#does he just keep a bunch of these on his person at all times to hand them out to fans??

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[twst-aceofhearts]

hehe im back after a day.... saw u did my request and im super happy rn ty!! :D i dont know if its rude to request again after u just finished one and u dont have to do this immediately! buuuuttt

Can you do some twst characters with a male or GN Yuu that (non sexually) age regresses? like not to a baby type age, more of an older toddler to 1st grader age (whatever that is...) because that was normally the mental state i was in when i used to regress, for characters i would specifically like Kalim, ruggie, ortho, grim and maybe a teacher!!! any other characters if you have ideas for them are welcome!! and if u dont want to do all of them i'd like Kalim, grim, and a teacher the most!!

when i used to regress it was due to me being in bad moods or just feeling comfortable around a person enough to be able to let go for a bit, so for a scenario it could be just hanging out with the person if its more of a story type thing, if its more headcanons (which i dont mind!) you can come up with the scenario!! id love to see what you come up with :))

thanks for more amazing writings!!!!! ☀️

Small Days

𝖆/𝖓: I don't write for teachers and it was hard for me to find a groovy card of grim alone :<

𝖙𝖜: age regression

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: kalim, ruggie & ortho x reader [strictly platonic]

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 695

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

🕌 Kalim: Sunshine and Blanket Forts

Kalim finds you curled up under the dorm’s big draped canopy one afternoon, quiet and holding a stuffed toy Ace had won for you at a festival. You’d been fine that morning, but now, your eyes were glassy and unfocused — the kind of look that told Kalim you weren’t really in your “big self” anymore.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, crawling under the blankets to sit beside you. “You wanna build a fort with me?”

Your eyes light up a little, and you nod. Kalim beams.

“Okay! We’ll use the cushions from the lounge and a bunch of those silly tapestries Jamil said we’re not supposed to move,” he grins. “Don’t tell him.”

As you follow him out with small, padded steps, Kalim keeps the pace slow. He gives you simple choices — red or blue blanket, pillow tower or blanket wall — and praises your every decision like it’s the best one in the world.

Once the fort is up, you both crawl inside. Kalim pulls out crayons and a coloring book from his drawer.

“I keep this stuff around just in case,” he whispers, like it’s a big secret. “Everybody needs soft days sometimes.”

🧹 Ruggie: Street-Smart Softness

You’d wandered into Ruggie’s room at Savanaclaw without saying much, dragging your oversized hoodie sleeves over your hands and hugging a plush dandelion toy. Ruggie knew that look. You were smaller today — not physically, but in the way you moved, the way you hesitated before speaking, the way you clung to him like a nervous duckling.

He didn’t say anything at first, just opened his arms and let you crawl into his lap.

“Long day, huh?” he murmured, scratching gently behind your ear like he does for little kids in the market.

You gave a tiny nod and let your head rest on his shoulder.

“Want somethin’ warm? Got some instant cocoa,” he offered. “You want a sippy cup? I got one from a job where I had to babysit a rich brat.”

You mumbled, “Yuh-huh…”

He chuckled and ruffled your hair. “Alright, squirt. Stay put.”

Ruggie moved with quiet efficiency — heating up cocoa, putting on a silly cartoon, and wrapping you in his oversized hoodie while he spoon-fed you tiny bits of bread and honey when you didn’t want to use a fork.

“People always act like you gotta be tough all the time,” he said later, your fingers clutching his sleeve. “But I think soft is tough, too. You’re doin’ just fine.”

🤖 Ortho: Data-Driven Comfort

Ortho noticed the change before you even said anything. Your stress levels had been climbing for days — schoolwork, social noise, sensory overload. When he detected your heart rate increase and vocal patterns shift mid-sentence during lunch, he gently took your hand.

“Yuu,” he said quietly, “would you like to enter a low-stimulation support environment?”

You blinked up at him, already smaller — your shoulders hunched, fingers curled into your sweater. You nodded once.

“Okay! I’ve got a safe space ready.”

He guided you to a quiet study pod in the Ignihyde dorm. The lights were soft, the temperature was optimal for calming biological responses, and Ortho had preloaded a playlist of nostalgic lullabies you’d once told him you liked.

“Would you like weighted pressure, auditory comfort, or soft tactile feedback today?” he asked, crouching beside the couch like a very gentle babysitter-bot.

You mumbled, “Hug… please?”

His eyes blinked softly. “Okay! Initiating Care Mode.”

He gently sat beside you and let you wrap your arms around him. He was warm — you always forgot he had internal heating. His metal hands moved slowly as he patted your back.

“I’ve also loaded a video of puppies playing in a basket. Would you like that next?”

You made a sleepy noise of agreement.

Ortho tilted his head. “You’re doing a great job regulating yourself, Yuu. I’m proud of you for asking for help.”

You didn’t answer, but he felt the way your grip on him loosened as you finally relaxed.

He activated a soft night light beside the couch and began humming along with the music.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I’ll monitor everything. You’re safe now.”

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[cleopatraphouse]

Top nine Wormfics (as picked by someone who has read over a thousand Wormfics)

(I know Wormblr can be kinda tight-knit so please don't feel bad if you're not on the list.)

9. Wink

(x)

By: Idiom Alpha

Status: Dead. 29K words.

Summary: Post- Gold Morning, a small-time band of villains struggle to survive in post-apocalyptic America.

Gold Morning and its consequences are fairly underrepresented in Wormfic. Even the fics set on Gimel tend to feature it as more of a new settler town than a ‘rebuilding after the end’ Eaden. Part of the reason is the relative newness of Ward, part of the reason is the relative badness of Ward; but let’s be honest, a lot of the reason is that post-Gold Morning there’s no Taylor. And no one reads Wormfics without Taylor.

Wink doesn’t have Taylor, except vaguely in the background of a flashback scene. And it’s really really good anyway.

After a slow bit at the start of chapter one, we get to see into a fully realized scavenger civilization Earth Bet. Some towns exist, held together by capes or regular human grit and spit. But most of the world’s population has died or relocated. But it’s not really a sad story, as dark as the subject matter gets at times. The narration (given by OC cape Bystander, whose deal I’ll leave as a surprise) is purposefully light and jovial. Example sentence: “You know, I think the funniest part about the apocalypse is that it left everyone with a lot of free time.”. This has the dual purpose of giving the exposition pizzazz and personality, while making the emotional moments that come later hit harder.

Speaking of. So, like, I have autism (and a couple of other things but that’s the important one here). I don’t know exactly how severe it is on a scale of one to ten, but it does make my life difficult. I’m not sure how much detail is appropriate to give here (yknow, because of the autism), so I’ll keep things vague. Suffice to say that many things are difficult for me that I really really wish weren’t.

I bring this up because the most seen I’ve ever felt, as an autistic person, was reading Finale in Ward. (Even though she gets called not-autistic in the same chapter...)

The second most seen I’ve ever felt is reading Sentiment’s interlude in Wink.

I’m not going to give the whole thing away, but the line where her brother tells her to be normal, and the narration follows up with “Kinneret tried being normal. It wasn't a very fun game, but she played it for years. It didn't help her make any friends.” Yeah. Yeah, that’s real shit. Way realer than that one Questionable Content strip which still bugs me years later even though it’s not important or relevant at all.

The fic unfortunately died shortly after the plot started actually picking up. Thankfully the chapters are fairly substantial. An arc for Bystander is successfully conveyed, even if it’s not the fully realized arc that was clearly being built to. There are even twists! And there’s some pretty good art, drawn by the author.

Idiom Alpha has written a bunch of Wormfics! Sadly literally all of them are dead. They’re still really good though! My favorites are Not Looking Forward To It (which has my favorite takes on Dinah and Flor), Lean (which has my favorite take on Noelle), and Don’t Do Brains! (which has the only ending Idiom ever wrote even though it’s officially unfinished).

8. Santa-Assault And Imp The Elf: Christmas Carnage

(x)

By: Rukaio Alter

Status: Complete. 79K words.

Summary: Assault just wants to teach Imp the meaning of Christmas in his own roguish way. When he’s kidnapped by The Elite, she gets dragged along and triggers, which might be what they need if they’re going to escape.

There are perhaps a surprising amount of Christmas-themed Wormfics (Visited By Three Villains and The House Of Mortal Clay spring to mind as choice picks). This is the best one though, partially because it’s more Home Alone than Prep And Landing. While Christmas is inherent to the plot, set dressing, and even themeing; the fic is not trapped by being ‘a Christmas fic’. While there is a “saving Christmas” bend to the plot and imagery, it’s more just a very very well written story about two strangers trying their best to save some kids with cancer from supervillains... during Christmas, while dressed as Santa and an elf. It’s a fun ride at any time of year. I read it slowly to savor it.

This is easily my favorite take on Assault. I mean, the portrayal of Imp is really good too, but this is the version of Assault that the other fic!Assaults wish they were. Roguish and irreverent without being uncaring, goodnatured and upbeat without being saccharine, and burdened by his past without being maudlin; Christmas Carnage is able to fully explore and flesh out a character relatively underutilized by canon. And yes, there’s more to his relationship with Battery than sitcom tropes. We even get to see him as an angsty kid!

People completely allergic to cheese probably won’t be able to tolerate the sillier moments, the jokes can get goofy. (Sample joke: “You said it made me look professional!” / “And you were stupid to believe me.”) It’s a fairly deft management of tone though, it never slips into outright farce even when the comedic explosions start up. And Ruk gives most of the serious parts (even a tearjerker or two) room to breathe.

Some of the fight scenes maybe lack some of the impact they should have (Ruk has a bad habit of starting action paragraphs with discourse filler words). That’s just kinda something you gotta accept, treat it like part of the shonen-esque action-comedy the fic is clearly modeled after.

I really wanna stress that this could have easily just been a silly crackfic, the title even wants you to think that. But instead there’s really tight plotting, moments building naturally from character interaction, lots of setups and brick jokes, and subtle background worldbuilding. A few of the payoffs are admittedly easy to see coming, but they’re still fun. And I’m not gonna spoil it, but the ending did give me that warm holiday-with-friends feeling.

Ruk is probably most known for his Unimaginatively Titled Worm Snippet Collection, which has some of the most creative and good short stories in the fandom. I’m specifically shouting out “Screenbug” and all his takes on Contessa. He’s also done an enjoyable-if-a-bit-underseasoned crossover with Columbo, Just One More Thing, Mr. Anders...; and the weirdly problematic crossover, Brian Laborn: Ace Attorney. Outside the fandom, he ran an original fiction and review blog for a few years, and has done stuff in a couple other fandoms I’m not in.

7. The Postdiluvian Road

(x)

By: Aleph (Immatrael) & EarthScorpion

Status: Complete, with a sequel hopefully on the way eventually. 115K words.

Premise: In a timeline where Leviathan wipes Brockton Bay off the map, Lisa and Taylor go on the run together as the only surviving Undersiders.

This is technically a shipfic, but don’t let that color your preconceptions too much. This is a story about Lisa and Taylor getting to the point where they might wanna date, but that’s not the main events occurring. They don’t even kiss. Taylor thinks a lot about Lisa’s lips, and Lisa confesses to a sleeping Taylor that she’ll always be there for her. It’s a very slow burn, is what I’m saying.  But it’s not plotless, it’s not a coffeeshop AU (as much as I enjoy Coffee Machines And Golden Mornings); the whole story is character development skillfully interlaced with conflict scenes.

In the hands of less artistic writers, the Leviathan attack would be an easy excuse to get two characters alone. That’s not what happens here. TPR completely commits to the premise. Just as every canon chapter set in post-Leviathan Brockton is soaked in filthy water and supply chain problems, every moment of TPR is suffocated in paranoia and desperation. This is, as a result, the fic on this list that keeps most closely to Worm’s apocalyptic tone. Lisa is never sure that Coil’s really dead, that she’s really free. Taylor never stops grieving her dad. Brief moments of respite feel less like breaks than they do pauses. Every bit of emotional development comes after struggling to find food and a place to sleep.

One of my favorite aspects comes when Lisa and Taylor are trying to get some quick cash. They steal some suitcases, one of which contains some mysterious vials. They throw the vials out because they only want the money and the vials are worthless to them. Obviously, the reader knows they’re Cauldron vials, but the story never feels the need to point it out. And it wasn’t just a thrown in detail, it sets a group of capes after them. Lisa and Taylor are stumbling through other stories that we only get snippets of. The world is real and big and scary, but maybe these two can find safety in each other’s arms.

This fic also features the most subtle and tasteful Simpsons reference I think I’ve ever read. Keep an eye out!

I’ve seen people say that TPR!Skitter is weaker than she should be, but I think that can be chalked up to her having less grounding, less familiarity with the environment, and less backup. All she’s got is whatever bugs are around her and a squishy thinker to protect, she doesn’t even have a base to build up stores. There are understandable reasons for Taylor to be the underdog, is what I’m saying.

The fic is wrong about Niagara Falls, though. Niagara Falls is goddamn beautiful.

I am given to understand that this is only part one, and that a part two is or was meant to come out some day. Even if that doesn’t happen, we still have is a complete story of two girls who gradually realize they might wanna be gay in between doing crimes, and I think that’s great.

Aleph and EarthScorpion previously collaborated on Impurity, a Taylor alt-power Wards fic that to be honest I didn’t get much out of. EarthScorpion also wrote a crossover with a video game I’ve never played, and Aleph contributed some interlude chapters to something called Silence Is NOT Consent!.

6. Silence Is NOT Consent!

(x)

By: JustAnotherCat (justanothercatgirl) and Aleph (Immatrael)

Status: On hiatus. 310K words.

Premise: After the Slaughterhouse Nine leave Brockton Bay, Skitter finds Amy having wretch’d Victoria, forces her to undo the physical damage, and takes Victoria in.

This is a hard one to talk about. There’s so much discourse attached to Amy’s character already that mentioning her becomes a minefield. Add on SINC’s brutally honest depictions of the aftereffects of rape on the victim, and I’m just painfully, painfully aware that if I don’t write this right everyone will (justifiably) get mad at me. 

So, what I’m going to say is that I think this is a horrifically accurate portrayal of severe PTSD. If you are lucky enough to be neurotypical, I imagine parts might seem unrealistic or unintentionally comedic. No. That’s what it’s like. Or, yknow, as far as I’m capable of understanding. Basically every chapter has some kind of gut punch, where Victoria again realizes how she’s still being affected by her trauma. It is uncomfortable and horrible and real.

But even besides all the heavy stuff, this has a great portrayal of Taylor and Victoria. The story’s written first person, from Victoria’s perspective, and it’s so great to see her act as a kind of straight man to Skitter’s usual deranged determination. This is the most in-character Taylor I’ve ever seen in a Wormfic, how she’s constantly going to eleven for the greater good, even when and ESPECIALLY when it’s unwarranted. One of my favorite moments comes shortly after the Rachel interlude: an uncontrolled emotion power goes off without warning during a negotiation; Taylor pretends she did it on purpose; and Victoria watches, bewildered. It’s funny, dramatic, and characterful all at once.

I will say I respectfully disagree with some of the decisions regarding Alec and Aisha, although I understand why those decisions were made and get how they fit thematically. In general the side characters are noticeably weaker than the main duo (although I think this is my favorite ever take on Charlotte). See the Brian interlude for what I mean. It’s a worthy portrait, sure, I agree with the author’s note that Brian doesn’t get enough love in fic. But does it go as deep into his character as it could?

The worldbuilding, however, is a highlight, fleshing out Brockton just that little bit. I particularly enjoy the details about the entrance to Skitter’s lair. It never feels expositiony either, every line of description comes off as an in-character observation from someone desperately trying to keep her shit together. And as the story progresses, so too does Victoria’s familiarity with her new situation, leading to my favorite Taylor/Victoria pairup. Like The Postdiluvian Road, this is not a romance story so much as it is a survival story that happens to include learning to trust again. It is bleak, sad, beautiful, and even occasionally funny and cute.

Silence Is NOT Consent! is currently on indefinite hiatus, sadly. But even if it never comes back, it’s well, WELL worth reading, even if you haven’t cried to "Body Terror Song" by AJJ.

justanothercatgirl also has a one-shot collection (which has my favorite depiction of Shatterbird) and shockingly little else. I hope she’s writing other things in her spare time, because I’m not kidding when I say the world needs voices like hers.

5. Intercession

(x)

By VigoGrimborne

Status: Complete. 189K words.

Premise: Post-Gold Morning, Taylor is Isekai’d by Contessa into the Harry Potter universe, and given an infant Harry Potter to raise.

I'm a little reluctant to mention this one; apparently the author is uncomfortable with the amount of attention it got. Also it’s a Harry Potter crossover, and fuck J.K. Rowling. But like, the story is really good. REALLY good! Don’t get mad at me, I’m a transgirl, I know how bad Harry Potter is!

I had no idea how badly I needed to see Taylor Hebert being a good mom, or, for that matter, to see Harry Potter vehemently defending an adoptive parent. The fic isn’t perfect, there are certain comedic moments that just fall flat for me (the most forced ‘Taylor's boobs’ joke outside of canon). But that doesn’t matter. This is close to the platonic ideal of the ‘Taylor gets isekai’d post-Gold Morning’ fic. And it has really good pacing thanks to it being planned out in advance, almost every chapter feels like a nearly-complete story on its own. Other writers, take notes.

Other writers should also take note of how Taylor doesn’t waltz into the situation and immediately beat everyone else. There’s actual tension and stakes as she struggles to deal with magic for the first time, to shake off the rust and get back into combat. Even when she wins, it still has that skin-of-her-teeth desperation to it that Worm did so well.

Tellingly, a lot of the worse parts you’ll want to skip on a reread are the parts most rooted in Harry Potter canon. Harry’s first perspective chapter detailing his first three years at Hogwarts is great, but the parts spent at Ron’s house are pretty inconsequential. Maybe it was meant for the people who didn’t come from the Worm side of the fandom crossover? Harry’s classmates, at least, are given actual personalities and arcs totally absent from the books.

Credit must be given to the romantic pairing. VG somehow, miraculously, managed to make Taylor Hebert x Sirius Black not only a not-creepy pairing, but a straight-up great match. This isn’t teenage Taylor shacking up with an adult; this is Taylor as an adult mother, fully prepared to kill Sirius if his roguish charm starts negatively impacting her son.

VigoGrimbone also has a collection of side stories, outtakes, and rewrites called Of Summoning Snakes And Sorting Hats, definitely a must-read if you like Intercession even a little bit; and a collection of Worm one-shots called Chunks Of Worm, which features my favorite Amy/Lisa pairup in one story.

4. Mixed Feelings

(x)

By Kittius

Status: Dead. 1M words.

Premise: In a slight AU, before canon start, an OC named Astrid (not to be confused with Aster) triggers after years of abuse from her Nazi father.

I found this one thanks to ColossalMistake plugging it in an interview they did, and I'm honestly flabbergasted that I hadn't heard about it before. It's straight up brilliant. Is it the one million plus wordcount that's making people rec it so infrequently? Is it the unashamed British slang that keeps making it into the dialogue of ostensibly-American characters? All I know is that Mixed Feelings is astonishingly good.

It would be irresponsible of me to not address the length. This story is a million words long even before we add in the 50K of sidestory and the other 50K of author-written apocrypha. And no, it did not need to be that long. A million words into Worm and we had at least fifteen arcs and all that entails. A million words into Mixed Feelings and we’ve had five arcs, a few fights, and one major character breakthrough.

Some of the wordcount is justified. Astrid is constantly repeating certain phrases in her head (“There is always a basement.”, “Failure is always punished.”) and this is great! It really gives you the claustrophobic feeling of being controlled which she’s dealt with her whole life. It’s like SINC, only it’s CPTSD instead of PTSD. Some of the wordcount is... less justified. The Emma interlude goes on for three parts, the Battery interlude goes on for five, and both could have made their points in two. And just skip the Testing, Testing sidestory. Even back in the main story, I do not care about Kid Win’s relationship fumbles.

It’s worth pushing through though. For one thing, the worldbuilding is fucking incredible. Astrid was raised by her Nazi father to be a child soldier, and this is reflected in how she sees the world. So we as readers get to see how the Wards HQ works, from the workout room to the cafeteria to the Youth Guard advocates. But we don’t just see them, we see them through her viewpoint. Sometimes this adds a tinge of comedy, like with her continued bewilderment that other people are engaging in decadent behaviors like eating candy or making jokes. Other times it adds little dramatic flairs, like when she’s incapable of understanding that “punishment” does not mean “extreme physical abuse”. The world feels real and lived in, with PRT foot soldiers irritatedly gossiping about Assault’s criminal past, Carlos sadly reminiscing over his dead boyfriend, and the Youth Guard desperately and futilely trying to stop more superpowered children from dying.

The overall mood is dark, which partially comes from Astrid’s fucked worldview and her slow healing process, but it also comes from looking straight on at what the Empire Eighty-Eight would actually be like. Worm justifiably gets flack for having a depiction of Nazism that’s only slightly more real than Raiders Of The Lost Ark. Mixed Feelings has a depiction of Nazism that’s clearly had research put into it. Pay attention to how an OC villain is clearly based on ‘women are property’ incel screeds, without it ever being actually spelled out. And as horrific and disturbing as the depictions of Nazism are, they’re probably as respectful towards the real-world victims as possible. And the best part is that the fic repeatedly, repeatedly shows that growing up as a Nazi (even unwillingly) is actively killing Astrid. She is almost totally incapable of functioning in the real world, because every interaction is filtered through trying not to be hurt. Her actual body is failing on her, because of her father’s lifelong abuse. You just wanna give her a hug. Except you don’t, cause she’d flinch at the sudden movement. I can relate!

Mixed Feelings has my favorite take on Piggot and Carlos, as well as Rennick, for what that’s worth. But the real star of the show is Amy. She’s such a bitch, to EVERYONE, it’s great! If you’re a big Ward fan I imagine you won’t love her as much as I do, but for anyone who’s able to imagine Amy Dallon happy, here she is, miserable and annoyed and taking it out on whoever is nearby at the time.

The author’s notes are super neat too, going into why they made certain decisions based off of offhand dialogue from across the whole of Worm.

All that said, it is funny how there’s NO EFFORT AT ALL put into making the story seem American. I learned like fifty British slang terms from my readthrough. Not that it affects the quality of the story, but it is funny to imagine American teenagers in 2011 casually saying things like “all and sundry”.

Kittius also has a snippet thread, which includes some non-Worm stories that are pretty nifty, although the overall quality is, to be honest, variable.

3. The Great Escape

(x)

By ColossalMistake

Status: Dead. 106K words.

Premise: Eidolon must deal with the loss of his reputation due to the revelations during the Echidna fight, while at the same time attempting to help with a total breakout from the Birdcage.

Apparently this was made partially as a self-challenge by the author. ‘Is it possible to make Eidolon interesting?’. And If that story is true, this is one of the biggest slam dunks in writing challenge history. Absolute knocking it out of the park. This goes beyond “my favorite take on Eidolon” to “I now want to read more Eidolon fics”.

Eidolon here is a tragic superman. He’s tormented not just by his diminishing powers, but also by his pact actions in Cauldron and his impotence in the face of larger societal structures. The Great Escape has a lot to say about the actual nature of power. Early on, Eidolon briefly tries finding escapees manually before giving up and having Doormaker send him where he needs to go. This is after he’s kicked out of his homebase in Houston. He can go anywhere he wants, but that’s not his office anymore. Later, he tries to help put down another situation, only for it to be revealed that everything he did was part of Contessa’s plan. He can fight Endbringers, but he's still human, he's still part of the system. This all has even greater thematic resonance when he goes to church and talks to a priest as himself, as David. He’s a Christian, struggling to be what God meant him to be, struggling in a world that seems beyond God. Even I was touched, and I’m an annoying atheist edgelord.

As you’ve probably gathered by the other descriptions in this post, I’m a sucker for fanfic that expands the world of the original work. Imagine my joy when on top of the previously-mentioned setpieces, we get mention of a website besides PHO. Eidolon meets a young, naive OC named Amp, who is specifically trying to use him for a photo op to boost her rep, since she read online that it was a good move. Words cannot describe how much I love this scene. Eidolon’s gradual realization of what exactly Amp is trying to do... damn it’s good. And then Amp gets one of the top-two Wormfic interludes, where we see her entire life story, and we understand her, warts and all. Beautiful.

All due respect to the very good Initiation, Covalence, and The Problem With Other Realities, but THIS is the deadfic I most hope comes back. Everything from the prose to the characterization to the worldbuilding is spot on. (The plot is maybe a LITTLE loose…) And look out for the most admirably restrained Taylor usage in any Wormfic, she appears in the background for half a chapter, and it’s perfect, no notes.

Besides a couple of short, cracky one-shots and a contribution to the fanzine; ColossalMistake also wrote The Underside Of Gotham, a very very good Batman crossover that is brilliantly plotted and arranged. Every member of the Undersiders and every member of The Bat Family gets exactly one POV chapter. It’s downright impressive how every perspective feels like the perfect viewpoint for that chapter, and every chapter fluidly builds towards the story’s ending. He also wrote Internal Calculus, a CYOA crackfic where YOU are an intern at Cauldron trying to seduce Number Man. There are a whole lot of endings and some very funny lines, and also one ‘frustrated writer’ rant that you kinda have to just raise an eyebrow at and move on.

2. Intrepid

(x)

By Cerulean

Status: Ostensibly only on hiatus, but don’t hold your breath. 860K words.

Premise: In an AU with many major and minor changes from canon, The Locker Incident leaves Taylor with a power that makes her seem catatonic, leading Emma and Madison to trigger. Emma joins The Undersiders, Madison joins an AU New Wave, and Taylor joins Faultline’s Crew. Meanwhile, Sophia attempts to deal with how the other Wards hate her even more now by helping out a new trigger in her spare time.

Anyone lower on the list is fully justified in getting mad at me. Intrepid has a lot of problems. The prose can be clunky, some moments (especially redemption arcs and romance scenes) feel unearned or rushed, many plot elements are introduced and then underutilized, and fight scenes often end too quickly. Some of the examples of ‘an adult guy trying to write a teenage lesbian’ are, er, unfortunate. And uh. There are way more slurs than were necessary to show that Nazis are bad. That’s before we even get to how the story handles the concept of ex-Nazis, which can politely be described as “naive”.  

This is the most Marvel-y of the fics on this list, with a lot of focus on exciting battle scenes with lots of people, even when the fighting seems kinda contextless. Madison especially enjoys throwing out quips a la Spider-Man in a way that can be jarring given the surrounding violence.

But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t make myself move Intrepid down a slot. Those moments may be unearned but damn if they don’t hit. Interlude 20B is an incredible example of how to do a ‘minions rebel against their boss’ thing. Chapter 6-07 might be my favorite car chase I’ve ever read (admittedly not a lot of contestants in that contest, but still). There’s another chapter which is almost a blueprint for how to perfectly kill off a certain kind of villain. The “You like girls, Captain Oblivious.” monologue is just a fantastic bit that I needed to mention. And Intrepid also has one of the only Endbringer arcs I’ve EVER enjoyed, INCLUDING in canon.

This is also my favorite take on Sophia. She, through a somewhat elaborate set of circumstances, becomes the leader of an independent hero group during her off hours from the Wards. And while this causes her to become a less shitty person, she never loses her anger issues, she never stops being Sophia. I hesitate to call it a redemption arc, it’s more just character development. A lot of ink has been (justifiably) spilled over her canon appearance, which barely rises above racial caricature, and I’m not going to pretend that Intrepid has a radical deconstruction of her which makes it okay somehow. But yknow, if you’re stuck with it, this is maybe the best you can do.

Intrepid also has my favorite take on Labyrinth, which I will fully admit is pure bias on my part. I just really like it when neurodivergence is portrayed as endearing and not annoying, okay?

In the end, this is a fic that’s on this list not because it’s necessarily better written or better plotted, but just because of how much fun it all is. This is a fic where every cool idea the author could think of got shoved in there. Sometimes that leads somewhere, sometimes it doesn’t, but it sure always feels like it’s going to, which is skilled writing in and of itself. The Travelers show up, and just for fun, Noelle is their leader and they’re all alt-powers because they drank different vials. It’s great! New Wave shows up, but they haven’t unmasked and Fleur isn’t dead and Amy and Vicky both have alt-powers. Wonderful! That girl who Taylor mentions to Emma once in canon shows up and becomes the Butcher but the Butcher has a new name because they got subsumed by a new group. Fuck yeah! This fic is an example of how many changes you can make to canon while keeping it recognizably Worm. Why don’t we have more of that in the fandom? I mean, I can think of some examples (Slick, The Fall, even Inheritance) but so many people are content to follow the goddamn stations of the canon. 

This is also the only Wormfic I think I’ve ever read that does Armsmaster’s transformation into Defiant in a unique way. I love when fanfics are able to recreate arcs or plot moments in new contexts!

The most recent arc (written after a five year hiatus) admittedly makes me doubt that Cerulean still has what it takes to give Intrepid the conclusion it really deserves. But the fic is still too damn fun for me not to love. In short, this is Wormfic’s answer to Kingsmen: The Secret Service, another awesome fun action romp that doesn’t totally make sense plot-wise if you think about it for too long (and kinda sucks right at the end).

Cerulean started in the Animorphs fandom with the pretty decent Animorphs: Redux series. His first Wormfic, Atonement, is retrospectively a sort of dry run for Intrepid, exploring the same themes and ideas but not as good. And it has my favorite take on Legend! I do, however, need to specifically disclaim the original character of Vacate, who has some of the worst attempts at ‘realistic Urban dialogue’ I’ve ever read, it’s kinda uncomfortable. Currently Cerulean is publishing two original web serials, neither of which I can recommend in good faith. Heretical Edge is impossible to describe because the plot changes every other chapter, and Summus Proelium is just Worm but worse. Read the first chapter of each and then skip everything but the interludes, treat them like short story collections.

Bonus Round: Other Wormfics which have a particular special sauce

Absolution by Quantumsheepery, which has the best dialogue in any Wormfic, and the only good use of ‘aura theory’.

Broken Crown by thevalleyarchive, which has my favorite takes on Theo and Krieg, and also some of the most horrifically realistic depictions of Nazism I’ve seen in fiction. If it was far along enough to know that it’d stay this high quality, it’d be in the top ten list, easy.

Chain by Truebeasts, which has my favorite Dragon and Aisha.

Collagen by T0PH4T, which has my favorite Hookwolf, my favorite Endbringer arc, and an almost unforgivably clunky start before getting incredible out of nowhere.

Episodes by Sharpes_Tanith, which has enough plot to fill an entire arc used as background flavor for a one-shot of an uncomfortably honest portrait of bipolar disorder.

Glassmaker by JinglyJangles, which has this totally unique tone and vibe.

Here Comes The New Boss (Nothing Like The Old Boss) by HowlingGuardian, which has my favorite Spitfire, Velocity, piece of fanart, and Amy/Taylor pairup.

Just The Two Of Us by Discreet, which has a great plot I won’t spoil.

Mandible by Dragobeisha, which has my favorite Teeth and one of my favorite capefights.

Powers And Profits by Partizanka, which has one of the most out-of-the-box story concepts I’ve ever seen, executed flawlessly.

Slaughterhouse 9 Power Taylor by Thinker6, which has my favorite two-shot.

The Girl That Lived Through Time by 3ndless, which has a demonstration of exactly how much you can do with the Worm setting.

The Third Door by Dysole & TelegraphNine, which has my favorite Bonesaw’d!Taylor, and is a potential candidate for the awkward ‘most improved’ award.

These Bloodied Hands by beef jerky, which has some of the best prose in any Wormfic.

Unbreakable by JackSlash, which has my favorite Jack Slash.

1. Riley, Alone

(x)

By R3N41SS4NC3

Status: Complete. 94K words.

Premise: No spoilers just read it. Even if you hate Worm go read it right now. Seriously, there’s one moment that made my jaw drop with how good and clever and creative it was, it was like getting hit by a truck. Read it!

That’s right, my pick for all-time best Wormfic is one where Taylor doesn’t show up at all and The Undersiders get mentioned like once.

This is a story that has a very special place in my heart. As you can probably gather from the other fics on this list, themes of atonement and redemption just resonate with me more than themes of recovery. I find the question “Is it possible to still be a good person after hurting people very badly?” more interesting than “Is it possible to heal after being hurt very badly?”. (Is this because I am a bad person? Possibly!) And without giving anything away, there’s a sentence roughly in the middle of the fic that monocasually destroyed part of my Catholic guilt complex.

But besides that, the story is just extremely good. The prose is top-notch, the plot progresses at a steady clip without sacrificing detail or forgetting character moments, and the standard cliches of Wormfic are either avoided or given unique twists. My favorite example for that last one is a trigger event scene. Everyone who’s read enough Wormfic has seen the phrases “DESTINATION. AGREEMENT.” just so. so so so many times when a writer’s being lazy. Or, if they’re not lazy but they’re still kinda uncreative, it’s just the visions from Worm rewritten again. Giant whales and all that. Riley, Alone has a completely original, totally unique interpretation of a trigger event vision and it makes the scene so much fresher and newer while also contributing to our understanding of the characters.

Even the chapter titles are great! Riley, Alone is divided into three sections, plus an interlude and an ending. Each section has its own unique chapter title gimmick and it just adds this tiny bit of flourish that makes the story feel that much more cohesive and planned out. I can only think of one other Wormfic (the very good, previously-mentioned Just The Two Of Us) that’s taken the time to do something more interesting than Wildbow-style arc titles.

Speaking of chapters, credit needs to be given to R3N41SS4NC3 for creating a totally new take on the concept of a Worm-style interlude. Again, I don’t wanna give it away, but if you’re like me and you still think it’s kinda annoying how Worm switched between first- and third- person, you will maybe love this.

And yes, I am avoiding detailing what plot points the story has, but that’s because I really really feel like it’s best gone into as blind and unsuspecting as possible. It starts focusing on Bonesaw before the Nine get to Brockton Bay and that’s all you need to know.

I guess if I had to say something to criticize it, the plot slowing down in the second half makes the story feel a little lopsided towards the front. I kinda wish there was just a little more Bonesaw body horror stuff shown on-screen. There’s a scene with the Siberian where it’s debatable how well it holds up to scrutiny. Chapter fifteen specifically feels like it was crying out to be absolutely nightmarish but it isn’t really. Uh. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. I love this story so much. It’s got my second favorite take on Jack Slash and my favorite-ever take on Bonesaw. It’s got meditations on identity (gender and personal and societal). It’s got a nicely subtle Pact reference.

Okay, there is one thing that annoys me. Early on, Jack Slash is suggesting names for Bonesaw’s latest creation, and starts to say “Murder Rat” before getting cut off in the middle of “Rat”. So he’d say “Murder Ra-“, right? But it’s written in-dialogue as “Murder R” even though that’d be read out loud as “Murder Arr”. Anyway go read it already.

R3N41SS4NC3’s other fics include Charity Begins At Home, which has my favorite Madison; Desperate Times Call For Desperate Pleasures (co-written with piperfurby), which has my favorite Manpower but does veer between brilliant and bewildering; and Pyrrhic Love, which has my favorite Emma. There’s also another story that I don’t wanna mention in case people get mad at me but it’s very artfully done. And when you've read all that, read its first fic, what if catgirl!taylor got stuck in a tree?, which is near-Wattpad-level crack, and see how all great artists have to start somewhere.

[shuublebunny]

Ok so I ran out of space in the tags, so I'm gonna write my thoughts in a more intelligible, streamlined fashion that will hopefully be easier to follow than my original brain scramble. I am an absolute Phantom of the Opera FIEND, so if you're interested in my word vomit, please keep reading after the cut. This might be a long one

Gene

So, for those of you who aren't familiar with the story of The Phantom of the Opera, the Phantom (aka Erik in the books, which is just easier to type out quickly) is largely deemed horrifying for his willingness to cause suffering in the name of his obsessive infatuation with a young soprano named Christine. He is so enthralled by her beauty and her voice, but because of the way he was treated due to his deformity, feels that she would never love him in return. So, he does what any rational person in their right mind would do and kidnaps her (several times), threatens her, forces her to carry out a "pretend" engagement and cut off her relationship with the actual man she loves, Raoul (we'll get to him later), tortures and murders a bunch of civilians and opera house employees, and of course, makes attempts on Raoul's life and subjects him to psychological torment in his not-so-sexy torture dungeon made of smoke and mirrors.

So how does this relate to Gene? Well, if we consider MCD Gene, he actually fits quite well.

Gene became a shadow knight after he was executed in his village. Why was he executed? Well, he let his infatuation with a beautiful woman get the better of him, going to such lengths as to force her to return his affections with magic, effectively stripping her of her autonomy for his own selfish desires.

He also, especially as a shadow knight, leans into the whole torture aspect of the Phantom as well. The entirety of Laurance's Nether arc is heavily implied, if not explicitly stated to have been spearheaded and led by Gene, who would relentlessly torture him over the course of his shadow knight transformation.

Laurance

So, I've already made my point that Gene would make the better Erik candidate in a PotO AU, so why bring up Laurance? That is because I personally believe that while he might not be Phantom material, he certainly fits into Raoul's shoes quite well (I told you we'd get to him)

So, aside from being tortured by Erik, what does Raoul bring to the table that Laurance would be a good fit for? Raoul is a lover. He's the charming, hopeful, romantic second son of a noble family, about to be sent off as a military officer. He is kind, affectionate, and fiercely protective, but not infallible to the corruption of pride, impulsivity, and rage, making him somewhat susceptible to Erik's psychological torture. But he is able to overcome, because in the end of it all, he is a lover, and he wants to protect Christine.

Let's cover the similarities with Laurance, shall we? He's the adoptive son of the lord of Metelli, and becomes the head guard of Metelli, later becoming one of Aphmau's personal retainers (noble? Check. Military officer/fighter? Check.) He also puts out this suave and charming air, especially with the ladies. But the similarity that counts the most imho is his proclivity to love and HOW that affects him.

Yes, Laurance is a flirt. One might call him a manwhore (sorry bud), or at the very least, that he gives off that vibe, especially at the beginning. But Laurance is, above all, loyal (for the sake of simplicity, I'm leaving out his character assassination in season 3 bc it really was SO out of character, and the series went on hiatus before we ever saw it get resolved), especially when it comes to the people he loves.

He got trapped in the Nether because of his love for his sister and his soft spot for Castor. Laurance (in canon (I think? I haven't seen that ep in a hot minute, so forgive me if I'mwrong)) says that it's his love for Aphmau that keeps him sane. While I personally don't know if that's reasonable considering they didn't know each other very well at the time, and think that it was probably more thoughts of Castor and Cadenza that helped him through, I can't disregard the time where his affections for Aphmau DID put him in a precarious position with his sanity and morality, and then brought him back to see reason soon after:

The werewolf arranged marriage arc. Yep. He fucking massacred an entire royal court of werewolves over the idea of Aphmau being forced to marry without her consent. The idea of her autonomy being stripped from her was enough to send him into a white-hot shadow knight rage. In the same vein, it was Aphmau and his love for her that brought him clarity again. She brought him back to earth. She brought back his humanity.

To be fair, this idea would really only work with Aphmau in the place of Christine Daae if we were going off of canon, especially MCD canon. (If we had Laurance as Gene's foil and Raoul's stand-in for the AU, but I like to think it could work

Anyway, thank you to those who read this entire thing. Idk what possessed you to make you willing to hear this entire yap session about a Gothic horror novel/1980s mega musical AU for a weird ass minecraft roleplay from 2015, but I appreciate you. Also thank you op for sharing this poll, bc I shared so many thoughts I didn't even know I had until now

okay guys since the first vote was so close. quick the aphmau characters were put into a phantom of the opera au

[mooneln0ne]

Messy comic about his Intrusive thoughts

[prlssprfctn]

Batboys, who finally got Jason to agree to join them in their Farm Weekends at Kents, and who beforehand warned Kon and Jon that, well, Jason can be a little flippant, but it nothing personal, only to find out that Jason has an awful, tooth-rotting soft spot for Supers.

Kon, sighing: Okay, Jon, remember, this guy is probably like Damian but older and worse... On the other side, you probably would like that, but just in case if he makes you cry, call me. I'll deal with him. Jon, giggling: Don't worry, Kon. Jason, appearing on the doorsteps: Hey, little ones. I wasn't sure what people usually bring as a gift when they are staying at someone, so I bought the bunch of sweets for ya. You don't mind, do you? Kon: L-little ones? Jon: SWEETS!

Batboys are flabbergasted. Jason never acts like this with them, so what the actual fuck. Tim checks on Jason's temperature, like, three times in the row, and gets his hand smacked. Damian stares at Jason, trying to figure out if the Pit madness had returned in a different light. They have no explanation for this.

Kon: Dude, you said that he was meanie. Tim: He IS. Usually. Kon: I don't know, man... He lets Jon sit on his shoulders and piggybacked me this morning. That's not really mean to me. Tim: WELL. HE NEVER DOES THIS WITH US. Kon: Maybe he just doesn't like you that much. Tim: SHUT UP.

Jason, helping to Lois with some chores: So, I need some help in stalls. Pretty boy, come and help me. Kon: (keeps standing cluelessly) Jason: (glares at him, confused) Kon: Oh! I am pretty boy? Jason: Yeah? Chop-chop, come on. Tim, muttering: All I get is Timbers. And Timberline. And Timmers.

Jason, cooing on Jon: Aw-w, here goes my itty bitty tiny- Damian: (growls) Tim: Somebody sedate me. Kon, twirling around in new leather jacket that he stole from Jason: Yeah, we are his new siblings at this point.

Dick: I am. SO. Happy. That. Little. Wing. Finally. Can. Unleash his. True. Cringey brother. Personality. Tim, concerned: Is that kryptonite in your hands? Dick: No. No. Don't get me wrong. I am very happy. I had waited for this day for years, even. Well. I expected ME to be his itty bitty tiny weenie. But. That's fine. I am fine. Damian: I'll fetch father... Tim: Yeah. Please.

[d1stalker]

Suspension Bridge Effect [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

Warnings: mainly Logan POV, jealousy, cuteness, fem!reader WC: 2.6k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan’s losing it; his thoughts are spiralling to the point where he wonders if he should be locked up.

At least, that’s what he thinks is happening as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. You’re standing near the edge of the mansion's garden, laughing softly as the kid—Johnny, a younger teenage mutant—tries to hand you a bouquet of hastily picked flowers. His face is flushed, eyes wide with admiration, and he’s practically vibrating with nervous energy as he looks up at you.

This punk, this moron, this lovesick blockhead, has been glued to your side ever since you saved him during the last mission.

It was supposed to be a standard run-of-the-mill rescue operation, but when things went south, and he was cornered, you swooped in like the hero you are and got him out unscathed. Now, the kid’s been following you around like a lost puppy, trying to win your attention, your approval—your everything. And it’s infuriating.

Logan can feel his hands clench into fists as he watches Johnny offer you the worst attempt at a bouquet he's ever seen, and sees the youngster's face turning a deeper shade of red as he mumbles something the older man can’t quite hear. Probably some dumb compliment, he thinks bitterly. The kid’s got no game.

You smile at Johnny. It's that soft, kind smile that always makes Logan’s heart skip a beat. But this time, all it does is fuel the fire raging within. He knows that smile isn’t just for him, but damn it, he wishes it were.

He wishes you’d tell the kid to scram, that you’re already spoken for, that you have a lovely boyfriend who could put together a way better bunch of flowers, but instead, you take the flowers with a gentle laugh, thanking the goblin like he’s just handed you a priceless treasure.

And somehow, the torment is never ending, it seems. Because later in the day he find’s himself lurking at the doorway of the mansion library, watching as you and Johnny sit together, heads bent over some book he know knows the little gremlin is just pretending to be interested in. That brat is soaking up every second of your attention, hanging on your every word, and it’s driving Logan up the wall.

“He’s just a kid,” you keep saying whenever he grumbles about it, but you don’t see it. You don’t see the way the bastard’s eyes light up whenever you smile at him, or how he leans in just a little too close when you’re explaining something to him. You don’t notice the small touches—the way his hand lingers on your arm when he’s pulling you somewhere, the way he looks at you like you’re the centre of his universe.

Logan sees it all, because he’s been there before. He knows exactly what Johnny’s feeling because he felt the same way when he first met you. Still does. It's that intense, all-consuming crush that makes you do stupid things just to be near the person you can’t stop thinking about.

“Logan, you’re staring,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to see her smirking at him from across the hallway.

“I’m not starin’. Just keepin’ an eye on things,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re jealous.”

He scowls at her. “I ain’t jealous of some kid.”

“Sure you’re not,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

Clenching his jaw, he knows she’s right but not wanting to admit it. “She doesn’t get it. She thinks it’s cute.”

“Maybe if you told her how you’re feeling, she’d understand,” Jean suggests gently, though there’s a knowing look in her eyes.

Huffing and turning away from the library, Logan has decided that he’s had enough of standing on the sidelines. He needs to do something before he loses his mind entirely. But it seems he can’t escape this torture, because he can’t even get five minutes alone with you.

He tried to get your attention after you finished up teaching your class, but before he could, the little devil ran in front of him and got it first. His eye twitches as he watches Johnny offer you another “gift,” this time a poorly folded paper crane. You take it with a smile, thanking him kindly, and Logan grits his teeth so hard he swears his molars might shatter.

“Hey, kid,” He grumbles, stepping forward with a growl in his throat that would send most people running. “Don’t you got somewhere else to be?”

Johnny looks up, momentarily startled by the sharp tone, but then just gives a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no, sir. I was just, um, hanging out with her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got things to do. Don’t you, darlin’?” Logan’s eyes flicker to you, hoping you’ll catch the hint and send the kid on his way.

But you don’t. You just laugh. A musical sound that makes him want to clamp his hand over your mouth because why should that devil's spawn get to hear your beautiful voice? He’s truly about to lose it. 

“It’s fine, babe. Johnny’s just being sweet.”

Sweet. Logan wants to snort. Sweet is one word for it. Obnoxious, irritating, and clingy are a few others that come to mind.

“You got a crush or somethin’, boy?” His tone is laced with a dangerous edge as he crosses his arms over his chest, towering over the knucklehead. He’s trying not to outright scare him, but damn, he’s close to it.

Johnny turns beet red, stammering, “N-no, I just… she saved me, and I just wanted to say thank you, that’s all!”

Narrowing his eyes, a low snarl rumbles from his chest, and Logan takes a deliberate step forward, but before he can do more, you place a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Logan, that’s enough,” you say firmly, giving him a pointed look. 

Well, there goes another piece of his sanity.

You’re too kind, too understanding. You just don't get it. To you, it’s just an innocent crush, something harmless, something that makes you smile. You think it’s nothing, and that only makes his blood boil more.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, stepping back, though his eyes never leave the teenager’s. Johnny seems to take that as some kind of begrudging acceptance and gives you another shy smile before scurrying off, likely to find the next token of his gratitude to bring to you.

Once he’s gone, Logan lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is drivin’ me nuts, you know that?”

You just chuckle again, stepping closer to him and slipping your arms around his waist. “It’s just a phase, I’m sure. He’ll get over it.”

Wrapping his arms around you tightly and pulling you in close, he feels a little bit better in your embrace, but his eyes still track where Johnny disappeared into the mansion. “He better. ’Cause if he doesn’t, I might lose my damn mind.”

You tilt your head up, kissing his jaw softly. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

He huffs, not wanting to admit it, but the truth is written all over his face. “Maybe a little.”

Smiling, you lean up to kiss him properly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Logan kisses you back, a little more possessively than usual, as if to remind himself that you’re his. And even as you melt into him, he can’t help but keep one eye open, scanning the garden for any sign of that kid returning. He might be crazy, but he’ll be damned if he lets some lovestruck teenager get between him and the woman he loves.

—

The next morning, the mansion is buzzing with its usual activity. You and Logan head to the dining hall for breakfast, with him looking a little more relaxed after a night of holding you close. But the moment you step into the room, he spots a certain demon sitting at a table, eyes locked on you as if he’s been waiting for this very moment.

Groaning under his breath, Logan mutters, “Not again,” before guiding you to a table near the windows, hoping Johnny won’t follow.

You take your seat, smiling up at your boyfriend as he pulls out his chair, and for a brief second, he dares to believe that he might actually get to enjoy a quiet breakfast with you. But just as he’s about to sit down beside you, Johnny swoops in out of nowhere, plopping down in Logan’s seat with a grin like he’s just won the lottery.

“Morning!” He chirps, completely oblivious to the thunderous look on the other man’s face.

Freezing in his place, Logan glares at the kid who’s now sitting where he was supposed to be. He mentally cycles through a list of unflattering nicknames—Useless Idiot, Captain Obnoxious, Motherfu—but none of them seem quite strong enough to capture his current feelings. “You’re in my seat, kid.”

Johnny blinks up at him, feigning innocence. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t see your name on it.”

You can practically see the self-control it takes for Logan not to pick the kid up and toss him across the room. His fingers twitch at his sides, his claws itching to come out, but he holds back. For your sake, and only your sake.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm, “you do know he is my boyfriend, right? And even if he wasn’t, I’m a bit too, uh, old for you?”

The young mutant's eyes widen, and for a split second, you think you might have gotten through to him. But then he glances over at Logan, his face scrunching up like he’s just eaten something sour.

“Yeah, but he’s, like, hella old,” The idiot blurts out, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if the mutant standing right there can’t hear every word.

Logan’s expression darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes as his jaw tightens to the point where you can almost hear his teeth grinding. Hella old? Is this guy serious?

He's dealt with all kinds of enemies—mutants, monsters, government assassins—but nothing, nothing has tested his patience like this hellspawn has been. “What did you just say?” he growls menacingly.

Johnny, either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, doesn’t back down. “I mean, no offense, but you’ve got a lot of… uh, experience, you know? And you’re like centuries old. Maybe she needs someone closer to her age.”

That’s the last straw. Logan’s eyes flash with anger and something else—something more vulnerable that you rarely see. A part of him knows the gremlin’s just talking out of his ass, but the words hit a little too close to home, stirring up old insecurities he usually keeps buried deep.

Without another word, he slams his hand down onto the table, the sound echoing through the dining hall like a gunshot. The room falls into stunned silence as he then storms out, his footsteps heavy and his anger radiating off of him in waves. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t acknowledge the whispers that follow in his wake. He just needs to get away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Logan, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already halfway out the door.

You turn back to Johnny, who’s now looking a little less confident and a lot more like he might have made a mistake. Sighing, you lean forward with a serious expression. “You can’t just say things like that. He’s not just my boyfriend. He’s the person I love.”

Looking down at the table, his face falls, and he begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I just thought—You saved me and I felt something…I thought maybe you’d feel something for me too.”

You soften, reaching out to pat his hand. “Johnny, you’re a sweet kid, but you’ve got to understand that Logan’s the one I’m with, and no one can replace him.”

He nods slowly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I get it,” he mumbles. “I just…”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You’ll find someone your own age who’s perfect for you. But for now, you need to give us some space, okay?”

Johnny nods again, this time more resolutely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just… try not to instigate anything else. I’ll go talk to him.” You give him one last reassuring smile before heading toward the exit.

When you step out into the hallway, you barely have a second to process your thoughts and decide where to look before you’re suddenly pressed up against the wall. A gasp escapes your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by Logan’s mouth on yours. The surprise melts away as the intensity of his kiss overtakes your senses, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His kiss is possessive and fierce. You can feel the frustration, the jealousy, the need to claim what’s his, pouring out of him with every movement of his lips against yours. For a moment, you lose yourself in the heat of it, letting the world around you fade as you focus solely on him.

Then, through the haze of the kiss, the practical part of your brain kicks in. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Logan… we’re gonna get caught.”

He growls softly, his lips trailing down to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Let them see,” he mutters between kisses. “Maybe then that damn dunce will get the hint.”

You laugh, though the sound is cut off as he captures your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as if he’s afraid to let go. “Babe, really,” you whisper, trying to sound serious but failing as your body responds eagerly to his touch. “People are gonna see…”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you involuntarily shiver against him. “Shoulda thrown that little shit out on his ass… let him know who you belong to.”

“You’re jealous of a teenager,” you tease, though the words come out breathless and almost lost in the intensity of the moment.

Logan pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark. “Don’t like him sniffin’ around you, thinkin’ he’s got a shot.”

You smile up at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him back down for another kiss. “You don't need to feel threatened by him. You’re the only one I want.”

He huffs softly, his lips brushing against yours as he mutters, “Damn right I am.”

“C’mon,” you murmur, gently pushing against his chest. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, huh?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering back toward the dining hall, as if half-expecting Johnny to come barreling out any second. But then he nods, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway, away from prying eyes. His grip on your hand is tight, territorial, and you can’t help but smile as you follow him.

As you walk together, you give his hand a squeeze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly.

“I love you, you know that?” You say it with that pretty grin of yours, and the way his eyes warm in response makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I love you too.”

The remaining tension melts away, leaving just the two of you walking hand in hand, ready to steal a few more precious moments together.

----

A/N: this was really fun to write!

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ CALEB'S FAVORITE TOYS !

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: the top 3 toys i think caleb would use on himself / reader! (based on this ask)

a/n :: tysm for the wonderful individual for putting this idea in my headdd!!! mwamwa

1. FLESHLIGHT :: just like anon said, he is most DEFINITELY using a fleshlight and pretending it's us instead. he typically doesn't like to masturbate without you so usually he'll only do it if you ask him to during mutual masturbation, but some nights, he's just so desperate for something - anything - to touch his disgustingly needy dick that he can't help it. don't fret, though, cause he will always ask you if he can touch himself if you're not there. sending you voice notes of himself begging, videos of his cock twitching into his hand, pics of tears rolling down his face... he'll put a whole show on for you just to get your approval to do so little as go near the toy. and while he really does feel bad for doing something so naughty without you in his presence, once that fleshlight is in his hands... hes not stopping. his eyes are shut tight, head pushed deep into the pillows, back arched, hips stuttering, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip on the sheets.. it just feels so damn good! unapologetic whimpers and moans come in between his cries of your name, his last bit of strength practically disintegrated. when he's about to cum, he'll either spam your phone with tons of facetime calls or messily set up is phone to record, feeling obligated to show you how good he makes himself feel thinking about you.

2. COCKRINGS :: okay, hear me out. he absolutely despises cockrings with a passion.. but only because you bring it out when he needs to be punished. he actually quite likes the concerning amount of pleasure that they bring him, he just hates that every time he uses one is when hes being edged or overstimulated. there are rare occasions that you allow him to use it during his personal time, but theres a very big emphasis on rare. you have only one ring for him that vibrates, while all the others are just there to stop him from cumming whenever he feels like he might. it's pathetic how desperate he gets when he's begging for you to take it off. big crocodile tears stream down his face as his stupid little cock twitches and thrashes against your hand, brain turned to mush. literally all he could think about is good it'd feel to cum, how sexy you are when you deny him... it's so bad to the point where quite literally nothing could stop him from cumming. he didnt even ask for fucks sake!! he doesn't realize how much more trouble he just got in for orgasming when he was explicitly told not to.. :(

3. VIBRATORS :: caleb is for sure a sucker for a good vibrator. he doesnt just use it on himself (..his tip) , no, hes not that selfish. he adores keeping it on your clit while he pounds into you in missionary, or even letting you sit in between his legs, your back to his chest, torturing your bud of nerves with that delicious sensation. he'd have you in a headlock, not allowing you to shy away from the toy if it becomes too much; his legs hooking around your calves to get your legs to stay open. he cannot have you be anything but spread open, that just isn't allowed!! on another note, he would without a doubt buy a bunch of those little tiny vibrators that fit perfectly onto your clit & into your panties that are controlled by an app on his phone. he loves taking you to a restaurant just to play with you, watching you fall apart in front of everyone knowing he'll be punished heavily for it. he doesn't care about the consequences.... in the moment. once you two are finally home it's then that he begins to really care. it was all fun and games until you have him tied up, sprawled out in a star position on the bed, fighting against the restraints as you abuse his most sensitive parts with your own vibrator. your panties would be shoved into his mouth, drool dripping from the corner of his lips down his face. he's literally on the verge of passing out because of how many times he's came, his eyes basically permanently crossed and eyebrows furrowed tight. you don't stop until the toy dies... and caleb does too.

[mcrdvcks]

— love language

summary: You and Matt are now dating, but you haven't told anyone. How long will it take your friends to notice?

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: i had this idea after writing goodnight n go (which is technically the first part, but you don't need to read it to understand this). anyways, here's a bunch of fluff

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, matt is a cocky little shit, making out

Things moved on normally, the only thing that had changed in the past month was that you two weren’t just friends but dating.

You didn’t realize it, but you were already quite close to Matt.

Matt chuckled, his arm hooked around yours as the two of you waited in line for coffee. “Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Ugh.” You elbowed him. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m just saying, what kinda friends have a toothbrush at their place?” He tapped his cane against the floor lightly.

You tilted your head. “Uhhh… pretty sure at one point Foggy had a toothbrush at your place.”

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

"And yet," Matt murmured, smirking, "here you are."

[hoshifighting]

WARNINGS: idol!reader getting injured (arm), accident mention, smut, fingering, oral (f. &m. rec), ovulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, handjob, attentive sex? (due to reader's injury), dirty talk.

staff!seungcheol who’s got that severe look, eyes attached to every inch of you like he’s memorizing it. he’s standing close, flashlight in hand, checking every damn speck of glitter on your face like he’s planning on personally suing each one that doesn’t sparkle just right. like you're some kind of precious artifact he needs to make sure is flawless. there’s this faint crease between his brows as he leans in, like he’s got a checklist of your entire existence in his mind, murmuring “lemme see, hold still,” like you’re the one shifting around with his hands practically cupping your face. the makeup artist’s just nervously holding her breath in the background.

doesn’t even flinch when he sees the tiny smudge, just calmly points it out while you try not to roll your eyes. “needs fixing,” he says, stepping back only when he’s satisfied, waving the makeup artist over with a quick hand gesture.

“alright, open up,” then there’s staff!seungcheol who’s already one step ahead, holding up that tiny spray bottle of propolis like it’s the holy grail of vocal cords. he gives you a knowing look as you open your mouth for him to spray it down your throat. “don’t choke on it this time,” he says, like you didn’t just cough last night but committed a fucking crime. the spray hits your throat, sharp and herbal, and you pull a disgusted face.

“that’s awful, seungcheol,” you croak, trying to rub it off your tongue.

“and it works,” he fires back, deadpan, already watching you like you’re gonna start talking back too loud. but there’s this smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, like he’s clocking the way you’re fussing.

staff!seungcheol who’s already got a scrunchie on his wrist just for you, flicking it like a badge of honor when the fashion team rushes in, hands full of fabric and pins. “back up,” he tells them, waving them off like some sort of bodyguard-turned-stylist. he steps in, gathering your hair up with this weirdly gentle touch, pulling it back like he’s done this a million times. and he has. you’re used to the low murmur of his voice, saying stuff like “look down,” or “tilt your head,” pulling your hair back as you rip off one outfit, practically wrestling yourself into another.

and yeah, he's seen it all, seen you stripped down to a bunch of mismatched pieces of clothes, practically naked with pins and sequins scattered around. he’s the only one who gets to stay in the room when it’s time to swap outfits, hands moving steady over zippers and hooks without batting an eye. he’s too professional for that.

but sometimes you’ll catch the way his eyes flash, quick as anything, over your bare shoulder, the curve of your waist, or the bend of yourback. lingering just a second too long before he’s tugging fabric back over you. “hold your arms up,” he says, voice so steady it’s almost annoying, but there’s this barely-there flush on his face, one he probably thinks you don’t notice. only once you're decent does he call in the fashion team again, his hand lingering on your shoulder just a second longer, like some silent encouragement.

“think i’ll survive tonight, boss?” you shoot over your shoulder as he tightens up a corset, his fingers brushing your back.

“if you can keep that mouth of yours shut for two minutes, maybe,” he mutters, yanking the laces just a little too tight.

staff!seungcheol who seems to have every little detail about you learned by heart, right down to the shade of foundation that works best under stage lights and the exact temperature of water you like before singing. he’s like a walking encyclopedia on “you,” this intense manager who somehow knows you better than you know yourself some days. it’s kinda crazy when you think about it—how much attention he puts into the smallest things, like checking your posture right before you step onto the stage, brushing an imaginary dust speck off your shoulder, or even noticing when you’re tired just from a tiny slump in your stance. there’s this wild, almost comforting feeling in knowing someone’s watching that close, picking up on what you need before you even have to say it.

staff!seungcheol who doesn’t just care about the professional side of things but pays attention to you as a whole person. you’ll be pacing before a show, a mess of nerves, and he’ll pull you aside, hands firm on your shoulders, telling you to breathe, to ground yourself. “hey, it’s just one show out of many,” he’ll say, like he’s reminding you that this isn’t the end of the world. sometimes, he’ll even pull out a joke, something random to get you out of your head, his voice warm, more calming than he probably even realizes.

staff!seungcheol who’s a human wall when it comes to fans or any kind of chaos. he’s got this built-in radar for spotting trouble in a crowd, and the way he just moves through people, ushering you along like he’s a bodyguard instead of just your manager—it’s unreal. you know the crew’s got security, but it’s always him who stands closest, always him who angles himself slightly in front of you, making sure nothing gets in the way. he’s not overbearing, either; it’s this subtle, constant thing, like he’s built to be in tune with you and the space around you.

and it’s not just the big stuff. like, he’s a fiend about the little things, too. if he sees you adjusting your outfit or tugging at your sleeves, he’s immediately there, straightening the hem or re-pinning a loose detail. he’s the kind of guy who’ll silently hand you a tissue if he sees a tiny smudge of lipstick on your teeth, or he’ll have that emergency stain remover in his pocket just in case you spill something on your outfit last-minute.

staff!seungcheol who somehow makes you feel both overprotected and ridiculously independent. he’s right there if you mess up, catching you before you can fall—literally and metaphorically. he’ll laugh about it after the fact, maybe make some quip about how you owe him for always “saving your ass,” but in the moment, he’s solid as hell, totally serious. it’s like he lives for making sure everything in your world runs smoothly, yet he’s always subtly pushing you to handle things yourself, too.

then, there’s the crazy amount of trust he has in you, even though he’s like the over-prepared captain of the team. like, he’ll go through the checklist with everyone—makeup, wardrobe, lighting, sound—and he’s triple-checked it all, down to the damn microphone battery. but when it comes time for you to perform, he just gives you this look that says he knows you’re gonna kill it, and in that weir silence, it’s like he’s handing everything over, telling you without words, “i’ve got the logistics; you just be you.”

staff!seungcheol who, when you’re touring his hometown, suddenly seems way more focused on making sure you’re comfy than anything else—an entire list prepared, of all the places he wants to show you. but first, there’s the “family dinner” situation. he’s practically droning with nerves as he introduces you to his family, calling you his boss, and you’re just gritting your teeth, whispering to him with a grin, “seungcheol, quit it—i told you, just my name.” he just smirks, playing it off, even if it’s clear he’s a little embarrassed, especially when his mom starts calling him out on every little thing he used to do as a kid.

staff!seungcheol who, thanks to your fans, has become practically famous on his own. every time you two walk through an airport, you can hear them calling his name, practically chanting it at this point, pointing out “the hot manager.” and there he is, looking away, rubbing his neck or practically burying his face into your shoulder

he’ll tug at your sleeve like a kid hiding behind their mom, he gets especially flustered when you turn it on him, all smug, saying, “y’know, i must be the luckiest one here, getting to have a handsome manager like you walking me around.” he rolls his eyes, a rare laugh slipping out as he mutters something sarcastic, trying so hard to brush it off, but you know he secretly loves it, the tips of his ears going pink.

and it’s not just for show. once you’re on your off time after a show, seungcheol’s literally all over the place, making sure you don’t lift a finger. he’s there, picking up menus, already knowing what you’ll want and what to skip (yes olives or goodbye olives). he’s at the counter, practically fighting to swipe your card before you can even think about it. it’s like he’s taken the whole “manager” title to heart, as if your well-being is his full-time mission.

he’s got this sixth sense for how you’re feeling too. the second you’re showing signs of exhaustion, he’s hunting for a place to sit, guiding you to a cozy bench or a shady spot under a tree like he’s found the red dot on a map. he even maps out little stops he thinks you’d like, you can’t even remember the last time you needed to decide on where to go.

staff!seungcheol who’ll walk around the city with you, way more relaxed now that he’s on familiar ground, all while pointing out tiny things he remembers from his own life. he’ll say, “used to skip class and hang out here,” or, “this place has the best coffee.” and it’s casual, but you can see how he’s sharing a bit of himself with you, almost like letting you in on these little secrets.

he’s the same guy who’ll quietly, without a word, take off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders when the night air gets too cold, muttering something like, “can’t have you freezing out here,” while you just laugh because he’s the one walking around in a t-shirt in the middle of the night now.

staff!seungcheol who watched you perform on the backstage through the reflector and in the second he sees you stumble, heart pounding harder than it should as his instincts kick in before he even thinks—he’s moving, pushing past a cluster of crew members and ignoring the calls of the other staff, all his attention zeroed in on you. the moment he reaches you, he’s crouching down, there’s this tremor in his voice as he says, “hey, stay still, don’t try to move,” reaching to gently check your injury while his jaw is set tight, his hand firm yet shaking ever so slightly.

he’s not even sure if it’s because he’s furious at the award organization for being careless or just terrified that he saw you go down at all. there’s this split second where he holds you, practically hovering over you protectively, and when you hiss in pain, his hand moves gently, brushing hair out of your face. “i’m so sorry, it’s gonna be okay,” he mutters, his voice way softer than he means, almost sounding choked.

and that’s when it really hits him—this worry clawing its way up his chest, tearing through the professional armor he’s kept on so tightly. all the stuff he’s tried to ignore, to brush off as “just his job,” it’s all boiling over now, searing him. because the sight of you hurt, struggling to get back on your feet, it’s affecting him way, way more than it should. he’s clenching his jaw so hard he thinks it might break, like he’s trying to hold back this tight feeling in his throat, but it’s too late. all he can think is this can’t happen again, this can’t happen to you.

“look at me, alright?” he says, his voice steadier now but barely. he’s doing everything to stay calm, but his hand is still on your shoulder, squeezing just a bit tighter than usual. “i’ve got you. we’re gonna get you checked out, and you’re gonna be okay.” it’s like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is you. when you try to shrug him off, muttering that you’re fine, he doesn’t even flinch—just picks you up like he’s done it a thousand times before, ignoring any protests, keeping you close to his chest as if letting you go is an option he just can’t entertain.

walking off stage, you’re half-leaning against him, but he can’t look at you without this flood of guilt hitting him. why wasn’t i there faster? he keeps thinking, like he could’ve somehow prevented this whole thing if he’d just been a second sooner, a second more vigilant. he knows it’s irrational, but the thought eats at him. with every step, the weight of what he’s feeling presses harder and harder, making him realize, damn, this isn’t just the job anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

and now, backstage, with you in his arms, his mind’s racing through a million scenarios of what could’ve happened if the injury had been worse, if he hadn’t been there. it’s almost infuriating, how much he cares, and for a split second, he feels like he can’t breathe, like every single barrier he’s tried to put up to keep things professional has just crumbled into dust.

when the medical team comes over, he still can’t bring himself to fully let you go. he steps back just a bit, giving them space, but his hand’s still resting on your shoulder, thumb unconsciously tracing soft, slow circles like he’s grounding himself in knowing you’re still right there. he catches your eye, the way you give him that reassuring smile despite the pain, and he feels this indescribable surge of… something he’s afraid to name, afraid to admit even to himself.

you’re talking to the medics, brushing it off, laughing even, and he’s half-listening, locked in his own head. he’s known all along he’s cared about you, sure, but seeing you hurt, actually holding you like this, it’s made him realize it’s different now. this is something deeper, something he can’t hide behind a professional mask or dismiss as just his responsibility. you’re not just his artist-boss not just the person he’s assigned to take care of. you’re everything—everything he wants to protect, to keep safe, to make sure stays as perfect and unbreakable as he sees you.

staff!seungcheol, who practically moves in with you after the injury, showing up almost daily with bags of groceries, adjusting the pillows on the couch just right, and doing anything he can to make your life easier while you’re stuck on this forced hiatus. he’s meticulous as always, organizing everything, but he still lets you do the simple things on your own when possible. he knows how much you hate feeling dependent on anyone, even him, so he keeps it balanced. still, every now and then, he steps in—like now, as you awkwardly try to pull on your pajamas with your one good arm, refusing to ask for help but struggling all the same.

“you’re gonna tear the sleeve,” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he crosses the room, gentle hands helping guide your arm through the pajama top like it’s nothing. “and before you say anything, you don’t need to feel embarrassed, alright?”

“yeah, easy for you to say,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as he adjusts the fabric against your shoulder, the familiarity somehow making it worse. he’s done this a million times on tour, yet here, in the privacy of your own home, with your messy pajamas instead of a flashy stage outfit, it feels… like a shame. hard to ignore.

he just shrugs, glancing at you with a small, reassuring smile. “you’ve got nothing to prove to me. trust me, i’ve seen you through worse—like that one time in paris when you twisted your ankle and tried to walk it off anyway?”

“ugh, don’t remind me.” you roll your eyes, but the memory actually makes you laugh a little. “that was your fault for letting me go out in those ridiculous heels.”

“you’re the one who insisted they looked good,” he teases, smoothing down the collar of your pajama top as if that final adjustment could make this whole thing feel less awkward.

it’s only a few minutes later, as you’re both sitting at the dining table, the food he’s prepped steaming and smelling way too good, that he seems to pick up on the shift in your mood. you’re quiet, picking at your food, trying to ignore the ache in your back and the faint, familiar discomfort building up, reminding you it’s that time of the month—again.

“you feelin’ alright?” he asks, studying you with that same, observant gaze. he reaches over, pressing a hand to your forehead to check for a fever, but you instinctively pull back.

“i’m fine,” you reply a little too quickly, shrugging him off as you try to mask the irritation in your voice. but you know he’s already suspicious. he’s been keeping track of your recovery, and since your doctor had him install that app to sync with your cycle and show schedule, he’s way too aware of these things.

you glance at the notification before he turns the screen down. you groan, “god, i hate that you’re this observant.”

he chuckles softly, “comes with the job..”

“yeah, well… it’s just—look, it’s… i’m on my second ovulation since this stupid injury,” you admit, cheeks heating up as you glance away. “and i can’t… y’know. can’t do anything about it. feels like i’m losing my mind.”

he’s silent for a moment, probably a bit stunned, and you peek up, expecting him to laugh or maybe even crack some joke, but his face is serious. finally, he clears his throat, and his voice is so quiet you barely catch it.

“y/n, you—you could’ve told me. if this is, like, getting to you, there are… other ways.”

your heart races, both from his words and from the way he’s looking at you, and you try to shrug it off with a half-laugh, but your voice wavers. “yeah, and what? you planning on giving me a hand?”

he doesn’t laugh. “if that’s what you need.”

“cheol… whatthefuck?”

“don’t want you suffering alone. if you need me, just say it,” he murmurs.

and in that moment, with him sitting across from you, earnest and willing, you realize maybe you’ve been holding back more than just your pain.

staff!seungcheol watches you carefully, still as a statue except for his hands, which are gripping the underside of the table so hard you swear you can see his knuckles turning colorless. he’s waiting, practically holding his breath, watching every small shift in your expression, and you know he’s waiting for any sign you’re second-guessing. but all you can think about is how much you want him. your eyes slip shut, and you let out a shaky breath, the idea of him, his hands, his mouth on you making you dizzy. when you open your eyes, you meet his, still fixed on you.

you don’t even realize you’ve let out a soft moan until his lips twitch into a faint smile, and he pushes back from the table, coming around it with measured steps. “you sure about this?” he asks, he’s close enough now that you can see every detail of his face—the stray strands of his hair falling across his forehead, the slight flush on his cheeks, the sharp cut of his jawline.

“cheol, please?” you murmur, because god, you need him to close this space, need him to touch you.

he doesn’t need to be told twice. he scoops you up, carefully laying you back on the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles as he moves higher, taking his time. he’s studying every reaction, every small sigh or shift, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. he glances up one more time, giving you a moment to stop him, but when you nod, his fingers hook under the fabric, peeling it down slowly.

“fuck, you’re drenched,” he murmurs, as his fingers dip between your thighs, gathering the wetness that’s practically dripping, and spreading on your clit. he raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a smirk. “been waiting for this?”

you squirm under his touch, cheeks flushing as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his stubble grazing your skin as he trails his mouth higher, breath warm as he hovers above the wet cunt, your pussy clenches, making a wet sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“stay still for me,” he whispers, before his mouth finally, finally connects, and the first touch has you gasping, fingers fisting the sheets. his tongue is slow, and you can feel his tongue sucking your juices inside his mouth. mortifying, delicious. you can’t help but arch your hips toward him, wanting more, but his hands press down on your thighs, holding you in place.

he pulls back just enough to murmur, “turned on?” and his fingers slide in, curling faultlessly as he starts moving, his mouth resuming its work on your swollen clit in a way that makes you disoriented. he doesn’t let up, alternating between teasing you and giving you exactly what you need, fingers curling tight, making the wet sounds louder, pressing against that spot that has you writhing.

“god, look at you,” he whispers, voice rough in your ear as he presses his fingers deeper, his breath hot on your skin. “you’re soaked, y/n. dripping all over my fingers… you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his hand, but the way you’re shifting causes a sharp pain to shoot through your arm, making you gasp.

“hold on, wait,” he says immediately, pulling his fingers out, his other hand already moving to your side, gently easing you back down. his eyes scan you for any sign of discomfort, and then he places his hand firmly on your chest, palm pressing between your breasts as he pins you to the bed, keeping you steady. “just like this, okay?” he murmurs, fingers slipping back inside you, his thumb circling your clit. “you can still move down here, but let me do all the work.”

your breath catches as he holds you down, the feeling of his strong hand keeping you in place making you stumble breaths. you’re completely at his mercy, pinned under his hand, unable to do anything but grind against his fingers, and with every thrust, every word he murmurs, you’re spiraling further, faster.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he whispers against your skin, moving his fingers deeper, rougher. “such a mess, taking me so good… you’re gonna cumm for me? yeah? that’s it, just like that…”

your orgasm hits hard, your body clenching around his fingers, thighs trembling, and his hand on your chest keeps you from arching too much, grounding you as your entire body pulses he holds you steady, whispering soft, filthy praises into your ear as you come down, his fingers finally slipping out but his hand staying over your heart, steady and reassuring as your breathing slows.

you look up at him, the aftershocks still tingling, and he gives you a soft, satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your collarbone. “now that’s my good girl.”

seungcheol hovers over you, his face an inch from yours, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. your breaths are shallow, still struggling to steady, and without another thought, you lift your neck and press your lips to his. he melts into it, kissing you deeper, tongue brushing over yours in a way that makes your skin tingle. he’s careful with his hands, keeping his wet fingers from your hair but awkwardly gripping the pillow, while the other hand slides down, lightly brushing over your chest.

“fuck… cheol,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling almost embarrassed by the way your body’s reacting. the word just slips out, and then it’s followed by, “want your cock so bad. just… just give it to me, please.”

he pulls back, and you’ve never seen that look before—his lips parted, brows raised, the most i-want-pussy-so-fucking-bad face you ever saw. he shakes his head softly, voice a little raspy, “you know i’d ruin you if i could right now,” he says, breath catching. “but it’ll hurt… don’t wanna push it too much.”

“please, cheollie,” you murmur, giving him a sly, knowing look. “you’re gonna be careful with me, right? just… give me a little. i need you so bad, been thinking about it all day…” your voice trails off, and you feel his hand grip a little tighter, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your chest through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

he takes a shaky breath, a low groan slipping out, and suddenly, he’s sliding off the bed, hands trembling just enough for you to notice as he pulls his shirt over his head. his skin is warm, tan, muscles rippling as he unbuttons his jeans, and you can barely breathe as he pushes them down along with his underwear, freeing himself. his cock is thick, flushed a deep pink at the tip, and the way he’s stroking himself, like he’s savoring every second, has you practically drooling.

unable to resist, you tilt your head up, parting your lips, tongue out as you bat your lashes at him, silently begging. he’s already at the edge of the bed, and he lowers himself, the weight of his cock pressing against your lips, and you can’t help the moan that escapes. it’s warm, heavy, and you lean forward just enough, taking him between your lips, letting your tongue glide along the underside.

he strokes a hand over your cheek, thumb grazing just beneath your eye, and his face looks wrecked, like he’s fighting every instinct to just take control. but he holds back, lets you set the pace, lets you tease with your mouth, your tongue swirling over his tip, tasting every inch of him.

you take his whole length in your mouth, sucking him slow, then pulling back to focus on the tip like you’re savoring the best thing you’ve ever tasted. you hear his breath catch, and when his knees falter, his hand grips your shoulder, the sound of his hissed “stop… stop,” barely reaching you over the rush of your own heartbeat. you pull back, licking your lips, watching his eyes go dark as he catches sight of his precum shining on your mouth.

he climbs back onto the bed, sliding between your legs, and you shiver as his rough hands smooth over your thighs, steadying himself, each touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his tip brushes your clit, slick and throbbing, and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut like he’s holding himself back, muttering to himself as if he’s praying to keep control, like he knows he’s on the edge of just losing it. “what a fucking idea, seungcheol.” you can practically hear him thinking, fighting to keep the restraint that’s barely holding on by a thread.

but you want him to break just a little—so you reach down, your smaller hand wrapping around him, tugging him gently, aiming him just right. his eyes snap open, catching you in the act, and he’s on you in a second, his large hand covering yours, guiding himself to press against you, so close but not quite there yet. his forearm braces beside your head as his face hovers above you, dark hair brushing your forehead, and you feel the heat of his chest pressed to yours, your nipples tight against him.

a giggle escapes frpm you, bubbling up from the tension, aroused and just a little wicked, and his gaze sharpens. he bites his bottom lip, a smirk playing on his face, and asks, “think it’s funny to watch me suffer, huh?”

“me?” you bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence. “wouldn’t dream of it… i’m just thinkin’ how it’s almost cute how fucked you are already. big, strong seungcheol, lookin’ like he’s about to cry before he’s even all the way in…”

he laughs, pushing just an inch further inside, making you moan, eyebrows scrunching as the heat between you builds. “gonna make you take back every word, babe,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of threat and promise, breath warm against your cheek.

you can’t help yourself, smirking up at him. “well, you better prove it then, baby. or i’m gonna have to tell everyone you barely held up through a single round.”

“oh, you think that’s how this is gonna go?”

and with that, he presses forward, sinking in deeper, your mouth dropping open as he fills you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him.

your walls tighten around him, barely able to take him in, but your body’s greedy, slick and warm, desperate to pull him in even further. your calves wrap around his ass, urging him, and in one move, you tug him, forcing him deeper, filling you completely. you cry out, head rolling back, but seungcheol groans, nearly collapsing onto you, his hand catching himself before he lands too hard.

“what the hell are you doin’,” he pants, shaking his head, his voice all gruff as he looks down at you. “you’re crazy, you know that? what if i’d fallen on your arm?”

you smirk, unashamed, reaching up to tug him down closer. “couldn’t help it… i needed all of you,” you murmur, voice dripping with need, your walls pulsing around him. “need you so deep you’ll still be there tomorrow.”

he laughs, but it melts into a growl as he starts to move. “you know i can’t take it too fast with you today.” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. “but damn, you’re tight.”

your hips tilt up, meeting him, matching the slow grind, and you look up at him, gaze heavy-lidded. “bet you’ve been thinking about this,” you purr, your fingers trailing down his chest. “probably losing it in that dressing room, thinking how wet i’d get for you.”

“fuck, don’t start with me,” he grits out, his hips faltering for just a second as you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside, pulsing as your words hit home. his hand finds its way to your neck, not squeezing but just holding, grounding himself as he slowly fills you over and over. “goddamn, y/n..”

“oh, i know,” you say, breath catching as he leans down, lips brushing yours, barely ghosting as his hips keep that steady, perfect rhythm. “i know exactly how you look at me, seungcheol. like you wanna destroy me.”

his breath hitches, and his hand flexes on your neck as he groans, forehead pressing against yours. “careful what you ask for.” he warns, voice low, but you pout up at him, lips pressing into the slightest pout, all needy.

“i don’t think you’re really up for it, anyway. maybe i need someone who can give it to me for real,” you murmur, words practically melting into his ear, and he stops mid-thrust, his eyes flashing as he studies your face.

“you’re pushin’ it,” he says, voice rough as he resumes moving, but you keep the playful look, barely biting back a smile as he grits his teeth. “if you didn’t have that arm to worry about, i’d have you crying right now, you know that?”

“oh, i know,” you coo back, dragging your nails down his back, just enough to make him hiss. “but what about now? all you can do is hold back ‘cause you’re too scared of hurting me. maybe it’s you who can’t handle it, huh?”

the muscles in his jaw tighten as he leans in close, hips still rolling into you with a slow, maddening rhythm that makes you squirm beneath him. “trust me, i could handle you just fine,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “but you’re so damn tight right now, i’d probably split you open if i went harder.”

“maybe i want that,” you whisper, your voice breathless as you shift your hips, taking him even deeper, feeling every inch stretch you with each slow grind of his hips. “maybe i want you to fuck me so good i forget my own damn name.”

seungcheol’s resolve nearly snaps. he groans, his hands gripping your waist to steady you, his thumb brushing along your ribs, and he lets out a shuddering breath, muttering under his breath. “god, ovulations are somethin’ else,” he says, voice cracking, clearly fighting for control. “you’re wet wet—like i might drown in you, damn.”

he lets out a low chuckle, his eyes clouded, almost in awe. “look at this mess,” he murmurs, pulling out just slightly to feel how soaked his length is before sliding back in, feeling your warmth close around him, every muscle clenching down on him, pulling him deeper, your eyes rolling back. “you really think you can handle it if i just… give you what you’re beggin’ for?”

you arch up against him, that challenging spark back in your eyes. “why don’t you just try me?”

he lets out a slow exhale, hand moving from your waist to cradle your face as he picks up the pace, still careful but with a bit more force this time, making you gasp. you whimper, nodding at him to continue, the tension building with each deep stroke, and you can see the satisfaction flash in his eyes as he keeps his rhythm steady, watching the way you start to fall apart beneath him.

he pulls out slowly, just enough to let you feel every ridge, every vein along his length, before pushing back in until his tip is pressed snug against your cervix, making you gasp. the pressure alone makes your head spin, and you can feel his balls, soaked and heavy, pressing against you with each movement, sticky with how drenched you are.

“you still think i’m not giving it to you right?” he taunts, his voice dipping low as he watches your face, one brow lifting just slightly, teasing. “you wanted it rough, didn’t you?” he grins, dragging a hand up your thigh, holding you open for him. “tell me, where’s that attitude now?”

“it’s—it’s…” you trail off, breath hitching as he thrusts again, slower, letting his hips roll so he’s as deep as possible, and you can’t help the shaky whimper that slips out.

“what was that? i couldn’t quite hear you,” he murmurs, voice smug as he leans down, kissing your jaw, your neck, every inch of you that he can reach while still keeping that maddeningly slow pace. “you were talkin’ so big before, and now look at you.”

“i… i can take it,” you stammer, clutching at his shoulders, though the words barely come out with how your voice keeps faltering, his rhythm somehow leaving you more breathless with each thrust.

he chuckles, brushing his thumb across your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. “that so? ‘cause you’re already all teary,” he points out, a hint of affection in his tone, even as he keeps that teasing look in his eyes. “am i really that deep, baby?”

“y-yeah,” you manage to whisper, but your voice wavers, and he grins wider.

“tell me what you need, then,” he says, his hips moving just a fraction faster, the sound of skin meeting skin growing louder, wetter, echoing through the room. “tell me what you want so bad.”

“need… need you to make me cum,” you whimper, the words tumbling out, barely audible. “need to feel you.”

he huffs a little. “you’re falling apart just from this? and here i thought i had to really work for it.”

“i—i can take more,” you manage to gasp out, your body responding to his every movement. “just… just give it to me, seungcheol.”

he shakes his head, smirking as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “you really think you can handle it? with that arm and everything?”

“you know i can!” you protest, trying to keep your voice steady, but your hips betray you, rolling against him. “i’m not fragile, you know? just—just don’t stop.”

“is this what you’ve been craving? sum' good cock to make you cum?”

“yes, yes, god—yes!” you whine, the heat pooling in your belly, threatening to spill over at any moment. the sounds of skin slapping together mix with the sweet squelch of your wetness, making it even more intense.

“fuck—my balls are practically soaked from you. you like how that feels, huh? my cock in your sweet little cunt, makin’ a mess of you?”

“you’re so deep, it feels too good—”

“you okay? i’m not hurting you, am i?”

“no, it’s… it’s perfect,” you manage to breathe out.

“what do you think? you think you can handle more?” he asks, almost a growl as he quickens his pace just a bit, sending your mind spinning even further. “or are you just gonna cry for me?”

“shut up!” you whimper, tears finally spilling over as he hits that spot inside you.

“too good, huh?” he teases, biting his lip to stifle a groan as he watches your face contort with pleasure. “do you think i could make you cum like this?”

“yes! yes, just like this!” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you as you feel the familiar tension building in your core. “oh god, seungcheol—”

“what do you want to say?” he presses, leaning closer. “i want to hear you, babe. tell me.”

his thrusts become more insistent, and your body instinctively responds, clenching tightly around him as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

“that’s it, baby,” he encourages. “let it go. i want to feel you cum around me.”

“seungcheol, i—” your voice catches in your throat, your body convulsing as the pleasure overwhelms you completely, every thought dissolving into pure ecstasy. the world around you blurs as you finally let go, and all you can manage is a soft whimper as you surrender to it.

his eyes widen, watching you, makes your heart race even more, and as you tremble beneath him, you feel him pulse inside you, the sensation of his cock sending you spiraling deeper into that sweet oblivion. “my girl..” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as he rides you through it, feeling your walls contract around him. “so fucking beautiful.”

staff!seungcheol who’s always attentive, watching you as you recover from your last high. he knows how much you need him, but he’s also so damn careful, ever the dedicated staff member. even as you beg him to keep going, to let him cum deep inside you, he hesitates.

he slips out of you, but you’re not ready to let him go. raising your hand, you grab him by the cock, your fingers wrapping around him with a tightness that makes him gasp. “what the hell? oh fuck!” he exclaims, almost stumbling forward as he’s pulled back toward you. his voice shifts from reprimanding to moaning, the scold dying on his lips as he feels your hand start to stroke him.

“i just want to make you feel good, too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you give him a few slow, teasing pumps, enjoying the way his hips instinctively thrust forward, chasing the pleasure you’re giving him.

“you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” he warns shaky, his hands gripping your wrist, but there’s no real force behind it. he’s clearly enjoying it, his breaths coming faster as you continue to stroke him, your fingers gliding effortlessly over his length. “you shouldn’t—”

“shh,” you hush him playfully, biting your lip as you watch his expression morph into one of pure desire. “just let me do this for you. i want you to feel good.”

“god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that,” he groans, his voice trembling, but the way you’re working your hand up and down, your palm brushing the sensitive tip, it’s too much.

“then cum for me,” you whisper, a seductive promise in your tone. “i’ll take care of you, just like you take care of me. let go.”

staff!seungcheol, who can’t resist the way you look at him, all teasing yet so earnest, the way you squeeze him with just the right amount of pressure, your hand slick with your cum and sure as you stroke him.

staff!seungcheol, who gives in because he can’t help it, because every part of him is craving you, has been for so long. his hips jerk, thrusting up into your hand with a roughness he usually holds back. his eyes are dark, fixed on your hand working him, and he bites his lip, trying to keep himself steady, but it’s no use—you’re so close, whispering his name, brushing your lips over his with every stroke, and he’s already too far gone.

“i can’t hold back when you look at me like that.”

you laugh deliciously, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you lean in, licking his lips.

staff!seungcheol, who can’t hold back any longer, feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he realizes he’s about to spill over. his breath hitches, and just like that, he’s cumming—hard. it’s a mix of deep, throaty moans and soft whimpers escaping his lips, echoing in the quiet room. your belly and fingers are coated with him, and you can’t help but grin at the sight.

“yes, just like that! keep going, let it out, look at you, all moaning like a little slut. how does it feel?”

“shut up,” he mumbles, half-heartedly trying to glare at you, but his eyes are glassy, the words only making him blush deeper.

you smirk, lifting your hand to your mouth, where his cum glistens on your fingers. you start to lick it off, each slow drag of your tongue making his breath hitch in his throat.

staff!seungcheol who’s mortified, wide-eyed as he grabs your wrist, halting your movements and making your tongue stay out, eagerly waiting. “no, no, don’t do that!”

you pout at him, eyes big and pleading, your voice coming out in the sweetest “please?” he hesitates, visibly torn, but eventually lets go of your wrist, swallowing hard as you close your eyes and bring your fingers back to your lips. the way you lick it all up slowly, savoring each taste with a big-ass smile, drives him crazy. it’s like you’re teasing him all at once, every nerve in his body alive with the sight of you, so effortlessly and unapologetically indulging yourself.

staff!seungcheol who’s at a complete loss, his eyes wide as he watches, helplessly captivated by the way you move, the small smile on your face showing just how aware you are of his reaction. he shifts, clearly trying to gather himself, but you notice his fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you close again.

[i-eat-mold]

just here to say that gertrude robinson is the single funniest character. she is THE character. she dies before the show even starts. shes an old lady that adopted an edgy teen and traveled the world. She is the avatar of one of the fourteen elditch horrors that feed on primordial fears, she had basically infite knowledge of everything and her plan to stop one of the rituals of a cult of another one of said list of eldrich horrors was to blow it up with a bunch of c4. we only find out about this because she stored all of the explosives in a random storage unit and the aforementioned edgy teen with mommy issues (who by the way, is dead, but when he died she sneaked into the morgue to put him inside a book) speaks through the book to the woman's succesor who, by the way, has no idea what the fuck is going on because neither she nor anyone else has bothered to explain shit to him, and tells him that she kept something important in the unit. we only find out about this after 100 episodes of the show. She feeds her subordinates to an all consuming monster/god, but its ok i guess. Later on (earlier on? at the same time? in a different timeline? after?) the literal end of the world and the end of the end of the world shes back and still has to deal with this stupid teenager who at least doesnt spend half his life focused on dyeing his hair and the other half about finding murder books (not as books about murder but as in, books who actively murder). She is a well experienced arsonist despite having no affiliation with the actual official arsonists club that is yet another cult to yet another one of the previously mentioned eldritch horrors. She is, however, metaphysically tied to the Chosen One, the Messiah of said cult, or some shit. She is absolutely terrible at her actual office job (on purpose). She dismembered a guy (who was her assistant) and probably commited several undocumented crimes against humanity. Once again, she has all seeing abilities and barely noticed her favorite assistant was torturing a coworker. She dares her murderous boss to kill her and gets surprised when he does so. When asked what to do about a literal Monster Pig, her advice is to encase it in cement. She was such a bitch. Her plan B was always to set things on fire. Her plan A was often to set things on fire. One of these instances was approved by her boss (the one who killed her). It is canon that the reason she started all this shit in her life was because the fire cult killer her cat. She sacrified another one of her assistants who became an avatar of the literal concept of Insanity but it was just a other thursday for her. She knows on a first name basis pretty much every person and monster affiliated with the eldritch horrors that she tries to keep at bay on the daily. She stopped a ritual for The Lonely by making the place a tourist destination. She has an ebay account. Instead of performing a ritual for the God that she was affiliated with, she wanted to destroy it and planned to 1. blind herself, and 2. set fire (yet again) to her workplace. It didnt work, because and her boss, who was also the one who was going to perform the ritual, finds her right before and kills her after she says he has no balls to do so. Also she is voiced by the mother of the main character's voice actor (who he named with his own, full, legal name) and the series' writer, which are the same person. Shes the worst, shes the best, i love her, we will never get anyone like her again, we need more characters like her.

[aperrywilliams]

A Bit Rougher (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You and Spencer have been in a relationship for a little bit more than four months now, and the team doesn't know. One day, the BAU girls ask you by your mystery partner they know you have - even if they don't know who it is - and bring up a topic you are not so sure to share with Spencer yet: your kinky side in sex. What happens when the same Spencer puts a test on you on that matter?

Word Count: 6.5k (I'm not sorry)

Warnings: SMUT/18+/MDNI. Where do I start? Reader sleeps with Spencer (obviously). Talks about sex life. Mentions of tantric sex and rough sex. Mentions of some kinks like choking, spanking, and dom-sub dynamics. Clothes get ripped, Spencer calling you 'my girl' (oh God), masturbation (f receiving), fingering, kind of choking, dirty talk. Spencer does his best as a dom (soft!dom because it can't be any other way), penetrative sex, spanking, begging, more dirty talk, creampie (it really doesn't exist another word for this?), and aftercare. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world. If I forgot something, please let me know.

A/N: This one was a request. I can't find the original message, and I don't know if the person who asked wanted their name here (I can quickly add it if they want to).

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The moment rays of sunlight peek through the curtain and hit my face, I turn to my back to avoid them, not ready to fully start the day yet.

Still half awake, half sleepy, I can feel a pair of hazel looking at me. I peek one eye open, and I see Spencer smiling at me.

"Good morning, beautiful," he rasps. And I don't know why such simple words have me blushing like a schoolgirl. Beaming, I return the greeting.

"Morning, handsome."

I get my reply with a lingering kiss on my lips, which I fully savored until a sudden thought came to me.

"What time is it? We need to get up."

Spencer, with his calm voice, shakes his head.

"It's a bit early yet. We have time. Also, you have some clothes here, so you don't need to go to your apartment before driving to work."

Smart me for bringing clothes to his apartment. It's an obvious decision, though, considering I have spent more nights here in the past weeks than in my place.

A devilish smirk makes an appearance on my face.

"So, we do have time, don't we?"

"Yes, sweetheart. We do," Spencer mumbles, scooting closer and peppering kisses on my face and then down to my collarbone.

Oh boy, this is what I call a good way to start the day.

-

How much time can you fool a bunch of the best profilers in the country, hiding your relationship with one of your coworkers? Spencer and I keep the count. The mark is set now in four months and two weeks.

It's not that we are embarrassed by what we have or anything close to that. It's just that things started so casually and naturally, and they're running so smoothly, so we want to keep it to ourselves as long as we can.

And by now? It's working.

We have also been careful about it. On our first nights together, we woke up early and went home for a shower and a change of clothes. After some weeks, we started to pack extra in our go-bag. Now, we have at least a change of clothes in each other's places. The second rule is never to get to work at the same time or on the same transportation. Spencer usually takes the metro even if I can drive and make time in the parking lot. Just one day, we did it, and we were so worked up in our making out session that we almost got caught by Morgan, who parked two cars away from mine.

Naturally, any form of PDA at work is completely off-limits. That's the toughest rule to follow. After all, we spend more time at the office and on the road than we do at home, so avoiding any kind of touch is definitely a challenge.

Despite all that, I can't help but feel happier every day as I fall deeper for Spencer. I often feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, constantly distracted by thoughts of him. Clearly, my behavior hasn't gone unnoticed, at least not by the three girls cornering me right now in the BAU kitchen.

"So, are you going to deny you're having fun these days?" Emily teases me while JJ and Penelope giggle in agreement.

"Where did that come from?" I say, intentionally diverting my gaze to the mug I'm filling with coffee.

"It's just basic observation, my dear," Penelope chimes in.

"Basic observation? I honestly don't follow you guys at all," I reply, feeling a bit overwhelmed by this unexpected Tuesday morning interrogation. This time, JJ steps forward with her evidence laid out right before me.

"We have all noticed the changes in you over the past few months—the giddy smile that lights up your face when you read a text on your phone, the new pep in your step, and how you hurry home every time we finish a case. Do I need to say more?"

"Busted!" Garcia points a mocking finger at me. I roll my eyes in fake annoyance. After all, they are completely right.

"Okay, okay. Yeah. I'm seeing a guy. Happy?" I confess, and Garcia squeals.

"Yay! We need to know everything about him."

Oh. That's dangerous territory.

JJ notices my discomfort and tries to ease it a bit.

"Penelope, I'm sure we'll know more with time. Right?" JJ looks at me, and I nod appreciatively.

"Okay. But the basics. Is the guy good?" Emily asks. A silly smile appears on my face.

"Of course he is. He's caring, fun, always attentive-" I'm about to start a rant about how my mystery man is perfect. But Emily's snort stops me at mid-sentence.

"What?"

"Emily is asking if he is good in bed!" Penelope clarifies, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Oh, Lord. What have I got into?

"Are you really expecting me to tell you about my sex life?"

The three girls nod in unison with no shame. Well, I guess I got my answer.

"Like if you haven't done it before. And for what it is worth, we all have said something about it more than once. That's why we created girls's night in the first place," Emily points eloquently, as always.

Touchè. They are right. I have said more than I would like to admit about my sex life. But now it's not that simple. We are talking about Spencer, even if they don't know it yet.

"Then? Is he good or not?"

I contemplate my answer not because I don't know what to say but not revealing more than necessary.

"I don't think good is enough to describe sex with him. The first time we slept together was amazing. The whole night was if you know what I mean. Since then, we have taken our time, savoring the moment, giving, and receiving a new part of ourselves when we do it. So, yes, sex with him is more than good."

"But it could be better," Garcia interjects, and I look at her baffled.

"How's so? Didn't I just say the sex is great?"

The three women nod in agreement, but I think I'm missing something here.

"Don't take it the wrong way, my lovely. We are really happy you are having fun and enjoying yourself," Garcia says, patting my shoulder. "But it sounds pretty vanilla to me. And it's not bad! Not at all!"

I frown, and Emily rolls her eyes, continuing Garcia's idea.

"What Penelope tries to bring here is what we talked back then about your last partner. Remember? The one who liked tantric sex?"

Oh. Yeah. I remember that one. It's not one of my finest choices, if I have to be honest. But it wasn't the guy's fault.

"Yeah. What about him?"

"You forgot how you complained about him being basically a statue? That you wanted it rough, and the guy never got the memo?" Penelope fills in, arching an eyebrow. My cheeks are flush crimson right now.

"I can't believe we are talking about this in the office kitchen," I mumble, embarrassed. "But that was different."

Emily scoffs. "What? Did you change your kinks now? What happened with the choking, the spanking, the begging, and all those things?"

"Emily Prentiss, can you please shut up? This conversation is too much for a morning in the office," I complain, shaking my head to try to cool my red face.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop. But if you are still into it - and I'm sure you are - maybe it's a good idea to share it with your partner. Healthy sex life and all that, so it doesn't happen what it did with the tantric guy."

"Well, thank you all for your concern. But I think I'm good. Now, can we please drop the subject?"

Luckily for me, the girls listened and changed the topic. By the time we leave the kitchen, I feel less embarrassed and ready to continue my paperwork.

But the conversation kept popping into my head from time to time during the day. My sexual preferences haven't changed 180 degrees, that's true, but with Spencer, it's different. I wouldn't want to bring something like that up if it's going to make him uncomfortable. Our relationship is still fresh, and I'm happy with our current sex life.

And talking about Spencer, I haven't seen him the whole morning. By the time lunchtime arrives, he doesn't come back to his desk, so I go with the girls and Morgan.

When we come back from lunch, I finally see him at his desk, concentrating on a pile of files. A smile creeps in my face. He looks so damn good with the crocked tie, messy hair, and shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms. This man has ruined me just sitting there. I'm doomed.

"Hey," I call his attention, and he turns his head to look up at me.

"Hi," he returns a smile.

"I haven't seen you around in hours. Are you okay?"

A frown appears on his face, but he brushes it off quickly.

"Me? Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's just Hotch that had me checking and analyzing a pile of boxes with folders from old cases in the store office. That's all."

It makes sense. Spencer's fast reading is a blessing and a curse, and obviously, people tend to use it often in the office.

"I'm sorry, sure it wasn't a very entertaining task."

A shy smile creeps on his lips, and I have to use all my self-control not to pounce on him right now and pepper his face with kisses.

"It's okay. I'm already done, anyway. How has been your morning?"

"Oh. Mostly paperwork. As everyone. But I think I'll be done soon, too." Before continuing, I check my surroundings to ensure nobody else is listening. "Maybe we can go home early?" I suggest seductively.

The flush in Spencer's cheeks is endearing. It's like the ones I sported this morning when the girls were interrogating me. And they want me to tell this boy about my kinks? No way. I won't do that if it means he won't feel comfortable with me again.

"We could. But I'm afraid plans will have to wait," Spencer says as his gaze shifts from me to Garcia and the quick tip-tap of her heels, heading to the conference room.

Fuck. A new case.

-

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. But being stuck in the middle of the desert, looking for an unsub that seems to be a ghost? And I say 'ghost' literally because we are looking for a guy who is dead for the town records. No, this is not my idea of a 'normal work day.'

It's frustrating, and not only for the lack of progress. The heat here is like hell. The AC barely works, and everyone's mood is bitchy.

We are not making any progress by now, so Hotch sends us to the hotel for the night. Once in my room, I text Spencer, not with an explicit purpose but to talk to him for a while. But he doesn't answer my texts. Is he sleeping by now? Considering he's a night owl, I found it very rare. But maybe he's drained like everyone else, so I let it slide.

In the morning, after my shower, I'm checking my phone, and I don't have any messages. Has Spencer received my texts?

I don't want to sound paranoid, but it's like something is going on. At the precinct, I barely get a hello from Spencer. Okay. Maybe it's the stress. I don't give it too much thought, either. Not when we have work to do.

And boy, we have been working hard on this one. Some clues give us hope, but we're far from catching the unsub.

In the little spare time we have between interrogations and visiting dumping sites, I try to share moments with Spencer, but it definitely seems like he doesn't want to be alone with me in the same room, even if he doesn't say it or shows signs of annoyance or animosity towards me.

I can't tell why he is so distant, but it's starting to worry me. Did I do something? And it's killing me because the more I think about it, the more I miss him. A kiss, a hug, anything from him would ease the ache I'm starting to feel.

It doesn't help that he has been choosing to wear the sexiest clothes he has in his go-bag. Those tight grey pants that accentuate his ass, those button-ups with sleeves rolled up.

We have been here for six days, and I think I'm going crazy. I have been trying to be subtle and professional. But I swear that if one more day goes by without being able to feel Spencer's touch, I don't know what I'll be able to do.

It seems heaven has listened to me because we finally managed to catch the unsub, and we're on the jet on our way home. But I'm nervous. I didn't even want to sit next to Spencer like I usually do. I don't know why. What if he wants to break up with me, and I'm just dragging things out?

What the hell am I talking about? I don't believe I'm thinking clearly here. But this week has been so odd that I don't know what to think.

Maybe when we land, I can finally talk to Spencer and put an end to my overthinking. With that in mind, I doze off for the rest of the trip.

Once the jet is down, I'm starting to gather my things when I hear Spencer rushing out, saying goodbye to everyone.

Disappointed and frustrated, I leave the tarmac.

Maybe a full night of sleep in my bed isn't a bad plan after all.

But be that as it may, fuck you, Spencer Reid.

-

As if all that had happened wasn't enough, when I got to the parking lot, my car fucking didn't start. I knew I had to get it checked before.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

That delayed my arrival home for another 45 minutes.

Now, disappointed, frustrated, and with no car, I slam the door shut. The apartment is pitch black, and I have no energy to flick the lights on, so I drag myself to the bedroom. When I open the door, a yelp escapes my mouth when I see a silhouette of a man sitting in the chair I have in one corner.

I'm about to reach for my gun when the bedside lamp flicks on, and the scare turns to confusion when I see Spencer sitting there.

"What the fuck!"

"Hi," he says as if he hadn't almost scared me to death two seconds ago.

"Spencer! What are you doing here?" My voice sounds harsher than I intended, but Spencer brushes it off quickly.

"Waiting for you," he says matter-of-factly.

I'm officially confused. We were together an hour ago? He left without saying anything.

"I don't understand. The way you left the jet in such a hurry, I thought I was the last person you wanted to be with."

My words come out resentful, but I can't help it. Spencer's eyes soften. I averted his gaze as I dropped my go-bag, unholst my gun to set it on the safe, and sat at the end of the bed to remove my boots.

"Hey, don't say that. Of course, I want to be with you," Spencer says, standing from the seat and kneeling to help me remove my boots.

"I'm sorry, but it didn't show that way. You avoided me all week!"

Great, now I sound like I'm making a tantrum.

From his place where he knelt on the floor, his eyes met mine, and I don't know why suddenly I felt a shudder running down my spine.

"Sweetheart, you know we were working, weren't we?"

That condescending tone escaping Spencer's lips? It is something unexpected. But why does it make me kind of nervous? It's a type of nervousness that gives me butterflies in my stomach.

"I know! But- but then in the jet. And you left."

Why am I babbling? Since when did Spencer have looked at me with those piercing eyes?

He stands and offers me a hand to help me to do the same.

"Is my girl upset?" He asks when we are both upright.

'My girl'? That's new. Spencer always calls me by my name, a short version of it, or beautiful, or sweetheart. But thinking about it, 'my girl' doesn't sound bad at all.

"No! I'm not-"

"Oh yes, you are. Look, I wanted to prepare a surprise for you tonight, so I left in a hurry. I was thinking about a bubble bath, dinner, wine, and a movie. I even had the table done with candles ready to lit," he says nonchalantly, and I feel silly for thinking the worst scenarios all week.

"Oh," is the only thing escaping my lips.

"But now, thinking about it, maybe you don't deserve it. Not if you're questioning me like this," Spencer shakes his head in fake - I hope - disappointment.

Okay. Stop right there. What the hell is going on here? Why is Spencer talking like that? About me as 'not deserving' something? What's next? That I'm a naughty girl? - Uhm, I wonder how it could be hearing those words from his lips.-

"What? Why I-"

"Come here," he requests as now he is the one who sits at the edge of the bed and pats the spot in his lap. It doesn't sound too commanding, but sure as hell, I don't need anything more to comply. I need to know where this is heading.

As I'm at Spencer's reach, he pulls me by my wrist to land on his lap while his other hand cradles my face.

"Tell me, uh? Why are you upset?"

His voice drips like honey, and I start to feel hot here.

"I- I don't know. I just missed you, I guess."

"You guess?" He arches a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes. I mean, I do know. I have missed you," I confess, defeated. Oh yeah, now I'm the needy one.

"It helps if I say I have missed you, too?" he says, caressing my cheek tenderly with his knuckles. "I have seen you tense all week; that's why I thought I could do something special for you tonight."

I close my eyes, and for the first time tonight, I let myself enjoy Spencer's embrace.

I exhale a heavy breath as I get lost in his arms.

When I open my eyes, Spencer's are fixed on mine. But his look is not as sweet or reverent as it usually is when we are like this. No, this one is dark and raw. His pupils are fully dilated, and I feel like the breath leaves my lungs.

"Spencer-" I barely mumble.

"I know," he whispers, moving one hand to cradle my neck and bring my lips to his.

Oh God, what I have been craving for days is finally happening, and I can't stress enough how happy I am.

The kiss starts slow and sensual. But not far from that, it gets needy and messy, charged with all the pent-up emotions from the past days. If I had any doubt about Spencer's distance in the last week, this kiss quickly eased my anxiety.

My fingers go to undo the buttons of his button-up, but Spencer stops me with one of his hands, grabbing both of my wrists.

Why didn't I notice before how big and strong his hands are compared to mine? I mean, I always admired his long and deftly fingers, but this? Wow. It's new territory.

"But I want to touch you," I pout when he keeps hold of my wrists in his hand. The cocky bastard raises an eyebrow, contemplating my request.

"You will have to be patient this time and earn it, darling," he says casually, and as my eyes go wide, my jaw goes slack. These words have never come out of Spencer's mouth before. But why am I suddenly starting to feel hotter and more worked up? I blame it on sex abstinence.

"Please, I have missed you so much," I insist, trying to escape his grip to get what I want: undress him. But he doesn't budge, tsking his tongue.

"I already told you. You need to earn it. To my knowledge, only good girls get what they want, and I don't think I'm wrong, do I?"

Jesus Christ! I had never heard Spencer say 'good girl' before, and I'm sure now I'll be addicted to hearing it every chance I get.

"Spencer, please. I'll do anything. I promise. I want to be a good girl. I want to be your good girl."

Spencer's smirk tells me he likes my response, and I'm not at any ounce ashamed of sounding desperate.

He maneuvers me so that I am now on my back on the mattress. I watch his every move intently, and I get lost in his gaze, which screams lust and desire.

He kneels between my spread legs, staring at me intently as his hands move to the edges of my blouse. Just when I think he's going to work on unbuttoning it, he grabs it and rips it open.

A yelp escapes my lips at the raw sound and the view of buttons flying. Spencer doesn't seem fazed by his display of caveman style. And me? I won't mind if he rips all my clothes right now. His hands go to caress my breasts over the fabric of my bra. And then pull it down to free the skin. The cool air quickly stiffens my nipples.

Spencer leans down to suck one of them, twirling the other one with his fingers. A moan escapes my lips at the pleasure his touch is giving me.

"You like that, uh?" he mumbles, still with his mouth sucking and lapping.

"Yes!" I say, as my hands fly to his hair so I can ground myself in something.

After giving enough attention to both of my nipples, he helps me to get rid of the fabric of the ruined blouse and my bra. Now his mouth is sucking a hickey under my jaw, and I feel like I can faint of how aroused I am. One of his hands goes south and stills at the button of my work pants. His breath is hot in my ear.

"I'm going to take care of you. If I do something you don't like, just say it, okay?"

That's a sliver of the Spencer I know, and I can't even think of something this man can do to me that I wouldn't like.

"Okay," I manage to blurt when his fingers work on my pants, leaving me clad only in my panties in a matter of seconds.

Under his intense gaze, I feel exposed, but I also feel safe. There is no place where I would rather be right now.

"You're gorgeous. You know that?" Spencer says, trailing feather touches on my skin aflame with desire. "You don't know what you do to me, do you? I barely can control myself," he continues his praises, thumbs toying with the waistband of my panties.

I'm about to combust.

"Spencer, please."

"What is it, my girl?" he asks, kissing my neck as his fingers slide down my legs, removing the soaked fabric that used to cover my most intimate part.

"I - I need more."

"Are you already desperate for me?"

I can feel how his fingers trace soft patterns in the skin between my thighs, explicitly avoiding the spot where I need him the most.

"Yes! I am. I - I can't-"

I don't even care if I sound coherent at this point. I'm already so turned on and desperate that I can't be bothered by my lack of speech. Spencer still doesn't budge, though.

"I know you want to beg. And I know you can do better than that."

Oh God. I don't know how Spencer's words manage to make me more aroused, but they do.

"I need you," I croak, eyes pleading him to take me. I can feel his fingers ghosting my throbbing clit.

"I need you, sir. Please. You can use me whatever you want, but please, touch me!"

What the fuck? I just called Spencer' sir' and offered my body explicitly to him to use. And the bastard doesn't even flinch? Who is this guy in full control, and who am I acting like a pathetic submissive?

I don't have the answers, but honestly, I don't care. Did he want me to beg? If this isn't begging, I don't know what it is.

"I know you do, baby. Do you think I didn't notice how needy you have been all week? How have you tried to get my attention all these days?" Spencer's voice drops almost two octaves as his finger finally starts rubbing circles on my clit.

Just feeling his touch makes me whimper pathetically.

His lips ghost in my ear, and I can feel his breath heating the spot before his teeth nibble my earlobe.

A mewl leaves my mouth, and if I wasn't soaked before - which I was - now I'm dripping.

"Tell me, this is what you wanted?" His voice is commanding but feels like honey leaking on my body.

"Yes! Please, don't stop."

His movements are deliberate and precise, and when he buries a finger into my core, I can feel the coil in the pit of my lower belly beginning to form. My moans increase in number and volume.

"So needy, my sweet girl. Like that? That's how you want me to touch you?" Spencer coo as he watches me tremble under his touch, adding a new finger to fuck me.

His ministrations continue, but his free hand moves slowly from my cheek down to my neck, caressing the exposed skin with his thumb.

"Or maybe you want me to touch you like this?"

A mewl escapes my lips when he poses his open palm over my throat, not squeezing but seizing how much of my neck he would be able to cover with his huge hand.

"Yes! Please, do it. Please Spencer," I babble, feeling my orgasm closer and closer. And he complies. Applying the minimal pressure in my throat is enough to highlight all of my senses. That, plus the way his ring and middle finger pound in and out of me and his thumb toy with my clit at the same time, sends me to the edge.

"Spencer!" I scream as my climax washes over me.

I don't remember having an orgasm like this in a long time. My vision blurs and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of pleasure that I don't want to come down from. I can hear Spencer's encouraging words in the distance as he helps me ride my orgasm.

"That's it, my girl. You did so good for me. See how good I can make you feel?"

With hooded eyes, I see Spencer sucking clean the fingers that were fucking me seconds ago.

"You taste amazing. I'll never get tired of it," Spencer says, with a satisfied grin on his face.

Still dizzy, I gesture for him to come closer. When he does, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for the most passionate kiss my current post-orgasmic state will allow. I can taste myself on his tongue, and it is like my sex drive reminds me I want more. I need more.

"Please, fuck me," I mumble between kisses, and I can feel the smirk forming on his lips.

"I just did that," he states when we part from the kiss. "Are you being ungrateful?" Is he joking? I hope he does, but I won't take the chance of not having his dick in me tonight.

"No, baby. I'm thankful for the way you have touched me tonight, but I want you to feel good, too."

Spencer looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so? Are you willing to do what I want to make me feel good? It's not only for your benefict?"

"Yes! Whatever you want. I'm yours. Take me the way you want to do it. Whatever you want to give me."

I don't know at what moment I became this kind of submissive, but if I have to beg again to have Spencer inside me, I will do it without complaining. And considering he's still fully clothed, I don't know what kind of plan he has right now.

"On your elbows and knees."

It's simple, and the moment the words leave his mouth, I move quickly to obey.

Unfortunately, from this position, I can't see Spencer, but I can hear him undressing. When I listen to him undoing his belt buckle, I have to do everything in my power not to rub my thighs together in search of some friction. And Spencer notices.

"I can bet you're dripping again. Don't you?"

The anticipation is killing me. When I feel the mattress dip with Spencer's weight, I can't stop the mewl that leaves my lips. It doesn't help when he presses his body to mine, and I can feel his hard cock pressing my ass.

"Can you feel what you do to me? I want to fuck you so bad. I want to ruin this pussy." Spencer's voice is husky and low, almost predatory, and I can't wait to feel him.

While we've used dirty talk before, I think this is the first time I can feel it coming naturally from Spencer. I'm usually the one with the filthy mouth.

When I feel his tip teasing my entrance, I instinctively push my ass back, gaining a laugh from Spencer.

"Be patient, once inside there is no coming back." Before I can say anything in reply, I feel him push his cock between my folds, and the stretching is painfully delicious.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelp as I hear Spencer hissing when he bottoms it out. He is still there, grabbing my hips to keep me from moving.

"So warm. So tight. Made for me," he mumbles, leaning to kiss my shoulder blades.

"Just for you, it was made for you," I agree, in a new state of pleasure and urging him to move. Spencer pulls back almost completely, only to thrust hard again, setting a slow but deep pace.

"That's my girl, taking everything I give her. You wanted this, didn't you? I know you do. Fuck! So good for me."

Another thing I'm not used to is Spencer being a talker during sex. I mean, yeah, he's very vocal, moaning, whining, cursing, and so am I, but his words are now taking me there faster than I expected.

"Spencer, yes! Don't stop, please!"

"I won't, baby, I won't. Not when this pussy tighen me like this."

His pace quickens, and in the room, you can only hear the sinful sounds of skin hitting skin, our moans, and the dirty words escaping Spencer's mouth.

"Spencer, please, harder," I beg to him. I don't know why, but I want to go to my limit, and I trust Spencer. I need it. He's quick to deliver, and with every thrust, I'm entering into a new space of ecstasy.

He is pounding me harder, and my broken moans are testimony to the brutal pace he leads. I can feel him hitting in all the right places.

"Like that?" He asks, panting in my ear.

"Y-yes."

"I can't hear you, darling," the bastard demands, not faltering his thrusts.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! Like that! Oh, fuck-"

My voice cracks when I feel a sharp smack in my ass.

And I can't stress enough how good it feels and how it helps the ball forming in my lower belly to grow.

"What a sight. You should see how my fingers are red imprinted on your skin," Spencer says, amazed with his doing, not ever slowing his thrusts, and I can feel closer to a new earth-shattering orgasm.

"We need to even the score, right baby?" I can't even catch what he's talking about when I feel a new smack in my other ass-cheek. And then I lose it. I'm teetering to my end, and I need Spencer to fall with me.

"Spencer, I'm so close. Please, I need-"

"Are you going to come? That's what you're trying to tell me?"

"Yes! I need to cum, please-"

"I'm right there with you, my girl. Come on, cum on my cock. Show me how you fall apart because of me."

And I did. My orgasm crashes me like a freight train, screaming Spencer's name once and again until my throat goes dry. He keeps his pace, chasing his own end, and after three deep thrusts, he stills, and I feel him spilling inside of me, grunting as he does so. The feeling almost makes me cum again.

We stay in that position for a few moments, him inside me and trying to catch our breath. I feel like I'm out of this world, savoring the post-orgasmic euphoria of the best sex of my life.

Spencer pulls out, and I hiss at the loss of him. Carefully, he helps me turn over and lie down to rest my back on the mattress. I close my eyes, regulating my breathing, content and completely satisfied.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks me, but I'm still lost in the haze of pleasure. I can barely acknowledge the moment he goes to the bathroom to bring a warm cloth to clean me up.

"Uh? Yeah. Amazing." My words escape before I can process them, but I'm not lying. And I can feel the tons of endorphins running in my brain right now.

"Are you sure?" Spencer checks again. And because I'm more alert now, I can see his worried eyes.

A tired smile forms on my lips as I turn to the side and bring a hand to his cheek.

This man just has fucked me senseless, and now he sees me with those panicked eyes as if he had broken me. And maybe he did, but in the best way possible.

"I'm fine, Spencer. I'm more than fine, actually. That was something else," I confess, caressing his jaw. He lets out a breath of relief, and his cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"So you liked it?"

"Liked it? Did you just forget how I was screaming your name just minutes ago?" A satisfied chuckle escapes Spencer's lips. "But I need to know something," I prompt, propping myself on one elbow to have a better view of Spencer's face.

"What is it?"

"Where did this idea come from? It's not like you woke up one day and said, 'Next time, I'm going to choke her and spank her,' right?"

"Well, yeah. It wasn't that kind of spontaneous idea, even though I have thought about it before," Spencer looks at me sheepishly.

"Yeah? Well, then?"

"I heard you. Talking with the girls the other day at the BAU's kitchen." I narrow my eyes, trying to pinpoint the exact moment, and when recognition washes over me, my entire face flushes.

"Oh, God."

"I know I did wrong. It wasn't a conversation for me to hear, but you were talking about your mystery man, and I - I don't know, curiosity got the best of me."

Spencer looks apologetic, and I feel kind of embarrassed right now. It's funny for two people that minutes ago were fucking like there is no tomorrow.

"Don't apologize. It's my fault for spilling those kind of things in the office kitchen." Wait a minute. "From what part you heard?" Spencer purses his lips in thought.

"The part when you admitted seeing someone."

"So you heard when I said I was happy with our sex life, right?" He nods. "Why did you feel compelled to try something different, then? I'm not complaining at all, but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something because of me."

Spencer shakes his head. "I don't feel obligated. I wanted to. But can I ask why you didn't tell me what you liked before?"

That's a valid question, and I don't want to make him feel like I don't trust him because it is not like that.

"It's just- I mean, I love what we have. And I'm falling for you even more each day. I don't want to lose that, and I thought maybe I would have made you uncomfortable saying those things. I didn't want that."

Spencer's eyes glisten with warm understanding. How could I have doubted that he would comprehend? One of his hands goes to push back a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I love what we have, too. And you won't lose this or me if you share those things with me. I know I'm not the best example of a sharing person, but I'm learning to do that with you. And I want you to be happy and satisfied in this relationship."

"I really am. Seriously!" I quickly reply. God forbid Spencer from thinking I'm not happy and satisfied because it's far from the truth.

"And I'm happy to hear that. But there is no harm in experiencing new things, right?" He says, caressing my cheek.

"You really mean it?" Spencer nods and chuckles.

"It's not an altruistic offer, you know? I pretty much enjoyed what we did tonight." Only remembering what we did minutes ago brings a wide grin to my face.

"Sure you did. Okay. We can keep trying things. One condition, though."

"Name it," Spencer states, opening his arm for me to scoot closer to his side, which I happily do.

"I want you to choose the next kink to explore," I request, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

With narrowed eyes, Spencer is contemplating his answer. After a few seconds, his lips turn into a mischievous smirk, and he looks back at me.

"Have you heard about temperature play?" he asks, and I immediately bit my lower lip in excitement.

What can I say? This man is full of surprises, and I'm the lucky one who will experience all of them. I can't wait.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[nikovraskol]

so with the crack baby, what if the og timeline finds their phone?? Like they're going through it and seeing their whole life and achievements, maybe even the notes app with all their thoughts and feelings..

Ohhhh and then the 2nd timeline sneaking into their room and finding all those trophies?? Damian being forced to recognize that maybe his sibling does have some sort of brain..

masterlist

keep the requests coming gang i'm trying to procrasinate the next chapter

i imagine like dick just sat in your room, literally over anylysing everything just to get a peek at the kind of person you were outside of the nervous, starry-eyed youthling who'd trail behind him and then he stumbles upon your phone.

literal jackpot, he guesses your password on the third try because he put in your birthday (how careless), and he goes through EVERY app. he goes through your social media, your games, he even goes through your ubereats app to see what kind of food you like!

he goes through your notes app and it's just essays upon essays how you feel a suffocating cavity in your chest or how you want to get closer to them, how you want them to look back and then as the notes progress and you get older, hitting the eighteen mark, how you loath them.

he sighs, sighs again before sending some notes about how cool you think your family is and how you want to spend time with them to himself, and then he finally shows the others.

each of them respectively crying throwing up, analysing every single thing you've said, oh you misspelled something? noted. you accidentally forgot to you the correct tense? noted. you put in a shopping list in between your rants? noted.

i imagine them literally ANNOTATING your emotions (LMAO), they just want to understand you, they have nothing to remember you by, no face, no memories, nothing of the real you.

so sure, while it hurts to read about how you wish you could scrub yourself clean of bruce's dna, it's nice to read about you.

and they will, obviously, print out every selfie you've ever took. any group photos will be cropped, they'll hang up your pictures everywhere, like a guest comes over and there's just a massive, framed picture of you smiling at the camera with a bunch of cropped heads around you. OR you in school, like a massive grin on your face as you do something mischevious but it's kind of blurry and also there's a massive red X on the person besides you.

as for the second timeline, i think this is really interesting -- especially because you're trying to mind your business, live your life, maybe you went out for a walk and you're tired, eager to get to bed.

so you walk in your room and, well, your whole family's just sprawled around your box room, your medals and trophies scattered about as they each take it in deeply.

"i wasn't aware you were so profficient at science." damian adresses you, staring at an obnoxiously bright 'first place!' certificate in his hands, your name sprawled across it. how unexpected, perhaps you're not as useless as you seem. no, this is high-school level so sure, he's impressed, but he doubts bioenergetics will help you in the real world, aka, the vigilante occupation, aka, something you will NEVER try.

tim is assessing all the dates, "you did these both at the same time? ..impressive." he nods towards you, and you have to physically stop yourself from cringing. like, sure, 10 years ago you'd be running up the walls at this attention. but you're tired! and completely uninterested now that you've grown up.

"can you guys fu--" you're cut off by bruce putting a hand on your shoulder and nodding, subtly trying to hide the fact that he's having alfred lug all the pictures of you on podiums or on stage into his room. you just look so cute :( if he ignores the way your eyes are gleaming with tears or how you're the only one without a parent standing behind you.

jason lurking around, an unnaturally soft expression as he watches videos of you singing as a youthling -- you have to stop yourself from viscerally reacting AGAIN. why is he even here? he doesn't live here! speaking of people who don't live here--

"wow! why didn't you tell me you like gymnastics? i would've loved to support you! dick smiles, tracing the lines on your medal with the utmost care.

"i did tell you, you didn't care -- in fact, one time you promised me you'd come to my tournament but obviously didn't show up, i cried so hard i was disqualified."

"... i don't like this game anymore."

[alchemistc]

Post finale crack treated seriously. Ravi "Who's Tommy" Panikkar stirring shit up for his new friend.

red string

"You know you guys are like, weirdly interconnected, right?" Ravi asks, like Buck hasn't spent the last ten minutes admitting he doesn't know how to reach out to Tommy.

"How would you know?"

Ravi has the grace to look a little squirrelly for half a second. "Okay so I know a lot of people at the LAFD. Because of the Academy stint. And - well, a lot of them know I own rentals."

"Thanks for letting me do month to month, by the way."

"Yeah you sure did remind me that you saved my life a bunch of times before I agreed to that. I had to send in a special request with the company that runs that apartment building."

"Your life is way more important than a special request, Ravi."

Ravi looks like he has something else to say about that, but.

"You're veering off the point. I'm trying to tell you you two have like, a weird red string thing going on and it's kind of driving me crazy that you won't just figure it out and go live in his house month to month until you figure out your crap and like, elope like the crazy people you are."

Buck takes a second to let that sink in. "Have you been asking all your LAFD buddies about Tommy and me?" His narrowed eyes don't seem to have the same effect as Hen's. Ravi stares back at him like he's making a stupid face.

"In my defense, I did try to ask you but you spent weeks trying to find a way to pull his pigtails."

He's not touching that with a ten foot pole. Nice ammo for when he gets home, though. "So you, what, put together an itemized list of reasons we should be together?"

"Gross. No. I gossiped, like a normal person."

"Lists are important, Ravi."

"If you don't do something on your own I'll get his number from one of the guys at Harbor I know and tell him about all the baked goods you foisted on me for two solid months after he dumped you. And about all the pining I've had to put up with since -."

"Evan. Hey."

Buck is the sort of person who always wants to play it cool and never quite manages. The table jumps when he cracks his knee against it.

And there he is, in all his glory. Date night chic, four buttons undone, hair perfectly tousled, probably that aftershave that always made Buck want to live in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

"And that's my cue," Ravi says, and does a terrible approximation of a wink as he scoots out of the booth. "This is a setup. I set you both up. Tommy, this beer is yours, please sit. Don't make me do this a third time."

And then he's gone.

Tommy slides in, and it's familiar in a way that Buck doesn't enjoy.

Ravi reappears. "I already had his number, that was a decoy because I saw him walking in. Please, for the love of God, talk this time."

They stare at each other for a long, long time. Tommy has this way of looking at him that always makes Buck feel like he could run through a brick wall. Like Tommy would take care of him after even though it was a dumb thing to do. Like Tommy would thank him for the opportunity to take care of him.

"So Ravi has a theory," Tommy says, after they've taken their fill of staring in silence.

"I kept interrupting him but it kinda sounded like he's been spending way too much time dissecting our lives."

Tommy's smile lights up this dingy sports bar like nothing else. "Kinda reminds me of you, if I'm honest."

"He doesn't even like spreadsheets, Tommy."

"God, I love you."

It's a terrible place to start.

It's an excellent way to keep going.

[greenglowinspooks]

Thinkin about a DCxDP where Danny’s helping ghosts find peace while he’s laying low in Gotham.

Like, he moved away from Amity for whatever reason. Maybe the reveal went badly, maybe he just couldn’t stand staying any longer. For whatever reason, he’s in Gotham, because the rent is cheap and he’s nowhere near the strangest thing there so no one looks at him twice.

However, this city is cursed. Like, cursed beyond cursed. It’s actively alive with how many curses there are, and the ghosts there are extremely unhappy about it.

(Of course, that’s not a problem for Danny. His ghost side filters out the toxic smog and the chemicals in the water, and his human side gives a resistance to the rank ecto and the hexes that are actively trying to devour him.)

He doesn’t really want to do anything about it, to be honest.

He’s sick of playing hero, considering how it went last time, and he’s busy working at Waffle House or Walmart or whatever other store doesn’t bother doing a background check (in Gotham, that’s probably all of them), and maybe trying to find a way to get highschool credits that don’t immediately disqualify him from every college in existence.

Still, the ghosts know he can hear them. They know, and they keep coming for help.

So, hey, why not? He definitely can’t put this as experience in any sort of job application, but he really doesn’t have much else to do.

So, he becomes errand boy for a bunch of ghosts.

Sometimes he’s finding objects that are important to them, sometimes he’s giving evidence they collected together of their murders to the police, sometimes he’s getting them the last meal they never had, sometimes he’s just spending time with them like they’re not dead.

The ghosts don’t always move on, but they’re always more at peace. Occasionally they pay him back in charms and blessings and the locations of valuables that he can keep or pawn for cash.

Eventually, a new ghost shows up.

She looks like a shadow, like all the ghosts of Gotham, but she seems stronger than usual. She asks him for a favor that those who came before him were never able to fulfill.

She asks him to find her engagement ring, and give it to her son.

Easy enough, he thinks. It’s a bit of a pain to buy the ring from the seedy pawn shop it’s in (he would usually just steal it, but he doesn’t want to implicate her kid in anything, which she seems grateful for), but everything’s going mostly alright.

Then, she tells him who her son is, and wow, no wonder no one’s helped her yet.

He’s Red Hood. The guy who is(/was) the crime lord in charge of crime alley. The title sounds a bit stupid to Danny, but he’s still a genuine threat to a living person.

Good thing he’s not one of those.

And so, the next time he sees Red Hood out and about, he goes right up to him. The man seems mostly unbothered, but Danny does notice how his hand slightly drifts towards one of his many weapons.

He tells Red Hood outright that he’s there on behalf of the man’s mother, then just holds out his hand with the ring inside, dropping it into Red Hood’s open palm.

Then he leaves, not waiting for a response.

—

Jason has a mystery on his hands, and he might just cash in some favors from Babs and Tim to figure it out.

He’s got to find the guy who gave him his mother’s ring, and find out everything he knows.

[flowersforbucky]

cherry blossoms

bucky barnes x reader

you give bucky flowers for the first time.

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: established relationship, thunderbolts era but no spoilers bc i wrote this before i even saw the movie lol, minor references to ca: brave new world, fluff, reader is implied to be shorter than bucky

author's note: okay i am so sorry if you've seen this before 😭 posted it a few weeks ago and it had a bunch of issues with the tags. so i'm going to give it another shot and hope for the best.

follow @flowersforbuckyfics for updates ♡ dividers by @/strangergraphics ♡ header collage by me

“Honestly, I can hardly even tell that Sam and Ross came close to destroying this place just a few weeks ago.”

The early spring air is particularly cool this evening, causing you to keep a tight hold on Bucky's flesh arm for a little extra warmth. You always joke that he's your own personal space heater. You suppose that's one benefit of the serum in his veins – even when the wind is making you shiver, you can always count on him to feel as if he’s been sitting beside a fire for hours.

He notices your tightened hold on his arm and comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, holding it open for you to step into. You’re already wearing a cardigan, but with the sun now setting over the Tidal Basin, you know it’s only going to get chillier as it gets darker. So you shove your arms into the sleeves, letting him drop the warm leather that smells like him over your shoulders.

“I had just told Sam how excited you were to see the cherry blossom trees this year,” Bucky laughs, taking your hand in his once more as you resume your stroll beneath the millions of pink blossoms. “I guess he tried to leave a few still standing.”

You snort. “How considerate of him.”

You’re both being sarcastic, of course, but you do feel incredibly lucky to be able to see the gorgeous trees – and at their peak, too. Bucky had picked the perfect weekend for your little D.C. getaway. After cramming every historical monument and museum possible into the two day trip, it’s a nice change of pace to simply leisurely meander through the park with your arm in his. You think it’s the perfect way to end the weekend before flying back to New York early in the morning.

“Are they as beautiful as you remember them being?” He asks softly, glancing down at you.

This isn’t your first time experiencing D.C.’s cherry blossom trees, but the one and only other time you’ve seen them was ages ago, as a young child. You can vaguely recall the soft baby pink petals falling around you as you sprinted down the sidewalk by the water, but it’s been so long that it feels as if you’re now seeing them with brand new eyes.

“They’re even better,” you hum, looking up at all of the branches swaying in the breeze. “Then again, that might just be because I’m here with you.” You add with a nonchalant shrug.

He chuckles, unable to hide the blush that appears on the apples of his cheeks at your flirting. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together – if you compliment him, tease him, flirt with him – he is bound to blush, his cheeks turning pinker than the flowers themselves.

You have to admit it – you like making him blush. You like that when he does, he smiles so big that it brings out the crinkles around his eyes. You like knowing that you’re the only person who can cause him this kind of physical reaction.

That’s when an idea pops into your head. It’s innocent enough – other than a couple walking with their two young children a few yards ahead of you, there’s no one else around – so it’s not like you’d be potentially embarrassing him.

You just think he’s really fucking cute when he blushes.

You pause your steps, pursing your lips to try to stop yourself from smirking. Bucky freezes, too, eyeing you with raised brows.

“What’s that look for?” He asks, his tone making it obvious that he knows you’re up to something.

“Wait right here,” you order him before pulling your arm away from his. You practically skip over to the nearest tree, reaching up to the lowest hanging branch that you can find. On your tiptoes, you delicately remove sprigs of the blossoms until you have enough to form a tiny bouquet.

You feel a little silly. You’ve never presented a guy with flowers before. But Bucky isn’t just any guy, and if any man has ever deserved flowers, you know that it’s him.

“I know it’s not quite as extravagant as the bouquet that you gave me on Valentine’s Day…” You hand him the tiny bouquet of pink flowers, thinking back to the ornate arrangement of wildflowers that he’d gifted you earlier this year. “But it’s the best I can do it at the moment.”

He opens his mouth in surprise, momentarily speechless as he accepts the flowers from you. Just as you had predicted, his cheeks begin to flush pink once more. This time brighter and more evident than before.

“For me? You shouldn't have.”

He selects one of the individual flowers and raises his hand to your head. You go still, not taking your eyes off of him as he places the stem behind your ear. You feel your own cheeks heat up at the intimate gesture.

“You know, I've always thought that pink looks pretty on you,” he tells you, moving his hand away from your ear and to your face. He cups the side of your cheek in his palm, then leans down far enough to lightly kiss your forehead.

The fleeting thought crosses your mind that it's a good thing that the walking trail for the cherry blossom trees isn't crowded this evening, because you and him are stopped right in the middle, taking your sweet time.

“We should get one, you know,” you say, nodding towards the tree closest to you. “A young one, so that we can plant it and watch it grow. We’ll have to get out of an apartment and find a place with a nice yard first, but…” You trail off in wishful thinking.

Bucky had terminated the lease to his own apartment early, choosing to move in with you. But the lease to your Brooklyn apartment will soon be up, too, and the two of you had started to have discussions about future living arrangements. Rent isn’t exactly cheap in downtown Brooklyn, and both of you long for something a bit more quiet and private.

“Whatever you want,” he murmurs. “We get out of the city and we’ll plant as many cherry trees as you want.”

One Year Later

The aroma of garlic and herbs in tonight’s dinner fills the entirety of your home from where it roasts in the oven.

For the tenth time in the last half hour, you glance at the clock while you finish washing the dishes that had been dirtied while prepping food.

It's not that you’re impatient – it’s just that Bucky is never late. Five or ten minutes, sometimes, sure. But never forty five minutes. He’d sent you a text only a few hours ago telling you that he’d be home at six o’clock, and the digital clock on the oven now reads 6:42.

You had tried to call him when you realized he was half an hour later, just to make sure that everything is alright, but his phone went straight to voicemail. You reminded yourself that he’s the worst at remembering to charge his phone, and that he is likely driving home and totally fine.

But despite how many times you’ve tried to assure yourself of this, you can’t stop yourself from pacing the kitchen floor or from glancing out the window at your driveway every other minute. You even opened said window and turned off the music you’d been listening to while preparing dinner so that you’d be able to hear the loud engine of his truck when he’s close to home.

Just when you’re about to click on his name in your call history again, you feel the familiar vibration of tires against gravel. By the time that you get to your kitchen window, his pick-up truck’s headlights are shining in the direction of the house. You exhale, relieved that you’d been overthinking. As you tend to do, when it comes to his safety.

You shove your feet into a pair of slippers, stepping outside to greet him from the front porch. Maybe it’s just residual nerves, but you instinctively lean against the bannister, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hops out of his truck and you immediately notice an expression of undeniable excitement on his face. It eases your lingering anxiety, knowing that he’s here and that he’s seemingly unharmed.

You just never fucking know with him.

“What’s got you so smiley?” You chuckle, walking down the few porch steps to greet him. He instantly opens his arms to you, and you practically jump off the last step into his embrace. Right away, you know that he’s been sparring with Sam. His t-shirt is slightly damp with perspiration and you can smell the freshly reapplied deodorant.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he murmurs in sincerity. “I was going to text you and but my phone is dead. Time got away from me while boxing with Sam…” he trails off, planting a kiss to your forehead. “And I may have had to make a quick stop somewhere on my way home.”

You pull back, looking at him quizzically. “Oh, yeah? Where’s that?”

He jerks his head in the direction of his truck with a mischievous grin. “Come and see for yourself.”

You follow him to the truck bed, your mouth immediately falling open at what lays inside.

“Is that--?”

“A baby cherry blossom tree?” He interrupts, clearly satisfied at successfully surprising you. “That it is. Stopped by the local plant nursery just to see if they happened to have any. This was the very last one.”

You’re silent. You recall the moment between you and Bucky beneath the cherry blossom trees in D.C. just a year ago, when he’d promised you as many of the trees as you like once you and him got a house with a nice yard, away from the city. You’d finally moved into your new house together just before the holidays, but between getting settled in, staying busy with work, and the weather simply being too cold to even thinking about flower blossoms until recently, the conversation about getting a cherry tree of your own had completely slipped your mind.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his midsection again.

You feel the vibration radiate from his chest when he laughs.

“Of course I remember the first time a girl gave me flowers.”

thank you so much for reading, as always comments and reblogs are always so appreciated 💖🫶🏻 and once again i'm sorry for the repost!