle and trap yours, socked feet keeping yours warm.

“What if I asked you to kiss me like that again?” Your words are slurring with exhaustion. You’re fighting to stay awake, to keep looking at him even though he has no intentions of leaving anytime soon.

“Any time, sweetie,” he answers surely, seemingly unaffected by his own sleep schedule catching up to him. Not that you could tell in this state, anyhow. “Just say the word.”

You flick a smile back his way. “Right now?”

Sylus’s smirk is softer than usual as he adjusts his body to lean over yours, arms on either side of you to keep him from crushing you under his weight. His face hovers just over yours, the perfect position to admire you in.

You can barely keep your eyes open even a sliver, and here you are asking for him to kiss you again. If you were conscious enough to feel his heart since he stepped into your place, you’d be amazed over the effect you have on him.

Truly, this month has been agony. He knew of your missions, knew why you weren’t answering his messages, and yet each day stretched on into an eternity just waiting to hear a word from you. When Mephisto saw you get back, he’d, frustratingly enough, been in the middle of important negotiations with the territories surrounding the N109 Zone. He would have been here much sooner if that weren’t the case. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed with relief when you opened the door that he could have contained himself behind a smirk and a teasing remark.

Though, if that were the case, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

“Of course,” he whispers.

Your eyes slip closed when his face gets close. His breath caresses your skin as he watches the flutter of your eyelids, as he gently kisses your upper lip. That minor caress alone draws out a quiet sigh from your mouth. It’s an addicting sound, reaching deep into his chest and strangling his rapid heart.

Your lips part, welcoming him in further. He breaths his own sigh, trembling at the edges as he finally allows his eyes to close and fully slots his mouth with yours again.

It’s languid this time. There’s no need to rush, no need to let his desperation or fears take a hold of him. He adjusts his weight to cup your jaw with one hand, to greedily keep you there, to selfishly steal more time to savor the warmth of your mouth and the heat of your body beneath him.

He pulls away slowly, reluctantly. He opens his eyes again, and chuckles to himself.

You’re fast asleep. Maybe you have been since he first leaned in, or maybe it was in the middle of the kiss. It doesn’t matter. He brushes his nose against yours with a smile, then leans down to brush one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Sleep well, kitten.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy

[spencerreidenjoyer]

MORE VIRGIN SPENCERRRRR

from the start | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's a nervous mess in your bed, but you like it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: puppy bf!spencer, virgin!spencer, early seasons!spencer, hookup, friends with benefits(?), dominant fem!reader, gratuitous use of petnames (baby, darling, etc. but it wouldn't be a minnie special without petnames), praise kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

a/n: a weird dream of mine turned into a spencer self-insert (jk) so I wrote 1.7k words just to fuel my delusion. this is also a little birthday gift from me to all of you! i've hit 1000 followers (!!!!) on this little spencer blog of mine and i am so so grateful so the only thing i can do is write spencer smut to celebrate! also this lovely anon asked for virgin spencer and I literally cannot refuse (also crossposted to ao3)

You aren’t complaining, ending up in bed with Spencer Reid again. 

You’d met at a bar, the usually shy genius (according to his friends) coming out of his shell to talk to you, and it had ended in a couple of drinks and you making out with him against the wall in the back of the bar. 

You’d brought him home, fully expecting to fuck him. You’d gotten him into your bed when he’d confessed he’d never done anything like this before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him you could tell. Instead, you’d given him a blowjob before he fell asleep in your bed after a long week on a case. The next morning he’d bashfully woken up to breakfast, and a promise that you’d like to see him again.

“It’ll be less intimidating like this,” you pet his cheek softly, before you turn over onto your hands and knees. You notice that Spencer doesn’t move, so you turn your head to look at him. 

Spencer frowns. “I thought– I wanted to see your face.”

“You’re sweet, darling,” you chuckle. “Come on. I promise this will be easier on you for your first time. You know what to do?” 

Spencer hums, his eyes shyly looking to your rear now. You’re on display for him, thick thighs framing the wetness of your pussy. You know he can’t take his eyes off you, his inexperience obvious and extremely arousing.

Spencer had been a bumbling mess as you’d kissed him, as you’d undressed each other, his hands trembling through it. “You know you can touch me, right?” You tease, and Spencer whines rather petulantly. “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Spencer’s large hands are on you, gentle on your skin. His hands pet you rather sweetly, over your hips and thighs, before he feels the softness of your ass under his palms. You hear his shallow breathing, and feel his thumbs spread you open. His breath hitches. 

You don’t say anything, patient as you let him explore your body. He touches you with an avid curiosity, like he wants to find out about everything that makes you tick, like he wants to commit the lines and curves of your body to memory. 

His movements slow like syrup, his touch moves to your cunt, sticky with your slick. His fingers slide over your pussy; along your folds, over your leaking hole. “I’m going to…” Spencer trails off, as he presses his index finger gently to your entrance. 

You moan as your head drops between your shoulders, with Spencer sliding a curious finger inside of you. He feels around, and it feels more like a medical exam than foreplay, but Spencer’s lack of experience still turns you on extremely. Spencer’s voice is strained. “You feel so warm. You’re so tight.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m not sure if you’re goin​​g to be able to fit,” you tease playfully, smiling as you look back at him. “You’re going to have to make it fit, won’t you?”

Spencer’s eyes are wide, and he swallows nervously. “Yes– Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh, you’re so cute– Oh!” You gasp as Spencer’s finger presses into you insistently, nudging against your spongy walls, against the spot that makes you lose your mind. “Mm, right there, fuck–”

Being eager to please, Spencer does exactly that – he keeps fingering you, slow and steady, and waits for your approval. You’re basically melting as he fucks you on his fingers, and you only remember you have a bigger plan until he whimpers. “Hmm, baby?”

“I want to- I wanna taste you,” Spencer says, and you moan as his thumb nudges at your clit.

“You- You sure you can last long enough for foreplay?” You jab, but you shudder in a moan as Spencer rubs at your swollen clit with more intention, pleased with the way he takes you apart.  

Spencer scoffs. “I think I should ask you the same.”

“Eat me out, Spencer,” you demand. Spencer just gets his head between your thighs. 

You feel his mouth on your cunt, kissing you sweetly, moaning as he tastes you. His lips are soft and plush on your skin, his lower lip massaging at your clit as he eats you out. His tongue slides over your folds, wet noises coming from his mouth as he takes his time tasting you. 

“You’re stupidly good at this,” you moan, your face buried in his pillows as you’re barely able to keep yourself propped up. The pleasure Spencer gives you courses through your veins, electric from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You think you hear Spencer mumble a thank you, and the vibrations only make you moan even louder. 

You want to come right now, but you know it’ll be so much sweeter to orgasm when Spencer’s buried inside of you. You don’t know if he’ll be able to handle it, the hypersensitive, easily overwhelmed genius in your bed simply might lose his mind fucking you.

“Spencer, baby,” you coo. “Wanna- Need you to fuck me now, darling.”

A high whine leaves Spencer’s throat, and he’s quick to pull away from you, as fast as he’d put his mouth on you earlier. “Please! Please, I need to–”

You giggle, beckoning him to come closer to you. He leans over your frame until his face is close to yours, and you kiss him sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips, but Spencer is giddy as he kisses you back. He tries to trail after you as you pull away, and the sight is both adorable and extremely arousing. 

“You gonna fuck me good, baby?” You smile, feeling the hardness of his length pressed against your ass. 

“Yes– Yes, ma’am,” Spencer stammers, swallowing his anxieties. “Can- Can I?” 

“Please, baby,” you groan, your hand reaching behind you to grab Spencer’s cock. He whimpers as you tug as it roughly, your movements haphazard due to the angle, but you’re lining him up with your hole. “You know what to do.”

It doesn’t take much effort for Spencer to press his cock into you. There’s uncertainty in his movements, but it feels like heaven as your cunt practically swallows him in. He fills you up so perfectly, his thickness rubbing against your walls in just the right way until he’s buried to the hilt, his bony hips pressed against the fat of your ass. “Oh! That feels good, baby.”

You clench around him, relishing the feeling, and then you hear a pathetic little whine from Spencer. “Hurts,” he says, in a weak, wet voice, and you want to both coo at him and fuck his brains out. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you soothe. “I’ll make it feel better, yeah?” 

“Please,” Spencer whimpers. “Need you.”

You lift yourself off of Spencer for a moment, pulling yourself off his cock before sinking back down on him. Spencer is big, not even knowing what he’s been gifted with when you had seen him for the first time. He fits so well inside of you, feeling so perfect as you fuck yourself on him. 

You would ask how he’s doing, but whimpers and moans liberally fall from his lips, and he’s holding onto your hips with a death grip, like he’ll lose all sense of himself if he isn’t holding onto you. His nails dig into your flesh, a delicious bite of pain through the pleasure of it all. 

“Pretty boy,” you groan. “You fill me up so good, holy fuck, oh my God–”

Spencer moans so loud your ears ring. “Feels good, so good, please–” 

“Fuck me, baby,” you gasp, your hips slowing on him. He chases after you like he can’t control himself, as he starts to thrust into you. “Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck.”

Spencer whines again, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks into you. His hips slap against your ass hurriedly, eagerly, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. “Fuck, oh, God–”

“You’re so deep inside of me, baby,” you groan, barely able to keep your voice steady. You reach for his hand, guiding it to splay out against your lower stomach, where his cock bulges with every thrust. He practically sobs. “You feel so good, darling.”

“Think– I’m gonna– Hhrghh– I’m not gonna last long,” Spencer finally gets the thought out, his genius clearly and understandably slashed when he’s buried in warm, wet pussy. You feel kind of proud of that. 

“Cum, baby,” you groan, not unaffected by Spencer’s eager, frantic fucking. “Inside of me.”

He lets out a pathetic little sob, one that turns you to no end, and then you feel Spencer coming inside, his load hot and messy as it paints your walls, filling you up. You clench around him at the feeling, so heady and overwhelming, and Spencer’s little whine at the pressure has you orgasming too. It’s a new kind of high, a perfect storm of pleasure filling every bone in your body. 

Spencer is warm and heavy as he half-falls on top of you, a sweetness to his movements as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you but begins to soften. Your arms and legs feel like jelly, but you manage to coax him to lay down. His arms sling around your waist to hold you, and the position is surprisingly intimate. 

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly. You turn around in his grasp, letting Spencer’s cock slip out of you. He whines a little, but smiles when you look up at him. Spencer repeats, sounding more earnest. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, baby,” you say, smiling, and lean forward to kiss him. It’s sweet, no heat behind it as you press your lips to his. Spencer seems to appreciate the affection, his thumb tracing little circles into your hip. “You were really good. Was that good for you too?”

“Couldn’t you tell from how fast and how hard I came?” Spencer laughs, seeming a bit shy. 

You coo, your hand cupping his cheek. “Even if you did, it was extremely endearing.”

“I think you just like corrupting me or something,” Spencer smiles, quirking his eyebrow.

You shrug, a teasing grin on your lips. “Maybe I do.”

[snzunii]

( read part one here )

it wasn't unusual for your friends that you and satoru don't get along that well. it’s obvious, you make snarky comments about his triumph of the week every now and then but it was unusual for them when satoru wasn't bragging about some girl anymore.

and you weren't even making side comments about how he doesn't have any new “girl” for the week now. at first, it was suguru who noticed it. 

but then come shoko, then of course, utahime. how can they not notice when your petty bickering is part of the group gatherings? how can they not notice when you weren't rolling your eyes anymore everytime that satoru’s opening his mouth?

“what the hell is wrong with the two of you? did you fight?” it was suguru who broke the ice.

can you blame them? they can't take this weird shit that’s happening, whatever it is. 

“huh?” you looked up from your phone, “fight? who?”

“don't play dumb.” shoko says, “you and satoru. did you two fight?”

huh, fight. more like, did you two have sex a week ago and it has been awkward ever since? yeah, more like that. you glance at satoru and he looks at you knowingly, just waiting for whatever you're going to say.

you chuckled awkwardly, “we didn't. i just don't like talking to him, you know.”

and before they could probe even further, you stood up. “i’m heading to the store, do you guys want anything?”

they just raised their brows at you and when they all looked at satoru, he just shrugged his shoulders. 

“nothing? okay.” 

“i’m coming with you.”

and that made them more confused because why the hell would satoru go with you, just the two of you, alone? but they just shrugged it off, and you two walked out of suguru’s condo unit. 

you don't even know why he would go with you. it’s true that you haven't talked since, but you figure that there’s nothing to talk about because it’s never going to happen again. it’s just a one time thing.

“huh.” you heard him say. you stopped walking and glanced back at him.

“what?”

“you don't like talking to me, but you just like sticking your tongue down my throat?”

you cannot believe this. 

you wanna smack that grin right off his face.

“you’re so fucking annoying!” you marched towards the elevator as fast as you could but somehow he just caught up on you.

“hey. i’m sorry, okay. i’ll stop.” he said and reached for your arm, “YN.”

“what? what the fuck do you want?”

“i just want to talk.” you scoff, the elevator opens and you walk in. “can we please just talk?”

“then talk.” you crossed your arm, still avoiding his gaze. you don't know what you're feeling and you don't know how to react, maybe that’s why you’re acting out right now.

it wasn't supposed to be this way, you were supposed to be just friends.

he was supposed to be just your friend who annoys you every now and then with his antics. “how can we talk if you’re not looking at me?”

“just talk—”

he pressed the emergency stop button and now, great, you’re stuck with him. “what’d you do that for?”

“i just want to make sure you’re okay with what happened. and i’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable in any way—”

“stop.” you looked at him, “i’m okay. and i think we both wanted that to happen, you don't need to say sorry. i just want to go back to the way it was, okay? it’s not going to happen again, so…”

“okay.” he simply answered, he pressed the button again and just backed up. the silence envelopes the two of you as you wait for the elevator to reach the ground floor. 

you sighed a relief when you heard the ding! but before it opens, satoru says something before walking past you.

“except, i don't want things to go back the way it was.”

now, why the hell would he say that?

( read part three here )

[suiana]

imagine sitting on a train, expecting a short ride but the ride just never ends. and no, it's not a 'the brakes are broken' scenario.

you were just taking a train to like, a nearby suburb to visit your friends like usual. everything was fine. all things were like what they normally were. ticketing station, the weird old man who tells you that they're watching you, and the cute highschool student who frequently tells you stories about his school life.

you board the train like usual, nothing out of the ordinary. you find an empty seat and put on your earphones. you decide you want a calm and soothing song that day. looking out of the window, you hum softly and anticipate what you and your friends are going to do.

that's when you realize you've seen that sign post two times already.

you nervously look around your surroundings, hoping to find someone else who's also realized what's going on.

but there's no one else in the carriage. oh, wait, actually no. you also have the highschool boy.

"hey kid, um, did you notice anything off? like uh-"

"hm? oh, it's you mx."

the boy's voice is deeper than usual as he continues looking out of the window. you frown at his reaction before trying to get an answer out of him again... only for him to turn and completely scare the shit out of you.

that. that was not the face of a human. not when his eyes were all black and curved into tiny moons. not when his lips were stretched so wide that he resembled the stupid 😄 emoji. not when his mouth looked like a bottomless pit of nothing that could swallow you alive. not when his skin was paper white and his body now elongated to look something like a sexy slenderman if that was even possible. not when he didn't resemble a human anymore.

"darling, what's wrong? you don't like my face? I'm really hurt."

his voice is deep as he continues staring at you from his seat. he makes no sign of movement, merely looking down at you with a tilt of his head before a soft giggle comes out.

what the shit? were you in a horror movie now?

screaming and falling onto the floor behind you, you shiver and try escaping. no, you had to leave. you couldn't die now!

scrambling to the help button, you try to get help. surely the technician could try and get help for you? you desperately press the help button, glancing warily at the high school boy that you were sure was actually a 6009 year old demon that decided to possess a body of a kid for the mere fun of it.

"huh? baby? what's up?"

baby? what? first darling, now baby? what's up with these men? you stare at the help panel before whimpering for help. unfortunately the male voice over the line only fills you with more dread.

"you wanna leave? no can do baby. don't worry, we'll take good care of you."

you don't like the way he said good. what the hell was that supposed to mean? for all you know it could mean imprison you in the train for the rest of your life!

"also I'm in the carriage beside Mr. Driver so if you wanna leave that weird shapeshifter beside you feel free to hop over."

beside... you?

you are suddenly hyperaware of every single thing around you and wait a second, why the hell did you feel a suspicious person breathing down your neck?

"leave my dear alone, you creep."

the air around you seems to loosen up as the weird shapeshifter demon backs up. damn, what good timing. you were just about to thank your saviour when the familiar feeling of dread returns, and even worse this time.

he was a handsome guy. tall, well dressed, and absolutely damn gorgeous. he was wearing all black, a black fedora on his head as he smiles at you with his pearly white teeth. reassurance. yet, you felt as though if you dared to disrespect him, your life would be over before you even knew it.

you stay rooted in your place, your mouth running dry as the male steps closer to you. each step of his felt like a step closer to death and... was it just you or were you feeling light headed now?

"i am afraid i cannot touch you, my dear. for your life will be drained with each fleeting touch. but i must say that it is good to finally meet you physically."

death.

you were so damn sure that the man in front of you right now was the grim reaper or maybe even death himself. your whole body was shaking at this point, his very presence making you feel as though an invisible force was pushing you down into the ground and squeezing you tight. it was hard to even breathe.

"ah, sorry. i forgot living beings are ever so fragile. my sincerest apologies, my dear."

just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the driver's announcement makes you feel like you're about to throw up.

"welcome aboard the hell train, sweetheart. you are now on the line to ǝɹǝɥʍou. please enjoy the rest of your ride!"

shit, so you really were about to get stuck on this train forever.

[pseudowho]

Thinking about...

...long-term 'too comfortable' relationships with the JJK guys, when all the weird/gross/silly things creep in.

Pinning Gojo Satoru against a wall, having spotted an enormous pimple on his chin that you just have to get: "there's nothing wrong with m-- how dare you-- ow ow ow get off me--" "don't be such a melt, Satoru, keep still, that absolutely cannot stay on your face--"

Sitting on the toilet and chatting with Nanami Kento while he showers, and he wordlessly hands you a fresh toilet roll from the cabinet while he brushes his teeth; "thank you Kento" "mmmmmhm" and you continue chatting while you pee, leaving the bathroom door open. You forget to get off the toilet, so he brings you your tea there, while you continue to tell him about your day.

Laughing at Geto Suguru as he steps out of the bathroom after a bit of manscaping; "no no no-- go and get your razor, you're all patchy" "ah shit, really?" "yeah, you look like you've got a really bad gardener" "at least I try to trim the hedges..."

Plucking Fushiguro Toji's back hairs out one at a time; "OW-- dammit woman, stop doin' it like you hate me--" "--look, if you keep getting hairier, I'll just wax you instead, you're such a bear--" "--alright alright, I'll get your little witchy chin hair after--" "hey!"

Calling out to Okkotsu Yuuta while you're stuck on the toilet, blood over your hands and panties; "hey, Yuuta! Can you grab me some new underwear, and a pad?" "Sure!" Yuuta shuffles back to you, unfazed, as you hand him your bloodied panties to put in the laundry basket, "that bad, huh? You got enough stuff to last you?" "actually, I might need you to run to the shops..."

Creeping up behind Zenin Maki while she washes her bras in the sink, dropping a few of your own ones in, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek; "hey, hey, I'm not your washer woman" "yeah you are, such a beautiful washer woman" "psh...you're doing them next time"

Takuma Ino smiling as you curl on the sofa beside him in slummy old pyjamas full of holes (an ancient t-shirt of his, joggers you've had for at least ten years...), and you let out a fart; "sorry, sorry..." "don't be, I know you can do better than that" and Takuma lets one rip himself, sighing with relief.

Dropping your toothbrush down the toilet at Higuruma Hiromi's house; "ah, shit!" "oh, damn...just use mine" "eurgh, I'm not doing that!" "darling, be reasonable, I eat your pussy, we share much more--" "that's different--" "well by all means then, my love, enjoy your toilet toothbrush..."

Catching Todo Aoi taking a swig of milk out of the carton; "get a glass, jesus!" "whatever babe, it's just me and you here" "that is disgusting, unsanitary" "oh? I'll show you disgusting and unsanitary...c'mere"

When Kugisaki Nobara steps out of the bedroom, wearing your panties; "hey, they're my favourite!" "well they're my favourite too..." "yeah, on me! Get them off-- get back here--" and you dart after her, Nobara laughing as you try to pull your underwear off her, "help, help, I'm being assaulted!"

Catching Itadori Yuuji giving himself a scratch and sniff; "you absolute goblin-- go wash your hands!" Yuuji darts after you, laughing, his hand outstretched as you screech, ducking and running past him; "what, this hand? Come back baby! Where you goin'?"

Telling Fushiguro Megumi every single time you need to poop; "pause the movie! Gotta go poop," and he absolutely returns the favour, sitting on the toilet while you're taking a bath , "I'd wait...but I can't" "alright alright, just don't stink the place out" "I don't make promises I can't keep"

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place��. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[coquettepascal]

purpose on earth

summary: joel loves to take, you love to give.

tags: 18+, smut, angst(ish), jackson era!joel, cold!joel, grumpy!joel, innocent!reader, dom!joel, implied age gap (reader doesn't remember pre-outbreak), corruption kink, joel takes your undies, humiliation, oral sex (m!receiving), allusion to thigh riding, a feeling of helpless/hopeless-ness permeates this fic, reader is pretty pathetic, use of "sweet girl", objectification of reader, unrequited obsession, this fic isn't necessarily sexy, just mildly sad.

a/n: i literally wrote this like an hour ago while i was supposed to be outlining my next project, but @hellishjoel told me to listen to my creative demons... so now this is being posted.

(1.1k, just a baby)

Nothing in this world has ever, or will ever, belong to you. Faint memories glaze your mind sometimes, when you lay down to rest. Not your own memories, but things you’ve read in books and seen in abandoned family photo albums. White wedding dresses, cars that drive, Sunday night family dinner. An American lifestyle that was sucked away with the cordyceps, something only they could clear out. The bombs the government used, the ones you can’t remember anymore, they never wiped mother earth clean the way she has done for herself.

She’s infected, and not yours. Nothing outside of Jackson’s walls belongs to your human hands.

You’ve never known ownership. The clothes you wear belonged to people before you, the ground you walk on cannot be sold. Maybe in another life this would feel fulfilling, but something in you wants to know what it is to own, or even fit in. Your skin, flushed and healthy, skin full of life and blood and organs. A heart that thumps in a world of disease, disorder, death. What a weird purity you hold, something you want to ruin. 

A person like you isn’t meant to own anything here. It feels like you have to belong, if you wish to take.

He will do it for you. 

Joel knows greed, remembers the world before. His hands have taken food, land, lives, anything you can imagine. It isn’t something you realistically think about, more infatuated with how he has the ability to do all these things. Not that you hadn’t committed your own sins, but to defend yourself isn’t wrong, at least that’s what he says. Something in Joel smolders the way only a primal fire can, he is from a world whose memory of a flame will extinguish soon.

He doesn’t help with any of your wants, your need to own or belong. But Joel shows you what it is to take.

You don’t understand the fascination he has with you. The memory of the night he first led you back to his house is blurry, a fleeting moment in comparison to what has happened since. There was conversation of music, of you having a tape you wish you could play. 

His hands were slow when they slid your underwear down your legs, you hoped he wasn’t looking. Nothing about you felt sexy or womanly, you felt dwarfed when he was so close. Again, you wished you could belong, so maybe you could hide. There was a stain in the gusset and you remember how he pulled the garment off your ankles when it dangled there.

“Lemme see,” he had demanded, “lemme see what I did t’you.”

Joel had smeared his thumb through the sticky wet mark, huffing in surprise. He knew it was for him, knew there was nothing else that could have made you do that. Humiliated, you had tried to yank back your underwear, but he refused.

“S’mine now,” he laughed, cheeks rosy.

That was the first time Joel took from you. 

Now you seek him, the ache for belonging in the world twisting to a yearning for him to take from you. If you could not belong to this world, if you could not fit, at least you could fulfill him. Joel doesn’t like it when you seek him out too often, hates when others notice it. You’re not his, never his, just a moment of gratification for his consuming greed. 

Once, you waited in the early morning at the stables for him. Crouched near the barn door, you waited and watched the dewy grass grow. The crunch of his boots, the yawn he let out as he passed by you, it was enough. He said nothing to you, took off on his horse with some other man trailing behind him. 

“Joel’s so responsible,” you thought to yourself, “he’ll need me later I bet.”

Of course, he did. You relished in the small victory of him stealing from you again. Purity leaks from you in the form of drool on your chin, when he pulls you off his cock. Joel’s thumbs push the spit back in your mouth and you suck it down willingly. Praise rumbles off his tongue and into your ears, a southern rhythm you find sanctuary in. Pushing his dick back into your mouth is all pleasure to him, but it’s a taste of greed for you. 

“Sweet girl, that’s a good mouth f’me, ain’t it?” Joel asks, head tilting back.

He never takes his pants off, but he strips you naked. His eyes arguably take more than his hands ever will. The bob of his Adam's apple hypnotizes your eyes as you garble a response to his question. Scarcely do you make sense around Joel, or even speak. You don’t think you can remember the last time you held a proper conversation with him, he usually just waits for you to come around.

It all starts the same, standing on his porch and waiting until he opens the door.

“Missin’ me?” He asks every time.

Joel doesn’t miss you, he doesn’t need you. He just likes how much you give. But you miss him, as soon as he pushes you out into the cold again you miss him. His greed is your purpose.

And so with your purpose, you push yourself down to the base of him. The waterline of your eyes is welling up fast, distorting your vision of him. You blink up at him like he’ll look down, like you’re more than a mouth. You aren’t, not to him, but you get to admire him like this. The puff of his chest, the swell of his throat, and his hands when they come to rip you off him.

He never pulls your hair, just grasps your face in his worn-down palms and pushes you away before jerking himself onto your naked body. 

“S’nice, you’re so nice t’me,” he grumbles. 

Under the yellow light in Joel’s living room, you feel useful. You’re doing more than surviving in this world. You have a purpose, even if he seldom needs you. He uses the sleeves of his flannel to wipe away the tears that slide down your cheeks, still mumbling about how sweet you are. Naked, smattered in him, you smile. Glittery eyes meet his and he snorts. 

“You were missin’ me, huh?” He teases. 

Joel rubs his thumb across your cheek again, the closest thing you’ll get to his lips on you. In his post-orgasmic haze, he almost looks fond. 

“He almost likes me,” your mind whispers, your stomach fluttering, “it’s almost like I belong.”

And once you’ve nodded in response to his question, messy mouthed and gazing at him, your purpose, he taps his thigh. Blood rushes to your head as you stand, crawling onto him. 

In your obedient mind, you define your efforts for Joel as a purpose, but you think you can taste a hint of belonging each time he spreads your legs. 

[acowardinmordor]

I kinda want a fic where Eddie is straight. Strong Ally, totally safe, but the guy is straight. There's a few months after they successfully take down Vecna that he and Robin and Steve are all besties, living in each others' pockets. During that time, he makes a lot of jokes that Steve is going to make a great housewife someday, makes some comments that aren't quite jokes that he wishes Steve was a girl, and has some very much suppressed thoughts that the only thing stopping them is that Eddie isn't attracted to men.

Near the end of the summer, before Steve is going to follow Robin to Sarah Lawrence, Steve comes out as bi to the whole group, and Eddie, for the first time, unashamedly thinks, damn, if only I wasn't straight. Steve even gets brave a few days before they leave and broaches the topic of Steve having a crush on Eddie. Keeps saying that he's not going to hit on Eddie, but wanted to take the chance, just in case Eddie had ever thought about it.

"Sorry, Steve, I only date girls."

And the awkwardness isn't the only reason the three drift apart, but it doesn't help. They send letters and post cards between Chicago and New York, and try to call at least once a month, but they're all broke, and long distance is expensive. Two years out, and Eddie knows something weird is happening with Steve and Robin, but they don't want to talk about it. They still talk, they're still friends, they'd still die for each other, but there is something they're hiding from him. Three and a half years out, and the bureaucrats finally got their act together. 'Thanks for not telling anybody' checks get sent to everyone in the know. Very large checks.

Robin graduates, and she and Stevie have a comfortable cushion. They don't have to take horrible minimum wage jobs anymore, and some expensive things they've been saving up to do for a while can finally happen.

This is where the fic in my head actually starts.

Eddie hears all about Los Angeles from Robin, but she tells him that Stevie isn't feeling great after the trip, and that Eddie will get a letter soon.

Its four months later, almost exactly four years since the three last saw each other in person when they finally meet again. Robin got a job in Chicago, and Eddie is still there, now a full artist in a tattoo parlor, playing gigs for fun with random friends. Stevie, of course, follows Robin, and Eddie tries hard not to stay upset with the guy for the weirdness and the sometimes silence, and the very obvious distance that Steve put between them recently.

Then they see each other. Meeting up at what has to be the queerest bar in the city, and it takes Eddie way, way too long to put together what's waiting at a booth along the wall. He's an ally, he's heard all the terms and types and nodded along in supportive silence because he doesn't get it, but he's trying.

But there's Robin, sitting on the outside, with a brunette beside her, possibly the most beautiful woman Eddie has ever seen, strong, tall, long wavy chestnut hair, and a spattering of very distinct moles. The little bit of a smile she has when Eddie first comes over melts into something small and scared as Eddie stares in shock. It's Stevie, it has to be, and Robin's exclusive use of what was once only a nickname suddenly makes more sense. He knows he needs to make sure he's using the right name, pronouns, whatever she wants. He's friend of a friend with a couple trans people, and again, he doesn't get it, but he listened, and he cannot fuck this up, because it's Stevie and this must be what they were hiding, but the inside of his brain sounds like an endless loop of mic feedback for a solid sixty seconds.

Sixty seconds is an insanely long time.

Before his brain turns over and he can smile and reach the table, Stevie has shrunk into the corner, and Robin looks ready to launch herself at Eddie's throat in her soulmate's defense.

A whole list of intrusive thoughts hit Eddie all at once while his mouth runs on autopilot, asking the right questions, smiling encouragingly, introducing himself to, yes, Stevie Harrington, and dragging the mood to a happy place by sheer force of will. Stevie starts to uncurl, smiles a little brighter, sits up straight, laughs properly at Eddie's dumb stories about terrible tattoos, and leans closer as the night goes on.

He fixes the weirdness he started in his shock, because there is no way in hell he's not going to keep two of his best friends now that they live in the same city again.

But his head is stuck spiraling around a snarl of horrible, selfish, invasive thoughts. The worst of which: Stevie is now Stevie because Eddie told her that he only liked girls. And he knows thats stupid and isn't why Stevie made this choice, and he hates himself for thinking it, but the thought is still there. That Eddie wanted so badly that she's now Stevie. Another, only slightly less horrible thought, is that the immediate fairytale ending he imagined on first sight - might be ruined because Eddie is still straight, and he's just not sure about, you know, the details.

Eddie did a great job that first night, and they're back to hanging out all the time as soon as the last boxes are unpacked. It is not Stevie's fault that seeing her in a sports bra for the once confirmed that the payouts, the LA trip, and her new shirt size were related. It's not her fault that Eddie can't stop thinking about how hot she is.

It's absolutely not her fault that Eddie starts getting weird around her. He's trying, okay? He's trying so hard. But its weird for him. He likes her. That part he's certain of. Loves her, almost definitely. He thinks she's gorgeous, high confidence on that part too. He has a crush, but he knows, deeper than the rest, that Stevie isn't confident in herself yet. She acts it most of the time, but its under the surface, a thread of fear that she's not girl enough to count.

And Eddie has a crush. And Eddie can't tell her. Because Eddie won't put them in a situation where Stevie's pants come off, and Eddie suddenly can't see her as the woman she is. It would hurt Stevie so bad, and Eddie would never forgive himself.

It's not like he can ask her just how much surgery she got in LA so he can prepare. And honestly, he's not sure it would matter one way or the other. He's terrified that whatever her choice, Eddie will fuck up his reaction. The risk is unsolvable. Robin calls him out on his crush two months later, and since the other choice is even worse, Eddie lies, and says she's wrong. No crush. Nope. Not even a tiny one.

Eddie tries to will himself into becoming bisexual for an entire month, going so far as making out with a very feminine twink at a club - he thought he'd ease his way into this - but he's still decidedly straight. Rubbing against the twink's remarkably small dick wasn't repulsive, but it didn't do anything for him either. Sure, he learns there's all kinds of pleasurable things to try that he didn't know about, but he's still not into anyone but girls.

(I don't know if this is the right resolution bc Ive spun Eddie pretty tight here, but this is getting so long. )

Robin's girlfriend has a party at a gay bar for her birthday. Obviously, Eddie and Stevie are invited, and obviously, just like every other day on this earth, Stevie looks incredible. She has a sparkly dress and tall boots and glitter on her collarbones and Eddie wants to lick her. His lovelorn staring only gets worse as the night goes on. Stevie is dancing, and Eddie is drinking at the bar with a collection of purses and carabiners of keys slung around and clipped to him. It's obvious enough that a gay couple - Nick and Chris - starts teasing him about it, telling him to man up and ask the pretty girl to dance already.

Eddie is too drunk for this, and he for sure has a guilt trip later for it, but he just starts talking. All of his fears and all of his love, and how he can't ever say anything because he's tried, and he's straight anyway, and he loves Stevie too much to hurt her like that. It's an entire miracle that Eddie broke down in front of a decent pair of human beings, and not some assholes. They sweep him off to a quieter corner outside, help him calm down as he smokes, and feed him some fries.

Eddie is still wearing purses like bandoliers, is snotty and red eyed, is on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey, and resisting the need to runaway forever when the older of the couple calls over someone named Angel. A woman who, if Eddie was not hopelessly in love with Stevie, would be the source of an immediate new crush. She's older than he is, thin through the waist, thick thighs, bottle blonde hair in a ponytail, and has a few inches on Eddie with her heels. The primal part of his brain wants to climb her like a tree.

'Hi Chris. Oh, honey, you having a rough night?" Angel has a few words with Chris, then grins like the cat who caught the canary.

'You're gonna be my good karma for the month, cutie. You are attracted to me, no don't try, thats a cute blush but I can still see it behind your hair, you are. You're straight, right? Yeah, that's why you think I'm hot. Hey, Chris? Do you think I'm hot?"

"Not at all, babe. You know I only go for men."

Angel turns back to Eddie and leans close to explain. 'Chris is a bit of a man whore. Loooooves dick. Don't worry, he says it all the time. Favorite thing in the world, and I've heard he's great at sucking dick. Tragically, I never get to find out, because I'm not a guy.' She pushes the word a little. Then she steps even closer so she's pressed against his side.

Arousal sweeps through him because in love with Stevie or not, Angel is hot as hell. 'Wanna go fool around in the bathroom?' she whispers

Eddie is definitely tempted, already nodding, but doesn't get to speak. Angel rolls her hips. He feels -- A new bolt of arousal shoots down his spine. 'this change your mind at all?' Her voice drops two octaves, and Eddie's brain breaks.

Because, as it turns out, no. No, it does not change his mind. He's half hard, he still wants to climb her, and he's not entirely sure how to get her off, but he takes direction well.

'Aww, figure yourself out, already, honey? Or do you want to test run this a bit more before you go for it?' Angel is back to her real voice, a high alto. She has one hand on his chest, and Eddie can hear Nick laughing nearby. 'I won't lie, I know I won't get to keep you, but you look like we could have a real fun time as I teach you. Happy to get you trained up for her'

Eddie shakes his head, an insane mix of bubbly and numb.

'Ohhh, so you're gonna go get your girl?' She's teasing him.

Eddie nods, already moving, vaguely aware of more laughter and jokes about karma and saving lost lambs, but too fixated to listen. He's still carrying all the purses. He's not entirely sure where Stevie is in the bar. He has absolutely no idea what he's going to say when he finds her. Still not sure how to worship her properly. Extremely interested in following directions on the topic.

Eddie is still straight, but luckily, the girl of his dreams is dancing inside, and the rest of the details don't matter in the face of the possibility of finally asking her out.

When he finally chases her down at a high top with a cosmo, she laughs at how he looks, but he's never, ever seen her smile like she does when she agrees to a date with him.

--

This is sort of about a friend as they worked through realizing they weren't attracted to their wife after she transitioned, but that was sad, and this needed to not be. I guess I'm just thinking about the non-fanfic nature of life. Where it takes a guy a long while to figure himself out, because good intentions are separate from shifting how you think. Basically wanted Eddie in a situation where he has to reconcile the difference between gender and anatomy, and rewrite his own definitions of what he is and isn't attracted to. Robin had to go through a similar thing as she became attracted to Steve but only in the abstract. They're too platonic for gender to stop their bond

[secriden]

Absolutely heartrending because it just hit me that before Bison's phone call, Fadel was actually began to believe that he'd been wrong to suspect Style. Because despite the evidence stacked against Style -- and remember, it was Fadel that spells out the reasons they have to be suspicious of Kant and Style -- Style is so incredibly genuine here and Fadel, in truth, wanted to believe in him.

I think it's possible that Fadel actually saw Style through the window here, but pretended not to because he had to take a moment to prepare himself. But if you see where Style is standing and the way the patio is lit up, there's no reason why Fadel shouldn't have seen him from where he was by the tables before he turns to go behind the counter.

Fadel: I was thinking of going to your place. But you were more impatient than me, huh?

This would also explain how Fadel is able to say this before Style even has the chance to make a sound. I had expected Fadel to wait and see what Style would say, to play it safe and observe; but no, Fadel immediately sets their dynamic back to the assumption of familiarity that their relationship was on before he disappeared for a week. The assumption that he could show up at Style's house unannounced and Style would welcome him.

This feels incredibly intentional. Fadel wants to see how Style is going to react to Fadel acting as if nothing strange happened. If Style was an informant, he should be confused and Fadel may catch him out in a lie.

But Style's performance is flawless:

Style: Where have you been? You didn't reply any of my texts! (punctuation added for emphasis and to mimic Style's tone)

He says this and the whine in his tone is a clear affirmation of that same assumption of familiarity. This is the tone used by someone who is secure in the knowledge that they are owed an explanation; this is the tone of someone in an established relationship who feels justifiably wronged at being left out of the loop.

And I cry a little bit more at the thought of Fadel reading those texts -- Style by turns frantic and confused and worried -- and refusing to respond. Or worse, receiving them and refusing to even read them because Fadel doesn't trust himself to tell the lies from the truth anymore.

At this point, Fadel seems to waver a little bit in his resolve to "test" Style. I think he was a little taken aback that Style didn't seem to be even a little bit weird about his abrupt disappearance for a week. His reply takes on a quality of gentle pleading and the way he's speaking is exactly like a boyfriend who knows he messed up. But because these lines are a lie, Fadel cannot meet Style's eyes as he says them. It's only when he says "I was busy, too" (not a lie) that he's finally able to squarely meet Style's gaze again.

And Style continues to be so convincingly NORMAL because all of this is real for him. This is just genuinely Style, the boyfriend, who actually wants to know where his boyfriend disappeared to without notice for a whole week. Nothing about his body language or tone has even a hint of inauthenticity because there is none. Style means every single word and meets Fadel's gaze squarely as he says them.

It genuinely looks to me like Fadel thaws significantly at this point. He suddenly looks less stiff and the way he delivers this line contains so much more inflection, it becomes cajoling. He even begins to more consistently meet Style's eyes as Fadel begins to allow himself some honesty. Fadel's logical brain knows that the circumstances surrounding Style coming into his life are riddled with inconsistencies, but he both senses and WANTS to see Style's sincerity. The shields that Fadel had up are melting in the face of Style being present and unchanged from what Fadel remembers.

Stay, Fadel all but says, let me make it up to you. Fadel offering to make food for Style (@braceletofteeth please hold me as I cry about this!!) is also significant because the last time Fadel made food for Style (the burger) is when he was softening towards Style after Style helped out at the diner during the rush crowd. Fadel is a creature of habit and all that he's learned of late are the ways Style is easy to love.

They begin to fall back into their usual, playful banter and teasing dynamic. Style leans back against the table (and the way he's all unspoken surrender and submission -- throat arched up and bare and vulnerable -- truly makes me feral), turns up the flirt and Fadel responds in kind. And yes, Fadel means his question on some level but you don't get the sense that his heart is in the interrogation. Fadel may be going through the motions, but this is just Style being himself, exactly as Fadel has come to know (and love), so nothing is pinging as wrong to Fadel.

I mean, just LOOK AT FADEL'S EYES!! His expression is so so soft and tender and wistful. He wants this. He wants so desperately to believe that this is why Style was texting him throughout the week. He wants to have Style in all the ways that include and go beyond the physical; like Style offering his affection is everything Fadel didn't think he could wish for.

It's almost cruel the way Style's touch so utterly disarms Fadel. Because, while it is part of the games they've been playing, so much of their interactions have also been grounded in genuine feelings and moments of intense vulnerability on both sides (although neither of them know this for sure!! T_T). Style's hands on Fadel's body literally removes the last stretch of distance between them and that odd unease lingered over the way Fadel spoke and held himself at the start of the scene finally disappears.

If we compare their expressions and the way they are holding themselves and, most importantly, touching each other by the end of the scene to what we see when Style first walks into the diner, it becomes apparent just how much ground Fadel has given in the span of those few minutes.

It's the way Fadel keeps holding onto Style's hand even as he's turning to leave, maintaining that point of contact until the very last second.

Because with Style in front of him -- warm and familiar and carelessly affectionate -- Fadel allows himself to slip back to the version of himself that woke up in Style's bed at the start of the episode, the version of himself that called Style's name for the first time and wanted to wake him up with the softest of touches. The version of himself that literally, physically couldn't let Style go.

Which is why, when the call comes and Fadel's heart gets broken anew, Fadel remains devastatingly empty of anger towards Style.

Because it was Fadel's own fault for choosing to believe the lie.

Because it was a decision he made to allow his heart to rule over his head.

Because Fadel understands that Style only succeeded in "fooling" him once again because Fadel let him.

So Fadel gives himself this truth, allows himself to finally take that step to bare his heart to Style, the way he promised himself he never would, but the way he so desperately wanted.

And Style kisses Fadel because he doesn't realise that this confession is not a reward, but a judgement.

For Fadel is paying penance for giving in to his own foolish heart, and in so doing renders Style's love to devastation.

[ddejavvu]

eddie being the speaker for venom’s adoring rant he eventually goes on at the end of your date when you’re just slowly strolling through a park, taking the long way home just to draw the evening out (but also eddie filtering it because some of the points are VERY INAPPROPRIATE and so venom gets mad and eventually takes over even though you are in public)

This post is 18+, minors dni.

"You're very pretty," Eddie narrates the voice in his head, but he shakes his head and tries again, "Pret-ty. He says- He says it weird, like prit-ty."

"Pretty," You try, voice low and gruff in a poor attempt to match Venom's, "Like that?"

"Spot on," Eddie laughs, and you let your chest shake with giggles as you roam down the sidewalk, "And he says your dress makes him think of blood, which," Eddie grimaces, "I'm sure, in his mind, is a compliment."

"Hm," You hum, glancing down at the red fabric you're draped in, "Yeah, I'll choose to take that kindly."

"And he wants to- woah," Eddie's eyes go wide and his hand tightens around your own momentarily, "Uh, hold your hand."

"What?"

"He wants to hold your hand!" Eddie insists, "And- Jesus, Venom! And tuck you into bed."

"I said fuck!" A voice roars from deep inside of Eddie's chest, and before you know it black ooze is emerging from your boyfriend's skin. You panic, yanking Eddie-turned-Venom into an alleyway between two apartment buildings and praying that no one is watching you.

"I said I wanted to fuck you into the bed," Venom clarifies, towering over you in the dark alley. If you didn't know him, in any other scenario, you'd be fainting from fear. But the hulking alien doesn't bother you now, and you put a hand over his mouth full of sharp teeth to try and get him to quiet down.

"Okay," You soothe, trying to acknowledge him so that he doesn't feel so misinterpreted, "Okay Venom. That's very- uh, nice. But you can't be out right now, you know that. Please just go back inside Eddie?"

"He is lying, I cannot trust him!" Venom huffs, voice not quieted at all, merely muffled by your hand, "I did not say I wanted to hold your hand. I said I wanted you to fuck my tongue!"

"Charming," You spit, face flushed with fire matching the heat in your belly, "Really, Venom, I- I'd like to, but- but we're out now, and I need you to quiet down and go back inside."

"Eddie does not deserve to take you on dates like this. He does not tell you how good you look."

"Yes he does!" You insist, still clamping your hand desperately over Venom's mouth. It does nothing, but you can't stand the thought of letting go.

"He uses words like gorgeous and beautiful. They are true," Venom promises, "But he never says sexy or delicious. Those are true, too, and you should hear them."

"Thank you, Venom," You croon, moving your hands to his cheeks to tug them closer to your face. He accepts a kiss to the teeth, seeing as he hasn't bothered to give himself lips in this form, and it's a rather odd sensation on your own. But it quiets him down, and he's calm under your touch.

"I'm happy you think those things," You grin, and you can't deny that you're flattered, "But if you want to say those things, we have to wait until we're home. I promise, as soon as the door shuts behind us you can join Eddie and I, okay? He'll say beautiful, you can say..." You fumble for a term, inches away from Venom's face, and he offers a helpful hint.

"Hot stuff!" He roars, definitely loud enough to be heard from the street.

"Okay! Okay, hot stuff," You nod, peering horrified at the mouth of the alleyway to make sure no one is coming to investigate, "That's very nice Venom, I'd love to hear that later."

"I will go back inside now," Venom tells you, and your heart rate spikes when you hear rushed footsteps coming your way, "But I will see you later."

"Later, later!" You promise, and the symbiote can't seem to melt into Eddie fast enough. As soon as the face in front of you is tan instead of goopy, you surge for it, locking lips with Eddie in a gesture you hope looks passionate and not rushed.

The man doesn't know what you're doing, but he doesn't care. He lets you slam him against the wall behind him with a soft groan, and you shut your eyes just as the footsteps thud beside you.

"Oh-" A resident of the nearby apartments scoffs, "Gross. Get a fucking room or something, you'll get an infection out here. Perverts!"

You flip the man off for good measure, and wait until he's a safe distance away to part from Eddie. He looks dazed from the kiss, but as soon as he comes to, he's got a message from Venom.

"He wants to know if he can bite that guy's head off," Eddie drawls, and you sigh, typical.

"No," You scoff, grabbing Eddie's hand and leading him back out of the alleyway, "But we should get home, he's got lots to say to me."

"And do to you," Eddie's face scrunches as he listens to Venom's rambling, shaking his head slightly at a suggestion you don't hear, "I- I don't think that's possible, buddy."

[soobnny]

dating him | lee know

❝ come over, the cats miss you ❞

chan | LEE KNOW | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

if he wasn’t a menace before (impossible btw), he sure as hell is now

this man is relentless

teasing as his love language

just loves riling you up bc he thinks ur reactions are so cute

and he smirks a lot too

if he wasn’t so damn attractive, u would’ve wiped that smirk off his face !!!!!

“wait min, i got a text”

“nice to know you have friends”

u hate him 😭😭😭😭😭

he’s such a little shit that he’s even rilling u up during ur dates

like

laser tag games where he kisses you to distract you before taking you out

HE’S SO MEAN

he’d push you against the wall with a sly smirk and you think you won’t fall for it again, but you do

every single time

u should’ve known better

this is lee “resident cheater in all possible games” minho

anyways

he is also an ass lover ❤️❤️❤️

i’m sorry but u cannot go into a relationship with him without expecting him to always have his hand on ur ass in some way

so in short

the trope is giving u thought he was out of ur league but he’s actually a weirdo

so now u’re dating the Weird Kid

(u wouldn’t want it any other way)

his other love language is acts of service

i said in my chan one that minho also gives Chief Hong from hometown cha3

like tell me i’m wrong

man wife #2

he is ur personal handyman

he’s just good at everything

will most probably only do it for u tho

seungmin: hyung can u fix my sink

minho: no

seungmin catching strays 😂😂

you: babe—

minho: what do you need me to do now

he says it in fake annoyance too

but he’s got his tools in his hand already ready to do whatever u want

obsessed i tell u

he drives u around too

if you have an event, a party, a project, anywhere you need to be

he’ll drive u there

he always makes time

AND he picks you up too like shut up

it could be a party that finishes at 2am and he’s just waiting for your call to pick you up

sometimes, you tell him he can just sleep early bc your friend will give you a ride home

when you get home, look … he’s still awake

he’s been waiting for you to come home this whole time to make sure you’re safe

BUT he doesn’t say anything

the moment he sees you’re alive and breathing (and doesn’t need taking care of), he’s on his way to the bedroom to sleep

when u look around, he’s done the chores already

he just does things to lessen the load that u might have u know

if u’re so stressed with anything, he’d silently clean up ur room or bring u food

so u don’t have to think about that anymore

also the best chef in town btw

he likes cooking together

and by cooking together i mean like he does all the work and u just stay there and keep him company

he can’t risk ur clumsy ass injuring urself

comforts u thru his cooking too

would baby u and feed u when u’re sad

his favorite dates with u are quiet, homemade dinners

just likes being with u and u only

away from everyone else

as niki would say, i don’t like anyone except sometimes you

it’s in moments like those that he just unwinds and shows u his softer sides

he’s honestly just so gentle and soft

he looks at u with stars in his eyes

ugh such an attentive listener too

sometimes u think he isn’t listening, but he’s got it all memorized

“yeah u mentioned it on our date 3 months ago”

like damn

anyways, moving on

his pet names for u give olden times

honey, darling, jagi

but also loser, idiot, stupid girl (endearingly)

so u two are giving me old married couple

u’d both wake up early and have coffee or tea together and just talk abt anything

also this is far into the future but like

sneak peek at minho as ur husband

i think u two would be the type to have a garden

like gardening would be ur little hobby

he grows fruits and vegetables

u beg to grow flowers

OK BACK TO BOYFRIEND MINHO

randomly sending selfies thru the day

THOSE selfies

u know what i’m talking abt

forces u to send selfies back

(ur photos are all saved and hidden in his phone but he will never tell u that)

oh u’ve also become his cats’ mom btw

one of ur favorite errands to do is going grocery shopping for his cats

u’d always end up buying them a gift

“u’re the reason my cats are spoiled”

SUUUUUUURE minho suuuuuuure

cat fashion shows

like dress to IMPRESS

(btw idk why but i feel like u could force him to play roblox with u)

he also uses his cats to lure u to visit him btw

“soonie misses u, u’re being a bad mother”

it’s just him who misses u let’s be real

and if ur favorite thing to do with him is cat shopping, his is walking by the han river with you

he loves walking

esp when it’s with you

just a peaceful walk tbh like yall don’t even have to say anything

tho sometimes when he’s feeling playful, he’d suddenly play tag with you

ends with both of u just sitting by the river and looking at the lights and the stars and holding hands or maybe ur head on his shoulder

damn wish that were me fr

when u go home, u watch some variant of a trashy reality tv show together

u’ve basically seen it all

but if anyone were to ask u what happened in those shows, yall wouldn’t know

u two were too busy just making out instead of paying attention

or falling asleep

old married couple i’m telling u

expect to also be dragged into his camping

when he has particularly long days off, he’d propose going camping together

ah, the beauty of warm bonfires and quiet conversations

he’d take good care of you the whole time

like yessss do your job as a man and fix up this entire camping site

and he does

tho, aside from camping, he’d also suggest hiking to take in the view of the mountains and the pretty sky

u’d wake up early on both occasions just to watch the sun rise

in contrast to these very productive activities, sometimes minho also just loves lazy sundays where you just cuddle for the entirety of the day

what more could he want

u and his cats with him

that’s honestly just the dream

good luck cat mom

have fun acting like an old married couple with lee know

he is the dream man

nonchalant to anyone else except u

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[heavyhitterheaux]

Good Intentions

See Me Through You Fic

Synopsis: An argument between you and your twin ultimately leads to an argument between you and your fiancé who calls you out about your actions and tells you how being overprotective isn't a good thing

Pairing: Fiancé!Joe Burrow x Fiancée!Reader

Series Masterlist

Requested by: by boo @hoodharlow 💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

AN: This takes place during Ja'Marr's rookie season. You are still at LSU and taking summer classes

The last thing your twin ever wanted to do was hurt your feelings, but all in all he had had enough and had reached his limit when it came to you being overprotective.

At this point, it was honestly suffocating.

It had been this way since the two of you were born and although Ja'Marr was grateful to be able to get along with his sibling since he knew not everyone did, something had to give. Yes, the two of you would talk to each other multiple times a day, but it seemed as if his phone had been ringing nonstop since he landed in Cincinnati.

As soon as he was going to text you and tell you that he wanted to talk about the situation, his phone was ringing indicating that it was you….

Again.

Taking a deep breath, Ja'Marr answered.

“Yes, Pebbles?”

“Bam Bam! Are you okay? How's everything going? I miss you. Did you eat breakfast already and take your vitamins?”

“I'm fine. I was fine when you called me two hours ago too…. at six in the morning. I miss you too. And yes to both of those questions.”

“It's just so weird not having you here and I hate it. I'm so proud of you, though. I always knew you would make it to the NFL because I saw your potential and how good you were. What do you have planned for today?” You asked as you were currently at the nail salon trying to decide on the color that you wanted.

You would be reunited with both your brother and fiancé in three weeks and you had been counting down until the last minute.

“Same plan that I had two hours ago. Just trying to get settled. Go explore the city a little bit.”

“Okay, well I guess I'll let you do that. I like how you're still getting an early start.” You told him as it was still barely eight in the morning.

“Wait, Pebbles can we talk?”

“We'll talk later when I call you back. I'm at the nail salon. Give me like an hour or two. They're ready for me. Love you!”

“Love you too.” Ja'Marr quietly said before the two of you hung up and he quickly looked up at Joe who was sitting across from him and half asleep himself since you had requested once again for him to head over to Ja'Marr's to check on him.

“You have got to tell her because this is insane. I feel like I've seen you more in the past week than I did my whole two years at LSU.” Joe told him as he shook his head.

“I just… I don't want to make her feel bad because I know she means well.” 

“But this cannot keep happening. I'm surprised she hasn't told me to make you move in with me so I can keep an eye on you. That's probably going to happen by the end of the day.”

“I'll talk to her once she calls me back later.” Ja'Marr replied, but if he was being honest he was actually dreading this conversation.

“You mean in five minutes?” Joe asked and Ja'Marr couldn't help but to laugh.

“I should time it and see how long it takes for her to actually do it.”

“Well in the meantime, I'm going back to sleep. But I know I won't be able to sleep for long before she's calling me back too.” Joe said as he got up and grabbed his keys making his way towards the door.

“I just hope she doesn't take it the wrong way.”

“I think everything will die down once she's actually here in person.”

—

When you had finally gotten out of the nail salon after admiring them and taking multiple pictures and had got settled in your car, you called Joe to see what he was up to and to also check on your brother. It was hard not being able to be with your brother as well as your fiancé since you had gotten accustomed to having both of them. 

You were taking a few summer classes which delayed you spending time with him in Cincinnati. Luckily, you only had a few weeks left until you would be able to.

“Hi baby! My nails are pink! I took a picture and sent it to you.” You proudly told Joe as he had you on speaker and was looking at the picture as you were telling him.

“I love them. Can't wait to feel them scratching down my back.”

“I… behave yourself!”

“I am behaving! I can't help that I miss my girl.”

“Aww, I miss you too. I just wanted to take this class so it will lessen my load come next semester. Anyway, babe, can you go and check on Ja'Marr?” You sweetly asked and Joe couldn't help but to roll his eyes and was thankful that it wasn't a facetime call. He knew that it was only a matter of time.

“Baby, I was literally just over there three hours ago. I'm not going over there again.” Joe told you as he was trying to make himself a smoothie and started to get ingredients out of the fridge.

“But I have to know if he's okay!”

“Y/N, are you going to let him be an adult or…?”

“He's my baby brother! And you told me that you would look out for him once he got to Cincy. And since when is he an adult?! He is still three in my eyes!”

“Princess, I am looking out for him, but you are being extremely overprotective and Ja'Marr is scared to say anything because he doesn't want to hurt your feelings. How long are you going to try and hold his hand for? And he became an adult the minute that he turned eighteen.”

“If he had a problem with me calling him so much, he would tell me. He tells me everything.” You said and Joe scoffed.

“Uh? What was that sound for? See, you're the youngest so you probably don't understand! I have been looking out for him since forever! I have so many responsibilities on my shoulders being the oldest.”

“Older by three minutes. And you need to calm down and let him be. You are in the wrong here, but won't admit it. Nothing wrong with checking on him, but babe this is borderline obsessive.” Joe explained to you as he was now cutting up the fruit he wanted to put in his smoothie.

“Joey, what the hell!? He's the only sibling I have.”

“I'm your fiancé and I'm always going to be honest with you. I don't care if it's something you don't want to hear or agree with.” 

“There is literally nothing wrong with what I'm doing.” 

Joe couldn't help but to roll his eyes once more. 

“Okay, baby. Since you don't think it's bothering him, hang up and call him. Then call me back and tell me what he says.”

“Fine, you’ll see.” You said as you shrugged even though Joe couldn't see you.

Once you hung up with him, you called your twin and he didn't even give you a proper greeting before he started to go off on you.

“Y/N, what could you possibly ask me about now?”

“Whoa, what's the attitude for? And I thought you wanted to talk to me? You always want to talk to me.”  You asked as you were caught off guard.

“Don't you have class, or practice, or SOMETHING that you can occupy your time with instead of calling me every five minutes?”

“I… Ja'Marr I just want to make sure you’re okay. You're my baby brother and my twin. Only one I have.”

“Yes, I know and you will NOT let me fucking breathe. Like got damn. I've only been here a damn week and all of my calls are basically from you every two minutes. Yes, Joe is checking on me and making sure I'm good. But I don't need a babysitter. He's also getting annoyed because you tell him to come and check on me ten times a day!” Ja'Marr told you unable to hold back any longer. 

“But… you turned your location off. I need to know where you are. You never turn it off. What's up with that?”

“NO YOU DON'T. I'm good, that's all you need to know. All you have been doing ever since I got drafted was be extremely overprotective! Mom and dad aren't even this bad.” He told you as he was being completely honest.

It was quiet for a few seconds before you decided to say anything, obviously hurt by his reaction.

“If I'm bothering you, I'll stop. I just miss you is all. But I can see that I'm causing more harm than good. So I'll hang up now.” You said with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

“Wait, Pebbles, I just…” Now Ja'Marr was regretting his approach because he now knew for a fact that he had hurt your feelings which he was trying to avoid doing.

“Bye, have a good rest of your day.” 

You didn't give him a chance to finish as you quickly hung up and wiped away the tears that did end up falling. Figuring that you were also probably bothering your fiancé just as Ja'Marr mentioned, you decided to send him a text instead of calling him again.

You- I'll stop asking for you to check on him

Joey- Baby, I don't mind checking on him. Just tone it down a little bit. I promise you that he's okay. If he wasn’t, you would be the first person I told.

You- No, I'm not asking anymore at all. If he wants to talk to me, he will and I'll leave it at that. I guess I'm bothering you too so I'll let you be. Talk to you whenever.

Joey- Princess, stop being ridiculous. You aren't bothering me.

You- Ja'Marr said otherwise so goodnight

“Shit.” Joe muttered underneath his breath before typing a response back to you.

Joey- It is literally 11 in the morning and you're being petty

You- I can tell time, goodnight like I said

For the rest of the day, your phone had been blown up by Joe but you weren't budging. Ja’Marr had been eerily quiet, but you definitely weren't about to say anything to him.

He wanted space so that was what he was going to get. 

If he felt like you were being extremely overprotective and also bothering Joe with your antics, you were simply going to keep your distance.

About a week had passed and Ja'Marr honestly felt weird.

He hadn't talked to his big sister and since it was out of the ordinary, when certain things happened he didn't have anyone he would immediately run and tell about it.

That person had been you.

He had been leaving you messages here and there with no response from you.

Joe wasn't any better and you would be sending him one word answers to his text messages while declining his facetime calls despite him wanting to call a truce.

He came to the conclusion that you were obviously still hurt by the argument that had taken place, but he needed to fix this before you came to see him in two weeks.

Well, if you still wanted to see him, that is. 

Because as of right now he wasn't so sure. 

It was now around six in the evening when you and Erin had just gotten back from going shopping and you had begun to put away your clothes in your closet when you heard Erin's phone ring as she was sitting on your bed.

“Oh no.” She breathed out and you looked at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Your baby daddy is calling me.” She told you and you quickly rolled your eyes.

One thing about Joe is if he knew you were mad at him, nine times out of ten he's calling Erin to check on you because he knows that you'll keep ignoring him.

“I'm not talking to him right now.”

“Wait, didn’t you tell him goodnight at 11 in the morning the other day?” She asked while laughing.

“Yes, and I meant it.”

“Let’s see what he wants.” Erin replied as you quickly shook your head no before exclaiming it.

“NO!”

“Too late. Hi Joey!” Erin said as she waved at him with you quickly rolling your eyes.

Great, it was a facetime call too.

“Hey Erin, where's Y/N?”

“In front of me and I told her to call you so that the two of you could make up but she's being stubborn.” She told him and you promptly rolled your eyes.

“Can you pass her the phone?” He politely asked and she quickly nodded. 

“Sure.”

It took a minute for you to take the phone from her, but once you did, you didn't greet your fiancé but simply stared at him.

“Baby….”

“What? What do you want?”

“Lose the attitude. And I’m just checking on you, have you talked to your twin at all?”

“Nope, and I don't plan on it. He asked me if I had something to occupy my time with instead of bothering him and here we are. And I thought I told you goodnight already?”

“Princess, he wants to talk to you and apologize but you wouldn't know that since apparently you've been ignoring him. And you told me that damn near a week ago. We communicate with each other in this relationship and this needs to end tonight.”

“Okay, can I get back to watching my shows now?” You asked as you had now moved from your room to the living room and turned on Netflix with Erin behind you.

“No, talk to him first and then we need to talk.”

“Well I don't know how that's going to happen because I'm not calling him.” 

“There's no need to, he's right here.” Joe told you and quickly passed the phone to Ja'Marr.

“Wait, what?”

“Pebbles….”

“Wow, the minute I say I'm going to stop calling you, look who decides to come crawling back?” You told him and Ja'Marr quickly rolled his eyes.

“You need to shut your petty ass up so I can apologize.”

“I will jump through this phone and tackle you. Fuck a D-line.” You shot back and he let out a deep sigh.

“Like I was saying because I am ignoring that last statement. I never meant to hurt your feelings and it did come out kind of harsh.”

“Kind of? That's putting it lightly.” You muttered as you were deciding which show you wanted to catch up on.

“Y/N!”

“I'm just telling it like it is.”

“Anyway, I'm sorry but we have got to come to a compromise because we can't keep doing this.”

You sighed before answering him, but quickly nodded in agreement.

“I'm sorry too, but the only way I'm forgiving you is if you door dash me some food.”

“Already done. Honey old bay wings, all flats. Should be there in the next ten minutes.”

“Oh, you are definitely trying to get back on my good side. But on a serious note, I promise to give you more space and I never want you to feel like I'm suffocating you. I just… it's kinda lonely here now. I do have Erin and Alisha but…. I have literally never been away from you.” You confessed as Ja'Marr nodded.

“I know and it's going to take some time for us to adjust. But we'll get there. We good now?”

“Yes, we're good.”

“Now stop being a petty ass fiancée to my best friend.” Ja'Marr said as he eyed you and handed Joe back the phone.

“Babe?”

“Yes, princess?”

“I'm sorry and you know I love you. And yes I need to work on my communication when it comes to you and stop shutting you out.” You told him while you got up off the couch to grab a drink from the fridge.

“I don't know how many times that I have to remind you that I'm not him. I care about how you feel and am always willing to meet you halfway. I asked you to marry me for a reason. I love you too.” 

“Sometimes I swear I don't deserve you.” You whispered and Joe simply shook his head.

“We deserve each other and we're going to continue to make our relationship stronger because once I slip that ring on your finger next summer, that's it. You're mine forever and whatever problems may arise, we simply have to figure it out together. We're a team, okay?”

“Okay.” You quietly said as you smiled at him.

"See you in two weeks, princess?” Joe asked with excitement dripping from his voice.

“Two weeks and not a day more.”

[bonbonly]

same anon from pussy drunk max and I just thought of this and had to share. Hold my hand on this one, pussy inspection. Doesn’t matter who you write it for but just wanting to “check” you at random times through the day. Holding you spread, checking if you’re tight and punishing you for ruining your panties telling you that you can’t just walk around wet all the time or else he’ll have to confiscate your panties and pants. The idea of him spreading you out and nudging your clit, sliding his fingers in and out, maybe even checking if you still take his cock perfectly is so hot to me. Especially if he’s successfully restraining himself from fucking you, after all he can’t fuck you unless he inspects you properly. Going insane over this idea please add more

ASDFASDFASF I AM GOING FERALLL OVER THIS YOU CAN'T JUST PUT THIS IN MY INBOX AND THEN EXPECT ME NOT TO EXPLODE I-

ok deep breaths, deep breaths bon, you got this asfasdfasf

bon thoughts (18+)

you know who i see this as? collegeau!charles leclerc. this is so him, and I'm going to make sure ALL of you see why this is him. he's the sweetest boy ever in the university, and he volunteers and goes training to be an inspector because he thinks it'll look good on his resume. and he's very hell bent on being professional, but then he sees you and all he can think about is how he's hoping you end up on his list of patients so he can finally inspect you.

when he walks into the room one day, he sees you naked and spread out completely, your pussy on display for him, as if you were made for him. he's biting his lips, taking a deep breath in and trying to keep his reputation intact. good sweet boy charles couldn't possibly try to ruin you, but the demons in his mind told him otherwise. he sits on a small stool, his face inches from your cunt. you prop yourself up on elbows, asking him how long this will take because you had a class to attend to soon and he's smiling like an idiot, nodding his head and talking about how he understands your concerns. he grabs some gloves, slipping them on carefully before taking his thumb and massaging your clit slowly. his eyes are on you, watching your reactions as you gasp out loud, head thrown back before you ultimately fall back onto the head of the bed you were laying on. when he thinks you're wet enough, he slips a finger in,

"just checking to see how tight you are, ma chérie," he murmurs, licking his lips, he wants to wrap his mouth around your cunt but he's holding himself back. he'd have to wait. he's adding a second finger, astonished how your body's welcoming him and when he curls and hits a spot inside you, you're moaning out loud. he pulls his fingers out, nodding his head and taking some notes and tells you that you're good for your first check-up.

and then the days pass, and you didn't show up to a couple of his checks, which has him a bit impatient. everyone was busy with their lives, though, but you? oh, he spent days thinking about you, how could you do this to him? so when you do show up, he's upset at you but even more upset that you're pussy is glistening in the light. you're dripping onto the bed beneath you, and he has no idea why that's so, but he doesn't like it one bit. you explain to him that this boy said something to you that made you feel funny. charles isn't happy one bit, and he's rubbing your clit harder than he's supposed to, watching your pussy hole clench around nothing,

"ma chérie, you cannot be walking around like this. ruining your panties, drenching what ever you wear. what if someone else sees? is that what you want? you want people to see how wet you are?" he's scolding you, and you're getting wetter at his words, unsure as to why your tummy was feeling weird, as if there was a pressure waiting to be unleashed. charles is shaking his head, not even waiting to hear your response, "i might order you to never wear anything to cover this cunt of yours, so that everyone can see how needy your pussy is."

his restraint is out the window, and he now has his cock out. his tip is crying for you, leaking excessively and you tilt your head, trying to understand what part of the procedure this was. charles notices your confusion and reassures you, "just to see if you can take a cock, or specifically my cock."

and he sinks himself into you, watching you moan out loud as he begins to fuck you at a pace that might be a little too much for you, but he doesn't care. he's been waiting for days for this, and he has no signs of stopping now. he almost catches himself leaning forward to kiss you, he knows better than to get involved like this but he figures in the next appointments he could get closer to you. right now, all he wants is to fill your cunt up with his cum, "you can only ever do this with me, no one else. never take anyone's cock outside of this exam room unless it's mine."

and you nod your head, willing to follow along with whatever he said. he's the sweetest boy on campus, he obviously was doing this for your own good!