#i actually had to put the book down after that i couldn’t deal with it

[acearchivist359]

more found family angst enjoyers need to read the red rising saga by pierce brown cause let me tell you the found family angst of these books . kills me like what do you mean the main character of these books just looked at his best friend and brother hurt and thought “love has never caused me such physical pain” . that was the worst gut punch of a line i’ve read in a long time i can’t believe i didn’t read these sooner

[dickaspointed]

𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑩𝑬𝑫𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑬𝑵- !

𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 !! 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

HEESEUNG felt all too giddy with you in the same bed as him. he couldn’t help but sneak glances and looks here and there, especially when the moon cascaded over your little body compared to his. you barely took up half the bed in comparison to him, and don’t get him started on those short shorts and tank top that did horrible jobs at hiding your modesty. by one am, your legs are thrown over the creases of his elbows, his name rolling off your tongue like a mantra as your shorts dangled just over his shoulder. he couldn’t keep his desires at bay.

SUNGHOON acted tough like sharing a bed with you was no big deal, but on the inside it was an internal battle for him not to pop a boner. that stupid moomoo you wore that accentuated your breasts and ass definitely didn’t help keep one from forming in his sweats. he promised to keep it PG tonight but when you slid into bed besides him, smelling like a fresh sweet cake he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you until your moomoo was somewhere over the clouds, your chest and throat covered in hickies he’d have to explain tomorrow.

JAY was decently good at keeping his composure. he had shared a bed with you numerous times, but this time it was different because this time you were his. with your ass pressed to his pelvis, his hand underneath your top, gently fondling your right breast he tried to lull off to sleep. but your whiny moans and twitching ultimately ruined all the composure he had. flipping you onto your stomach, he mounted from behind, tearing your shorts and panties off in a slick motion for better access. the others wouldn’t let you two share a room anymore because they got no sleep with how loud you were.

JAKE purposefully made sure every trip that you two ended up together, if that meant bribing everyone with lots of money so they’d willingly book a hotel with one less room for everyone. Jake would sadly break the news to you, pouting to really add to the bit. in the end, it worked in his favor because you’d be straddling him that night, his hair between your fingers as you rode him like your life depended on it. Jungwon would end up banging on the door, asking you two to kindly “shut the fuck up.”

SUNOO was nervous every time you had to bunk with him. he’d go the extra mile to make sure you were comfortable, he wouldn’t even sleep without socks. one night, all of that flew right out of the open window when you cuddled up to him, tucking your face into his collarbone. your soft whimpers of enjoyment fueled something inside of him, he tapped your back gently. it was nothing but fireworks from that night on, blissful orgasms that made both of you see stars and shake violently against one another.

JUNGWON being the leader it was only right that he let you bunk with him. he had a set of rules that seemed to go right through the floor when you came back from a steamy shower with dewy skin and a nighty that hugged your body in all the right places. you asked him if this was alright for his “rules”, whilst smoothing your hands down your body. he sucked in a deep breath, looking towards the door before ultimately deciding whether or not he wanted to be ridiculed in the morning. needless to say, after an eventful, blissful night with Jungwon, that nighty was ripped to shreds and he had to explain what all those weird sounds were last night.

NI-KI put his cold feet up the back of your shirt and kicked you off the bed with both very large feet.

K BYE!!

actually, before i leave i wanted to say thanks for all the reblogs and likes!!! i really appreciate whomever likes and blogs, thanks a ton! and please if you feel comfortable (AND 18+ because i’m not playing) leave some requests of what you wanna see and what member !! besides ni-ki <3

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite sh- are you sure you want to listen to this, Si?” You giggled, shutting your book in favour of leaning your cheek against your forearm, tilting your head back far enough to catch Simon’s eye behind you. “I could always read whatever you’ve started, wouldn’t bother me.”

“Not the deal, lovie.” He answers, scooching further up the bed to where you’re laying on your stomach, head just as the edge of the bed so that your arms can comfortably hold the book at eye level. “S’your turn after all. You read me whatever you like.”

It’s true, it is your turn tonight. You forget how long ago this started, though you remember how the idea came about, Simon complaining about his back one evening while the two of you were laying on the couch together, each reading a book, quietly enjoying the others company. He was home for only a few days that time, and you’d insisted that he spend at least a full 24 hours doing nothing but resting and relaxing, a feat easier said than done with that man.

“Why don’t you let me rub your back?” You’d suggested, setting your book down.

“No love, you don’t have to be doin’ that,” he’d shaken his head, though you could see he was doing so reluctantly. His back really was hurting him something fierce. “Besides, I’m at the good part. Don’ wanna put this down just yet.” He’d gestured towards the thick novel in his hands, some war book, of course. His idea of relaxing.

“Oh come on,” you’d insisted, wanting to do this for him. You had tugged the blanket off your lap, coming to stand next to the couch, watching him raise a brow at you. “I can totally massage your back while you read, best of both worlds. Go on, flip over on your stomach.”

“Usually I’m the one tellin’ you tha- hey!” He had obliged you, turning over onto until he’s laying on his front, trying to hid the wince of discomfort that came with the movement. You’d swatted at his ass following his little comment, but your soft hands were already coming to slip under his shirt, skimming along both smooth and scarred skin alike. “But you were enjoyin’ your book too, love.” He tried to protest again, though his eyes were already rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of your touch, loving fingers squeezing at his strong, sore muscles.

“Why don’t you read out loud to me?” You’d suggested to him.

“Not sick o’ my voice yet?”

“Mm, never.” You came to straddle his behind, planting a knee on either side of him, leaning closer to whisper to him. “Favourite sound in the world actually.”

Simon was grateful you couldn’t see his face at this moment, as he was certain he’d gone beet red.

“Well, you let me know when you change your mind.” He grumbled, opening his book back up, clearing his throat and picking up where’d last left off. Three chapters later, your barely noticed how sore your hands were in comparison to how full your heart was, listening to Simon’s voice go from begrudgingly reading the passages to you, his tone slowly gaining enthusiasm as he became lost in the story once more, smiling to himself whenever he’d hear a small noise come from you in reaction to his reading, a gasp of surprise of a hum of agreement.

He’d gone to bed that night and slept better than he had in a long time, back feeling like a dream, and woke up the next day, asking if he could return the favour. Soon, the evening pass time of one of you massaging the other’s back while they read aloud whatever book they’re currently reading, became one of your favourite, most cherished memories with Simon, the tender moment so pure, knowing he looked forward to these small moments as much as you did.

The two of you had gone through so many genres in the last few months, you’d lost track, every type of book being brought off the shelf. Though you didn’t always share the same tastes in books, you could still enjoy the sound of your lover reading something that they love to you. Simon was always a good sport about your picks in particular, but tonight you couldn’t help but question whether he really would want to sit through your pick of the week.

“I’m not even sure if it would be better or worse to have you watch the movie first.” You say, your words nearly coming out in a moan at the end when his strong hands reach a tender spot in your back.

“Jus’ read me the book, cheeky girl, before I try an’ get more o’ them noises out o’ ya.” He decides for you, giving your ass a quick squeeze before returning to his diligent task of rubbing your back.

You decide you’ll listen to the Lieutenant this one time, opening up your book and starting again.

Who knows, maybe Simon will like vampires.

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[er-osion]

Stumble In(to my life)

pairing: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

summary: You tend to Red Hood after he’s mildly injured on patrol, he then sticks around a little.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: you can find part 2 here

∾∾∘⋅∗⋄⋆⋄∗⋅∘∾∾

You looked up from your books to the soft thump outside your window. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the noise at all, but your ears had become accustomed to listening for it. It was late, far later than you should be up, but tonight was a night filled with studying and anxiety, so sleep evaded you. You put a bookmark in your textbook and closed it, being careful of your notes, and got up from your couch. You just reached the window as a large armored figure clamored through. Backing up, you gave the beast of a man space to gracefully tumble through your window and into your apartment. The sound of sirens off in the distance became muffled once again when the man closed the window tightly behind him.

Red Hood never said much. A man of few words you supposed, at least when he was injured —which was the only time you saw him. You couldn’t recall when this little arrangement between the two of you began, maybe around a year ago. The Red Hood crashed and stumbled into your life one fateful night, and had been doing so ever since. But only when he needed a patch job, and he never took off his helmet. Even when you could tell he had a head injury that needed tending, he wouldn’t remove the red helmet. You knew he trusted you, clearly a lot more than he trusted others, but a part of you was still a little hurt. You'd known him for so long and still yet to see his real face or hear his real voice unmodulated. Oddly enough, you’d call Hood a friend. Even if you didn’t know his real name along with many other things about him, and even if he knew very little about you other than the basics, you’d consider him a good friend. And deep down you’re sure he thinks the same.

Hood slumps down on the couch, but you notice he’s careful to avoid being anywhere near your textbooks and notes. You silently appreciate the move, since last time he got blood on your papers and you had to come up with a believable story for your professor explaining why there were blood splatters on your homework.

“Rough night?” You ask jokingly as you get out the first aid kit. Hood gives a ‘Hmpf’ in response and rests his head against the back of the couch. You move your school stuff off the coffee table and set out the supplies from the first aid kit. You let your eyes roam his figure to try and find the injuries you’d be taking care of tonight. You slyly take in Hood’s toned muscles as you look for wounds, taking the action as a less obvious chance to check him out. However secretive he may be, you can’t deny the man looks good. Actually, “looks good” is an understatement, his abs could cut diamonds.

“How many bruises are you gonna have in the morning?” You ask as you help him take off his leather jacket which is crusted with dried blood here and there.

“Too many.” He’s short with his words but by now you can hear the underlying exhaustion in them. His voice sounds robotic from the mask, but it still brings you a wave of comfort to hear.

“Anything I can’t see?” This phrase has become your way of asking where his most concerning injuries are, and whether or not he’s comfortable with you dealing with them.

“No, tonight’s just the obvious stuff.”

“Not any less painful I presume.”

“And as usual, you’re right, angel.” Your lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile at the nickname. You’ve started cleaning the gashes on his arms and wrapping them with gauze and bandages. Hood relaxes a bit more into the couch, tensing only when you start cleaning wounds with the cold water and saline solution.

As you’re working your mind drifts into thinking about the nature of your relationship with this vigilante. Part of you is proud, honored even, that the elusive Red Hood trusts you enough to seek you out for medical care. But another part of you, the part you don’t really want to acknowledge, is angry he only ever visits when he needs fixing. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, not even ice-breaker facts, and he doesn’t really ask about you. He doesn’t drop by anytime he’s not injured and he never tells you when he’s coming, he just shows up at your window injured without warning. Your heart stings when you think that you might be dead last on Red Hood’s priority list, especially considering he’s first on yours. Does he really only think of you as a patch job? Someone who will treat him without asking any questions? Does he even have any interest in your life at all? Does he ever think about you when he’s not around, like you think of him? By now, you’ve lost yourself in the spiral of your thoughts and are blankly working out of muscle memory. You don’t even notice, but Red Hood does.

Jason watches you work through the eyes of his helmet. He can see the distance in your eyes and can tell you’re thinking hard about something else. But even as your mind wanders, your hands do not. You work efficiently and effectively on cleaning and wrapping his wounds. You take care to check for broken bones and remove any debris you find in his skin. He appreciates you. He’s certain he appreciates you more than you’ll ever know. He didn’t realize how lucky he was when he stumbled through your window all those nights ago. He didn’t realize that night that he’d gain a safe haven. He’s never felt more secure than when he’s with you in your apartment. Jason’s never felt more comfortable than when in your presence. He thinks it’s a little odd. You don’t know what his face looks like, hell, you don’t even know his real name, but his trust in you is an ever flowing river. Jason trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes. Jason blinks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in and focuses back on you. The lamps in your apartment provide the only measly light for you to work with, but right now they aren’t crummy. No, the lamps have painted your figure in a warm glow that has Jason’s heart stuttering in an unusual way. The homey furniture melts into the dim background and you're the only thing in focus in Jason’s vision. It’s moments like these when Jason is hit with a flurry of emotions he doesn’t understand. You finish wrapping his last bandage and look up at him with the most gentle but curious eyes he’s ever seen and Red Hood suddenly feels like he’s about to choke. His chest swirls with feelings and he can’t even begin to grasp what they are or what they mean. He wants to say “thank you, thank you for always looking after me even when I don’t deserve it,” but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a tranquil silence that follows where you just look at each other, of course, you can’t tell exactly what Red Hood is looking at but you can feel his gaze on you. When a minute passes you get up slowly and start to put the first aid kit away. Jason watches you from behind the safety of his helmet and moves to help you package everything back up.

Hood’s gloved hand picks up a roll of gauze and brings it over to the kit, but you quickly —albeit gently— put your hand over his to stop him and take the gauze yourself. “You don’t have to do that. You’re injured, rest.” You say with quiet authority and go back to cleaning up the table. Hood doesn’t say anything but leans back into the couch and doesn’t continue to help, though deep down he wants to. He feels he owes you, he knows he owes you. He wants to do something, anything to pay back the kindness you’ve shown him but he can never think of the right thing to do.

“You’re welcome to sit here for a bit, regain some energy before you head to wherever it is you hide during the day. I’ve just got some notes to finish for class.” You provide as you sit down in the chair next to your sofa, repositioning all your textbooks and papers. Hood just nods in reply. “Oh, and you can turn on the tv if you’d like, I don’t mind.” There’s a pause before you see the vigilante move to grab the remote and turn on your tv. You smile a bit at your papers, finding a small happiness in the fact he’s able to settle into your home so well. You secretly wish he’d come and watch tv with you just for fun, not because he needs to recover from a stab wound.

Every once in a while, Jason’s eyes drift from the tv screen to where you’re seated taking notes for your class. Jason does his best to memorize this moment and neatly pack it away in a safe little box in his brain. He wants to remember this quiet moment of togetherness forever. He wants to say something, he wants your beautiful eyes back on him but he also doesn’t want to disrupt the pleasant quiet that swirls around your living room.

Red Hood clears his throat and shimmies into a straighter posture. “Thanks by the way.” You look up at the vigilante and tilt your head in confusion at his remark.

“For what?” You let out a small chuckle, the confusion is evident in your voice. Jason’s lips quirk up in a small smile under his helmet at your confusion at his thanks.

“For all this to start,” Hood motions to himself “and also just for letting me in here. For letting me into your home without fair warning. Your patience with my bullshit seems to know no bounds, you deserve an award merely for that. So… thanks.” Thank you for letting me into your life and making me feel cared for, Jason wants to add on, but that seems a little too open about his feelings for the moment. He hopes you’re able to pick up on the subtext of his words, he hopes you can put together the puzzle pieces of his words that form the colorful picture of his appreciation for you.

You smile lightly, “Of course, Hood. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy having your giant smartass around.” You took a deep breath and let loose a shot in the dark. “I just wish you’d stumble in here when you weren’t injured sometimes, just to hang around.” You awkwardly divert your eyes to the floor and take a major interest in the small stains in the wood. Hood is quiet and unmoving and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad, you can’t tell if you crossed an unspoken line. Jason’s mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the implications of your words. Do you mean you want him around more? Do you mean you want a deeper friendship with him? Do you mean you truly enjoy his presence so much you want more of it in your life? You risk a look back up at Red Hood and when Jason sees the genuine look in your eyes he hopes the modulator in his helmet doesn’t give away the deep breath he had to intake to try and calm his heart.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by more often then, angel.” Hood tries to play off the deepness of the moment with suave teasing, he has to retain at least a little dignity in front of you.

You smirk at his clearly playful comeback, “Just make sure you show up with takeout or some groceries. I can’t be providing everything for you all of the time.” Hood huffs out a laugh.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” You smile warmly at him and Jason mirrors you beneath his helmet. There’s a soft silence that follows where the two of you just look at each other. Then you go back to finishing your notes with the smile still plastered on your face. Jason is already planning out his schedule so he can drop in just for fun as soon as possible without seeming desperate to hang out.

“My cuts are pretty sore by the way and I’m quite fatigued so I might have to stay for a bit longer.”

“Hm, well if that’s what you need to do then I can’t deny you. I’m not going to kick Gotham's hero out of my apartment while he’s down.” You know he’s not really that sore or fatigued. You can tell by his body language or his tone of voice when he is. You know he’s just saying that to ask if it’s okay if he stays a bit longer than usual. Of course, you’d never say no. You’d offer him to stay the night but you don’t want him to get uncomfortable, though deep down, you’re desperate for his prolonged presence.

“Tch, that’s a relief. However, I’m afraid I might also need some moral support, as you can see, your poor hero of Gotham has had a rough night.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow but don’t deny him. You get up from your seat and move to sit next to him on the couch. Your finished notes are left forgotten on your previous chair and you dial into the show Hood was watching on the tv. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing my hero of Gotham and I have a similar taste in tv —it makes giving moral support easier.” You feel Hood’s quiet chuckle through the vibrations of the couch, a feeling you want again and again. Jason tries not to think too hard on your use of the word ‘my’ or how it’s echoing in his head like a tantalizing mantra.

“A good thing indeed.”

“I didn’t realize vigilantes had time to pick favorite tv shows.”

“How else do you think we pass the time waiting for a store to be robbed during patrol?”

“I figured you just brooded the entire time, seeing as you costumed weirdos can never get over anything in your entire lives.”

“How rude, us weirdos do get over things, like buildings or cars when chasing down our enemies.”

“Hardy har har, I bet you think you’re clever for that one.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think, I know I’m clever for that one.”

“So arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, confident.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” The lighthearted banter between the two of you fills the room with the warmth of familiarity. Neither of you seemed to notice how close you’d gotten to each other on instinct. Your shoulders are just brushing his and you can feel his body heat seeping into your skin. You’re fighting the urge to press closer and unbeknownst to you, Jason is doing the same. Your body and heart is begging you to rest your head against Hood’s leather-clad shoulder but you push the thoughts down in fear of making things awkward or scaring him off. Jason’s mind is running rampant with internal pleas for you to rest against him, he wants nothing more right now than to feel the comfortable weight of you against his side. But Jason doesn’t act or speak any of these thoughts into reality, worried he’ll cross a line or make you uncomfortable. So the two of you sit there on your couch for who knows how long. Mingling on the side of cuddling but not quite reaching the threshold. Both of you sit contented with the closeness and security of spending what had been a rough evening together, but silently desperate for more. But more is for a different evening, another night when Red Hood stumbles through your window.

[nemo-writes]

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖿 141 + 𝗏𝖺𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 ── .✦

── .✦ 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉 ; "𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇."

It’s day three of bed rest, and Soap’s already climbed up the walls of his room and back down again. Injured or not, he’s never been one to sit still, and being restricted to the base with “no hard jobs, no missions”—as the medic had stressed—has left him itching for something to do. Restless, he decides to wander, eventually finding himself at the library-slash-records room, a quiet corner of base he’s never thought to visit before.

He thumbs through a book on the nearest shelf, flipping pages more out of boredom than actual interest, when a voice behind him makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Good choice,” you say casually, glancing over his shoulder at the book in his hands. “I read that one when I was a teenager.”

Soap whips around, wide-eyed and ready to defend himself before he registers you standing there, a bemused smile on your face. It’s not often anyone manages to sneak up on him, especially after working alongside Ghost—but here you are, quiet as a shadow.

“Christ, you gave me a fright!” He laughs, trying to shake off his surprise. “You a ghost yourself, or just a natural sneak?”

“Neither,” you reply with a shrug. “I just work here. Records department.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a hint of scepticism. “Records, aye? Right, sure. So… what squad d’you belong to, then?”

You laugh, not seeming to mind his incredulity. “No squad. No task force, either. Just a regular base staff member. I make sure all your physical files stay organised, is all.”

“Well, I didn't expect to find a hidden gem like you in here,” he says, putting on his usual flirty grin, expecting some kind of blush or maybe even a shy look.

But you just give another amused smile. “I’m not a gem, just the records keeper. I also stock the books,” you add, gesturing around. “Figured a small library might be good for those interested. We don’t have much, but it’s a nice change of pace for some people.”

The flirting sails right over your head, and Soap’s grin falters ever so slightly before he recovers. “Ah, so you're the one to thank for this wee slice of quiet paradise on base, huh?”

You nod, a touch of pride slipping through as you straighten a few already-tidy books. “It’s simple, but I like to keep things in order here for whoever wants to pick up something to read.”

Soap tries another grin, leaning against a shelf, his tone softening just a bit. “Well, reckon I’ll be a regular if it means more chats like this. Seems like a fair deal, yeah?”

But you only hum thoughtfully, eyes scanning the shelf beside him, clearly cataloguing if anything’s out of place. Soap finds himself smirking, both amused and oddly challenged by how thoroughly you’ve ignored his attempts to charm you. He realises with a quiet laugh that this just might be the break he needed.

. . .

In the quiet of his quarters, Soap lounges on his bunk with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to his mum and sister talk about his childhood. It had started with the usual check-in—hearing how he was healing, how things were on base—and soon drifted into familiar family banter.

His sister, Cait, laughs as she recalls his ‘miraculous’ ability to get hurt every other day growing up. “Remember when you broke both your arms jumping off that shed roof, John?” she teases, barely stifling her laughter. “Mum had to practically wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Aye, aye, laugh it up,” Soap mutters, though he’s grinning. “Was tryin’ to perfect my landing, is all.”

His mum’s voice chimes in with a fond chuckle, “Perfect it you did, son. Broke both arms and had us all in stitches—not just ‘cause of the casts, but because you couldn’t stop fidgeting.”

“Oh, I remember,” he groans, recalling the itch of the casts and the boredom of sitting still for weeks. “I was goin’ mad with nothing to do!”

“That’s why I read to you,” his mum adds, the warmth in her voice audible even over the line. “You were always restless, even with two arms in casts.”

Soap’s grin turns a bit softer. “I remember that… just not the book itself. Somethin’ about a fox and a forest?”

His mum hums thoughtfully. “It was a sweet story, but I can’t recall the title. Do you, Cait?”

Cait only chuckles, clearly drawing a blank. “Oh, I remember the fuss he made, but the book? Not a chance.”

Soap shakes his head, feeling a little pang of nostalgia. “Wouldn’t mind findin’ it again someday. Reminds me of home.”

A few days later, Soap strides through the hallway, his arm still snug in a sling but his energy undeterred. He greets everyone he passes, effortlessly drawing smiles and laughter from a few soldiers standing by the vending machines. A corporal waves, and Soap flashes him a quick grin, offering a joking salute with his free hand. 

But today, he’s not here to soak up the attention. His steps have purpose, carrying him straight back to the quiet sanctuary of the records room. When he steps inside, the calm hits him like a breath of fresh air. His eyes land on you instantly, tucked in the back of the room, your head bent over something on the desk.

You’re focused, scribbling notes or reading from a thick stack of papers, and for a moment, Soap just watches. There’s something about the way the light catches on your face, the peaceful concentration you exude. He doesn’t even realise he’s smiling until his cheeks ache slightly. He adjusts his posture and clears his throat, strolling over casually, pretending not to notice the way his pulse picks up just a bit.

“Hey, there,” he says, his voice breaking the quiet like a soft ripple on a still pond. You glance up, blinking at the interruption, and he swears there’s a flicker of recognition in your gaze that makes his chest tighten.

“Back again?” you tease lightly, setting your pen down. “Getting into trouble already?”

“Nah, just takin’ it easy,” he says, his tone breezy. “Needed a break from bein’ so popular, y’know? The fans are relentless.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

He shifts slightly, leaning his good arm against the edge of the desk. “Actually, I was hopin’ you might be able to help me with somethin’. Feels a bit daft, but here goes.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the weight of how silly this might sound. “There’s this book. From when I was a kid. My Ma read it to me when I broke both arms once—don’t ask,” he adds quickly, grinning sheepishly. “But I can’t remember the title. Just bits of it.”

That piques your interest. You sit up a little straighter, curiosity lighting up your features. “What do you remember about it?” you ask, your tone genuinely warm.

Soap exhales, relieved you haven’t laughed him off, and starts piecing it together. “Right, so it was about this fox. A scrappy wee thing, always gettin’ into trouble. Lived in a forest, sneakin’ around like it owned the place. There was… a badger, I think? Big, grumpy fella, always tellin’ the fox to stop bein’ reckless. But the fox didn’t listen—bit of a troublemaker, that one.”

You nod, your attention fixed on him, and it spurs him on. “One part I remember clear as day—there was a trap. The fox got its paw caught, and I thought it was done for. Had my heart in my throat. My Ma kept tellin’ me it’d be fine, but I was sweatin’ over it.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as if to brush off the emotion. “Then there was somethin’ about the forest gettin’ destroyed, so the fox had to leave. Find a new home, y’know?”

You lean forward slightly, completely drawn in, and it makes his pulse quicken. “That sounds… really sweet, actually. And a little sad.”

“Aye, it was,” he says, his voice softer now. “Hit me like a brick back then. Think I might’ve cried—don’t tell anyone that,” he adds quickly, wagging a finger with mock severity.

Your smile widens. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But… you’re describing it so vividly. I might know it. Hang on.” You tap your chin thoughtfully, sorting through your mental catalog of titles. Soap watches you closely, his expression softening as you mentally sift through the possibilities. After a moment, you shake your head, regret flashing in your eyes. “I think I know the book, but I don’t have it here. Sorry.”

Soap raises his brows, clearly impressed. “You’ve got a memory like a steel trap, lass. How d’you even keep track of all that?”

You wave him off modestly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “It’s nothing, really. I just like books. Spend enough time with them, and you start remembering the little details.”

“Still,” you say, your tone tinged with determination. “I’ll keep an eye out. If it crosses my path, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

Soap’s grin widens, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes it hard to look away. “Aye, I’ll hold you to that.” His voice softens, and for a moment, there’s a quiet warmth between you that neither of you rush to fill.

“Thanks,” he says finally, the sincerity in his tone catching you slightly off guard. “You’re good company, y’know that?”

Before you can reply, he pushes off the desk with his good arm, the playful edge returning to his expression as he gives you a wink. “Don’t let me distract you too much, aye? I’ll see myself out.”

You manage a small laugh, watching as he makes his way toward the door, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in his wake. But just as he steps into the hallway, he pauses, glancing back through the open door.

For a brief second, his gaze softens, the memory of the fox, his Ma’s soothing voice, and the quiet comfort of your little nook weaving together to warm a part of him he hadn’t realised needed it. With a nod to himself, he turns away, the thought of returning already forming in the back of his mind.

. . .

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual hum of conversation and clatter of trays. Soap, now out of his sling and feeling like himself again, sat among Gaz, Ghost, and a few others from the base, his laughter loud and infectious as they swapped stories and teased one another. His attention was fully on Gaz’s exaggerated recounting of a drill mishap when Ghost’s gravelly voice cut through the din.

“Oi, Johnny. Little mouse headed this way.”

Soap blinked, confused, until Ghost gave a subtle nod toward the figure approaching from behind. Soap twisted around, and his breath hitched the moment he spotted you.

Springing to his feet far too quickly, Soap’s knee hit the table with a loud clang, trays rattling dangerously. The others shouted half-hearted complaints, but Soap didn’t care. All his attention was on you, standing there with a paper bag in hand, a shy smile gracing your lips.

“I—uh—hi,” Soap stammered, suddenly unsure of himself as you held the bag out toward him.

“I found it,” you said simply, your tone giddy. “Thought you might like to have it.”

He stared at the bag, then at you, before carefully taking it from your hands. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and he swore he felt a spark. Peeking inside, his jaw dropped. There it was—the book. The cover was pristine, like it had just been pulled from a bookstore shelf.

“You didn’t…” he began, but words failed him. His gaze flicked between the book and your face, awe written plainly across his features.

You chuckled softly, patting the hand that held the book. “It’s no big deal. Enjoy it, yeah?”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Soap frozen in place. He watched you go, only snapping out of his trance when Gaz whistled low under his breath. Soap turned back to the table, clutching the bag as if it held a treasure.

Seated back at the table, the book resting carefully in his lap, he barely touched his food, his usual chatter replaced by a soft, distracted smile. He flipped the book over in his hands, running his thumb along the edges of the paper bag, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Someone’s got a fan,” Gaz teased, grinning.

“Shut it,” Soap muttered, his cheeks flushing.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. One of the younger men at the table, a mechanic who had joined the base recently, leaned forward, asking him about you with a smirk edged with something he didn’t like, at all.

Soap’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching. Ghost, always the observer, grumbled lowly. “Leave it, lad,” he warned, his voice a quiet rumble. The mechanic wisely dropped the subject.

As the conversation shifted back to base gossip, Soap’s focus stayed on the book in his hands. He traced the edges of the paper bag absentmindedly, his mind replaying the moment you’d handed it to him and the warmth of your hand on his. His smile widened, soft and genuine, as he looked the book over again, the edges of the paper bag crinkling beneath his fingers.

Ghost glanced at Soap briefly, noting the faraway look in his eyes. With a barely audible snort, he shook his head and returned to his meal, leaving the smitten Scotsman to his thoughts.

. . .

Soap spent the better part of the next day scouring every corner of the base, peeking into offices, workshops, and even the records room during normal hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Each empty space only added to his frustration.

“Sneaky little mouse," he muttered under his breath with an undeniable smile, hands on his hips.

His gripping earned a chuckle from Gaz, who leaned back in his chair and exchanged a knowing look with Ghost. “Maybe you’re just not lookin’ in the right places, mate,” Gaz teased, popping a peanut into his mouth.

Ghost, however, offered a rare bit of practical advice. “Try the rec room. Late hours.” His tone was low, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sometimes I go there when I can’t sleep. Tea’s decent, and I watch matches on my phone. Could be she’s got the same idea.”

Soap perked up at the suggestion, nodding gratefully. “Aye, worth a shot. Thanks, mate!"

Later that evening, Soap made his way to the rec room. The base was quieter, the halls dimly lit, and the faint hum of a vending machine filled the otherwise empty space. As he approached the rec room, the soft clink of a kettle caught his attention. Peering in, he spotted you by the small kitchenette, the warm glow of the stove’s light illuminating your face as you poured hot water into a mug.

For a moment, he hesitated. His usual bravado faltered as he took in the calm scene, unsure how to approach without disturbing the peaceful air you carried with you. But then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped inside.

“Didn’t think I’d find you 'ere,” he said, his voice low but carrying a playful lilt.

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised but smiling softly when you saw him. “Evening, Sergeant. Tea, late-night stroll, or both?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both, maybe. Been lookin’ for you, actually. You’ve got a knack for disappearin’, y’know.”

You turned back to the stove, shaking your head lightly as you reached for another mug. “You found me now, didn’t you? Want some tea?”

“Aye, thanks.” Soap approached, watching as you handed him the steaming mug. He cradled it, savoring the warmth in his hands. “Listen, about the book…”

You waved him off, cutting him off before he could continue. “It’s nothing, really. I should be the one thanking you. You’ve shown interest in the books and my little corner. It means a lot to have someone notice.”

Soap blinked, caught off guard by your words. Before you could turn back around to retrieve your own mug, he reached out, catching your hand. His fingers curled around yours gently, his thumb brushing the back of your knuckles.

The contact was warm, steady, and startlingly tender.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “It wasn’t nothin’. You went out of your way for me, and… it means more than I can say.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when he lifted your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. His lips were warm, his expression earnest as he looked up at you, gratitude and something deeper shining in his eyes.

For once, you were the one left speechless, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of his sincerity settled over you. Soap released your hand gently, his fingers lingering for just a moment before pulling back.

“Thank you,” he said again, his voice a near whisper.

You swallowed, your cheeks feeling uncharacteristically warm. “You’re welcome, Sergeant,” you managed, offering him a soft smile.

“Stay a while?” he asked, nodding toward the small table tucked into the corner.

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could overthink it, you nodded, moving to sit down. He followed, his mug cradled in his hands as he eased into the chair across from you. The quiet hum of the room settled over you both, broken only by the soft clink of his mug against the table as he set it down.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it felt warm, almost fragile, like something new and precious was taking root between you.

“You’ve got a knack for this,” he said, his tone low and easy.

“For what?” you asked, taking a sip of your tea.

“Doin’ things that catch a man off guard,” he replied, his blue eyes glinting with something playful yet sincere. “Like huntin’ down a book I barely remembered just to give me a piece of my past back.”

You waved him off modestly, though the compliment made your chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "It's...just a book."

“To you, maybe,” he countered, his voice soft. “To me, it’s somethin’ more. And so’s this.”

He gestured vaguely, encompassing the quiet space you now shared, the table between you feeling more like a bridge than a barrier.

You lowered your gaze to your mug, the steam curling upward as you processed his words. There was a warmth in his voice, an openness you hadn’t expected but found yourself leaning into.

When you finally looked up, Soap was watching you, his gaze steady and filled with something unspoken. You held his eyes, the corners of your lips curving into a smile that matched his.

“This is nice,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Aye,” he agreed, his voice low. “It is.”

And as the two of you sat there, sipping tea and sharing quiet smiles, the space between you seemed to shrink, the glow of the moment wrapping around you both like a promise of something more to come.

banner credit

[ovaryacted]

Really random but dad bod DI Leon🤤🤤🤤 (I really love DI Leon if you couldn’t tell) like I love Leon w abs, and his hourglass shape but just him cuddling w you and being so warm and soft😢 (or when y’all are making love and his tummy just has us fitting together like puzzle pieces and it’s LIKE OMGMGM😭😭😭😭😭)

-🐏

cw: descriptions of body changes, internalized fatphobia, smutty thoughts/acts.

OHHHHHH DAD BOD LEON IS MY VICE PLEASE OH MY FUCKING GOD. LIKE RAHHHH, I NEED IT BAD. Ram anon, I'm on to you.

The changes happen after a year into his forced retirement, he doesn't realize it until he becomes more aware of the way your arms feel wrapping around his soft torso. Once adorned with hard muscle, his body now was covered in a layer of skin that expanded over time. He still had the same physique and the same capacity for strength, but there was an added softness he’d acquired recently that sent his head in for a spin.

Retirement has been good for Leon, he no longer has to deal with the hecticness of mission briefings and assignments. He gets to actually rest, his usual overactive nervous system now rendered down and becoming more manageable. The first couple of weeks he spent falling asleep in bed or on the couch, like his body was playing catchup on the energy that's been robbed from him over the years. You didn’t bother him about it, didn’t even judge him whenever you’d find him limp on the bed and snoring in the middle of the day.

You'd use that time to run errands or do chores around your shared home, often preparing meals for him whenever he'd wake up groggily to go look for you. Eating homemade meals that were made with love certainly started to add up, the consistent intake of food was new and apparently something that his body liked and needed. The constant nausea he often experienced when he was under so much stress went away, slowly learned how to enjoy eating again like he did years before he was forced to become an agent.

He never focused on his appearance most days, but as Leon stopped to observe himself in the mirror one morning, his eyes were fixated on his body. He's certainly changed after a while, stomach a little fuller and cheeks more plump than before, hell even his arms and thighs looked bigger. His initial reaction to the change would have been disgust, to put himself back on a routine to regain the muscle he's lost and to critique every imperfection that would eventually be another nuisance.

But as he looked at himself a little longer, a smile crept up on his face, not minding what he saw for probably the first time in his life. All he saw was your love for him, how the signs of you taking care of him after all this time were starting to reflect in how he looked. He was healthy, he was alive, and that was a win in his book.

You certainly didn't mind the changes either and took every opportunity to remind Leon of just how much you adored him. Cuddling him whenever you could was something that became a ritual between the two of you, sneaking under his arm and digging your face into his chest any chance you got. He was soft, warm, and just a tad bit squishy. He was human, he was himself, not some war machine meant to work like a dog day and night.

One of your favorite things about his new appearance was the intimate moments you both shared and how he felt around you both internally and externally. You loved getting on your knees and worshipping him, sucking over his cock lavishly and running your hands over his thick thighs, biting at them when Leon found himself lost in pleasure.

Or when you were riding him and the sound of his thighs slapping against yours was louder than before, his lower tummy rubbing into you, meshing together so well one would think you were part of the same whole. It made you feral, like a primal instinct to claim him and show him that all you wanted was to make him feel accepted in this new body. Leon didn't complain, he loved how your attraction to him seemed to skyrocket.

Maybe being a bit more soft wasn't so bad after all.

[luvyeni]

❛LITTLE PINK BOOK❜ ( p. jongsong )

p. schoolmate!jay x fem!reader w. 2.7k

warnings? — 𖦹 ( jay finding your book, your little secret pink book ) !

authors note. first full fic in a minute finally back after week, also thank you for 14k , i appreciate it🫶🏾 🤙🏾🤍

You were the spitting image of girl next door — your dad a business man; your mother a stay at home wife, your family went to church every single sunday, greeted all the older church ladies, smiling when the pinched your cheeks, telling you you’d make a honest wife.

You upheld the same image; getting good grades, having no friends — you kept to yourself , never getting in trouble; boring goody-two shoes if you’d asked other students in your class. So when you dropped your little pink book in front of park jongsong— not noticing as you kept walking, he wasn’t even gonna bother picking it up, but he decided to do something good and return it. “hey!” you didn’t hear him, continuing on down the hall.

he hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day, so he ended up taking the book home with him, tossing it on the table, it opened wide. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he was still curious— what did a girl like you; a little church mouse write about?

Sitting on the edge of the desk, opening the book; reading off a random page — he was so shocked by the contents that he had to read the name over, making sure it was actually yours, he flipped through the pages in awe. Pages upon pages of straight porn is what jay would call it — your every dirty fantasy written down, things you did to yourself, things you want to do to other people, it was a lot — even a confession of the lost of the virginity; god he wished it was him who was the to defile you first.

“fuck.” He curse, getting hard at the words, it was so dirty — then he turned the page, and the first thing he saw just made him harder, his name, he adjusted himself , but it didn’t help as he read the page — ‘I do anything he asked me to’. You were saying that about him , you wrote about what you wanted him to do.

His hands traveled down to his pants, just has his door opened — he quickly tossed the book leaning over to cover up his hard on, his mother walking in; just in time. “you’re home?” he nodded , trying to catch his breath. “yes.”

“why do you look so nice?” he questioned. “get dressed for dinner, we’re meeting your dads new business partner for dinner at their home.” He sighed, he hated these things. “really? do I have to come?” his mom nodded. “yes you do, the y/ln’s are good people, we need to get in their good graces.” He froze at the last name. “y/ln?”

“yeah.” His mom hummed. “they have a daughter, sweet girl she does to your school, do you know her?” he shrugged, trying to keep his cool; yeah he knew you — well he thought he did. “big school probably passed her a couple times.” He said. “well she’s gonna be there tonight so dress nice.” He nodded, she walked out , closing the door leaving him alone.

He picked the book up, sitting it down on the table — finding a outfit for the night. “jay be quick we leave 5!” his mom yelled from the steps. “okay!” he stuffed the book in his pocket with a smirk on his face. “you look nice baby.” He thanked his mom. “be on your best behavior son, your father needs this deal.” He couldn’t promise anything, he definitely had other things in mind. “I promise.”

You sat on your bed, going through your homework; your door opening making you look up. “you wearing that?” your mother said, making you look down at your outfit. “well it’s just dinner with daddy’s co worker.” you said, your mother nodding opting to not fight with you. “I guess so, did you finish your homework? They should be here soon?”

“yes, im just finishing up now.” You said. “good, I’ll call you when you they get here.” She left you, closing the door. You began to put your stuff in your bag — noticing something; your little pink book, it was missing. “oh no.” you said, searching through your bag, dumping everything out — gone, it was gone. “shit.” You couldn’t even remember where you last saw it, you always kept it tight with you.

You began pacing, if anyone found out what you wrote in that book you’d be in trouble — who could even have it? Did anyone have is? If so who? All these thoughts raced through your mind, just as your mother called out for you. “dinner!” you sighed, smoothing out your skirt, you couldn’t let your parents see you shaken up, blowing out a breathe before leaving out your room.

You made your way down the steps — your mother and waiting at the bottom. “there she is, come here baby.” Your mom pulled you to her side, kissing your forehead. “mom.” You whined, the couple in front of you laughing. “these are the parks.” You held your hand out shaking both of them. “nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you as well young lady.” The older man said. “such a pretty daughter, much prettier than you described her.” You smiled, nodding your head. “thank you ma’am.” She smiled. “our son jay is in the car, getting the gift he’ll be in soon.”

Jay? As in park jongsong? You knew him all too well, he was the subject of just about everything recently you wrote about in your journal — if he was the one to find it, you’d die.

“ah! There he is.” Mr.park called for the boy as he walked in the room, holding the bottle of wine. “sorry it took so long.” He bowed to your parents, his eyes honing in on you. “I do know you.” Your breath caught in your throat, how did he know you? He hardly paid attention to anybody else but his friends. “h-how?”

“you’re in my history class, you sit in the back quite as little mouse.” He smiled, you didn’t even notice the look in his eyes — full of hunger. “head always in a book.” Your mom slapped your arm. “I told you about that.” You hissed. “im sorry.”

“lets take a seat.” Your father guided everyone to the eating area; jay took a seat across from you— you can feel his eyes on you. You looked up, eyes locking on you— did he know? You squinted your eyes in confusion and he smiled, before turning to your father. “may i use the restroom?”

“sure son, yn could you show him?” you looked up from the empty plate. “m-me?” you said. “yes you.” You dad laughed along with the parks. “oh ye-yeah sure.” You stood up, jay mimicking you. “fo-follow me.” You walked up the steps, he followed behind you, book in his pocket — like a predator stalking his prey.

You walked to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, pushing the door open. “here you go.” You went to walk away, until he spoke up. “you really don’t know who I am?” you stopped , heart racing. “we-well we do go to the same school.” You said. “that’s it?” he said, reaching in his pocket — revealing the pink book, your heart dropping. “really?”

“h-how do you have that?” you stuttered. “oh this, you dropped it.” He said. “see I was gonna leave it, then i decided to give it back.” He said, stepping closer to you, making you take a step back. “but you didn’t answer, so I took it home — and then I got a little curious.” He said; so he did read it. “for such a cute and innocent face, you surely write about a lot of dirty thing in this notebook.”

He was now pressing you against the wall. “I also no, daddys little girl has been lying about being a virgin, seems like somebody already popped that little cherry of yours.” He smirked. “jay— princess and the things you said about me, damn.” He dry laughed. “for someone who’s never said a word to me, you surely want me to do a lot of things to you.” His hand came up to your face, caressing it. “what was it?” he teased. “let me do whatever I want to you.”

He was pressing against you, you could feel his hard on your stomach. “seems like our little church mouse is hiding many secrets.” You couldn’t get a word out, but the way his hands traveled down your body, his hand burning your exposed skin made your body tingle. “we-we have to go back down stairs.”

He smiled, stepping to the side, letting you walk past. “yeah we do, don’t want daddy to think im doing anything to his precious little girl right.?” You tried to gather yourself, panties sticking uncomfortable to your cunt as— he walked past you, whispering in your ear. “this isn’t over baby.”

You made it back to your seat before jay did, sitting down. “he’ll be down soon.” You sat down, your mom finally bringing the food from the kitchen — jay finally returning, sitting down in his seat, his eyes on you, you looked down at your plate, secretly fanning your warm face.

He didn’t make dinner easier either , using his foot to toy with you, starring at you so intensely that you would stumble over your words every time his parents would ask you a question.

“dinner was lovely, Mrs. yln.” Jay said. “thank you jay such a sweet boy.” If only she knew the thoughts he was having about her sweet daughter. “it was lovely dear, but I believe there is business to disgust.” Your dad said. “mr.park?” your dad stood. “my office?”

“Mrs. park while the men discuss business would you like some wine?” your mother asked. “sure why not, you kids can go play amongst yourselves right.” Jay laughed. “we aren’t 5.” His mom glared at him. “but im sure we can find something to do.” He turned to you, you could see his eyes full of lust. “right?”

They dismissed you both, sending you both upstairs, putting enough trust in both of you— they were wrong; the moment the door closed to your bedroom, he was grabbing your arm, pulling you close to him, pressing his forehead against yours. “j-jay.”

“so pretty.” He whispered, holding his hands in your hand. “what do you want?” your mind went blank. “an-anything.” You whimpered. “yeah, let me do whatever I want?” his other hand coming up to his collar, undoing the tie. “yes, please ” He could see the look in your blown out eyes— you wanted this just as bad as he did. “okay little mouse.”

Taking the tie — you looked so confused. “give me your hands.” you held your hand out. “I believe this was in that little fuck book of yours.” Your ears were hot from embarrassment. “what was it? Ah I believe it said you wanted me to tie your hands behind your back and have my way with you.” He smirked, turned you around, tying your hands. “what else did you write?”

“yo-you read it didn’t you?” you whimpered, just wanting him to touch you. “yeah, but I want to hear you say it.” He said. “so, tell me baby, what did you write.” He pressed his cock against your ass. You whimpered, he left little kisses down your neck. “i-i sa-said i wanted you to fuck my face.” He smirked. “yeah you did.”

“get on your knees.” He commanded, you compiled immediately. “oh baby , it's like you’re used to this.” He tease. “almost like you’ve done this before.” Truth be told, you haven’t — you weren’t a virgin anymore, losing your virginity to you secret boyfriend months prior, but that’s it.

“i-i haven’t.” hearing that made his cock twitch. “so you were writing all those dirty things without having done any of them.” He laughed furthering your embarrassment. “don’t worry, baby I got you.” He undid his belt, letting his pants fall to his ankles, along with his underwear, his cock slapping against his stomach, it was much bigger than the ones you seen, wanting to touch but you couldn’t due to the restrictions. “give it a kiss pretty girl.”

He hissed as he felt the shortness of your lips. “fuck, now open up.” You slowly opened your mouth, letting him slide his cock into your wet cavern. “fuck, there we go.” He sighed, slowly pushing himself inside. “just be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth.”

He started off slow, just to ease you into it — speeding up his movements gradually, his tip kissing the back of your throat. “fuck your little throat is sucking me like crazy.” You began to gag around him, unable to grab his thighs, he grabbed your head to steady you. “go-gonna fuck your face.”

Using your throat, throwing his head back. “fuck , gonna cum.” groaned, pushing himself fully down your throat, groaning in pleasure as he came, filling your throat with his warm seed. “oh fuck.” He let your hair go , releasing your head — you coughed, lips swollen and wet. “so nasty.” He tapped his cock on your lips. “looked so fuck out just from sucking cock.”

Thing’s escalated from there, he pulled you up. “what else was is?” you felt him reach under your skirt. “what else did you want me to baby?” your voice was sore, legs wobbly as he pushed you on to the bed, arms still behind your back. “i-i wanted you to fuck me.”

“good girl.” he maneuvered your body into his desired position, your ass up in the air — pulling your panties down, the air hitting your cunt, you whined. “look how wet you are.” He tease your cunt with his fingers. “such a slutty pussy baby, little church mouse wants me to use her.” He slapped your ass, you yelped. “be quite unless you want mommy and daddy to hear how much of a slut you are.”

You felt him shuffling behind you, wiggling your hips. “stay still.” You felt another slap on your ass, you bit down on your plushie, moaning as you felt the warmth of his cock. “daddy would be so disappointed.” He slapped his cock on your cunt, teasing the tip of his cock into your hole. “seeing his daughter tied up — fuck!” he groaned as he fully seethed himself inside you. “j-jay.”

He was much thicker than the guy before, filling you up; moving his hips. “fuck this cunt is so fucking tight.” He squeezed your ass. “fuck!” you squealed, “jay please.” He began to move faster, grabbing your arms as he fucked into you, your shoulders were going to hurt in the morning, but you couldn’t care less with the way he was fucking you. “I should’ve known this innocent church girl was disguise.” He groaned. “that you really were a slut.”

He lifted you up by your wrist, roughly fucking into faster. “something else I read in that book.” He moaned. “you want me to make you squirt.” He cursed, his hand coming around to your clit, rubbing it. “if that’s what you want, then I want you to squirt for me.” He slapped at your cunt. “cum for me.” He whispered into your ear, your eyes rolled to the back of the head, as you came, he released your arms, letting you face plant into your pillows as he continued to plow into you.

“fuck, fuck im gonna cum, where do you want it?” he groaned. “i-inside.” Your voice muffled in the pillow. “please.” He grunted, thrusting a few more times, feeling the warmth of his cum filling you up. “fuck.” He stopped moving, his cock twitching.

He finally undid his tie from your hands, gently laying your lower body down. “good girl.” He said softly. “let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

“jay!” you heard his mom yelling down the steps. “time to go.” He pulled the covers over your body , still holding the book in his hands. “gonna keep this pretty girl.” He smirked. “got a lot of reading to do.” He said , walking out, forgetting his tie — knowing you’d have to walk up and give it back to him, he could see your shy red face as you approach him, nervously giving him the tie back, almost made him horny again. he was determined to do everything you wanted him to do in the book.

He was gonna turn you into his perfect little slut.

©️LUVYENI

[xoxovanillq]

Second Chance Ch. 1

Pairing- Childhoodbestfriend!Steve x Introverted!reader

Warnings- Drunk Steve, Alcohol mention, Steve being an asshole, regret, kissing.

A/N- This was so fun to write, and part 2 should be out soon. This actually hit close to home tho cuz I got dumped by my childhood bestie right after lockdown ended

———

Steve-fucking-Harrington, childhood best friend, turned to someone you considered an enemy.

Elementary school was great, sitting on the porch together, eating popsicles, fighting over who was the faster runner. Middle school wasn’t bad either, minus a few arguments and awkward moments. Late nights were spent lying in your backyard, giggling and gossiping over who had a crush on who, and who was dating who. This was around the time you started noticing his popularity rise, more girls were starting to take interest in him, I mean, yourself included, but that was something he never knew. High school is when things went downhill, rather than laughing with him on the porch, you sat alone, staring down at your shoes, hiding inside whenever him and his new, cool friends came driving past your house. It all still hurt, the way it was as if you were erased from his memory, like he never knew you at all. 

Your phone rang, interrupting your otherwise quiet night. You set down your book, “Pride and Prejudice” and picked up the phone.

“Hey, Y/N, you think you could come help me out?” It was Robin’s voice, and you could hear drunken chatter and the other sounds of a party in the background.

“Depends on what it is.” You reply with an exasperated sigh, you were trying to have a relaxing night in, and having to save someone at a party didn’t sound like something you wanted to do right now.

“Listen, I need help getting Steve home, and before you complain, I’m not gonna be able to drive him home and you’re the only one I know that could help.” She explains before you can interject. She knew how he hurt you, and how you still disliked him to this day.

“God, fine, only because I want you to be happy.” You groan as Robin thanks you before hanging up. You put the phone back on the receiver and make your way to the party. 

Once you arrive at the house, you’re immediately hit with the overwhelming scent of alcohol and vomit, making you gag. You quickly find Robin, a drunken Steve at her side.

“Did you get him water?” You ask with a sigh, already over having to deal with him.

“Mhm, now get him home please, I’ve got things to do.” Robin reply’s, helping shift him toward you. You wrap an arm around the drunken boy, his hazy eyes meeting yours.

“I know I’m the last person you want to spend the night with, but let’s go.” You murmur, and he luckily complies as you get him into your car.

The drive home is fairly silent, until you turn onto your street.

“I don’t know why I ditched you.” He slurs drunkenly, and your heart seizes. You knew he wasn’t in his right mind, but hearing him say those words still meant something. “I thought they were cool or whatever, but now everyone’s off to college and I’m stuck working a stupid, dead-end job.” His words were sincere, no matter how drunk he was, it was all the truth. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, it seemed like he’d changed, not completely, but enough to give him another chance.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.” You murmur, helping him out of the car and into your house, where you then got him settled on the couch.

You could hear him mumbling to himself as you got him water, and when you set it on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes landed on your face.

“You’re pretty, you’ve always been pretty.” He slurs, and you give a brief smile, acknowledging the comment without giving it any time to blossom into anything more.

You brought him a blanket, telling him to rest before retreating to your bedroom. 

As you laid in bed that night, his words kept replaying in your head, and you couldn’t help the little swell of excitement you got in your chest when you thought of him. He was still as handsome as always, with his gorgeous carmel locks and big brown eyes. You dreamed of him, of what it would’ve been like if he hadn’t ditched you, if your life hadn’t taken that turn.

In your dreams, you lay in his arms, his face tucked into your neck. You were utterly in love, attending college together, planning out the rest of your lives. Unfortunately, when you woke up, you were forced to face the harsh reality.

You walked downstairs, expecting to see Steve on the couch, but he was nowhere to be found, until you spotted him out on the porch.

“What are you doing out here?” You ask quietly, confused as to his sudden change in location.

“You deserve an apology, and I figured there was no better place to do it.” He says quietly, his voice low as you sit down beside him. “I really shouldn’t have done that, I was an asshole to you, and look where that got me. I know this isn’t nearly what you deserve in the forms of an apology, and I understand if you never want to see me ever again.” He explains, looking down at his shoes.

“Thank you, I mean, I can kinda understand why you did it, being popular feels good, especially when there’s no one at home to make you feel like you matter.” You knew all too well about the situation at home, all the times he stayed over at your house as kids, all thanks to his neglectful parents. “For the record, I really don’t want to lose you, not after getting you back.” You add, and you find your hand in his, fingers laced together.

“You know, I had a crush on you all through elementary and middle school, always thought you were pretty, even after I left.” He says, squeezing your hand a little.

“I know, last night, you said some things. I’ve always liked you too, I mean, I don’t think that’s a huge surprise, everyone likes you.” You smile sadly, which makes his heart ache. He’d hurt you enough, and didn’t want to do any more damage.

“I’d be willing to give us another chance, but maybe as more than friends.” He offers, his tone soft, fearing rejection. Your silence scared him, but before he could react, you were pressing your lips to his, and his hands flew to your lower back, holding you close.

You spent most of the day like that, sitting on the porch and chatting, catching up on the last 4 years.

[navybrat817]

Book Boyfriend

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Summary: Bucky is better than any book boyfriend. You'll prove it to him. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: E.S.C., (o)ral (m. receiving), (d)irty talk, possible touch of insecurity, slight feels (it's me, okay), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: A Stud and Smartie "drabble" for Sinday thanks to a wonderful prompt provided by @drabblewithfrannybarnes . I hope I did this justice, my beautiful friend! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone , so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the wonderful @sgt-seabass, and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

It was supposed to be a harmless game night. Something fun for you, Bucky, and your friends to unwind. Between classes, work, and everything in between, you all deserve a break.

You didn't expect to be on your knees for Bucky while everyone hung out in the living room.

His. Fault. My fault? No, it's his fault that his perfect cock is sliding in and out of my mouth when I should be a good hostess.

You would remind him of that later once everyone left.

For now, you had to take care of him.

It began a few minutes prior when Clint started setting up the next game while you snuggled with Bucky on the couch. That was after you tried to make sure everyone had a drink or snack and he snaked a hand out to pull you down beside him. He firmly wrapped an arm around you to pin you to the spot when you attempted to get up.

“What does a guy have to do to get your attention?” he asked as you tucked your legs beneath you.

A strange look crossed your face as he pulled you closer. “You think you don’t have my attention?”

Bucky decided to wear a tight blue t-shirt and spritz himself in your favorite cologne before everyone showed up. You couldn’t even concentrate on the first game you played because the scent left you dizzy, along with his hand teasing your inner thigh. You told him you’d yank on his hair if he kept it up.

“That a promise?” was his retort.

Menace.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said in a singsong tone. “You didn’t pay much attention to me today.”

“We cleaned the apartment so it would look nice for everyone,” you reminded him.

“You had your headphones on for most of the day,” he pouted.

An actual pout, which you were tempted to kiss away.

“It helped the cleaning go by faster, that’s all,” you said, moving your body closer to lean against him. “You always have my attention, Stud.”

Always.

"Are you two going to be lovey-dovey all night?" Sam asked. “I guess that isn’t different from any other night with you two. No wonder Alpine’s hiding.”

"Give them a break,” Steve intervened, the corner of his lip lifting in a small smile. “It's sweet."

"Yeah,” you smiled. “Let me be lovey with my boyfriend."

"Aww, so you do wanna pay attention to me,” Bucky teased, placing his hand back on your thigh.

Like he had during the previous game.

“You wanna be lovey with me, Smartie?"

"Hold on, big boy,” you giggled, putting your hand over his. You didn’t push it away since, well, you liked having his attention, too. “Maybe not where they can see."

Bucky’s friends put up with the two of you flirting and dancing around each other before you started dating. Having to deal with the two of you once you got together was another level. And while Steve thought you two were sweet and Natasha planned to help you design a wedding dress, which you argued you weren’t engaged, you didn’t want to flaunt or make them uncomfortable.

Bucky’s lips brushed the shell of your ear before he whispered in a low voice, "You think I give a fuck if any of them see?"

You sat up straight as you attempted to process the words that came out of his mouth.

No. That has to be a coincidence. Act normal. Don't give anything away. Like we're playing poker.

"Get on your fucking knees for me,” he rasped, nipping your earlobe hard enough that you had to bite back a whimper. “Show me how much you love me."

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck.

"…You listened to my audio book?" you asked, closing your eyes because you were sure you’d combust if you looked at him.

And how would you explain that to the gang?

“Not on purpose. You left it running when you took a break to feed Al. I am, however, a little offended because why would you listen to that when you have me?” he asked, cupping your chin and turning your face toward his.

You kept your eyes shut. You weren't exactly embarrassed that he caught you. Not completely. Lots of people listened to naughty books.

“You know I love to read. You could’ve just picked a book for us to read together and act out. I can get my voice nice and deep, just like when my cock’s inside you.”

Brain does not compute. Smartie is going into reboot mode. I’m thinking of myself in the third person. Goodbye.

“Open your eyes, doll,” he urged, smiling when you obeyed. “There’s my beautiful girl. And I think you do wanna get on your knees for me,” he said, like it was just the two of you there.

Up close, you could see how blown his pupils were. The hand on your thigh didn’t inch higher, but his grip tightened like he was trying to stay in control. And all you could think about was how quickly you could suck him off before the next game.

“Be right back!” you announced, surprising yourself with your strength as you managed to stand up and pull your large boyfriend with you.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked as you dragged Bucky away.

“I think they’re gonna play ‘hide and seek’,” Natasha answered.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Clint questioned. “I can think of a few other names for it.”

You drowned out the conversation as you pulled Bucky to your bedroom and shut the door. You didn't mean for the kiss to be so desperate, but hearing the rasp of his voice as he repeated the naughty audio back to you riled you up once the shock wore off. He didn't seem to mind as your lips parted to allow his tongue inside.

Hell, you could consider it a blessing that he heard since it sounded a million times hotter coming from him.

"No more audio books," he said as he leaned against your door, staring you down as you dropped to your knees.

You were glad the light was on so you could see the desire in his eyes.

A look that only you got to see.

"Why not?" you asked as you worked his jeans open, smiling as you gave him your best doe-eyed expression.

"Because I want my voice to be the only one you get off to," he said, brushing a hand along the top of your head as you froze. "Is that wrong of me?"

The adoring smile on his face was met with one of your own. "Is that why you've been wanting my attention tonight?” you asked, your smile falling a bit. “You think I prefer a book boyfriend over you?"

He didn't say anything, but his smile fell a bit, too.

Oh, hell no.

Your brilliant, hard working boyfriend, the gorgeous, solid wall of muscle, your rock, the man who worked his way into your heart and became your best friend. Was he actually jealous of some random man's voice reading filth to you? As if that guy would ever compare to the perfect man in front of you.

You refused to let him feel anything less than the confident man you fell for, especially when he made you feel like a goddess.

"Who do you think I'm thinking about when I read, or listen, to any romance novel? It's YOU, Bucky. And when the book ends, I actually have you," you promised, your mouth watering as you distracted him long enough to get his cock out. The adoring gaze is still on your face as you stroke him. "And I love being on my knees for you, just like you do for me. You taste so good and you're so big. Chokes me in the best way."

"Fuck," he whispered as you licked him from base to tip.

You weren't lying when you said you loved the taste of him. Musky, delectable, something so masculine, you'd always want more. Because it was Bucky’s taste and his dick and his everything.

"I want you to ruin my mouth the way you did outside of the shop," you challenged.

If he can fuck my throat in the car before going back to work, he can do it here.

You swirled your tongue around him before swallowing him down. You didn't stop until the tip hit the back of your throat. It didn't matter if you choked or gagged, or if your jaw ached from the girth of him, as long as he knew how much you loved him.

"My dirty girl sucking me off while our friends are here. Can't even go a day without my cock in one of your holes, can you?" he groaned, keeping his hand on the back of your head. "Look at me, please. Let me see those pretty eyes while you take me."

You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked a bit harder, your tongue teasing him just the way he liked it. You didn't want him to hold back and you hoped the warmth of your mouth would allow him to lose himself for a short time. The way his thigh trembled under your touch, it wouldn't take him long.

"So fucking beautiful like this," his strained voice made you moan. "Should keep you under the table so you can keep me warm before I fill you up later."

Drool sweeped around your swollen lips as your nose bumped the patch of coarse curls. The image of him playing cards while you kept your mouth around him made your panties damp. Maybe you could explore that one day.

"I'm close," he warned you, his head almost hitting the door. You refused to tear your gaze away as you glided your teeth ever so gently along him. "You gonna swallow it like a good girl? Take everything I give you?"

He was giving you an out in case you didn't want to.

Which only made you double your efforts.

Bucky came with a moan so deep it almost got you off. Warm on your tongue, you swallowed his release as much as you could before you began to lick him clean. Seeing him flushed and satisfied as he caught his breath made you smile once you finished and tucked him back in his underwear.

"I need to taste you now," he groaned, gripping your arms to help you to your feet.

And that’s another reason why you’re better than any book boyfriend.

“Wait,” you croaked when he kissed you, seemingly uncaring that the taste of him was still fresh in your mouth. “You know I adore you, right?" you asked, pausing to clear your throat again. "And you're the only one I want."

Whether he was actually jealous that you listened to a smutty audiobook or not, you needed to say that.

“I know, Smartie,” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose. “I adore you, too. I'll take you over a book girlfriend any day of the week."

You better.

You could blame being on your knees for why you fell against him for support. “They’re probably waiting for us.”

And they'll be able to tell from my voice exactly what we were up to.

"I think they started without us,” he smirked. “Besides, we're not done playing 'hide and seek'.”

If anyone could convince you to hide in your room and play a bit longer, it was Stud.

Lucky for you, it was a game you’d both have the pleasure of winning.

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fortheloveofwonderland]

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him. 

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them. 

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment. 

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone. 

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things. 

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact. 

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff. 

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal. 

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC. 

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later. 

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends. 

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace. 

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter. 

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium. 

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole. 

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her. 

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did. 

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you. 

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love. 

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour. 

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit. 

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer. 

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page. 

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply. 

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective. 

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark. 

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them. 

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk. 

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me. 

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes. 

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters. 

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting. 

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse. 

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all. 

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done. 

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from. 

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now. 

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time. 

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss. 

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you. 

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived. 

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that. 

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain. 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. 

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse. 

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him. 

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know. 

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him. 

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real. 

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness. 

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared. 

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins. 

Spencer, 

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life. 

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” 

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him. 

But then one of his best friends died. 

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table. 

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this. 

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away. 

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean. 

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders. 

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did. 

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them. 

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.” 

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply. 

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand. 

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were. 

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive. 

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man. 

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive. 

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop. 

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic. 

But that’s not why I’m writing. 

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to. 

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t. 

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places. 

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore. 

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you. 

But you couldn’t. And so you replied. 

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to. 

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore. 

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street. 

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page. 

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go. 

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre. 

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now. 

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him. 

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home. 

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page. 

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul. 

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.” 

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any. 

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply. 

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that. 

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with. 

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years. 

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him. 

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that. 

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud. 

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.” 

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.” 

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged. 

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years. 

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?” 

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.” 

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!” 

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.” 

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?” 

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?” 

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence. 

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand. 

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence. 

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive. 

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation. 

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life. 

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible. 

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist - 

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands. 

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up. 

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence. 

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.” 

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it. 

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you  propose to ever meet me? 

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again. 

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right. 

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response. 

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it. 

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother. 

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily. 

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you. 

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply. 

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess. 

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it. 

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home. 

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline. 

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him. 

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out. 

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant. 

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips. 

“Let what go?” His frown deepened. 

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop. 

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open. 

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back. 

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor. 

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart. 

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours. 

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you. 

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes. 

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy. 

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears. 

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey. 

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart. 

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely. 

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating. 

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach. 

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk. 

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm. 

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.” 

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away. 

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe. 

“Spence?” 

“Yes Y/N?” 

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?” 

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place. 

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper. 

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives. 

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth. 

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given. 

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby//Part 2

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!fem!Reader

(part 1)(part 3)

18+Only, mature content, intimacy smut, sweet!Eddie, nipple play, praise!kink, masturbation, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, toxic mother, self-esteem issues, alcohol consumption, implied self-loathing, pet names, implied sex with someone other than reader, paid sex. wc: 4.6k

summary: After that first night together on your 29th birthday when you lost your virginity to gigolo Eddie, he mentions, in his own way, that he'd like to see you again off the clock. Reader is an introvert dealing with self-esteem issues and invites Eddie to be our date for a wedding, but not before he invites us back to his place.

authors note: I never intended this to be more than one part, but it quickly became a favorite, and I had so many requests for more. Who am I to deny us more of sweet, gigolo Eddie?

All of your support means the world, and I very much look forward to your thoughts ❤️

pls no minors beyond this point

-------

You still couldn’t tell if it was real.  When he said he wouldn’t charge you if you ever wanted to meet up again. It felt sincere when he said it, but now, two days later, by the phone with gigalo Eddie’s number in your hand, you were convinced that it was all part of his game.  Maybe he was just that good.

He knew everything that would turn you on, everything you needed to hear, right down to the pet names and the missionary style, intimate sex. It had all been in the paperwork you’d submitted. It was nothing but a job to him, and you had totally fallen for it.  

Now you felt like one of those idiot, lovesick men at the strip clubs who always believed that the girls were really in love with them after they made eye contact a few times and tipped them for hours on end. 

You did your affirmations in the mirror that morning, trying not to look at yourself from the side in the full length mirror and pinch at the parts of your body you thought were gross.  Trying not to indulge in the morning ritual of hating yourself.

Even if Eddie had felt some type of real connection with you—which you now highly doubted—how would things progress between the two of you? From what Robin had told your friend Nellie, Eddie was a busy boy.  He was a respected gigalo within a 50 mile radius, and his list of regular clients was long; your evening with him was booked a month in advance.  On nights when he didn’t have clients, he was practicing with his band or playing gigs, and you were sure he could have any woman he wanted when he performed.

But then the phone rang as you were sitting there right next to it and you jumped, a shriek escaping your throat.

It was your mom, reminding you to pick up the dress for your cousin's wedding the following weekend. You weren’t going to be in the wedding party, but your mother had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want you to embarrass her with any of the styles of clothes you would’ve picked out for yourself.  

She exhaled a haggard breath.  “I suppose you still haven’t found a date? There’s a new boy who goes to our church. I think he might even like you, as long as you don’t bring up any of your strange conspiracy theories or serial killer statistics. Wear that special bra I got for you, and put a little makeup on.  Men like women who try to look nice for them.”

You wanted so badly to let your mother know that you’d recently paid for a gigolo to take your virginity, just to hear the horror and panic in her voice.  You were already a disappointment to her, why not put a cherry on top?

You put Eddie’s number on the table and stared at it while she talked.  “Actually,” you took a stiff swallow that felt like a marble in your throat.  “I do have a date.  For the wedding.  His name is Eddie.”

You relished the silence of shock at the other end. “Oh? What does this Eddie do? Not another jobless musician like the last boy you had a crush on, I hope?”

You winced at the way she brought it up.  Almost a decade ago, you had a crush on the brother of one of your friends, that is until you overheard him refer to you as “creepy”.

You knew she’d never drop it until you told her something; what a person did for a living and their social standing was very important to your mother.  “He’s, um,” you looked around, eyes landing on one of the cassette tapes on the shelf for the band Mike and The Mechanics.

“He’s a mechanic,” but you knew that wouldn’t be good enough.  “He, uh, runs his own auto body garage.” The lie—the fact that you even had to lie—made you squeeze your eyes shut.

She of course asked what the name of his garage was, and you told her he was from out of town and only coming in for the wedding.  She started badgering you with more questions and you lied and told her someone was at the door of your apartment and you had to go, hanging up the receiver before she could protest.  

A few hours later, after listening to music on full blast in your headphones and nearly pacing a hole in the carpet, you cracked open the nerve to call Eddie.

Your blood ran freezing cold as it rang on his end, and you glanced at the clock: it was just after 8:00pm.  You’d purposely waited until it was later in the evening, praying that he’d be with his band or with another client, and then you could leave him a message on his machine.  You were banking on this, actually.  If he picked up and you heard his voice, you’d probably hang up on him.

As luck would have it, you did get his answering machine.  Nervous as all hell, your voice was a tad squeaky at first, but then you cleared your throat. 

You decided you would present the invitation to be your date to the wedding as a job, one you would pay him for.  You let him know you’d had a great time the other night, and then made sure he had your phone number, and that you would TOTALLY understand if he was already busy that weekend.  You were about to hang up when you realized that you’d never said exactly who you were, and so you blurted your name out at the last minute, but it was too late because the recorder beeped and cut you off.

You went to bed that night convinced you would never hear from him again.  

Much later that night, after a long day, Eddie grinned down at the answering machine the second he heard your voice—he knew it was you right away.  He’d been thinking about you nonstop since that night you’d been together, but he never expected to hear from you.  He worried that he had put you on the spot when he said you wouldn’t have to pay him, and it had probably made you uncomfortable.  Flirting on the job was not something he had done before and it was very unprofessional of him. At the very least, he needed to apologize to you.

But there you were, calling him this soon as if you’d been thinking about him too.  

He tucked his hand in his armpit and nibbled at his lip when you asked if he was free this weekend to go to a wedding with you.

His heart skipped a beat.  He was thinking something more along the lines of dinner and a movie, but, sure, he would be your date—he had a tux. He’d have to reschedule one of his regulars, but she would understand. Other guys might’ve seen that as getting too serious too quick, but not Eddie.  He hadn’t had a girlfriend, or even been on a date that was not work related in over a year.  Women weren’t interested in taking a gigolo home to meet their parents.  They wanted his cock in all of their holes, but none of them ever wanted to know how his day went or what his dreams were.  

“So, just let me know…” you continued in the message.  “...if you’re available, and how much would you charge for something like that? I’d totally understand if…”

Damn it, he cursed to himself, sucking air in the side of his cheek.  He thought that invitation was sounding a little too good to be true.  

All the same, he called back the next day and left a message while you were at the local grocery store where you worked as an assistant manager, letting you know he’d be honored to be your date, and to tell him the where and the when.

But he did not give a price, and the omission was not lost on you.

—-----

You were so nervous, you could puke.

But it was still a day before the wedding, and you were in attendance at the post-rehearsal dinner at Enzo’s.  Although you were not going to be in the wedding, your beautiful, outgoing sister Judith was, and you weren’t entirely against a dinner paid for by your uncle at one of the fanciest restaurants in town.  

You were feeling the buzz of the wine and trying to play wallflower as the other four people at the table, including your sister and three of her friends, engaged in lively conversation and shared exaggerated stories from their college years.  You were sitting back in your chair, offering a chuckle to something that was just said, when you looked across to the main entrance and saw Eddie coming through the door.  

You were only looking in his direction for maybe five seconds before you looked away, but it felt like an hour.  There was an ocean in your ears as your heartbeat soared and your brain scrambled to make sense of what was going on. 

He looked particularly beautiful.  Hair worn down, framing his face, a crisp white button down, allowing for the dark designs of his chest tattoos to show, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, exposing his defined forearm muscles and tattoos.  

Eddie was not alone.  

Next to him, holding onto his arm, was a very pretty woman.  Shoulder length, brunette hair brushed back from her face, flawless skin, tight black dress and gold jewelry.  She might have been mid to late thirties, much shorter than Eddie. They appeared to be very cozy as they stood waiting to be shown to their booth, and when she turned to ask him something, Eddie answered, and then kissed the back of her hand.

You snapped your eyes back to the table, twirled the stem of your wine glass a few times, and then lifted it to your lips for a generous gulp.  Everyone at your table was just tipsy enough to not notice how flustered you got, cheeks blooming red hot.

Eddie saw you while he was escorting Lana to their table, but he wasn’t sure if you had seen him yet or not.  This was his fifth “date” with Lana.  Her husband passed away four years ago, and she’d decided that she’d never love another man again as much as she’d loved him, so she didn’t want any romantic attachments.  What she wanted was a man to take care of her once in a while: escort her to dinner, treat her like a lady, hold doors for, and then let her suck him off so he could cum on her tits the way her husband used to do.  He wore her husband's Old Spice aftershave and called her “Sugar” which had always been his nickname for her. 

He needed to focus on Lana, but as the waiter handed over the wine menus, Eddie kept glancing in your direction.  It'd been a week since the two of you had been together biblically, and he’d really been missing your face, more than he could even admit to himself.  He found himself drawn to you chemically in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager. 

You shot him a look over your wine glass, and he lifted his fingers in a small wave, but you ducked your head and tried to hide behind whoever was sitting next to you. 

If anyone there recognized him tomorrow at the wedding, and happened to connect the dots that he was with another woman on a date the night before, that would be bad. He made a last second decision to switch places with Lana in the booth so that his back would be to the people you were with, in an effort to hide his identity.  

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” you announced to the table, getting to your feet as you said it.

Your sister protested.  “But, we just got here? One more drink?”

You fumbled so fast for your jacket that your chair fell to the ground.  Even over the Italian music and plentiful conversations, everyone turned to look, including Eddie, and then you were rushing to get out of the restaurant, bursting into the fresh air and hurrying down the sidewalk.

Down at the corner of the building, you were catching your breath and feeling stupid as hell, when you realized Eddie was coming toward you with his hands in his pockets.  He had waited a few minutes, but eventually followed.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you after a few slow, deliberate strides.  “I hope I didn’t make anything weird for you in there.”

You covered your eyes with your hand.  “No, I’m the one who made things weird,” you told him. “I’m just not a fan of crowds. I think I got a little claustrophobic.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie had his head down, shuffling his foot, and you noticed how different his demeanor was when he wasn’t “working”.  

You huffed a laugh.  “You’re a natural with people, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe I just play a good game,” he lifted his eyes to meet yours, chin lowered. “On the inside I spend plenty of time curled in a ball in the corner, I promise you.”

A car horn blared in the distance, and then Eddie spoke again.  “You look really pretty tonight,” his hands stayed in his pockets, but he gestured with his elbow.  “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you said quickly, praying he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind.  “I mean, if you still want to?”

“Of course I want to, sweetheart,” he cocked his head, but then he gestured toward the restaurant. “I need to get back in, I can’t leave her hanging.”

You started to speak nervously, something about “oh yes sure go ahead absolutely okay goodnight” as you walked away, but then he caught your arm.

He searched your face in the dark shadow of the street corner.  “Are you…busy later? Like, in a couple hours?”

Your heart tightened at the urgency of his question.  The way his eyes settled on you, they were full of desire, and you couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave you all of their attention like that.  

Eddie was really taking a chance with this one.  What woman in her right mind would want to spend time with him right after he’d been intimate with someone else?  This is where any dating situation he ever attempted came to a screeching halt.  He went home lonely more often than not.  

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his beautiful neck, letting the gravity of what he was asking you sink in.  “Won’t you be…tired?”

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek.  “Not too tired.”

—----

He called from the payphone at Enzo’s and left his address on your answering machine, just like he said he would, and so there you were, in your car in the driveway of the adorable light blue house he shared with a friend named Steve, who was supposedly also in the gigolo business. Steve was out of town for a few days, though, and inside your head you were screaming; you couldn’t believe this was happening.

 It was one of the better maintained houses on the block; lawn perfectly mowed and trimmed, a flower bed with purple pansies along the sidewalk.  There was the husk of an old muscle car in the garage though, and an engine weeping oil on the pavement.  The lie you’d told your mother wasn’t too far off, and a grin kicked up one side of your mouth thinking about how Eddie’s strong hands had some black stains in the crevasses from working on cars, even though he scrubbed them constantly.  

Eddie had no idea what he was doing.  The good thing about being a gigalo was that he could control the atmosphere and the outcome: he never had to worry about getting hurt because it was just a job.  

You could tell he’d just come out of the shower when he answered the door in a plain white tee and jeans exposing the tattoos on his arms, hair wet down his shoulders, skin warm and soft when he hugged you in the doorframe. 

The hug lingered, and when you stepped back, your chin was down, your eyes trying to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you wanted to be there with him, but also, your body was in fight or flight mode.  You could hear your mother’s voice in your head then, telling you there’s no way a guy as good looking as Eddie would be interested in a girl like you. She’d insist he was using you for something.

“Hey,” Eddie caught your chin and brought your attention back to him. He ran a thumb across your mouth.  “I’ve been dreaming of these lips.”

It made you snort a laugh, and Eddie laughed too, squeezing one eye closed.  “Sorry, was that too cheesy? Occupational hazard.”

“I like cheesy,” you beamed, parting your lips to accept his kiss, opening your mouth to take him deeper, working your hands up the front of his chest over his shirt.  You tried not to think about the woman he’d been with just an hour earlier, and the things they’d possibly done together.  If he could accept you and still find you desirable, even when you didn’t even like yourself, you were willing to have an open mind about his profession.  At least for now.

You found out he had an episode of Elvira’s Movie Macabre on the TV, and told him it was one of your favorites.  This made Eddie like you even more.  He sat back on the couch, legs long, and beckoned for you with a few eager flaps of his wrist to come and sit flush with your back against him.  “This is what I needed,” he said as you got comfortable between his legs.  He kissed the side of your head, intertwined the fingers of one of his hands with yours, and you could barely concentrate on the show with the way his closeness made your pussy pulse.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.  Both of his thumbs slid down the front of the blouse you were wearing to graze the hard nubs of your nipples, while he kissed the outer ridge of your ear.  

You could only make a needy purr in the back of your throat, pushing against him at the need for more.  

“Are your nipples this hard just for me, sweetheart?” He hushed, nuzzling your ear.  You squirmed a bit more, nodding, exposing the side of your neck to greet his mouth.  He unbuttoned your shirt and pulled down the front cups of your bra to pluck at your tender buds, making you whine.  He found your pulse point on your throat and sucked there, continuing to work your nipples in a way that had your underwear immediately damp with arousal.

“You getting wet for me so I can taste how good I make you feel, baby?”

Indeed, your body was letting him know loud and clear that this is what it wanted.  

He licked his fingers to wet your nipples, and you felt like you might be able to cum from his finger twisting alone.  You undid the zipper on your trousers and sank your fingers into the wetness there, working your slippery clit.  You slid your digits down a little further and dipped them into your hole; it gripped around you, begging to be filled.

“Let me taste it,” he told you.  You presented your two glistening fingers up and he sucked them into his mouth, licking them clean, making you tremble at the way his tongue flicked between them.

“Keep touching yourself,” he encouraged, milking and twisting your nipples with a bit more force now that they weren’t as sensitive, causing zings of pleasure to rock through your body.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, finding your clit again, working your wrist.  “You’re going to make me—”

But then it was already happening, a pop of velvet streamers liquified at your core, pulsing, throbbing, making you go blind for a second.  

Eddie’s cock bucked hard against his denim.  You turned to kiss him in the aftermath, and he slid out from under you to get on his knees, pulling your pants off the rest of the way.

“I need to taste it,” he breathed, hiking your knees up over his shoulders so he could bury his face and lick you clean, lapping up your gift, groaning and rocking forward on his knees as he did so.  

You grabbed onto his hair.  “You like how hard I cum for you, don’t you baby?”

You were learning to be more verbal, and it made his hips twitch against the couch, he wanted you so bad.  Once he devoured the sweet  nectar of  your cum, he worked his way up your body, kissing your breasts, and then finding your mouth.  He sank two fingers into your aching hole, and your pelvis flexed eagerly up to meet his hand.  

“Hey,” he brushed his lips over yours, hovering there.  “I don’t ever go down on...clients,” he admitted to you, eyes finding yours, fucking his fingers slowly in and out, curling them up once they were deep inside of you. “You are special, I just thought you should know.”

“I like knowing that,” you said with a quiver in your voice, holding his face. “I want you inside of me.”

There was a condom in his wallet and he helped you guide it onto his cock after he pushed his jeans down, every bit the teacher.  You slid your shoulders down the couch, legs spread wide, exposing all of your holes for him.  Gripping your hip, he teased the tip at your entrance, eyebrows pinching together at the sensation.

“Without a condom, I’d probably blow a hole through you, baby, you’ve got me so hard.”

Your pussy was soaked, dripping from your folds down the condom on his cock.  “You’re the only one I want inside of me,” you were merely stating a fact, but it was just what he needed to hear, and he rose up on his knees, pulled your ass a bit further off the couch, and buried himself balls deep with a hard gasp.

He leaned forward to brace his forearms on the cushion at either side of your head, kissing you, thrusting in a few times as deep as he could go, skin smacking, your wetness now shimmering on the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

You were amazed at how your body knew how to respond, even though you had absolutely no clue what you were doing.  Bucking your hips up to meet him was your favorite, and then every now and then, he’d swivel his hips, holding your legs out.  

“That was a fancy move,” you breathed against his lips. 

“I save all my fancy moves for you, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

He brought his thumb in to play with your clit.  “I want you to cum with me.”

You didn’t know if that kind of tandem miracle was possible, but you were willing to try.  You brought your fingers in to work your slick juices over just the right spot, and Eddie sat back to watch you. He was observing and taking notes.

“You stretch me out so good,” you whined, getting into the swing of things, swiping your fingers faster, not phased at all by the way the parts of your body you hated were all hanging out for him to see.  

“Shit,” Eddie bucked. “You’re gonna make me cum right now if you talk like that.”

“You’ve ruined me for everyone with your big cock, baby,” you continued. “No one will ever fill me up like you do.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight, holy shit,” Eddie cried out.

You could feel the peak approaching but then Eddie pushed in a bit too eagerly, and his cock slipped out and dove up into the folds of your pussy.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you called out, clutching his shoulder, begging him to work the head of his cock on your clit.

“Fuck baby fuckkkkk,” he hissed, thrusting his hips, fucking your folds with the underside of his cock.  “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

And then, it was you who was cumming, babbling, riding the wave as Eddie cock dipped back inside, needing to feel like he was pumping it inside of you, worshiping you from the inside with his seed.

In the aftermath, his head lowered, hair hanging down, he enjoyed the slip of your cum, feeding you the shaft a few more times. 

Eddie was about to pull you against him to watch Movie Macabre for real this time, but when you came out of the bathroom, you were fully dressed with your bag over your shoulder and a distinct look of goodbye on your face.

“I should get going,” you announced, picking at some loose skin around your cuticle.  

Eddie stood from the couch, fixing himself, making sure the zipper was up on his jeans.  He didn’t have a shirt on, exposing the cut lines at his hips and trail of hair below his belly button.

“Sure, sure, um,” he looked around, hands on his hips.  “You don’t have to go.  I mean, you could even stay here, if you wanted. I could set my alarm if you have to get up early.”

You wondered what he charged for overnight stays.  Would you receive a bill on Monday for two full days worth of gigolo time? You had no idea what his rates were, and you still knew you couldn’t afford it.   The voices in your head were telling you what a gullible, cock drunk fool you were. While in the bathroom, you realized that everything he said was way too good to be true.  No man had ever wanted you this bad, nor would they ever.  A part of you was even harboring some anger towards him for being deceitful and making you feel things you’d gone 3 decades without.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat. “For this.  I have a big day tomorrow, so,” and then you turned without another word, headed for the door.

Eddie hustled after you.  “Okay, so, I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow, yeah? We’ll go together?”

“Actually,” you gave him your profile.  “I think it would be better if  you just met me at the venue.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.  He was having a hard time reading you. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, thanks again,” you said in a rush. 

“Hey, wait—-” but you were already out the door and hurrying down the driveway to your car, afraid to look back.  

---------

Thank you for reading!

[lonelystarrs]

He’d Never Admit it -Prt 2

Gojo had a funny way of dealing with feelings, unfortunately it might be a little too late for the sorcerer when he finally realises what they are.

♡ part one ♡ part two ♡

Gojo Satoru x FemReader (Senior High School)

Word count: 5.5k (oops)

Warnings: BullyGojo . Gojo bring a dense menace . Crack . Smut . 18+ MDNI. Dirty Talk . Angst . Cliffhanger. No comfort (this chapter) . Jealous Gojo .

Seven days had passed since the incident on making a mess on dipshits desk, a nickname that Gojo had given the guy who was talking to you more and more as the days went.

It was annoying him, spurring him into feeling agitated -an emotion that was foreign to the six eyes.

He watched as your attention towards dipshit had started to focus more, you were smiling and chatting with him so easily.

So for the last five days Gojo took a slightly new approach to getting your attention.

He was going to cause the problem and then fix it, show you he was charming n’all that stuff that get girls attention, y’know the hero vibe!

Genius right?

Pftttt…

You were currently on path to walking past the strongest sorcerer as he stood acting like he was listening to the girl talking to him in the hallway. When you past he stuck his foot out making sure to catch yours, your books against your chest splayed out across the floor as your hands went to stop your face from hitting the ground.

But Gojo caught you, he never caught you, blinking at the hard floor his hand was gripping your shirt from the back, bunching the material in his hands as he grinned down at you like a Cheshire Cat.

“You’re so clumsy~ can’t have that pretty face all smashed in can we~!” he sang, thinking his smooth little plan had gone his way.

It really seemed it had. Until you squealed.

The buttons popped from your shirt, breasts straining against the material from Gojo gripping it at the back, your whole weight put into the flimsy material. Your arms flew to cover your chest as your tits practically burst from it, buttons popping as they echoed from their bounce down the halls.

Your knees tucked under you and your glared over your shoulder at Gojo, his smirk had dropped clean from his face.

Well, that didn’t go to plan.

“I didn’t-“ Gojo tried, his face not even hinting any amusement as he stared down at you.

“You’re such an asshole!!!!”

“It’s not my fault! Y’ storing cursed energy in those tiddies or something? You lost five buttons! They’re not even massive!”

He instantly regretted the words that left his mouth, he knew he was blabbering nervously but it came out a lot witter than he actually felt. But he couldn’t let anyone else see he was getting jittering could he?

Humour is his defence and deflection tactic after all.

The blush formed across your face as you tried your best to ignore the students who had stopped to watch the scene unfold.

Gojo blinked, eyes drifting to your breast squashed up and exposed from the torn shirt, your arms doing their best to cover you up.

They do be looking good like that though. He thought.

Ah man, he was getting hard again, seriously why did you always affect him like this? You looked so flustered… one of the cupboards wasn’t far from here maybe he could drag yo-

“Look at them tits! Wonder how big they are!”

“Man, a perfect handful maybe a little more!”

Your head snapped around to the boys gossiping who instantly shut up.

“Yeah? How big are your dicks huh? A thumbs length at most, maybe a little more.” You spat sarcastically.

“8.5 inches, 9 on a good day.” Satoru announced whilst he shrugged before bending closer to you and lifting you to him slightly, like you weighed nothing.

“-and it’s always a good day with you.” He whispered the last part winking at you.

“NO ONE ASKED YOU GOJO!” You seethed.

The boys sputtered, girls giggling in the background at them as the attention was briefly taken from you.

Which soon returned when a jacket was thrown over you and Gojo’s hand.

Ah, we meet again, sir dipshit. Gojo thought as his eyes narrowed on a blazer being placed over you.

“C’mon, you have your blazer in your locker right?” Dipshit suggested, smiling at you with some Prince Charming fucking look.

You nodded and stood with his help.

“Nice one, Romeo.” Dipshit mumbled whilst looking over his shoulder at Satoru.

That was day one of Gojo being left stood dumbfounded as to why his tactic didn’t work.

0 to Gojo and 1 to dipshit.

Day two came and he bought you a box of your favourite Mochi as an apology .. without having to actually verbally say sorry.

But Satoru ate the whole box on the walk here.

Gojo frowned as he looked down at the box, seeing one left sitting innocently as if to mock him.

You said to yourself she won’t notice if you have just one and here I am.

0 to Gojo 1 to his sweet tooth and lack of self restraint.

The third day went better, as some one opened their locker a little too harshly and Gojo had got there in time to stop it slamming into the side of your head. His hand flat pressed against the locker door and he grinned at you, you rolled your eyes and shut your own, turning away from him. He looked over his shoulder and glared at the boy who laughed nervously.

“Watch it will you?”

Gojo’s mood changed as he pouted looking at you disappearing into the hall way, his long legs caught up with you quickly and he grabbed your shoulder…

“Hey! I just saved that pretty face again, you’re not gonn-“

He didn’t realise you were drinking some water, tugging your shoulder back had caused the bottle to leave your lips whilst still tilted, pouring it down your shirt which instantly became see through.

Gojo eyed the bottle of water -was it bubbling? It looked like it was boiling in your hand. Blue eyes turning to you answered his assumption.

“Heh, you’re mad at me.”

Your eye twitched, but his eyes kept flickering down to that pretty lacy bra you were wearing under your white shirt, which was now sticking to you like second skin on your chest.

“Fuming.”

Gojo took a step backwards and held his hands up innocently. The bottle soon colliding with his head knocking his glasses half off his face.

“Take your jacket off Satoru!”

Your hands started gripping said item, causing him to laugh at you fumbling with his clothing. He kept his hands up in a surrender but it didn’t stop his cockiness.

“You’re not usually this keen to get my clothes off~! Heh look at you go!”

He was happy to see you walking away with his blazer around you, absolutely swallowing you cause y’know, he’s a big boy and he grinned smugly.

1 for Gojo.

Later that day you’d found him after your last class, handing back his blazer that he couldn’t help notice smelled so much like you now, mixed with his own scent.

Fuck it was a good combination.

“Here,”

“Hmm, I think you owe me for borrowing it all day. I’ve been all cold without it!” Satoru chimed giving you a smirk, eyes looking at you over the rim of his glasses so you could see his mischievous intention.

“You’re kidding right? It was your fault in the first place!”

“Nah I done nothing wrong!”

He didn’t take him much to back you into a nearby cupboard, hiking your skirt up to your waist and pushing your panties to the side. Your hands gripped against the cupboard shelves as he pulled your hips back into him, his breath fanning across your neck as he placed little bites along the skin.

Pressing the tip of his dick between your slick folds and rocking his hips, a long airy moan left him, your hips twitching back as his head caught your clit.

“Watch it then,” Satoru pushed your head forwards, forcing you to watch as his dick slid between your thighs, rubbing along your clit in the process. The head glistening with slick as it pushed through your folds, using them and your thighs as a flesh light. Gojo leaned forward to bury his face in your neck, his hand in your hair still keeping your head down to watch as he thrusted.

“Shit this feels s’good - Hah -I ain’t even done anything and y’so wet already, bet I could slip right in huh?”

“Nah-“ you huffed, arching your hips back before bringing them back as you started to rut against him yourself, Gojo stopped moving and watched as you rolled your pussy against him, tightening your thighs. “-you’ll have to try a little harder.”

Gojo chuckled behind you before pulling back, with the wet slap of his cock hitting his stomach before he spun you around, hands gripping the back of your thighs he lifted you up to wrap them around him. One of your hands gripped the shelf behind your shoulder, the other gripped the hair at the back of his head. Pink dusted both your cheeks as the closet started to get stuffy.

Gojo looked down to the slight gap between you, cock rested against his abdomen, he flexed it watching the trail of slick and pre cum link from his bellend to his stomach.

“Reckon? It’s dripping from just rubbing ya.”

You groaned and pulled his head back roughly, he winced but let out an airy moan.

You rose an eyebrow before a smirk spread on your face. You tugged his hair again, even harder and watched as his dick flexed, his hands tighten on your thighs and a moan caught on his throat.

Oh, the cocky bastard liked it!

“You’re pathetic Satoru, you really have no idea do you? Hurry up and fuck me then before a change my mind.”

You lifted and rolled your hips forward, your hole catching at his head, it only took him one thrust to slid in. A moan leaving you both as you clenched squeezing him. his cock flexing again in you as he felt you adjust around him.

“Shit -how are you always so fucking tight?”

He shifted you, lifting you a bit higher than him and wrapping his arms around your waist. He went to press his face into your neck but you pulled his head back again by his hair to take in his expression. Blue eyes glazed over, light pink across his cheeks and his mouth slightly open.

“You look so fucked out already Sato’”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes drinking you in.

“Open your mouth,”

And he did, your hand pulling his hair back again as you let spit gather on the end of your tongue, Gojo watched as you slowly let it dribble onto his own. Cock flexing again he moaned, closing his mouth he swallowed without even being told.

Because this was his way of being sorry, ‘cause he fucking loved it when you took control of him like a dog.

But he’d never admit that.

“Guess I can be a lil rough,” he mumbled before twisting his hair from your grip and burying his face into your neck, arms wrapping even tighter as he started to fucking rut into you. His heavy moans and sighs fogging against your neck, vibrating down your skin and making you clench around him

“S-slow down Gojo-“

“Nah, I’m way too fucking fired up now.”

Day four however took a turn of events, he hasn’t actually seen you today which was unusual.

However when he did see you it only spurred something ugly in his chest.

Anger wasn’t an emotion that Gojo felt often, if at all. He was far too care free and lacked any real connection to most things, he didn’t care deeply enough for things to get him angry.

Or so he thought.

Seeing you at that coffee shop with that fucking guy?

That did it.

Yeah that guy! The Dipshit.

Gojo didn’t get it, did you not understand the message he was giving you when he made you cum all over the guys desk? The guy who was asking you about your dating choices?

The message was clear, so he thought anyway.

You’re mine.

But he’d never admit that, right?

You actually ended up going out with him even after Gojo made a sloppy mess between your legs and had the name Satoru falling from those pretty plump lips of yours as you cum over his tongue again and again. He didn’t even relieve himself with you that day on the desk- that’s how selfless he was being that day! Yet you were actually went on a damn date with him! Even after he fucked you dumb yesterday in the closet!

And you were happy.

You were laughing, smiling and fucking flirting with him.

You didn’t smile at him no matter his goofy behaviour -you never laughed at Satoru Gojo.

That really bugged him. He was always goofy and silly!

And he knew your body inside and out -he always made you feel better after he upset you. That guy didn’t, as far as Gojo knew anyway.

Shit, wait, what if you cum for that guy like you did the six eyes? Was he better than him? No freakin’ way! Is that why you were happy and smiling with that guy? Shit, shit, shit.

“Satoru, you good?”

“Huh? Yeah m’fine,” he waved Suguru off side glancing at you again from his booth at the cafe.

“Really? You look like you’ve just been dumped.”

“What? I’ve never been dumped, no one’s dumped me!”

The all too fast reply was humorous, it didn’t match his trying to look cool facade -in fact he broke it altogether.

Geto rose an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at his lips, his eyes had seen his best friend staring at you with another guy and he seen those blue eyes of Gojo’s stealing another side glance like he was worried to miss something.

Suguru chose his words specifically when he said the dump word.

Plus that defensive sputtering of a reply that was so out of character from his usual cocky, flippant friend?

Oh no, this was hilarious ! Satoru was actually hung up -he was upset. Over a girl.

“I didn’t say you had, said you looked like it,”

“Tch, whatever. There’s not even an expression for that kinda crap, you’re talking shit Suguru.”

Geto’s eyes widened slightly, pink dusting across Gojo’s cheeks, his body and emotions totally betraying the look Gojo was trying to give -flippant and unbothered.

“Man, look at you!” Geto laughed, leaning forward on the table to point at Satoru’s cheeks “-the blush brings out the blue in your eyes~”

Gojo slapped his hands away and glared over the rim of his glasses. Leaning back into the boot he swung an arm over the spine of it, man spreading and shifting his pose to deflect his feelings as if trying once again to convince his emotions into what his body language was showing, however they still weren’t meeting to agree.

“So you’re not into her?”

Gojo snorted and rose an eyebrow at Suguru,

“Her? As if,” Gojo waved his hand dismissively “-not my type.”

Suguru nodded, crossing his arms and leaning back into the booth seat, turning his head up to the ceiling as if he was in thought.

“Yeah, gotta be honest you’d be punching with her Satoru. Guess you’re not into wife material,”

Suguru was playing the game and it was working.

Gojo frowned as he looked away eyes unfocused as he stared aimlessly into the cafe.

“Aren’t you dating Gojo?”

“-who said that?” You practically spat, you were flustered but it came out more aggressive than you wanted, seeing as you cleared your throat and asked again in a nicer manner, still looking at the guy like he has grown three heads.

“Uh I mean the whole school is whispering about it, you not seen that little fan club of his death glaring at you?”

“What idiot would date Satoru?” Your nose wrinkled as if he disgusted you, as if the thought of actually being with him was so unimpressive that you couldn’t imagine someone that would go for him. HIM, GOJO SATORU UNIMPRESSIVE! The audacity!

“So, you’d be up for me taking you out for a coffee? It’s the least I can do y’know.”

The conversation ran clear, even as he ate your pussy an hour after they were spoken it still rang at the back of his head. That insecurity of his that he buried being triggered.

You’re not good enough, everyone thinks you’re annoying and only see you for your potential -only see you as the six eyes.

The whole conversation you had and he heard, your reaction to dating him was actually hurtful -why did he disgust you? Sure he teased you a lot, but he always made you feel better! It was part of the game right? He teased you, you get angry and you both make up.

He was good looking -incredibly so if you asked him and most people. He always smelled good -he bought really expensive cologne. He was hygienic, his clothes were always clean and stylish. He had money. He was the strongest sorcerers around even at 18. He was the pride of his family.

So why did he disgust you? Why did you act like he wasn’t good enough?

Tch.

So you wanted to act all high and mighty huh? Like he wasn’t good enough for you.

Well, Satoru would settle the score -he’d stop the rumours and clear things up no problem!

Let day five commence.

“Oi,”

Your shoulders hunched as you heard that dreaded voice appear in class, it was Friday and clock out was fast approaching, in fact this was the last lesson of the day before a few weeks holiday. You were sat at your desk grabbing your book for the study session.

A hand slammed down on your desk as he half bent over, reluctantly you looked up and your face fell. His shit eating grin was smug, eyes glistening over the rim of his glasses as they reflected from the sun bouncing on them through the window.

“You left these at my place-“

Hanging from Gojo’s index finger were the panties he’d ripped off from you last week, looking innocent as they swayed so silently from his digit as he lifted them to gain focus on it -no he lifted them so the whole class could see them.

The gasps from the room flooded your ears, your eyes darting to see everyone in the class was looking at you both.

“Satoru that’s too fa-“

Oh? The fact Suguru was finally saying something was perhaps enough to kick your brain into drive that this was actually happening.

“Ah, they didn’t fit you Satoru? What a shame,” even though you were trying to deflect him the heat was rising to your face, feeling up your neck like bugs under you skin.

Like Gojo fucking Satoru under your skin.

Gojo snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Wrong pair those looked great on me. These I ripped off you remember? Hence the condition, thought you’d want’em back for your new dipshit boyfriend.”

In a fluid movement he bunched the panties in his hand and pointed that thumb over to someone behind him. Your eyes followed and landed on the guy you’d been to coffee with, your eyes then followed to where he was sat and it clicked.

That desk..

“He’s not my boyfriend, you’re the dipshit!”

“Yeah yeah, s’what you said ‘bout not dating me yet you’re leaving this at my place hmm?”

He grinned at you, if you were less upset you’d maybe see that his eyes weren’t entirely amused like they usually danced with when he teased you. You’d see he was hurt, he was annoyed there was a slight hardness to them.

But he’d never admit that.

Your hand covered your mouth and cheeks in an attempted to cover your face going beet red, eyes filling with tears as the shear embarrassment hit you like a train. There were so many eyes on you and you felt corned. Your heart sank to your stomach, drowning in the acid that sat there, eating away at you so viciously you felt nauseous.

You stood from your seat, clumsily grabbing your bag and books, looking at Gojo with enough pain on your face to make his own expression fall.

The glistening of feral amusement from his eyes dulled as he set his gaze on what he could only guess was his first look at heart break. -his first look at really hurting you.

No, this wasn’t right, it wasn’t supposed to make him feel like this.

Your hand lowered slightly to release words that made him freeze.

“I hate you Satoru,”

It was eerie how quietly and calmly you spoke, yet it was just so fucking sad how your gentle voice cracked. There was no insult, no temper -nothing.

No, this was different to your usual anger, this wasn’t how it usually goes. You started off like you always did, keeping him place and bantering back. But this?

You never said you hated him, you never looked at him like that before. These weren’t tears of frustration this was something else.

Suddenly he didn’t think your eyes looked so pretty like this, glistening with tears that he caused.

You turned and he stood frozen at your run from the room, everything slowed as you left. How your hair whipped around you, how those stray tears left you dancing a battle through strands of your hair. It was all so clear as time slowed and that was nothing to do with his unique eyes.

The class wasn’t full of people yet -you hated crowds and always got here early but there were a few here.

Suguru gripped the back of his collar and pulled him back, dragging him out the class.

“Satoru, you’re beyond dense. You really outdone yourself this time.”

The next few weeks of a short holiday flew by and Satoru heard nothing from you, his texts not delivered and his calls straight to answer phone.

Satoru > Yo pretty

Satoru > you ignoring me now? Don’t do that :( you’ll miss me too much~

Satoru > c’monnnn babe don’t be like this :( I know how you make you feel better~! ;D come spend next weekend with me! I’ll even take you to get some Mochi, there’s this Zunda and cream flavour you gotta try! I’ll buy you a box!

Satoru > oi stop being a big baby, talkkkkk toooo meeeeeeeeeee!

Satoru > oi

Satoru > hellllllooooooo

Satoru > ╰⋃╯ both know mines bigger :D he misses you <;3

Satoru > Hey, it’s been two weeks, seriously you good?

Satoru > Hey, y/n you’re not back at class, can you just let me know you’re good?

The return to senior high for the last few weeks before everyone left for university or careers came and went quickly -he never saw you again.

He never seen you to tease and he missed it, he missed finding you to annoy you. He missed burying his face in your thighs to cheer you up, he missed pushing that silly school skirt up, he missed how your thigh high socks felt under his hands as he grabbed your thighs whilst bullying his dick into you.

But he’d never admit that to you.

“Y-You’re a r-real asshole you know that?”

A flat line presented on Gojo’s mouth, cracking his can of drink open his head tilted in the direction of the voice, blue eyes looking over his glasses as he stared at the guy without much expression. The guy brave enough to stutter an insult to him.

Yeah, the guy who took you out on a date. Sir dipshit.

“S-s-sorry what was that?” Satoru mocked uncaringly, stuttering to remind the guy he was scared to talk to him.

“Yeah, that! Exactly what I mean. She never dated me you idiot -I asked her out for coffee so she could help me come out to a guy I liked, who’s now my boyfriend.”

Gojo’s heart accelerated in his chest, he finally understood what the phrase meant ‘the colour drained from their face’ because he literally felt the blood dropping from it.

God that was weird, he’s never felt that before.

Outwardly he stayed collected -he stayed cool because he was Gojo Satoru.

“So?”

“So?! Everyone’s noticed how grumpy you’ve been, you deserve much worse after what you did. You should have just asked her out like a normal person would, but your crappy god complex wouldn’t allow that would it!”

“Who said I liked her like that?”

He deadpanned at Gojo, the silence between them was thick as the blue eyes stared at him without much expression trying so hard to remain cool. Trying so hard to not show his discomfort.

But his heart was bouncing against his rib cage, his lungs were trying to pick up his breathing as his emotions started to physically unsettle him, Gojo’s palms were sweating yet he felt a cold rush over his skin.

What the hell was going on? Was he sick?

“You’re kidding right? Do you not realise you’re completely head over heels for her? The whole school knows it, how do you not? Y’know, you don’t deserve her, good job you have no idea, you were so mean to her because you couldn’t figure out you liked her and you’re useless in dealing with it. You saved her from it.”

Turning and fanning his hand dismissively over his shoulder Gojo was left to stand by himself with his can of drink fizzing against the silence he was plunged into.

Eyes blinking, his cool attitude and posture absolutely crumbling to a dumbfounded display.

He liked you?

Is that what this was?

No he didn’t like you!

Right?

The whole school knew? The fuck?

Gojo collected his phone from his pocket, turning on his heels he walked down the hallway whilst making a call.

“Satoru,” Geto answered

“I like her?”

“What? Was that a statement or a question?”

“The whole school knows I like her, what-“

“Oh, her. You finally realised huh Satoru?”

“YOU TOO?! Why didn’t you tell me!”

“You’re hopeless,” Suguru sighed heavily down the line, “-like you’d have done anything about it. Thought it was best forgotten after the last day you seen her, it’s been weeks and schools over, s’a bit late. She’s gone Kyoto for university Satoru.”

“How do you know that? She’s not carrying on as a sorcerer?”

“I seen her last week at Jujustu Tech. Her dad died recently on a job and he wanted her to get away from it all.”

“Her dad died?”

“Yeah, that mission couple weeks ago with the train, that special grade took him out and she finished it off, she has a pretty nasty domain apparently. She had a meeting with the higher ups about it, she was injured.”

You never told him about that, ah man, if Gojo didn’t know what guilt felt like before then he sure fucking did now.

Is that why you weren’t messaging him?

“Just let it go Satoru, you screwed up, move forward.”

No, that wasn’t why you weren’t messaging him.

You weren’t talking to him because of what he did, because of how he was treating you. Because of what he did the last day he saw you.

He tried to forget it because hearing you say you hate him was horrible, seeing you truly upset was weighing heavy on him and the fact he wasn’t there this time to wipe your tears, or make you feel better didn’t sit right with him.

But you’d disappeared from his life, you’d ignored his texts and calls, you left him.

Was it really too late?

You really had left.

Your house was sold, waiting for a new family to occupy the building. Gojo stood before it frowning, hands in his pockets as he looked over it looking so empty and lifeless, a mere shell of the comfort it would bring him. He’d see your cursed energy residing within it, sometimes your dads if he wasn’t away on missions.

The same building that looked so different now, weird to think it had your window on it which Gojo had thrown stones at in the middle of the night when he was having trouble sleeping. He rarely needs a lot of it and his eyes are the reason for his lack of sleep, not to mention his intake of sweet things to try keep his mind stimulated.

It was only getting worse as he got older, he seemed to realise. Yeah, both his eye sensitivity and his sweet tooth.

You were never particularly happy about it, him rattling stones at your window when your dad wasn’t home.

“Piss off will you?! It’s like 2am you menace! Quit throwing stones at my window and find someone else to torment.”

So he did.

Stop throwing stones at your window that was, he’d still turn up only this time floating innocently outside your window knocking on it asking to be let in.

“I told you to quit it Satoru!”

“Nah, said stop throwing stones at ya window so I did, just knocked instead.”

“Get in before someone sees you!!”

Worked like a charm. Every time.

Now though? Doubt he could be getting away with that at the new owners. Besides you weren’t there.

Turning he left the house behind him and found himself walking past it at least once, maybe twice a week for the next two years.

He hoped he’d find your cursed energy there, maybe the new owners were distant family and you’d come back to visit.

But the family held no cursed energy, not even a flicker of it. So Gojo eventually stopped walking by, but one place he did return to was the grave of your dad.

He’d leave a flower there.

“Guess I shouldn’t have been such a dick to her huh?”

Silence as usual.

He’d stand and leave, sighing as he now replaced his glasses with his blind fold he had started to wear because it was being too much for his eyes to deal with.

Everything was so damn blinding.

At first he thought of you everyday, thinking he never used to think this much about you when you were around.

At least he didn’t think he did. Besides Suguru and Shoko he didn’t really rely on anyone, but perhaps you were someone from his past that he could have included on that list back then that only seems to get shorter.

When Suguru dumped him outside KFC, not one of his classiest moments, Gojo truly started to feel alone in this life.

As the weeks turned into months, months turned into years and he gradually forgot about you the best he could, only occasionally being reminded of you every now and then.

Usually when another girl asked him about his past relationships.

“So you’ve never had that special someone?”

They all thought they’d be that thing for him but they never were, 90% of the time he couldn’t even get around to sleeping with them. He wanted something deeper than surface sex, sure it felt good but something was missing.

He never had a relationship, because he just wasn’t the kind of guy to be involved with someone like that. His work was dangerous, he alone would make anyone around him a target. So Gojo kept his distance, his god complex grew trying to bury that deep, gnawing insecurity and stomach churning loneliness. His infinity kept people at bay, both for his emotional and physical protection, burying his sickening need for touch by something that loved him.

These girls after you? They never stood up to him, they were pillow princesses and only aided his dominant nature. He never got that rush that he got with you -that high and low.

He was never as hard as he was for you, that 9 inches on a good day? Yeah, definitely remained at a 8.5inches

He stopped comparing to you after three years, he stopped thinking about you and he buried his head into his work because the weight of Suguru leaving him was another thing for him to carry. He was lonely and he didn’t want more people close to him again and feel that loss.

Funny, because the people he loved were still alive and left him, it hurt more than people dying around him that he knew.

Suguru was a deep friendship lost, you were something he didn’t fully understand.

He started to get comfortable, he started to move forward from you and Suguru…

Then the order came from the higher ups.

Stood in the usual room, Gojo remained in the centre, bored and irritated with these douches already sputtering at him.

“There has been an issue in Kyoto, we need you to go and investigate, students have been going missing. There have been rumours that a cursed object has been confirmed, resulting in a reincarnation of a past cursed spirit rising. You are to investigate and execute, minimal damage and lives lost Gojo, we mean it this time.”

“-and put a damn curtain up will you?”

He didn’t even reply, turning he fixed his eyes in front of him, he heard them and had nothing to say because his mind was else where.

Returning back to you, just when he stopped thinking about you almost three years later.

Kyoto?

That’s where you went right? He’s pretty sure Suguru told him you’d be studying at a university there.

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed <3 I’m tempted to make this into a part three in a slight time skip. Hmm! We shall see, do we need a part three for closure & comfort? Cause I think so 😎

Thank you thank you thank yoouuuu for all the comments / reblogs etc 🥹

Tags: it isn’t letting me tag everyone! Sorry! I’ve tagged the accounts that are letting me. I’ll try again tho. <;3 ps I won’t engage with ageless blogs or blank ones!

@tomiokas-lunchbox @krisp0415 @ifartmangos @ritsatoru @ekaterinatepes @angrydaughter @jessie9008 @marie-morningstar @love-me-satoru @jspenft

© pharix 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

[bunnliix]

"Did I look hot in it?"

I saw this prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting and immediately thought of Wooyoung. And so, two weeks later after I found said prompt, here is a Wooyoung x reader one shot.

This kinda took on a mind of its own, and this was the result of that, so I hope y'all enjoy! Also totally not considering making either more oneshots in this universe, or a series. If that would be something you'd be interested in, dear readers, please let me know.

Prompt:

"I had a nightmare about you."

"Did I look hot in it?"

word count: 1.2k

warnings: Wooyung being loud and a bit of a brat, piss in cereal joke once, I think that's it? Not really much to warn about in this one

You slunk into class, tired beyond belief, before sitting down at the back of the classroom to try and hide said tiredness. You pulled out your books and laptop, laying them out on the desk, after which you rested your head in your hands, trying to stop yourself from falling asleep but failing to do so. With sleepy eyes, you observed as people strolled into the room and sat down as it came closer to the start of class. As the last group of students rolled into the classroom, of course it had to be the loudest group, you couldn’t help but cringe at the noise level. 

There were times you hated your classes, because you had to share them with Jung Wooyoung. Of course, his friends were just as bad, disruptive as all hell, and way too noisy for anyone’s sanity. His presence had plagued you in your classes since first year, and whenever you were able to escape a class with him, you always fared so much better. Normally, since they got there so late, they usually had to sit in the front of the classroom.

But not today. Of course the seat right in front of you was open, and of course Wooyoung spotted the open desk like a hawk. The loud boy strolled all the way to the back, as his friends found spots up front. He sat down at the desk, facing towards you as you looked anywhere but at him.

“Hey bestie, why are you all the way back here?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Why don’t you just fuck off, Jung.” You replied, not having nearly enough sleep to deal with his bullshit. 

“Awww, come on. Don’t be mean. And I told you, call me Wooyoung!” He whined, a pout on his face that just made you want to slap him instead.

Thankfully, you were spared from having to answer the boy, as the professor walked in at that exact moment. He started class right away, so Wooyoung had to turn back around, lest he get kicked out. This professor was pretty strict about classroom etiquette, which for today, worked in your favor.

Class was actually interesting for once, the topic today being something that you were interested in, which helped keep you awake. It also meant it passed by quickly, to your disappointment. Soon enough, everyone was packing up, including yourself. You quickly pulled out your headphones, hoping to avoid the boy in front of you from starting up another conversation. Popping them on your head, you turned on the noise cancelling aspect, as you put your books and laptop back into your bag. Sliding your bag on your back, you leave the classroom in a hurry. 

To your distaste and ire, Wooyoung followed behind you. The man couldn’t help but haunt you at all times, even in your dreams. Or rather, the nightmare that you had last night, which kept you from sleeping. And now it seems that he’s intent on talking with you today. You steadfastly ignored the man, focused only on getting to the library to study in silence. 

Wooyoung got tired of chasing you, instead moving in front of you to try and force you to stop walking. You just moved out of the way, trying to continue walking, but Wooyoung grabbed your elbow, pulling you back.

“Why are you so insistent on not talking to me?” He demanded to know. 

“I’m not up to talking with you Jung. Fuck. Off.” You said through gritted teeth. You were exhausted and the only thing you wanted was silence, not Mr. Loudmouth here talking your ear off. 

“No. Why are you such a grump today? Did someone piss in your cereal?” He joked.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. So sorry that I’m not up to talking. Now let me go.” You said tersely, ready to push him into the wall, just so he’d get out of your way.

Wooyoung cooed, “Awwww, why? Were you having daydreams about me so you couldn’t fall asleep?”

"I had a nightmare about you." You said, fire in your eyes.

Wooyoung smiled cheekily, "Did I look hot in it?" He asked, delight in his eyes.

This was the limit for you, and you pushed the taller man into the wall. “Jung Wooyoung, shut the fuck up.” You said.

He chuckled. “Make me.” Was all that he said.

You groaned, “You fucking brat.”

Wooyoung wasn’t a patient man, and all the patience he had left his body the minute you pinned him against the wall. He placed a hand at the back of your neck and pulled you up to kiss him. Your lips connected, and he took control of the kiss, his other arm coming up to wrap around your waist, keeping you close to him. Your hands came up to grip onto his jacket for some sense of stability, as you were taken by surprise by his kiss.

You didn’t really mind kissing him, it just shocked you that he actually did it. As much as you found the man annoying, it was more annoying how attractive he was. Like he didn’t need to be that hot, nor did he need to be that annoying half the time. You found yourself kissing him back after the shock wore off, and he smirked into the kiss as he felt you return it. He still was in clear control of the kiss, but he was happy to feel you kissing him. He had finally gotten to you, and all it took was grabbing you. He should have tried that sooner.

Finally, the need for both of you to breathe won, and you pulled away as he leaned his head back against the wall. Your cheeks were flushed, and by gods did he love the look on your face, lips slightly swollen and a bit of a dazed look in your eyes.

“I really should have done that sooner.” He commented, chuckling at your lack of response.

“You’re still a fucking brat.” You told him, after you came back to your senses, to which he burst out laughing. 

“But I’m a brat that you kissed, so really, how much of a brat can I be?” He replied. 

You just groaned in response, pulling away from him and resuming your journey to the library. He watched you leave, before running after you as he yelled for you to wait up. You didn’t of course, but he managed to catch up, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“So are we gonna do that again? Hmm?” He questioned.

“In your dreams, Wooyoung.” You said.

“You called me Wooyoung, finally!” He celebrated.

“Jung, shut up.” You ordered him, to which he deflated at the use of his last name once again.

“Come onnnn, please use my name again. It sounds like heaven when I hear it fall from your lips.” He whined, to which you smirked.

“Beg me then.” That was all you told him.

Everyone they passed looked at how much of a puppy Wooyoung looked, trotting after you and begging for you to call him by your name. More than a few chuckled, as you looked intent on making him continue to beg, only for him to perk up as you finally called him by his first name once again. And yet, you somehow didn't mind him following you around if he acted like that, it was cute how you calling him by his first name made him act like such a puppy.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (17) - Satellite

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 5.4k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-That's why we won't back down we won't run and hide-

Telling Chad you’d be fine without him, that he should focus on protecting Mindy and Anika in case anyone went after them was a right thing to do, but you still had no idea what to do. How to find Ghostfaces targeting you this time, or how to avoid them, you were stuck at the moment.

But, as the three of you left the hospital you saw her… Gale, like a reporter shark that she was, smelled blood and found you before any other reporter could.

“I heard what happened, are you okay?” she walked up to you, at least she didn’t have her equipment or anyone shoving a camera in your faces, with her.

“Gale, I swear,” Sam had no patience to deal with the woman right now, frankly, neither did you and Tara, but you couldn’t deny that maybe, just maybe you needed as much help as you could get, even if that help was Gale.

Gale immediately raised her hands in surrender. “Truce, okay? I’m- I’m here for whatever you need,” she said that, but, well, you’ve seen Gale going back on her word before. Maybe that was being too harsh, she didn’t go back on her word when Ghostface was on the loose, but she did break an important promise.

“Just like last time,” you said, already trying to spot a cab that would take you back to the apartment. Or anywhere else really. Staying near the hospital could put your friends at risk.

“Okay fine, off the records, okay?” she offered and well, you were stuck and all four of you knew that.

Sam sighed, nodding slightly. “Fine. Thank you,” she agreed.

Gale glanced at Tara.

“Nope! That punch was beautiful, and you will not be getting an apology for it!” you interrupted before Tara could even begin to utter an apology she didn’t mean anyway.

Gale chuckled and shook her head, expecting as much from you and Tara. “Guess I should be thankful you weren’t the one punching me,” she sighed.

“Exactly!” Tara grinned and lifted your arm up. “She packs a punch,” she rolled your sleeve up and patted your forearm.

Mere seconds later you saw a cop car stopping and Kirby and Bailey stepping out, and that’s how the six of you ended up following Gale’s lead and going to a former movie theater turned shrine for Ghostface.

You felt sick. Angry that someone could actually worship these monsters. So many people died. Everyone in this theater, aside from Bailey, was attacked at least once. You kept an eye on others, on Gale as she passed by Dewey's photos or her own books. On Kirby and Bailey as they focused on whatever grabbed their interests. On Sam as she went and touched the glass case holding Billy's mannequin. On Tara as she went over to Sam.

You were stuck observing crime scene photos from when Amber attacked Tara. You saw Tara's wounds, you knew minute details of each and every scar she had. You never saw the photos of her house from that night. It looked even worse than it did when you went to clean the house, it looked fresh, the blood was still not dry. You clenched your fists, wishing you shot Amber, you wished you could go back and finish her off instead of forcing Tara to do it. How many times did you wish for nothing more than for some kind of instinct or a precognition that would allow you to stop Amber before she got to hurt Tara in the first place.

You saw Tara going outside and were about to follow her when your phone rang. This time you checked the ID and saw it was Thomas. His timing really was the worst. With a groan, you answered the phone.

"Hey, Y/N, sorry to call like this, but I heard you didn't go to the gym last night," he opened up with that right away.

"Yeah, sorry, something came up," you didn't sound sorry at all, you'd abandon the gym a hundred times over if needed.

"Look, I know these past two weeks have been tough and I may have asked too much of you-" you really didn't feel like having this conversation.

"I'm busy right now, we'll talk later," you hung up before he could even respond to that. Since your phone was already in your hand you tried to call Susan one more time, but, as it always did these past two days, it just went to voicemail. "Fuck!" you cursed and stuffed your phone in your pocket.

"Troubles?" Bailey asked and you just now realized you were alone with him.

"Are you asking or questioning me?" you still didn't know where the police tracker came from. There was no way you were trusting anyone other than Tara and Sam, and, as much as it annoyed you Gale, as far as not being a Ghostface went.

"Just asking, sorry if I'm overstepping," he raised his hands apologetically and backed away.

You nodded. "You are overstepping," you said and tilted your head in the direction Tara and others went. "After you."

He sighed, but otherwise remained silent and complied with your wishes. The two of you found Sam and Gale in the midst of, from what you could see, burying the hatchet.

"Where's Tara?" you asked right away, honestly hoping you didn't all walk into a trap set by Ghostface.

"Kirby is with her, they went upstairs, wherever that leads," Sam told you and you tried not to panic. Kirby survived a Ghostface attack herself, surely she wouldn’t be a Ghostface, right?

"I think I have a plan how to catch these fuckers," Bailey said and you desperately wanted to agree with the plan. The sooner this was over the better.

~X~

You absolutely hated the plan Bailey had. And you were vocal about it. So, here you were, at the park, next to the van Kirby would trace the call from with Tara trying one last time to get her to change her mind. It was reckless, it was unnecessary, and you were sure a bit more of thinking would give you a better plan.

"Tara, please, at least think this through," you pleaded, already certain you were wasting your breath, but you couldn't just give up.

"I thought it through, Y/N, I'm staying with Sam," Tara leaned against the van with her arms crossed over her chest. She refused to look at you, but you saw the furrow of her brows, you saw her biting her lower lip, and you knew she was getting angry.

You’d still take her being angry at you over her being in danger. "It's dangerous, at least let me come with you," if you couldn't get her to stay safe, then you might be able to convince her to let you come with her and Sam. Sure, Bailey explicitly argued that you being there could discourage Ghostface from attacking, and you could see his logic, but you still wanted to stay by Tara’s side.

"It won't work if you're there. You can fight them," Tara huffed, clearly getting even more frustrated as you kept arguing. The two of you had been going back and forth on this ever since Bailey proposed the plan and she decided she wouldn't let Sam do it alone.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache over this whole plan. And they weren't even out in the open yet. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Tara narrowed her eyes at that. "And it's fine if Sam gets hurt?!" she raised her voice and tightly gripped her left biceps.

"I didn't say that," you took a step back, trying to cool your head at least a bit.

"No, but you think I could get hurt, so you think Sam could get hurt and you're not trying to convince her not to do it," Tara took a few deep breaths.

"You and I both know I'd much rather take Sam's place, but no, Ghostface is after her so anyone else won't do!" you yelled, what little cool you managed to regain fading away way too quickly for your liking.

"Like you left last night? Right? Like how you chose to put yourself in danger even after you saw there was a tracker on your car?! Do you even understand how worried I was?!" somehow this was reminding you of the night you told Tara you were retiring from MMA.

"I fucked up, okay?" you spread your arms for a moment then let them drop at your sides. "I thought they'd try to finish me off first and figured I could use the opportunity."

"Yeah, you thought putting yourself in danger and possibly fighting someone that defeated you before was okay, but this isn't?" Tara asked incredulously.

"So, your solution is to go ahead and do something equally reckless? Is that what you're saying, Tara?" you had no idea how you weren't already shouting. You felt like screaming, but you still didn't shout, if for no other reason than because you didn’t want unwanted attention on the two of you.

"She's my sister, Y/N! I'm her backup, and if it comes down to it, we'll keep each other safe!" Tara yelled and, perhaps to avoid arguing further began walking toward where Sam was getting ready with Kirby and Bailey.

"Yeah, because being with Sam sure kept you safe every time Ghostface was involved!" you just snapped and watched as Tara turned around.

She was glaring at you. "Don't you fucking dare, Y/N," she warned, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

For once you glared back. "Am I wrong?" you challenged. As long as you could move and you were there no one, not Amber, not Richie, not whoever these Ghostfaces were, managed to touch her, let alone hurt her. Sam didn’t have the same track record.

Tara reached you, anger evident in her eyes, and then, as if she just made that decision at that exact moment, swung her palm toward your face. You caught her wrist, entirely unimpressed with how telegraphed the attempted slap was. "Don't ever try that again," you let go of her wrist and climbed into the van, shutting the door behind you, you missed the way Tara looked down at her palm, horrified by what she just tried to do.

You slumped down and absentmindedly touched the scar on the right side of your jaw. Once again you called Susan, once again you were left in silence. You looked at the last text exchange you had with her, the word fun popping up for some reason. Maybe you should take that vacation the moment this all ends, or at least the moment everyone heals up. Maybe spend a week or two in Sacramento, only you and Susan, and then come back to New York with her for Thanksgiving.

Maybe taking that small break from one another's company would be good for Tara, after all this wasn't the first fight in the past few days, and that one was before you even knew Ghostface was back. Sure, you talked it out and kissed it better, but this one just brought it back to your mind.

You only opened your eyes when you heard the doors opening because you wanted to be sure Kirby was the one coming in.

"You look awful," she commented.

"You look like it's none of your business," you replied, not really in the mood to discuss this with her.

"Someone's cranky," she just shrugged, not bothered by your reaction and you chose not to respond.

Too much time passed before Ghostface finally called, bragging about being a step ahead. And he was. He went after Gale. Bailey got in the van and turned the engine on.

"Where are Tara and Sam?!" you jumped to your feet when you saw he was alone. Your blood pressure probably skyrocketed as the worst possible scenarios came to your mind.

"They stole my car!" he exclaimed angrily.

At this rate, you were going to have a heart attack. "Who's driving?!"

"Tara," that girl was going to be the death of you.

"Are you crazy?! Tara can't drive! How are you even a cop you incompetent fuck?! How could someone just steal your damn car?!" a rage-fueled part of your brain cynically told you this was to be expected. That you should have realized Tara was too reckless to consider her own safety even back when she stubbornly convinced you to take her with you when you went after Sam back to Woodsboro after she just barely survived two attacks and had a broken leg. That you should have realized it when she first disappeared and went to a party with complete strangers.

When you finally reached Gale's apartment building you saw Tara and Sam sitting in the hall and you ran up to them.

Tara looked up when she heard you, or rather the running, and she got up, rushing to meet you halfway, only to stop, as if suddenly remembering the last interaction you had. You took a deep breath and just pulled her into a hug. She quietly sobbed into your chest as you held her.

"Is Gale still alive?" you asked softly and relaxed when Tara nodded.

"She was seriously injured, but she should be fine," she told you when you released her, your heart cracking a bit when you saw the pain in her eyes when you pulled away. With a hand on her back, you led her back to where Sam was still sitting.

"Hey," you squeezed Sam's shoulder, hoping to comfort her a bit.

"Hey, sorry we left you with Kirby and Bailey," she apologized and placed her hand on top of yours for a moment. You just nodded and sat down with Tara. There would be a better, more appropriate time to tackle that reckless decision.

Soon enough you saw Danny running in. "Hey, I came as soon as I could," he ran up to the three of you, looking mostly at Sam.

"Did you?" Tara challenged and he just looked at her, perhaps knowing better than to add fuel to the fire.

"More importantly, what now?" you chose to save him from Tara's anger.

"Maybe he gets to win this time," Sam's words made alarms go off in your head as you turned to look at her.

"What?" you demanded, not quite sure if it was just your exhaustion catching up to you, or if Sam actually just said that.

"He wants to punish me," she explained, on the verge of tears. "Me," she stood up and faced Tara and you. "So maybe I let him. I'll just give myself up."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing and for a split second, you wondered if Sam lost her mind. "Fuck that! Who do you think you are, huh?!" you got up and stormed away from Sam. "Giving herself up? Unbelievable!"

"If this is what it takes to keep you safe, it's worth it," the only reason you weren't yelling that she was out of her mind was because she was crying. Sam was crying and you rarely saw that.

You couldn't convince her, so you'd leave it to Tara and maybe scold her once this was all over, because not only was Sam important to you and your friends you did not want to see Tara dealing with losing Sam once again.

Tara stood up and approached Sam. "No, we're not doing that, Sam. You went back to Woodsboro to protect me. Every single day you make the decision to protect me. None of us would even be alive if it weren't for you. You have to let us protect you this time," Tara told her without a single hint of doubt in her words.

"No," Sam said weakly.

"Yes," Tara said firmly and from the corner of your eye you saw her pulling Sam into a hug. "We're a team, remember? I can't lose you, Sam, it feels like I just got you back in my life."

That was definitely going to work. The question remained though. What to do next?

"He's gonna keep coming after us," Sam pointed out while hugging Tara back.

"We could use that, though," Tara said and somehow you just had the feeling she was about to suggest something reckless before she even spoke up.

The plan? That involved Bailey and Kirby? Lure Ghostface into the movie theatre they used as a shrine and execute them. When Tara said she intended to execute Ghostface you looked at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and just accepted it.

'At this point, the best I can do is be the fucking bodyguard,' a moment later you wondered when was the last time you cursed this much. "Right, off to the murder shrine, where we'll definitely have the upper hand," you couldn't help but grumble.

~X~

You drove to the murder shrine, in your car, just you, Tara, Sam, and Danny. No public transport. Nope. none of that. You were not about to be suspicious of every stranger on the train.

When you parked outside the theatre you saw Kirby waiting for you.

"I talked to Bailey, let's get you all inside," she went right down to business, but Sam abruptly turned around and faced Danny.

"Not you," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"Don't trust anyone, remember? We don't know you, not really," she told him.

"I don't know, Sam, we could use extra muscle," you still weren't sure you could defeat that Ghostface in a one-on-one, let alone with at least two more on his side. And why did the three of you even bring him along then?

"Y/N is right and you know me," Danny tried to convince her.

"You're not Woodsboro. I'm sorry," Sam wasn't listening.

"It's okay. It's okay, I get it. Just be safe, okay?" he kissed her cheek.

Sam nodded. "You too," with that, she turned around and the rest of you followed, leaving Danny behind.

"Good call," Kirby said as the four of you entered the theatre.

~X~

Things just kept getting better and better, Kirby was the only one with a gun, the only one with any weapon, really, and you only had one exit, that could be blocked fairly easily.

Perhaps seeing the tense look on your face prompted her to do it, but Tara took your hand and pulled at it, frowning when you didn't comply. "Come with me for a minute?" she requested, looking softly into your eyes.

"Now? You want to separate from Sam now?" you couldn't help but ask.

"Please, Y/N," you could never resist her for long. Thus, you complied, letting her lead you outside of the shrine and into the hall where you figured tickets used to be sold. "You're stressed," she said, not quite getting into your personal space, but still remaining close to you.

"Can you honestly blame me? I'm one bad thing away from just breaking down, Tara. I'm just tired," the first time this happened you had moments to rest, you slept, and you felt safe at Susan's place, for the last twenty-four hours even when you weren't in constant danger you were either arguing with Tara or trying to reach Susan.

Sure, you slept yesterday, but that was over thirty hours ago at this point and you were really feeling the stress that accumulated over the past two weeks.

"It'll be over soon," she said, reaching up to touch your cheek, but stopping mere inches away from it. As if trying to slap you suddenly put an invisible barrier between you that was only temporarily broken by the adrenaline caused by what happened to Gale.

For once, you chose not to lean into her touch. "Let's go back to Sam," you said, and Tara nodded, lowering her hand. She walked in front of you, and you went back to the shrine to see Sam running toward the doors you just walked through with a knife in her hand.

You were immediately looking around, trying to see if she was running from someone, but somehow you couldn't see anyone.

"It's Kirby! She made this whole theatre a kill box, for us!" Sam explained rapidly.

"What?" you asked, but it made sense. The police tracker on your car, only Kirby having a gun, locking you here... Why would she wait though, and who was she working with? You knew there were at least three Ghostfaces this time, and it didn’t seem like Kirby had any definitive allies.

"Bailey is on the way here, but-" Sam continued as you went back to the middle of the shrine.

"Stay back to back," you interrupted her and the three of you stood in a circle, making sure you had each other's back.

"Wait, wasn't it Bailey's idea to use you as bait?" Tara reminded Sam.

"And Kirby refused to let Gale come with us," Sam said, frantically looking around for any trace of Kirby.

"Unless he figured that's what would happen. Just to be sure, how about we don't trust either of them?" you suggested, and she was alone with Tara, but she would have to be stupid to just try and kill Tara before.

Tara nodded and you felt her brushing her fingers over your hand.

You took and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Ghostface appears you stay still, you hear me. Don't make sudden moves," you could pull either of them behind you and counter-attack at any time, you just needed them to stay calm.

You heard footsteps coming from your left, where Sam was and you moved, getting between the masked attacker and her just in time to catch his fist and punch his face. "Fuck running, I'm fighting you head-on," you said as he stumbled back, from the grunt of pain you figured this was probably the one you stabbed last night.

The second one jumped out, but they didn't attack, choosing to circle the three of you instead.

"Sam, Y/N," Tara was close to panicking and you knew why. The third one. He still wasn't there, and you didn’t have that much luck one on one, let alone now that there were three of them here with you.

"I need you to be ready! You ready?" Sam asked she had her back to Tara's while you moved to stand closer to the front of her while not blocking her direct line of sight. Sam even handed Tara a brick, which was good, Tara needed something to even the playing field a bit.

Tara took a deep breath. "I'm ready," she took another deep breath. "Come on motherfuckers!" unnecessary, but as long as she was calm and ready. Or at least ready.

Shooting made both Ghostfaces take cover and you turned to see Kirby, bleeding from the side of her head, and more importantly with a gun in her hands.

Somehow, you relaxed, if she wanted to shoot you, she probably would have done it and used the element of surprise.

"Maybe it's not you after all," you said and turned to Sam. "Come on, what's the point of keeping cover at this point? Your aim really sucks though. Not even one bullet hit them," you said, you'd still keep your guard up around her, but for now you figured you could tentatively trust her.

"My head is bleeding, Y/N," she deadpanned.

"Meh, excuses," you replied, though Kirby having a gun really eased some of your worries.

"Kirby, get away from the girls!" Bailey rushed in, with his gun raised.

"Whatever you think, I'm not the killer!" Kirby quickly denied any involvement in this mess. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but don't listen to him!"

And then the third Ghostface, the one you were the most worried about, came up behind Bailey.

"Behind you!" Kirby yelled only for Bailey to shoot her.

"Great job, you three," Bailey said as the three Ghostfaces stood by his side.

'Right, this is happening. Four of them, just great,' you thought as you fully expected Bailey to point his gun at the three of you.

"You?" Tara asked, and you shared her disbelief, after all Bailey had no reason to go after you.

"Yeah, of course, it's me. Frankly, I expected more from you after what you did to us," he declared, as if this was reasonable, as if they should have expected him to be the Ghostface.

"Us?" Sam repeated, as puzzled by his statement as you and Tara.

"Let me guess, Quinn?" you figured since he was saying 'us' maybe his daughter was involved as well.

Indeed, the Ghostface to Bailey's right took the mask off, and sure enough, it was Quinn. "Hello, almost roomies. Too bad I couldn't resist messing with you when we met, but it was a good way to not be on the suspect list," she said.

You narrowed your eyes, realizing that this might actually be worse, because this now meant anyone could be a Ghostface, that they no longer played by the rules and skipped getting close to you and becoming a part of the friend group.

Then the Ghostface to Bailey's left took off his mask. "Mindy was right, it was easy to juke the roommate lottery!" Ethan exclaimed. "All I had to do to get close to you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad. Fuck, I can't wait to kill him!" he pointed the knife at the mask he was holding. "This was your grandmother's Sam. Nancy Loomis. Really runs in your fucking family, doesn't it? Speaking of family..."

"Wait for it," Bailey chimed in.

"My name isn't Ethan Landry, is it dad?" and Bailey just laughed at that, as if there was actually something funny.

"Dad?" Tara's eyes widened.

"And then they tell Sam it runs in her family," you sighed as Ethan and Quinn began pacing around once again. You remained focused on the only remaining masked one.

Bailey explained his plan, saying how they were counting down to Billy's mask. Jason and Greg, bodega, Sam's therapist, your shared apartment, that was four, with four of them there were now eight masks. The idea that one, Amber's mask, was still missing worried you. Was Gale the ninth mask? That didn't make sense, no mask was left behind and it was the last attack, not the first as the countdown should imply.

Convinced that the fourth one was content with watching you began walking around Tara and Sam, keeping light on your feet, and making sure Quinn and Ethan were on your opposite sides the whole time. This way you could react to either of them attacking. They wouldn't be allowed to touch either Tara or Sam, not with you right there.

"I'm gonna need you to put it on," Bailey offered the mask to Sam, but she slapped it out of his hand.

Ethan went in to slash her, but you stepped in, making him halt before he could reach you. "How are the wounds?" you taunted and just as it looked like he was about to back away the fourth one spoke, still using the voice changer.

"Step back, she'll just hit you again," he warned, actually sounding amused, and though it was clear Ethan didn't like that, he did step away.

Their plan was insane, though it was working out well for them so far. They ruined Sam's reputation, courtesy of Quinn's efforts, and as Ethan explained it further Quinn made a mock attempt to stab Tara.

You once again moved in time, regardless of her intentions, and pulled Tara behind you.

"Truly a guard dog," Quinn mocked and that's when it all clicked for all three of you.

They weren't Amber's family, but... "You're Richie's family," Sam realized.

"Yeah," Bailey said slowly, just for a moment showing the pain of losing his family.

"Ding, ding, ding!" not liking the enthusiasm Ethan had when he said it you stopped between him and Sam, he seemed ready to lunge at you, but the warning he got before kept him at bay, at least for now.

"Now! It wasn't until I saw those photographs of what you did to him that I knew! I knew you had to die for what you did to him! You had to be punished!" Bailey yelled, angry at Sam for what she did to his son. You couldn’t say you blamed him, you wanted revenge for what was done to Tara and she survived. Even if Richie was the one who started it all, he was still Bailey’s family, so you understood. But you still weren’t about to let him, or his children hurt Tara and Sam.

"Real great parenting, by the way," Tara commented as she glared at the man.

"Shut your whore mouth!" Quinn screamed at her but didn’t attack knowing she had to go through you first. Ah, so she was the one that called you.

"And you? What's your deal?" you gestured toward the still masked Ghostface, interrupting whatever Bailey was about to say.

"You really should have figured it out by now. I get that you probably didn't want to consider it since I did help you out so much," he removed the mask.

Your jaw dropped slightly as you recognized Thomas. Honestly, you should have seen it coming just from how well the bastard fought. "What the fuck?" you couldn't help but ask. "Are you kidding me right now? Do you have any idea how bad it'll look when I end up putting 'Killed my employer' down as the reason for unemployment?" why was he even after you. Richie's family you could understand on some level, they were the bastard's family, but Thomas? Really?

Thomas actually genuinly laughed at that. "Trust me, that's the least of your worries, Y/N," he said and held up a paper bag for you to see. "You wondered where Amber's mask ended up?" the smirk on his face, the tone of his voice, it all made you feel unexplainable dread. "Take a good look," he opened the bag and turned it over, letting a very familiar pair of MMA gloves fall to the dirty floor.

Despite Tara's attempt to grab your hand you took steps forward, stopping right between Tara and Sam and the gloves at Thomas' feet. "Susan," your throat was dry when you said her name. This couldn’t be happening, she couldn’t be dead, but he took Zack’s gloves.

"Exactly, it's been four days now, just so you know why she hasn't been responding all this time," he was taunting you. He was amused by your failure to figure out what happened to Susan.

"Why?! What did she ever do to any of you?!" you weren't the one asking that, it was Tara.

You just stared at the gloves, barely even registering your surroundings. If anyone wanted to kill you, well, there wasn't a better opportunity than this very moment.

"It's simple really. Susan was the only one who'd always, no matter what, no matter what the other choice is, choose Y/N. Your friends won't, Samantha won't, not even you would Tara. It would hurt you, you'd never forgive yourself, but you'd choose Samantha in the end," he turned to you as Tara remained silent. "Parents? Oh, they really don't care. Zack and Susan? Dead. You can try to deny it all you want, but the only reason you are still alive is because you were strong enough to survive on your own. Twice now you were stuck with me, no one came to help. Your girlfriend put up a better fight to protect a friend than she did to protect you. You are alone, Y/N, and you threw everything you could have been for nothing. Quite frankly, what I'm about to do is a mercy kill."

You heard everything he said and you relaxed. There was nothing. No rage. No despair. No remorse. No sorrow. Nothing. Just an empty state of mindlessness.

"That's it," Thomas grinned, tossing aside his robes. Then his eyes abruptly widened. "Wait, Quinn!"

"Y/N!" you heard Tara and Sam's scream.

You glanced to your left and focused on nothing but the blade that was approaching you.

A/N: Here's a fun question, how much would Tara suffer if she had to choose between Sam and Reader?

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[kindaasrikal]

Cole headcanons, because apparently when I’m bored I think about Cole (and Morro, and Cryptor, surprisingly enough):

Cole is annoyingly acrobatic. In fact, when they first started doing their ninja stuff he was the most flexible and acrobatic, when it would make more sense if it was Jay or Kai due to their builds or elements. Not once did he ever share the reason as to why being Lou putting him into ballet, gymnastics, and having him train at home to peak flexibility because Lily was the one who did it before, so Lou was not gonna stop until Cole reaches Lily’s expectations. (Lily used to do the splits easily in front of Cole and Cole was determined to do that too, no one could stop the force that was baby Cole. As much as Lou started the idea, he wanted to stop because he kept thinking it was too much. It was Cole staring him dead in the eyes and saying ‘Mama wants me to’ that pushed him to continue. The dance stuff was all him though). He actually helped Jay train into being more flexible pre-pilots and later helped Nya do the same.

Cole understood Lloyd’s desire for sweets a bit too much, and instead of pushing it down and making Lloyd learn control, he encouraged it and now Wu had too deal with two sugar rushed ninja.

Cole used to argue with Kai all the time when they first began training together, until one day he had had enough. When Kai huffed and walked away after a particularly heated argument where not even Nya could get Kai to calm down and Zane and Jay couldn’t pull the two apart, Cole stomped up behind the shorter male, picked him up, and teddy bear hugged him until Kai apologised. It’s Cole’s version of when older siblings keep you head locked until you apologise. Kai was an embarrassed mess because Cole wouldn’t stop complimenting him and sharing his point of view like a healthy adult whilst he was still huffing. He didn’t argue with Cole for the next week and agreed each time the other told him to do something. Nya couldn’t stop laughing each time Jay and Zane mimicked the moment. The only reason Cole did that was because he remembered a big argument between his mum and dad when he was younger, and when it got heated from his dads side, his mum just picked Lou up and held him until he calmed down and she was able to think with a clearer mind.

Cole absolutely LOVES throwing dirt at people, and when they found out Nya’s element, he was able to convince her into helping him make mud to throw at people. They had to run when Zane had enough and froze the mud to chase them with it.

Cole likes to pop out of the ground at random times. Lloyd had to quickly learn to watch where he stepped, less his foot connects to Cole’s face again.

Cole actually planned to sell fake ‘special, one of a kind rocks!’ During that one time they were poor as dirt. It would’ve worked amazingly well too, seeing as everyone knew he was the earth ninja. Despite Wu not being there to tell him off, Kai had fun smacking Cole over the head for that idea.

Cole is probably the only ninja completely willing to commit crimes, especially fraud and theft.

Similarly to how Jay had to teach Zane how to live a tad more normally and how to understand society, Cole had to do the same with Kai and Nya. Wu could not be trusted because everyone realised he was just a tad of a recluse.

You know how Nya stepped onto that soulmate machine thing and it said Cole was her perfect match? Well, after Cole threw away his weird need to prove it right (lowkey think he was just matching the energy Jay had given and got petty) he called his dad up and explained it all and how they somewhat worked it out but it was still weird with Nya, and Lou lowkey just laughed at him, and reminded Cole of all those fairytale book’s he used to read and how they tended to explore the topics of found family and friends. Cole didn’t understand, but Lou explained that soulmates aren’t just the people you love romantically, but the people you love platonically. Cole and Nya sat down together just an hour later and Cole had to share this epiphany to the person he considered a sister, and understood him just like he understood her.

Cole is usually dragged into helping Pixal in her personal projects due to his strength, but he knows she also enjoys his company.

Cole and Vania share late night texts about their lives after not talking for weeks and they talk for HOURSSS just sharing everything they’ve been through recently.

Cole struggled to learn how to swim. Mainly because his element enjoyed making him more sinkable rather than floatable.

Cole went through the phase of having decently tight curls as a child, to loose and flowy hair, to extremely tight curls. He likes having a new hair style every week, from wavy hair and ponytails, to dreads and puffs.

He wears hoodies in the hottest of heats just to prove to Kai that he can. (He can’t its all sweaty by the end of the day)

If Morro stuck around Cole would absolutely force him into living and healing. Ghost duo my beloveds 🫶

Yes these are head canons leave me alone ajdghdhd

Cole the man that you are.

Edit: guys why is it telling me this is a mature post i swear its just cole being a lil loser

I FIXED IT NVM