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kookslastbutton · 9 months ago

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what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry��I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

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uranometrias · 6 months ago

Text

nobody ever loved me like you do, spencer reid

just a little prompt i couldn't get out of my head. this is majority fluff, it got kind of heavy towards the end, but no smut because i'm a coward, reader is a university student, there's an age gap between reader + spencer, unspecified, but reader is over 22. based off of 'pov' by ariana grande.

this absolutely got long as shit, i don't know how to be normal. (5.6k wrds)

"what's on your mind?" you hadn't realized you'd gone quiet until you feel the dip of the couch. it takes a moment to snap out of the little moment you've dug yourself into, but when you do you're pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend on the couch next to you. he grabs hold of the book you'd haphazardly discarded, and flips it over. you imagine internally he's tsking at you, he was always reminding you to be careful of the spine of the books you read, but you're happy he doesn't make a move to scold you about it now. instead, he closes it, and places it in his lap, letting his eyes trace all over your pretty face.

"is everything okay?" he prods, and in truth, you were fine. you didn't really know why you'd gotten so lost in your head, it just happened sometimes. domesticity was still fairly new, and despite the fact that your relationship with spencer had gotten to the point where you both were comfortable staying at each other's places for long periods of time, you still kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. spencer was the first guy you'd been with that was older, already established, had a 'big boy job' as you so eloquently labeled it. he had security.

not that you were some lazy, unprepared individual letting your life slip by, but you were still figuring things out. you were in university, and you had big dreams and hopes for your future, it just felt like it was taking forever to get there. to your future. everyone was always telling you not to wish away your youth, but by law you were no longer a child, you hadn't been for a while. your twenties were meant to be for 'figuring things out', finding yourself all over again, or that's what you were always hearing. over time it felt easier said than done.

the point was when you were still uncertain about what you wanted to spend the rest of your life doing, it was hard to feel grown up. especially when you had a boyfriend like spencer who was always doing something to raise the bar for humanity. he was a genius, he worked for one of the most prestigious units in the fbi, he was in the fbi... that in itself was an accomplishment. he had phds, bachelor degrees, and an extensive knowledge of literature in numerous languages and texts. to top it all off, he really was a great boyfriend.

you supposed it was just you feeling a bit insecure. you didn't believe that he expected too much of you, but that didn't stop you from putting unnecessary pressure on yourself. "everything's fine." you promise, and you tack on a warm smile to really sell it. the action triggers an involuntary smile from spencer, and you feel a bit faint, just because he's so pretty. "i was just watching you read." you admit, and it was true, you had gotten a bit lost in how quickly spencer was speeding through his own book. it didn't trigger insecurity, it just left you in awe at how absurdly lucky you were to have bagged spencer.

"yeah?" and he's got this edge to his voice that he usually gets when he's tired, sleepy, content. it was comforting, knowing that he was comfortable being here, like this with you. "are you sure that you're alright?" and he's leaning forward, hand cupping your cheek as he rubs his thumb over your jaw, and you lean into him. "you know you can talk to me about anything." he adds, and he's perceptive. you're certain that part of this has to do with his job, and the other part has a lot to do with the fact that he knows you so well.

"i know." you answer instantly, and you bring your hand up to hold over top his. "trust me, i know. that's why i like you so much." you beam brightly, and you lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips. it's a peck, and it sounds like one with the way that your lips smack together. you note his disappointment when you pull away just as he moved to kiss you a bit more fiercely. you find yourself giggling a bit as he pouts at you, and you lean in to offer him another kiss.

"like?" he asks, and you know he's fishing, but for what you're not sure. his eyes never look as bright as they do when he's sitting across from you. it offers you a bit of an ego boost to know that someone as handsome as your spencer consistently looks so enamored and enraptured with you. "i thought that we were a little past like..." he says, and your nose scrunches up at his big doe-eyed stare. "am i wrong about that?" and he holds his breath.

"no, you're right." you promise, and he relaxes. "we're past that." spencer looks relieved, and you wonder sometimes what's going on in his mind. he doesn't say anything for a while, he just looks at you, his thumb continues to draw soothing circles on your face, and you think you might be convinced to fall asleep if he keeps it up. "i'm sorry." you offer, and spencer's immediately shaking his head at you.

"don't apologize." he presses, and he's peeling his hand away from your face. now it's your turn to be disappointed. "and if you don't feel like we're past the 'i like yous'... that's okay too." and he looks sad now. it's your least favorite expression on him, and you wonder if you've done something wrong. "i don't want you to feel like you're rushing yourself, okay? or like you're forcing yourself to feel anything that you don't." he says, and your eyebrows furrow inward, face contorting.

"i don't feel that way." you deny sternly. spencer's head tips to the side, curls following along, and the urge to run your hands through his hair almost chokes you out. "spencer, i don't feel that way." you reiterate, and you hate that his expression doesn't change. you hate that he looks like he doesn't believe you. "i have too many feelings for you." you admit, and you shake your head. "all of the feelings." you insist, and the problem is that you haven't managed to fully verbalize what that means. spencer's told you that he loves you, often.

you haven't managed to say it back, but not because you don't believe it. it's more so out of worry that once you tell him, things will get too real. you'll grow too comfortable, and by-proximity expose parts of yourself that spencer might not be ready for. things that'll make him run for the hills, and take his sweet i love yous with him. "that's a lot of feelings." spencer replies, and he sighs deep, chest moving with the action. you smile, mostly to ward off the tension.

he doesn't return it, and you suddenly feel anxious. "do you want-" he trails off, and he looks conflicted. "if you wanted to break up..." and your heart sinks. "you would tell me, wouldn't you?" he asks, and you immediately reach out for him, his hands curling into yours as you interlock your fingers. you want to slam your head into a wall, mostly for worrying him in this way. The last thing you'd been thinking about was a breakup, in fact, you'd finally resided yourself to the fact that you were in this relationship as long as spencer wanted you.

"do you think that's what this is about?"

"isn't it?" his quick retort makes you frown, and now you're facing one another with matching pouts. "i just want you to trust me with your feelings... all of them." he explains. "even the ones i might not enjoy the most." he treads lightly, and you find that there's nobody in the world who could matter more to you. "and i'm sorry if i haven't been doing enough to let you know that." and you huff in annoyance, but not with him. never with him. with yourself for overthinking.

"you've got it all wrong." you tell him, and you hope your words sound as definitive as they feel. "a breakup is the farthest thing from my mind." you shuffle a bit on the couch, mostly to invade the space he just took. you don't stop moving until he's back in your orbit, your knees brushing against his leg. "i've never met anyone like you before." and it feels cliche, but you suppose you've earned the right to quote the words, because they're true. "i think as far as expectations for boyfriends go, you managed to smash through them all."

spencer finds himself nervous under the onslaught of kind words. he can't look away from you though, because it's so rare when you let him into your head. despite all his profiling skills, you were still almost completely a mystery. he understood your physical cues, but the emotional ones were still hard to pinpoint. "i think sometimes i still keep waiting for you to realize how amazing you are..." and he has that annoying feeling of giddiness in his stomach. it feels childish, but he adores the rush loving you continues to give him.

"i think i'm a little aware." he says, and you laugh. your hands reach out, and now you're the one holding his face. he thinks it's a comfort thing of yours, the way you like to hold onto him when you're talking. his apprehension towards touch was no match for the way your hands on his face brought him a feeling of comfort like nothing else.

"and you still want to be with me?" you ask, and you don't sound bashful, more confused than anything else. spencer's confusion soon matches your own, his eyebrows furrowing as he recites your words over and over in his head. what sort of question was that? "i just mean that there's so many types of women out there... you work with so many." and your mind drifts to his closeness with the girls he worked with in the fbi. namely jennifer jareau.

you'd only met her a few times, you knew she was married with sons, but you couldn't shake the thought that if she wanted him she could have him. she was older, more confident, disastrously pretty. "i just don't understand why someone like you would want to be with someone like me." you express, and spencer is flabbergasted. he forces you to peel your hands from his face, instead choosing to hold your hands and squeeze them gingerly.

"someone like you?" and he wants you to get it all out, every last bit of it, mostly so that he can correct every incorrect notion about yourself that you expose.

"someone who's immature, naive, inexperienced, uncertain about almost every major decision... you know? someone like me." you divulge, and he winces. "you've got so much going for you, i just don't want you to feel like i'm holding you back." you admit. "so when i saw you reading... i don't know-" you trail off, and spencer's eyes shoot across the room to his own discarded book. "i guess i just remembered how incredible you are, and how severely inadequate i must be in comparison." and your voice gets quieter as you finish.

"you could never hold me back." he states firmly. "and even more than that... i don't think it's actually possible for someone to really hold you back." he admits, and you feel him beginning to start on a tangent, though you don't mind. they were far and few in between these days. "to me it always seemed more like an excuse people use to place blame on someone else for their shortcomings." spencer's let go of your hands, and you watch them as he gestures boisterously. "for everything i'm good at, there's so many areas where i fall short."

you don't think you've ever loved him more.

"and who says phd's and fast reading skills are what make a person better suited or fit for anything?" and he knows that you want to rebuttal, so he continues so you don't get the chance to. "my skills help me with the job that i do... we can agree that's true, right?" he asks, and you nod your head. "right. but, you don't want to have my job, do you?" he asks, and your nose curls up. you thought that what spencer did was admirable, you loved celebrating the victories with him, you knew it was important, but you don't think you had it in you.

"no, i guess not." you disagree.

"and you don't need to be called 'doctor' or hold a gun, or kick down doors, in order to be... a suitable life partner."

"you're not kicking down any doors, spencer." you crack a joke, and you like that he laughs, it's the kind that morphs into a toothy smile.

"maybe not, i just mean that out of the two of us, you're not the one who needs to worry about not being adequate... i don't think there's anything in existence that would make me not want to be with you." and you feel bashful, but know full well that you can't pull your eyes away from him. "you're a lot to lose." he exhales, and you blink. "and you don't need doctorates or much of anything for that to be the case." spencer beams a little bit, "you captivate people without even realizing it sometimes." spencer's hand moves to rest on your thigh.

"you think so?"

"sometimes i try and figure out how i got so lucky, and i hope that i keep doing whatever it takes to make you stay." he admits. "does that make sense?" he asks, and you feel your heart wanting to burst out of your chest.

"it makes a lot of sense." you agree. "and i can guarantee that as long as you want me, you'll have me." you promise.

"and if i want you forever?" he asks, and you smile despite yourself.

"then i guess you're stuck with me forever, doctor reid." and he likes the thought a lot more than he anticipated. he thinks that's why he can't ignore the urge to kiss you. he leans forward, lips overtaking yours like a magnet being pulled towards a kindred force. you almost pounce, finding yourself rooted on top of his lap, fingers finally finding solace in his hair, as his hands scope out your waist and the curve of your hips.

you hum when his lips peel away from yours, landing on your neck as he peppered the space with kisses and small bites. kissing spencer was a surefire way to get you both started down a path of insatiability. it was dangerous, but you supposed with the conversation context in mind, it made perfect sense for this to be the end result. still, it feels like there's more to say, and you suppose that it's why you tighten your hold on his hair just slightly, craning your neck to give him all the access he needs. "spence?" you gasp.

he doesn't verbally acknowledge you, instead his arms loop around you, bringing you closer as he proceeds to leave hickeys in areas that would be much too difficult to hide. "spence..." you try again.

"i'm listening." he promises before he's placing a kiss just behind your ear. it makes you squirm, suddenly feeling lightheaded as his grip on your waist tightens slightly.

"can you tell me again?" you ask, and you don't want to ruin the moment, especially after he just sweetly poured his heart out to you. "tell me how you feel about me..." you instruct a bit more impatiently. spencer's more interested in leaving more marks on your skin, but he also enjoys the vulnerability that comes with expressing himself to you. he pulls away from your neck with one last peck, before his lust-filled gaze is locked on yours. you've taken to raking your nails through his hair, gently dragging against his scalp.

"you still don't know?" he asks, and part of you thinks he's doing this on purpose. it's not until you register the slight upturn of his lips that you recognize that he's teasing you.

"is it so bad that i want to hear it again?" you press, and you're feeling a bit impatient, mostly because you're itching to finally spit the three word phrase out, but you want him to say it first.

"no." he denies, head shaking. "it's not bad at all, and i don't mind telling you, but, can you ask me the right way?" and you feel the shift, the way his fingers finally slip under your shirt. it makes you jump, the way his fingertips trace over the skin of your lower back. "what are you fishing for, pretty girl?" you don't have the courage to stare at him anymore, instead you find your head glued to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, as your arms looped around him.

"i'm not fishing." you deny, and spencer presses a swift kiss to the top of your head. despite the desire to 'get to the good part' that you know you both feel, you still enjoy this part. the clinginess, the way he showered you in attention and affection that you had never believed yourself worthy of. he loved you so openly, so easily. it never felt like a burden, it never felt like something he had to try too hard at. you liked that, you liked that he made falling in love so easy.

"no?" he doesn't sound convinced. "what are you hoping i'll say then? i know you have an idea." he says and his chin is resting on the top of your head as he adjusts you on his lap. the tension still rests in the air, but he's holding you like he's comforting you almost, arms looped around you in an almost-hug that feels warm and comfortable and familiar. it's the kind that you could get lost in, fall asleep in. maybe you will, just as soon as you get through this last little emotional hoop.

"you don't know everything."

"did i say that?" he corrects you lowly, he's not impatient with you, and you wonder how long it took him to garner enough stamina to keep up with your sass.

"no." you deny, and he hums in agreement. you've taken to running your hands up and down his back, palms closing and opening as you try and quiet your anxiety. "i want to hear you say that you love me again." you admit, and it feels like a lump is forming in your throat. "i know that you do." you add a second after. "but sometimes i like to hear it anyway..." you clear your throat. "it makes me feel-" and you trail off, because you haven't really gotten over this hurdle.

spencer's smiling, and you know that he is, because as much as he knows you, you think you know him a little bit too. "how does it make you feel?" he asks, and you shake your head, eliciting an amused sort of exhale. "you can tell me anything." he reminds you, and of course you know that. "or we could move on... if it's too much to say right now." he offers you an out like the gentleman he always has been. "do you want to go back to before?" and you definitely want to kiss him.

maybe do a bit more than kiss.

"yes." you agree, but when it seems like he's about to move, you hold him even tighter to you. "wait, no." you deny, and he's exhaling through his nose. you cringe, because you know that sometimes you can be indecisive, but you think about what he'd told you earlier. you remind yourself that he wanted you, and you calm down. "i want to kiss you again." you start, and he doesn't say anything, because he knows you're not finished. "but i want to finish our conversation first." you huff, and he's surprised, in a pleasant sort of way.

"we can do that." he promises, "what do you want to tell me?"

"i like when you tell me that you love me." you admit, and you think it's good that you're not looking at him. you also like that he's still lightly dragging his fingers along your waist, it makes you shy, but you welcome it. "it's not something that you just tell everyone, so i like that you tell me, even though i haven't said it back." you feel like you're losing your breath as you rush to get it out. "and i like how what you said earlier makes me feel."

"how's that?" and spencer is spencer. he likes to drag things like this out, he likes for you to elaborate, to explain yourself. you suppose he likes to hear you just as much as you like to hear him.

"i don't know how to express it really, but it feels nice. 'cause you always sound like you mean it when you say it." you freeze when his fingers stop their slow journey, but you don't have time to focus on that right now. "not like butterflies, but it's like stabilizing." you shrug your shoulders. "and it's not the sort of thing that feels like it comes with some sort of price. like i don't hear it, and think 'oh he's only saying this because he wants to sleep with me', it doesn't-" you inhale. "it doesn't make me anxious or anything."

spencer's disappointed that his memory mostly works for things he's seen rather than heard, because he wants to relive this conversation for the rest of his life. it's a bit unheard of, especially in his lifetime. he's seen people in love, he's witnessed incredible relationships, but nothing he's seen has ever compared to the way that you manage to make him feel. he's had girlfriends, one-night-stands, experimentations, and things in between that felt like they could be the real thing, eventually. being with you though feels easy.

even when things go wrong, when you're too stubborn to communicate, and he's too tired to fight for you to, it still feels easy. like the struggles that come with your relationship are struggles he's willing to deal with. you're someone he's willing to deal with.

"it makes me want to stay." you offer, and it's scary, mostly because you've got the world's worst habit of running away when things get too real. you packed your bags at the first inconvenience, it was who you were, who you had been before spencer. you didn't stick around to fight for your relationships, you didn't let anyone fight for you either. "like... like even if things go horribly wrong, it'll still be okay as long as you still sound like you mean it when you say i love you."

you don't think you'll cry, but you do think once you're all finished, you'll want to stay wrapped up in him like this.

"i've just never met anyone that makes life make so much sense." and your leg is slightly shaking, and you're burrowing even deeper into his chest, holding him just a bit tighter. "so please... can you tell me again?" you ask, and your hands have taken fistfuls of his shirt, curling just slightly as you try and will your heartbeat to slow.

"you all done?" he asks, and you nod your head, all done with talking for now. "i'm so proud of you." and your confusion is back, as well as your ability to talk.

"what for?" you inquire, and he unloops his arms from around you. you don't want to move, but you know where this is going. still, you decide you'll wait until he asks you.

"can you look at me, please?" he asks quietly, and you're immediately pulling back, hands in your lap as you take in all the emotions resting on your boyfriend's face.

"oh, spence!" and you hope he's not about to cry. you've never been privy to it, but you can imagine what it'll do to you in your emotionally high state. "i know that was a lot, i'm sorry." you apologize despite the fact that you've done nothing wrong, a bad habit.

"please don't ever apologize for something like that." he corrects you gently. "i'm proud, because i can imagine how hard that likely was, but you did it anyway, so thank you for sharing how you're feeling with me." you look away just for a second, the moment feeling too heavy for you to manage. you're looking back at him just a moment after, his stare something you've always been terrible at ignoring and avoiding. "would it be a let down if i told you that i feel the same way about you?" he asks, and you wonder if this phase ever ends.

you don't want to wake up one day and find that your smile no longer reaches your eyes when you look at him, or hear his voice.

"no." you answer quietly. "i like when you agree with me, especially about your feelings for me." and it's a small joke, one you partially mean. "but, you still haven't told me that you love me, yet." you remind him a bit more sternly than you have been.

"i know." he retorts, and he looks a bit smug. you want to say that you hate when he gets like this, but you know you're lying. "i'm waiting to see how long it'll take you to crack." he admits, and your nose curls. he beams at you, and you want to glare, just for the fun of it. "why are you determined not to say it first?" he asks, and you cross your arms over your chest, busted.

"you don't know what's in my head." you instead argue, and his eyes roll, but he still seems amused. "i can say it first if i very well wish." you add, and his eyebrows raise, a challenge. unlucky for you, because you had a problem with being challenged. you would always walk right into his trap like a fool.

"so then say it." he taunts, and you realize pride is one hell of a killer.

"fine, i will." you retort, voice laced in mock-aggravation. "i love you." you deadpan, you say it like it's a bother. "happy now?"

"not with that attitude. can you try again? say it like you mean it?" he presses, and you're weaker in the knees than you initially believed. all your bravado goes right out the window, and you're suddenly anxious again, with no bite to curb your words, you're certain he'll hear every ounce of emotion you feel towards him if you say it again.

"spence." you exclaim, and he's not moved. you think you hate him just a little. "it's not fair, you're being mean." you express, looking down at your lap, and you know that you're only behaving this way because you're overwhelmed.

"i'm not." he promises, and he ducks just a little so that you're looking directly at him again. "i wouldn't be, especially not about this." he adds. "i just want you to say it again for me, can you do that? please?" he asks, and you hate how absurdly handsome he is sitting across from you. he's got this way of looking innocent even when he's baiting you, and he's always got this intensity in his stare that's enough to knock the wind out of you. it's kryptonite, and precisely why you concede.

"spencer, i love you." he groans, quietly, but you hear him all the same. he's kissing you before you can react, and it's easy getting lost in moments like these. he always kisses you like he's trying to swallow you whole, too handsy for his own good. his kisses are desperate, tongue swiping out just slightly, likely to test the waters. you match his ferocity, and let your own tongue drag over his bottom lip before you press a bit more forcibly, hurriedly, desperately.

"i love you." you don't know why you're saying it again, but it's not as hard as the first time. you kiss him again, grumbling when he's quick to lean out of reach. you shoot him a sour glance, and he's not moved.

"hey, i love you too." he echoes you in the most love sick sort of way. it feels precisely as you had described it earlier, and that makes you happier. the fact that the feelings didn't change, didn't disappear all because you'd said the three words back. you hum contentedly, and then your head is back on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "does it still sound like i mean it?" he asks, he questions you softly, like he's trying to preserve the moment.

"mhm." you answer quietly, and you strain to kiss his throat once, before your back to resting against him. "did it sound like i meant it?" you mimic his line of questioning, and you're happy when his arms are back around you. he's a lot more respectable this time around, but before long, his hands are finding their chosen place back under your shirt, exploring your waist and hips as you try not to squirm.

"yes." he replies, and you're glad to hear it. "can you say it again?" you suppose in the grand scheme, you do have lots to make up for. he'd probably want you to say it over and over again.

"i love you." it's instantaneous, as is the way spencer's hold on you grows more firm. you hadn't wanted to mention it, the way sitting here like this with him had you itching for more, but it seemed you weren't the only one in that headspace. "spence?" you question, and he's dragging his hand up and down your back, legs starting to bounce just slightly.

"yeah?"

"can we go back to before now?" you ask, and you expect him to be a tease. he could never just give you what you wanted, he always had to drag it out, and make you nervous.

"back to before?" he pries, and he's leading. you huff audibly, and you adjust yourself on his lap, trying to control the way the pit in your stomach seemed to grow warm, heating you up from the inside. "you'll have to be a bit more specific than that, love." he tsks, and you hate him.

"i just-" you frown, hating this part. "i want you." you deadpan. "and you know that, so i don't know why you're being like this." except you do, because it's amusing to spencer to watch you get all flustered and nervous. you don't know why, but it's how he is. you think that one day you'll try your hand at flustering him back, just to see what all the hype is about. "i want you to-" and you're not sure exactly what counts for too blunt with a boyfriend like spencer. "let's f-fuck, okay?" and spencer's got that stupid amused look on his face again.

god, you hate him.

"that wasn't too hard was it?" he questions, and you cut your eyes. you're certain he'll make you pay for the looks, and the smart mouth down the line, but you can't care right now.

"it was excruciating." you correct haughtily. "you should be ashamed of yourself for treating the girl that you love this way." you add, and spencer's got his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he takes you in. you gulp, shuffling just slightly as you realize precisely the predicament you've gotten yourself into.

"do you want me to make it up to you?" he asks, and he sounds breathier than before, which only serves to make you more of a hot-and-bothered mess.

"i-" you blink owlishly, unsure of his intentions.

"yes or no?" he presses, and you think either way this goes, your done for. "you've just got to say the word."

"yes." head nodding, eyes blown to hell, it's easy enough. "you should. you definitely should." you respond, and then he's kissing you again. he's much more intense this time, stealing all of the air out of your lungs as his nails scratch against your skin, you hands moving to cup his face, you hope to keep him anchored to you this way. when he breaks from the kiss again, you're ready to lay into him, only to squeak when he scoops you up, standing up from the chair.

your legs immediately lock around his hips, and you're panting already, he seemed to have that constant effect. all it took was a little kissing, and you were already a mess. "i love you." he says this like it's a reminder, and you are quick to chase his mouth with your own. you could say you were a bit obsessed with the act.

"i know." you reply, and his eyes roll at you, but he still looks as love sick as you feel.

"good. i'm going to need you to remember that, because when we get to the bed, i'm going to do a lot of things that might make you think the opposite." he says this like a definitive promise, and you gasp. "do you understand?" he asks, and you're shivering, the anticipation already managing to strike you down.

"yeah-yes!" you stutter. "i understand, it's okay." you add. spencer's already got this look of pride residing in his eyes, and you know that you're in for it, silly you for thinking love confessions would be enough to get you out of all the backtalk and clear attitude. "i'm ready!" you insist like the eager girl you are.

"we'll see." he retorts.

god, you love him.

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bedoballoons · 1 year ago

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Yandere Tighnari, Venti, lyney, Freminet and Aether finding out Reader isn't really into short guys They're into someone bigger and taller {{Itto For Aether, Alhaitham for Tighnari, Nevillete for both Lyney and Freminet and Zhongli for Venti}}

I READ THIS AND WAS LIKE YESSSSSS!!! (As a short person I find this hilarious and your idea is literally genius!) I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your request!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Just not that into short bois~༺}

CW: Yandere themes!, characters are obsessive to the point of wanting to harm others so they can't take you, unrequited love, intense jealousy, mild angst! Lyney makes Neuvillette disappear! Also this is much longer than I meant it to be...what can I say, I like yanderes!

(Includes: Lyney, Tighnari, Venti, Freminet, and Aether!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney had been told no many times in his life,in fact he couldn't even count how many people said he could never be a famous magician...and yet he'd proved every single one of them wrong. He simply couldn't stand not working towards something everyone else claimed was impossible, because in his eyes anything was possible, so when you confided in him about your feelings towards Neuvillette and stated that you found him more charming because of his height, even going so far as to mention you didn't really like short men as much...he just couldn't give up so easily.

He was madly in love with you, to the point it had become more than obsession, he'd seek you out anytime he'd left his home and any show he'd make sure to wink at you the moment his eyes met yours, he was so head over heels for you that he was physically unable to think about anyone or anything else. This also meant he wouldn't let anyone take you...especially just because they were taller...absolutely not.

So for his next show he planned something extra special, a magic trick truly wonderful in everyway...and as the crowd cheered, watching in awe when the box that had contained the chief of justice disappeared before their very eyes...none of them were aware he wouldn't show back up again...at least not for along while. Not until Lyney had found a way to make you love him, not until you...the most precious beautiful thing in all the world...was his.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari stood next to you, his ears drooping with regret as he watched you flirt away with Alhaitham, his tall muscular figure drawing you to him like a moth to a flame...making you completely forget about the one who'd brought you together in the first place. It was like some cruel trick of fate...especially considering Tighnari had planned to confess his feelings for you that same day...and now it seemed like it would do no good..

He tapped your shoulder, not waiting for your response as he intertwined his hand with yours, pulling you away from Alhaitham as quickly as possible...and silently hoping you'd leave the whole situation at that. You on the other hand were not so happy with him, wanting desperately to continue your conversation with the handsome scribe..., "Tighnari what was that about? I was really getting along with-" He put a gloved finger to your lips, making you go quiet, his heart racing as he looked deep into your eyes.

"I love you...so much. I can't even really wrap my head around my feelings because they are so intense...it's like I need you just to keep going...like you're the thing I simply cannot live without. Even the air I breathe isn't as important as you are...." His confession was a bit much to say the least and adding to it was the kiss he placed on your forehead, causing you to jerk away from him.

"I'm sorry...but I don't feel that way for you..." Your words spilled out before you could stop them, your heart racing with fear at the change in his mannerisms...he didn't even respond...he just stood there...like he was plotting something and you...were about to find out just how crazy his love for you actually was.

𑁍༄Venti:

"I actually do have feelings for someone."

The second those words left your lips Ventis heart began to race, his mind clouded over with thoughts of you confessing to him and telling him you loved him...it was all he wanted. No, it was all he needed! He tried his best to calm himself down, taking a sip of wine before responding like someone who was completely clueless of the others feelings would, "Oh ho ho and who would that lucky person be hmm?"

A blush coated your cheeks followed by a sweet flustered smile that could make even Lord Barbatos swoon and boy was he...until you answered, "I like Mr. Zhongli~" You giggled nervously, not noticing how pale Venti went the second he heard the name...how the part of the wine bottle he'd been holding had shattered, much like his heart...you didn't even notice the hurt tone of his voice when he asked, "What does that old blockhead have that I don't?"

The question definitely took you by surprise, but you assumed he wasn't being serious and decided to answer truthfully, "Well he's a bit more refined...and I like his voice, but most of all he's so tall! I'm sorry Venti but I just can't imagine myself with someone...so tiny." The anemo archon was speechless...hatred seeping into his very being and jealousy getting the better of him. He stood up without another word and left, leaving you wondering what had happened...

𑁍༄Freminet:

Freminet was completely silent, his face bright red and burning with a rage he'd never felt before, his hands barely able to keep steady as jealousy ate away at his once calm heart heart. All he wanted was you...your love, that sweet smile that he craved to see everyday, but here you were, sitting Infront of him with this doe eyed look on your face as you fawned all over none other than the chief of justice. Mentioning more than once how tall and handsome he was, how incredible it would to have a man like him around.

"Enough."

You paused mid sentence, caught off guard by the amount of malice in his once kind sweet voice, watching as he stood up from his seat, your mouth slightly agape. You'd never seen him like this before...so angry and confident, it was scary...yet also a little exciting. After a moment of silence you'd worked up the courage to say something...but you didn't even manage to get a single word out as he grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you harshly towards him, making you let out nothing more than a sharp gasp.

Your face went red, pure shock displaying itself on your features as he leaned in closer, his light purple eyes seemingly staring into your soul as his whispers grazed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, "Hush now my love...you don't need him...I promise~"

𑁍༄Aether:

Aether was always there to help someone, so reliable in fact, that everyone called on him whenever there was a issue and including you, after all he'd saved you from many close calls...even saving your life a few times in the process and for that you were incredibly grateful, but alas you were still not in love with him. He on the other hand couldn't get enough of you, he just wanted to be near you all the time...be your hero and love you like nobody else ever could.

He...however wasn't the only person who could save someone and when the friendly neighborhood oni stepped in to save you, Aether was anything but pleased... especially when he saw the difference in how you acted. Yes your gratitude was the same...but you'd gotten all flustered at the onis impressive figure, touching the large man's chest while your face heated with such a strong blush and everyone around you cheered him on.

Aether was more than a little upset, suddenly understanding that he clearly wasn't your type and that he probably would never be, he just couldn't stand it! How could you, the person he'd do absolutely anything for...be so enraptured by someone else...just because they were bigger than him. No, he wouldn't let it stand, he'd fight for you, even if it meant doing things he could regret later on...it didn't matter, not anymore. You were all he cared about...all that mattered.

Just. You.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

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quixotical-lymbo · 1 month ago

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Hi ! Just discovered you through your D-16 x reader fic and your writing is MWAH MWAH yummy 😋 ahhhh thank youuu, I've been craving for tf one fics, I want to request a short fic with D-16, Orion Pax and Gn! Reader who's a racer from that various reader prompts you posted awhile ago? Anything else is up to you! Go wild

Thank youuuu 🫶💐

Pairing: D-16, Orion Pax x gn!racer!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Showcasing your appreciation for your fans leads to an unlikely encounter. Warnings/Tags: Pre-canon, cybertronian!reader with a cog, size difference, awkward flirting??, forehelm kisses, and fluff. A/N: Aww ty for the love! Hope you enjoy :) Word Count: 800+ words

"What are we doing back here?" Came a rushed whisper from one bot.

"What does it look like, genius? We're here to meet, ___."

"What?! You said you wanted to show me something, not break into a racer's personal quarters!"

"Psh, I bet they meet all sorts of fans back here all the time, besides, I'm sure they won't mind the bot they blew a kiss at to come and meet them backstage."

"...you mean me?"

"You?"

"They blew the kiss at me."

"My friend, you need to get your optics checked, I'm pretty sure that kiss was meant for-"

Orion didn't get to finish his sentence when the door to your quarters opened and your shiny figure stepped out and into the hallway. You glanced down at your newly filed digits before glancing up to spot two small, cogless bots standing in front of you.

"...."

"..."

"Why, hello there…where did you two come from?" Your voice was as warm as the sweetest energon and caused the tense mechs to ease up. You crouched before the two and placed your servos on your knee pads. One mech was blue and red, a lot more colorful in appearance and personality compared to his standoffish, silver colored mech companion. They were obviously miners from what you could tell from their chipped paint and dusty frames.

The blue and red mech cleared his throat and prepared to speak until he was nudged back by his friend.

"We were lost! Yeah, we didn't mean to come…all the way here," The silver mech gave his friend a side-optic glare.

"Could you help us find our way out?" The red mech briefly met his companion's shocked expression with a teasing smirk before switching his bright gaze onto you. "The name's Orion Pax, this mech over here is-"

"-D-16, nice to meet you…I'm…your biggest fan! I've been to almost all of your races and-" D-16 stammered out his introduction and seemed to be digging a further hole for himself as he rambled on. His friend watched with a familiar fondness before he snapped his gaze to the racer when their bell-like laugh rang out.

"Aren't you two the cutest fans I've met," You cooed before pushing yourself up to stand. "I'll show you the way out, follow me."

Orion pumped a servo when you turned away and winked at D-16 as he went to walk by your side. D-16 only rolled his optics and quickly went to catch up.

“So, ____, how do you win like all the time?” Orion started the conversation.

“Practice makes perfect,” You replied with a smile.

“And what do you do when you lose?” Came the interesting inquiry from the silver mech. Realizing how his question might imply something bad, “I mean, how do you deal with the pressure of needing to be the best? I couldn't imagine having all those optics on me at all times.”

You giggled and mulled over his question for a few nanokliks. “Well, I suppose I don't beat myself up about losing a race, after all the races would be boring if my rivals weren't on my level.”

“Right! Makes sense. I, uh, thank you." D-16 felt his face plate warm as your bright optics made contact with his.

"You're welcome, thank you two for seeing me,” You stopped when the exit came into view. “I haven't had this much fun in a while, I hope to see you too at the finish line again.”

“We'll be there, ” Orion nodded as he nudged D-16 toward the exit.

D-16 bit his bottom derma before turning back around and walking over to you.

“Can…can I get a signature?”

You blinked before your dermas curved in happiness at the timid request made by the mech. You see, instead of signing merch the regular way, you usually left your ‘mark’ on any special fan who caught your attention. It was a very rare occurrence which is why those bots claimed they'd never wash the mark off.

You crouched down and tilted the mech's helm back by curling a digit under his chin. D-16's breath was caught in his intake as your dermas pressed against his helm. He stood there frozen even when Orion came to his side and asked for a mark as well.

You obliged and kissed his helm as well.

Orion leaned into it as you pulled away, you stifled a laugh as you booped his nose to snap the red and blue mech out of his daze.

“Well…I'll see you two at the next race,” You mused before turning to leave.

Orion and D-16 were standing there, pedes frozen to the ground as they processed the previous events.

“Guess that blown kiss was meant for both of us.”

D-16 only rolled his optics before smacking Orion's arm.

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. like my writing? consider buying me a kofi :)

banner(s) by @dollywons !!

#tranformers #transformers one x reader #d 16 x reader #orion pax x reader #orion pax #d 16 #cybertronian reader #racer reader #flirting

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reiderwriter · 9 months ago

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Okay so I have a small req (Honestly this is more of an hc than anything-but I need to share cuz vshvskhbjks) I feel like Spencer is genuinely so perverted when it comes to his girlfriend??? like if you leave your panties lying around he IS swiping them and he is not ashamed like...he may not do much in public but in private he will grab a handful of your ass or tits when he can like.....In the early seasons, I feel like he'd be a little ashamed but s13+? hell no, especially when it comes to him getting caught being a lil perv gfkjk (FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF IT ISN'T YOUR CUP OF TEA!!!!)

A/N; Gave this one some ✨️angst✨️ just because I could, but YES TO PERVERTED SPENCER!! YES INDEED!!

Summary; You get to know your coworker well after a decade on the job. You get to know just how much he loves to touch you and just how much you enjoy his hands on you as well. But after prison, something is changed in Spencer Reid.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ Minors DNI. Masturbation (M, F), oral sex (F), hand job, mentions of somewhat public indecency, groping, grinding, etc, unprotected sex, PinV, creampie, dirty talk.

Spencer Reid had always been a pervert, and it took you six long, quiet months to figure that out.

When you'd joined the BAU after years of begging for a chance, you were a team expecting field-hardened agents, and for the most part, that's what you'd got. Hotchner was as bureaucratic as they came, Rossi had been at the institution as long as the concept of the BAU had, and the others had some serious qualifications to their names.

But Spencer Reid was the outlier. He was a bit timid in front of the others, always seemed to put his foot in his mouth when it mattered most and seemed to be patronized around the office a bit until it came to his intellect.

And you didn't quite know how to act around him until you got to know him very, very well.

A case in some state or the other had called for emergency motel rooms, unfortunate as some Nascar show or the other was rapidly filling up hotel room spaces everywhere. So, as the two youngest members of the team (and by far the most eager to please), you'd ended up rooming together in a double twin room.

“So, Spencer, what do you do at night to wind down? Relax after a case?” The motel door had swung shut loudly behind you an awkward three minutes before you started the conversation, and you needed something to break the awkward tension in the room.

“I… read, I guess?”

“You're always reading. What book is it today? Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy? Maybe Dickens?”

In response, he'd just awkwardly held up the book cover for a minute, leaving you to nod and let the conversation peter out. It wasn't the first time one of your conversations with him died out due to a mutual lack of skill, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Giving in, you grabbed your bag and headed for the small bathroom, a strategic retreat to pass the time without having to acknowledge that the teams resident genius was ignoring you.

Because he definitely was.

You'd been on the team for six months, and you couldn't quite figure out why he'd never so much as asked you how your day was. He'd be jovially talking with one agent or the other and would clam up as soon as you joined into the fray.

Spencer Reid was stuck in his shell, you'd been told. He was someone who didn't open up very easily, especially after his first few, very rough years in the BAU.

You let each concern roll off your back as you showered and cleaned yourself up after a day of dumpster diving for clues. Your next aim was getting out of the shower, dried, and into bed before you felt the weight of his disinterest in you settle any heavier.

“Hey I'm all done now, and I'm gonna hit the hay, so bathrooms all yours.”

“Thanks,” he said and immediately strode in, shutting the door behind him without another word.

You wished you could shake the man. You weren't exactly used to being so pointedly avoided by a peer, and it was honestly making you feel rather indignant. You wanted to grab his attention and hold it any way you could, so much so that your palms started itching.

The sounds of Spencer's shower interrupted your attempts to rest, so you set about organizing your things instead. Folding your shirts, you placed them in your go bag, taking inventory on how many fresh outfits you had left and how much laundry you'd have left to do when the case ended.

It could've been the haze of sleep, or perhaps just an early warning bell, but no matter how many times you counted, you always came up short by one pair of panties. It took another minute of blinking out the sleep in your eyes, becoming suddenly alert again, that you realized it was the pair of panties you'd been wearing before your shower.

“Fuck,” you sighed, trying to fill the deep pit of embarrassment opening in your stomach before it swallowed you from the inside out. “Fuck.”

When in doubt, you found it best to curse at least twice.

And just like that your coherent thoughts went out the window - a morning, afternoon and evening doing manual labor under the guise of a nice desk job would do that to any girl - and you found yourself opening the door to the bathroom without knocking first or even remembering Spencer Reid's presence in the room at all.

He froze in shock as you came face to face with him, shirt and pants open, his long cock in his hands and his face flushed with erotic shock as he rubbed up and down the length of his cock.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer I'm sorry I was- are those my panties?”

Rather unabashedly, your eyes hadn't left his crotch as he froze in fear at your intrusion.

“I'm not a pervert!” He shouted, still unable to let his dick go, so close to bliss as he was.

“You're madturbating into my panties, Spencer. What other label would you put on that?”

“You're really hot. It's hard to ignore. I don't usually do this, but they were in here on the floor, and I thought about taking them back out to you, but then you'd think I was a pervert for touching your underwear and then I imagined you thanking me and putting them back on right in front of me and my cock was so hard and you said you were going to sleep. Did you know most men masturbate eight times a week on average? Me doing this once while sharing a room with you for a week isn't statistically …that …bad. Why are you doing that?”

You'd been done listening halfway through and had somehow found yourself sinking to your knees. He'd rested his body against the bathroom sink, so you organized yourself in front of him, staring up at him innocently as you wrapped your fingers around his hand.

“I want to see what it was you were doing with my panties, Spencer,” You moved his hand up and down his length, slowly dragging the lacy material across each inch. “Please let me see.”

The empty shower kept flowing and the room was thick with steam as you kept up a steady pace rubbing up and downs Spencer's cock.

A sense of achievement hit you with each moan and gasp he let out. Every time his hips thrust up into your hand, each time his hand stroked your hair in thanks for your copious attention.

You'd finally gotten through to Spencer Reid in a way that you were about to make sure was mutually beneficial.

His moans got louder and harder to conceal with a bite of the lip as he got closer to cumming. He really was a pervert, letting his coworker jerk him off in a motel bathroom while on a case. He was practically begging for release.

“Cum for me Spencer. Make my face pretty, please please please.”

His eyes shot open wide as you stuck your tongue out, just in time to taste his cum on your lips. A few stray ropes hit your chin and cheek as well, with the majority staining the panties you'd come in to search for.

“Thank you, Spencer,” You giggled, wiping away his cum and standing yourself up to come face to face with him.

“Y/N, it won't-” You cut him off with a kiss that he eagerly returned hands, falling all over your body in his haste to feel every part of you. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he was a cartographer mapping out its caverns, desperate to learn each soft caress you returned off by heart.

“If you were about to say it won't happen again, I suggest you think again, Spencer. I want this to happen again. Regularly.”

You shut off the shower and turned on your heel, walking back out to the bedroom and out of the heat for a few minutes.

“You want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm the pervert?”

“You were using my panties and your hand like a fleshlight, Spencer. Yes, you are a pervert.”

“I'm a pervert but you still want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

That's how it began. Your decade-long escapade with Spencer Reid. It wasn't that you dated. He was still unsure about how to approach you for another few months after that, but there was nothing like the relaxation of a few orgasms to really help you warm up to somebody.

For the first few years, a case didn't pass without one of you slipping into the others motel room for some late night entertainment.

You knew just how deep his fingers could hit inside you after only two weeks. You became obsessed with how well his cock could stretch you out, how his hands would gently rub around your clit in circles while you bounced up and down on his length. How he watched your breasts bounce with untold wonder in his eyes.

You most of all loved that his tongue was as eager to taste you as you had been that very first time to taste his cum.

Half the times he let himself into your room, he'd satisfy himself by eating you out lazily for hours on end, making you moan his name while you came on his fingers and tongue. Every flash of violet that he caught a glimpse of - that first pair of panties - drove him crazy.

Motels and hotels and once the back seat of an SUV after a long drive became your time to get closer to your coworker. You never once thought of bringing this physical relationship home with you, though, and it wasn't a continuous thing.

You'd had to take it easy when he got shot in the leg, not wanting to hurt him anymore. And again, when he'd gotten shot in the neck, though a few times he'd begged you to close his hospital door and help him out still.

And you'd both distanced yourself after Emily's death and miraculous resurrection. Surprisingly enough, you'd found your heart slightly twisted when he'd begged the team for help rescuing his girlfriend from a stalker.

But you always found your way back in his bed with his tongue pressed against yours and his cock buried as deep into you as far as it could go. In the decade you'd been sleeping with the secretly perverted and somewhat insatiable Spencer Reid you'd never gone longer than three months without his body in your bed.

Until he went to prison.

The weight of your grief at losing him was unparalleled. You'd been heartbroken when Emily had died, but it paled in comparison to the thought of his isolation. Penelope had to remind you to eat, Luke had to engage you in conversation to keep you talking.

Emily slipped a spare key to Reid's apartment to you somewhere around the three week mark, and you'd let yourself into a place you'd only ever heard described. You slept in his bed to feel his scent wrapped around you, touched yourself there to remind yourself that you were just feeling the loss of a sexual partner and friend and nothing more. It was lust and sexual frustration driving your depression. That was all.

Spencer came out different. Everyone did. On the surface, he was still kind, still a little bit nerdy, and he still wasn't the best at reading social cues, but there was an intensity to him that wasn't there before.

On cases, he'd wrap a hand around your waist and push a hand just slightly under your shirt while you introduced yourself to local detectives. He'd hug you at the end of every work day, breathing in your scent and telling you how tired he was.

His hand would firmly cover your thigh and not move the entire duration of any car ride, team dinner or family event, and he'd kiss the back of your neck and grope your breasts each and every elevator ride you took alone together.

Spencer Reid hadn't been able to keep his hands off of you for six whole months, and yet he hadn't actually touched you.

Every time you'd knocked on his motel door, he'd not opened it, and he hadn't once come to yours.

You'd expected him every day for a week after he'd first gotten out and had even explicitly told him so. You texted your address, invited him over, and sent him pictures of you in those infernal panties that you really didn't wear that often anymore.

He desired you still, you knew enough from brushing past him and feeling his semi push against your ass, you knew in every hug where he touched you just enough to know he wanted more but still had the control to pull away.

You knew that he only kissed your neck, because if he kissed your lips his tongue would wander all the way to your cunt and he'd be on his knees between yours making you scream his name in pleasure.

Spencer Reid wanted to avoid you, but he still wanted you, and after six months of celibacy you were tired of waiting around for him to finally crack.

Emily had never asked for the spare key back. With 10 years of dalliances under your belt, you were sure the entire office had caught on, if not before prison, then certainly after his hands took possession of your body after his release. She wasn't going to ask for the key back because that was like asking a question she probably would sleep better without having the answer to.

Spencer started his professorial work, and you finished some nights before he could manage the commute home, so it was easy to let yourself into his apartment for the confrontation.

When Spencer finally turned his key in the lock, he found you there on your knees on the floor in a matching violet set of lingerie. Not your originals, but certainly close enough - smaller, though.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I'm just sitting here in my underwear for fun, Spencer. You should try it sometime.”

He frowned at your sarcastic reply but stepped closer to you, topping your head up to meet his gaze with a quick flick of his finger.

“I mean it, Y/N. Why are you here?”

“I…I want you to touch me again.”

“I touch you plenty, Y/N. I touch you here,” he traced your lips.

“And here.” His fingers fell to your neck, sweeping some hair off your shoulders.

“And a lot here, too.” He cupped one breast in his hand and gave it a squeeze, and you let your head rest against his thigh as he slipped a finger into your bralette.

“I want you to touch me more, Spencer.”

“How? How should I touch you? Be a little pervert for me and tell me, Y/N?”

Your breathing faltered for a second as he pinched your nipple and you bit your lip before you told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I want to feel your dick buried deep in my pussy. I want to cum on your tongue. I want you to stretch me out with your fingers and I want you to fill me up with your cum. Please, Spencer, I miss you so much.”

He said nothing but withdrew his hand from your chest and distanced himself slightly, turning his face away from you.

“Spencer, please, what's wrong? Did I do something-”

“Do you miss me? Or do you miss fucking me?” The words would regularly send you into an indignant stomp, and part of you was still begging you to let out a shout of “what the hell is that supposed to mean.”

But Spencer was frozen still in the doorway of his house, almost statuesque as a melancholic look overwhelmed his features.

Your courage drained your body as you stood up and pulled the shirt you'd earlier discarded back on.

“Spencer? Look at me, please.”

He did reluctantly, and that blank expression still filled his eyes with gloom.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch, sitting him down and wrapping yourself around him.

You say there, head pressed into his neck, legs straddling him as his arms slowly came up to pulling you back in. Your heart beat harder by the second, and you counted down the minutes as you worked up courage.

“I missed you so much I drove myself insane. I had to sleep here for a week straight after they told me you were put in solitary. Every day, I thought of your hands on my body and how much I missed seeing your fingers flipping through a book on the jet. I missed asking you what you were reading, and I missed convincing you to put the book down.”

You pulled your head up to meet his gaze and slowly let your mouth fall to his lips. It was slow, soft. An innocent peck in the context of your usual caresses. It spoke the words I miss you more effectively than your voice could, and neither of you seemed to want to part from the warm embrace.

“I missed you, Spencer Reid.” You spoke, cutting off your kiss as you grew more impassioned by his touch, breathing harder and speaking faster and faster now as you kept on.

“I missed you when you came back because you kept your hands on me. You let yourself enjoy my body in public but wouldn't let me share your bed in private. You hugged me, but you wouldn't let me hold you, and you have not once spoken about how you feel, you have not once told me that you are okay now or that you are not okay and you need my shoulder to cry on.”

He was silent until your tears sprung forth, and then he was everywhere around you, kissing the drops from your face, shushing you and whispering words of encouragement and thanks and love into your ears while he placated your breaking heart.

Because somehow you fell in love with the pervert who stole your panties and now you were sitting in a room with a mostly broken man, begging him to use you to feel whole again.

“I love you, Spencer. Please, please let me touch you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered against your lips, hands finding your hips again as he finally pushed his tongue into your mouth.

His nails bit into the skin at your thighs as he forced you not to move, instead grinding up into you after another heated kiss.

“It was hard, but you kept me going. Memories of you, your mouth, your scent your wet cunt wrapped around my cock, you kept me alive in that place.” He worked you up with each dirty confession as his hands pushed the shirt back off your shoulders and bared the lingerie to him once again.

“Then I was out, and you were still the same as I remembered, but I was different, and I needed more from you. But I couldn't take more, and I didn't want to ask you to give more because I could not beg one more person to love me.”

“You don't have to beg, Spencer, I love you already, I love you I love you I love you.”

“Y/N, you don't understand. I am completely enamoured with you. I want to possess you, I want to keep you in my room, I want to have a hand on you at all times. I want to put a bullet in any man who looks at you because you are mine. I'm not a pervert, I'm a monster, and I'm going to hurt you.”

“Possess me, hurt me, keep me, Spencer, do whatever you want to me, I will let you. Just please don't leave me.”

Your teeth clicked together in his haste to recapture your lips again, his cock hard and already sprung from his pants thanks to two pairs of quick working hands.

He pushed aside your panties, and he was inside you, pressed to the hilt recapturing the place that was home to him.

“You picked this color for me. You wanted me to lose control and fuck you and you got what you wanted,” he whispered in your ear as you locked your ankles together behind his back.

“I did.”

“Good. I'm going to rip them shred by shred from your body so nobody else can see you acting like such a desperate wet cunt ever again.”

You let out a gasp at his words, and his tongue dropped back down your throat as he rutted into you ferociously.

“Spencer, yes, fuck me. FUCK!”

Your hips met his in a furious clash, his hand making their way around to your butt cheek as he aided your thrusting, pulling you up and down the length of his cock.

“That's it, look at your boobs bouncing for me, sweetheart. Your body knows when it's being fucked right, it knows when I'm here, and I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, right baby?”

“Yes, Spencer. Yes!”

His hand came back up to your clit as you met his hips more enthusiastically than before, fucking yourself on the length of him.

“You're going to cum on my cock. Show me how much you missed me, missed this.”

“So much, missed you so much, Spence….need your cum inside me, fill me up Spencer, please."

It took both of you only a few more desperate thrusts to reach the climax you'd waited half a year for. You convulsed on his dick, shuddering underneath him as he filled you with rope after rope of cum.

But when you had both caught your breath, you still didn't let go, still holding on to him desperately as of he'd vanidj in another second despite your confessions.

“Y/N…” he cooked into your ear as you buried your face in his chest again. “Y/N, we need to get you to bed.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“No, you're not. But you're not sleeping on my couch either.”

You pulled away just enough to watch his face as he dipped down for another sweetly chaste kiss.

Lifting himself up, and pulling his cock out of you, you whimpered a little at the loss of his warmth, but after rearranging himself in his pants, he pulled you up next to him and wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug as he slowly walked you back towards his bedroom.

“You really slept at my apartment?”

“I slept in your bed. I'm sorry, I know it was overstepping, but you were gone and I-”

“Missed me, I know.” His hands traced your spine again before cupping around your bare ass and hooking it under to touch your soaked cunt.

“How much did you miss me, Y/N? How did you spend your nights here?” His fingers once again hooked under the panties, but instead of pulling them to the side, he quickly pulled at the seams, and you heard a ripping sound aa his eyes demanded the answer to your question.

“Close the door, and I'll shoe you exactly what I did here, Spencer. I'll show you everything.’

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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mydadleft471 · 4 months ago

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Envelop Me

Summary: Messmer begins to worry when he realizes he hasn't seen you at all today. Rushing to your chambers, he realizes that you're just on your period and need some comfort.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings, per usual. Just my boi being soft and caring for a fem! reader on her period.

Messmer lovers, I've brought an appetizer!

This fic was requested by anonymous! The request was, "Consider: Messmer x reader on their period, he's like a very large heat pack". GENIUS IDEA. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you like it :D

My requests are indeed open! I'm going to get started on my next request as soon as I post this, so be on the lookout for a new fic in the next few days.

Anywho, please enjoy! Thank you all for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting on my works! Each and every one makes me wanna kick my feet and giggle fr.

Messmer was beginning to worry about you. Half the day had passed already and he hadn’t seen you out of your chambers. Normally, you’d make your way to him soon after you’d finished breakfast. Even if you planned on spending the day pouring over documents and books in his storehouse, you’d pay him a visit before departing. This was unusual behavior for you. Had he done something to upset you? Did you fall ill overnight? Surely not the latter; his servants would inform him right away of your state and would have taken you to the infirmary.

He decided that he couldn’t sit and wait on his throne for you anymore. He would come to your chambers himself and see what was preventing you from visiting him. Quickly making his way out of his dark chamber, he startles the Fire Knights standing guard outside his door. Taking the steps down two at a time and rushing through the hallways towards your quarters, he notices one of your usual servants standing worried outside your door. Noticing his presence, she bows and steps aside for him to enter.

“Has she come out of her chambers today?” Messmer tries to keep his voice even despite the uncertainty coursing through his veins like fire.

She shakes her head. “No, my Lord. I brought breakfast to her, per usual, and she only ate a little. I asked if she required assistance getting dressed, but she dismissed me and told me she wished to spend the day in bed.”

“And why was this not reported to me?” His eye narrows and the servant shrinks into herself. She looks like she wishes she could dissipate into thin air.

“Sincerest apologies, my Lord. I figured she simply wished to remain alone today. I asked if she was feeling ill, and she said that she was just very tired.”

He sighs. Sometimes, you would prefer to stay in bed all day, but you would come to Messmer’s chambers and you two would laze around together. He cannot recall a time where you would prefer to be alone.

He sighs. “I understand. I will see what bothers her so.”

The servant bows and scurries off, leaving him alone before your door. Never before has he been so afraid to see you. With shaking hands, he raps on your door three times. He hears a faint shuffling of sheets coming from within the room.

“Yes?” He takes immense comfort in the fact that you are responding.

“Beloved, may I come in? I wish to see thee.”

He hears your voice quiver. “I am afraid I don’t feel very well today. I’m not sure I would make good company, My Lord.”

“Whatever is the matter? Dost thou require a healer?” His snakes wrap themselves tighter around his frame, also worried for your wellbeing. They nose at your door, eager to see you.

“No, my love. I’m okay.” Your words come out strained, and his anxiety increases tenfold.

“I wish to see thee with my own eyes to ensure thy good health. Please, my beloved.” He would get on his knees and beg for you to let him in if he had to. He would do anything to know you were alright.

There is a beat of silence before you respond. “Come in.”

He opens the door so fast he almost twists the door off its hinges. He enters swiftly and closes the door, striding over to your side in hurried steps that echo off the marble floors. Messmer’s snakes incline themselves forward and it almost seems like they’re racing him to get to you first. When he arrives at your bedside, the sight he sees makes his heart drop.

You are wrapped in your sheets and comforter with sweat adorning your forehead. You wince in pain and he notices that you are curled in on yourself. You look at him with tired eyes and give him a small smile. His snakes flick their tongues into the air and they taste a hint of blood. Your blood. Messmer erupts in fury and his mind races a mile a minute. His serpents coil and hiss, looking around the room wildly for your attacker.

“What has happened? Who hast dared to hurt thee?!” He roars, summoning his spear. “Tell me now, beloved, and I will ensure they never cause thee pain again.” His voice bounces off the walls of your chamber and he is sure the entire keep can hear him, but he cannot bring himself to care.

You reach weakly for his hand and he immediately takes it, clutching it tightly. You feel the heat radiating off of him. You know you need to calm him down, and soon, lest he burn your favorite blanket to ash.

“No one has hurt me, my love. I’m alright.”

“My serpents smelled thy blood in the air. Who hast hurt thee so?”

“Messmer, I’m on my period. Nobody hurt me.” You wince in pain once again.

He can’t believe he didn’t realize that sooner. In his defense, he thought someone had hurt his sweet consort.

“I see.” He gingerly sits down on the bed beside your crumpled form, still holding your hand. “I apologize if I frightened thee.”

“It’s okay.” You squeeze his hand in reassurance. “You… do know what a period is, yes?”

He raises his brow. “Thou thinkest me a child?”

“No, not at all, I just didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, lightning licks up your spine and radiates throughout your back. You curl in on yourself tighter and breathe heavily.

Messmer’s eye flicks wildly over your covered body. “What wouldst thou have me do? I refuse to stand idly by while thou suffers.”

“Can you come lay with me, please? I just want you to hold me.” Your sweet request has his heart fluttering in his chest.

Wordlessly, he walks over to the other side of the large bed and climbs in. He doesn’t want to ask you to move when you are clearly in so much pain. He shuffles over to you and pulls the blanket up to cover you both. He hovers next to you, unsure of how to hold you. He’s terrified of hurting you on accident.

You roll over and scoot closer to him, your body protesting the sudden movement. You lay your head on his chest and try to get comfortable on your side.

“How dost thou feel now?” He strokes your hair tentatively.

“A little better.” You continue to shift against him.

He sighs and tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze. It’s loving and tender. “Wouldst thou be comfortable laying on top of me?”

“I think so.”

He gently lifts your body until you are completely sprawled out on top of him on your stomach with your head in the middle of his chest. He places a large hand on your back and you feel immediate relief. Between the warmth of his body pressed against yours and his hand on your back, your muscles slowly begin to relax.

“You’re so warm…” You mumble into his chest.

“Dost thou require me to move? Have I made thee too warm?” His voice is laced with concern.

“No. It feels wonderful.” You nuzzle your head into him and sigh, content. He smiles and places a light kiss to the top of your head. His serpents nip at the blanket and pull it over you, then carefully wind over your shoulders and lie down.

“Why didst thou not send for me?” He traces small circles into your lower back. “I grew worried at your absence.”

“I’m sorry. I just felt like I wouldn’t be good company like this.”

“So thou would rather toil in isolation?”

“That’s very funny coming from you, my love.”

He rolls his eye. “Perhaps I am not the best example to live by when one is in such pain, but I wish to be of comfort, just as thou has been for me. I wish to care for thee, my beloved.”

You lean your head up to look at him and press a kiss to his lips. His cheeks redden from the simple gesture, as they always do. “You care for me plenty.”

“I am glad thou thinkest so.”

You shake your head and smile at him. “I know so. I refuse to hear anymore doubts from you.”

“Thou’rt demanding indeed, but I shall not stand against thy wishes, my Lady.”

You chuckle at him. “I also refuse to get up for another few hours.”

“Being late for dinner does not sound like thee.”

Your stomach grumbles at the mention of dinner, and Messmer laughs.

“How much of the day did I spend wallowing away in misery?”

“About half. Dinner is not far away.”

“Good. I’m starving.”

A comfortable silence encompasses you both and all you can hear are your shared breaths. Messmer lazily flicks his wrist and your fireplace sparks to life. The flames hum and sway side-to-side, dancing. The black tendrils delicately wind their way up and around the flame in almost hypnotizing movements. You’ve always found Messmer’s fire to be beautiful.

You could stay here forever, wrapped in silk sheets and cozy blankets with your lover. His dominant hand caresses your back with feather-light touches and it lulls you into a drowsy haze. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Messmer?” Your voice is serene and quiet.

“Yes, beloved?”

“Do you think we could have dinner in bed? I don’t want to get up.”

He laughs genuinely, a sound you’ve grown to love. It makes you smile to see him happy and carefree. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“You might have to wake me.”

“Though it pains me to disturb thy slumber, I shall, just for thee. Now, rest.” He brings his other hand to your hair and runs his nails across your scalp, making you shiver and relax even further into him.

“You spoil me.”

“I know.”

There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #messmer the impaler x reader #soft boi hours #i need a messmer heating pad smh

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sanguineterrain · 6 days ago

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Idk if you know that scene from friends where Rachel kisses Ross while they're in the laundromat and Ross hits his head on the washer door afterward 😭🩷 it makes me giggle sm. Anyway thinking about that kind of kiss with Spencer. Genius left speechless!

very cute prompt thank u! gn!reader. your kiss surprises spencer—his kiss back knocks the wind out of you.

****

This is an impossible case.

You throw down your files in frustration and rub your temples. "I'm gonna quit and join the circus. I suck at this."

"Hm?" Spencer looks up from his computer. It's just the two of you staying late. The cleaning people have already come and gone. You're both working on a case that's stumped the team for three days.

You're here because you're new and, yes, you need to prove yourself. Spencer's here because... well, you're not actually quite sure why he's here late. He doesn't usually stay. But he'd offered when you said you were going to. His company is certainly welcome.

"This is fucking impossible. I've gone over these lists three times. There's no pattern, no commonalities, nothing! I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Spencer says, getting up and joining you at your desk. He pushes some papers aside and sits on the corner. "Can I see?"

His long fingers brush yours as you pass him the lists. Gloomily, you scratch at your notepad with your pencil.

"Why are you trying so hard on this case?" he asks, fingers tracing the paper as he reads.

"Because I know you guys don't really need me here and I wanna prove that I'm valuable."

Spencer stops reading. "You are valuable."

"You're sweet, Spence."

"No, you are. You're smart. More brains are always better when it comes to this job."

"I think you've got enough brains for all of us," you say, half-smiling.

"Everyone provides skills that I don't. That's why we're a team."

You hum, pushing your pencil around. "Yeah, sure."

"We can figure this out," he says. "Let's think. Okay, no connections with the names or the ages. Gender and race is random. Did you check the locations of their deaths?"

You nod. "Did. No shapes, no nothing. Garcia ran every algorithm she has."

"There's sixty-three names on here. When did these murders start?"

"About nine weeks ago. But not everyone on this list was murdered. Some of them have been long dead. That's what's so confusing," you say. "The police think the killer will round back and kill the rest, but I don't think so."

"I don't either. Which people were killed?"

You circle them in red. Spencer stares at them.

"That's every sixth name. Maybe groups of seven are the key." He points at the second name on the list. "He's a reverend, right?"

You nod. "Yeah, more than one name on here is."

Spencer drums his fingers. "Circle those."

You do. Suddenly, you're struck by something.

"What is it?" Spencer asks as your fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Solomon Grundy."

Spencer leaps off the desk, immediately understanding and just as excited as you. He kneels beside your desk chair and starts highlighting and circling names in different colored pens. Heat emanates from his body, he's so close. You swallow and try not to think about it.

"Reverends Christened on a Tuesday," he says.

"Every third person was married on a Wednesday," you say. "The unsub is following the rhyme!"

You turn to him, mirroring his joy. "We did it!"

"I told you you'd figure it out," Spencer says triumphantly.

"Are you kidding? You brought up the numerical patterns."

Spencer grins at you. "I wasn't even thinking Solomon Grundy! You're the genius, not me."

You roll your eyes. "Aren't you past modesty, Doc?"

"Aren't you?" he shoots back, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "You're brilliant."

And something about the rush of solving the puzzle, and the way Spencer's smiling at you, open and happy and proud, it makes you impulsive. You see his round, dark eyes, his fluffy curls, and the way his cheek crinkles from his smile, and you do it. You lean in.

Your hands go to his face for a moment, just enough to steady him as you kiss him. You kiss for two seconds, your touch like a breath on his skin. Spencer tastes like the cherry Chapstick you bought him last week.

He shoots up and away, lips parted, eyes wide. You panic.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that—" you begin.

"You, um, you just—okay—"

He turns the wrong way and bumps bodily into the side of your desk. You wince as his thigh crashes into the wood.

"Spencer! Jesus, are you okay?" you ask, beginning to stand.

"Uh-hm," he squeaks out, voice strained. "Yeah, fine." He rubs his thigh in a way that suggests he's very much not fine.

You hover, unsure if you should touch him. You know Spencer doesn't love to be touched without warning.

He leans against your desk. He's not running away screaming, which is a good sign, although he's somewhat incapacitated so maybe he wants to but can't.

You go to your desk drawer and get an instant ice pack, shaking and crushing it.

"No, I'm fine, really—" Spencer insists, but you make him take it anyway. He obediently presses it to his leg.

"I know you bruise easily," you say, chewing your lip. "God, I'm so sorry, Spencer."

"This wasn't your fault. I'm clumsy," he says.

You shake your head, lump in your throat. "You don't have to spare my feelings. I know I shouldn't have kissed you. It was stupid of me."

Spencer presses his lips together and looks down, shuffling the ice pack around. "Oh. I-I mean, we can forget about it, of course. I won't bring it up to anyone. No one will know we kissed."

"No, if you want to tell Hotch and, y'know, have my desk moved or something, I'd understand," you say, more glum than when you couldn't crack the case.

"Wait, what? If I told Hotch?"

You shrug self-consciously. "It was unprofessional, to say the least. I made you uncomfortable."

"No, you didn't."

You look at Spencer. He's looking right back at you, pinning you with those bottomless eyes.

"Did you kiss me because we solved the case?" he asks.

You shake your head. "No. I... I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says softly, and then you're getting kissed back by Spencer Reid.

He kisses like he wants to devour you, and it startles you how voraciously Spencer kisses, like you're a well-loved book whose pages he pores over every time he reads.

You're caught off-guard too by his confidence, those big, chilly hands completely cradling your face. The ice pack tumbles to the floor. Spencer takes the air right out of you, sends lightning up your spine.

"Thought you thought you'd made a mistake," he says against your mouth, in between kisses.

You shake your head. "Didn't." And that's all you both need.

You think you'll stay late more often. You suspect that Spencer will, too. It's incredibly productive.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #blurb #inbox

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mypoisonedvine · 8 months ago

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𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute. One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter? Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly. “At Talerico’s. To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue? It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained. “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message. “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned. “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry. And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation. “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone. That’s what Abigail went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied. “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin. “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained. “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...” He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization. “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley. “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you. “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad. “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers. “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times. He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into. “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away. “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted. “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it. Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you. “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you. That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back. “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly. “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking. You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you. Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap. “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself. I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay? Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again. “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper. “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed. You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you. In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held. “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently. Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus. It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips. “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder. Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding. “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly. “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered. “What even is a Crucifiction key? Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home. I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?”

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori. Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’. The Crucifiction! The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song. G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall. “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged. You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders. You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight. “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back. “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head. “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted. “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest. “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his. “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful. You felt him smile when you yelped softly. “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you. “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry. You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that. God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled,

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding. “That’s pretty kinky, you know. Is that all you wanna be? A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day. At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse. “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically. “You don’t wanna think, huh? Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised. “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this. Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different. Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging. But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along. You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest. “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow. It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever. “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed. He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended. “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist. And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested. As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately. I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant. You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride. “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back. “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley. He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff. “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano? That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”

#riley poole x reader #riley poole smut #national treasure #justin bartha

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withleeknow · 8 months ago

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how he would take care of you during shark week. ⤷ chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, lil fluff, lil angst, mentions of physical pain bc it's shark week and we're cramping lol ok, unedited bc i wrote this a couple months ago and i just wanted to post smth today and i'm currently half asleep word count: 0.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / blurb masterlist / ko-fi

minho comes home to a quiet house, four of his favorite beings nowhere to be found. he takes off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, put his keys where he can easily fetch them the next morning, and ventures into the living room. though, he soon stops in his tracks when his eyes find the couch situated in the middle of the room.

there’s a human-sized lump completely hidden under a fleece blanket on the cream-colored sofa, surrounded by soonie, doongie, and dori, all curled up and sleeping peacefully.

doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the lump is.

you, his love.

minho approaches the couch with careful footsteps and a pretty good guess as to why you’ve resorted to being a lump for the day. the tracker app on his phone did notify him that it should happen any day now.

when he sits down by your feet, soonie shoots up with a hiss before calming down immediately afterward, upon the realization that it's just his other owner.

“hey,” minho calls softly, placing a hand on your leg. “you sleeping?”

there’s a grunt, then the lump moves. he assumes it’s you shaking your head under there.

“does it hurt?” he asks.

the lump shifts again - a nod, he thinks - but this time, it’s accompanied by a softer sound, nearly a whimper.

he sighs, because he hates to see you in pain. hates that this helpless feeling has become a monthly visitor in your home. the first two days are often the worst for you.

“i’ll be right back,” he says, and again, he doesn’t get anything other than an incoherent noise, but it’s not like he was expecting a verbal response anyway.

minho returns a few minutes later with all of the essentials that you were in too much discomfort to get yourself. your trusty heating pad, a glass of warm water and pills, your favorite mango almond chocolate, a fluffy pillow so your neck doesn’t hurt from lying on the couch for too long.

peeling the blanket off so that he can prop the pillow under your head and give you the heating pad, he practically winces when he sees the pained expression on your face. you open your eyes to find him, and you look like you're close to crying. this month must be worse than usual.

“i’ll make you something to eat and then you can take your painkillers,” he tells you.

“thank you.” the words come out weak, but minho knows you mean them.

soft lips press themselves against your forehead, full of love and an unspoken i wish i could do more for you.

“i love you. give me twenty minutes, okay?”

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow (italicized = can’t tag)

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho #blurbs

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yannawayne · 4 months ago

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vi. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

NOTE: THIS IS PART 6. I POSTED 2 CHAPTERS TODAY! PART 5 IS HERE

 ༻⊰───⋅

"No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:35 AM - Gotham Academy, Gotham City.

The halls of Gotham Academy buzzed with the usual chatter and laughter—a total disconnect from the storm of nerves brewing inside you. You zigzagged through the crowd, your trusty, battle-worn Converse scuffing against the linoleum. Damian’s varsity jacket hung over your uniform, the hood pulled low to hide the cuts on your face.

Morgan had ditched you at the entrance, probably off to plot some mad science in the labs. Not exactly your idea of fun, so you opted for aimless wandering instead.

And if I only could I'd make a deal with God. And I'd get Him to swap our places. Be runnin' up that road. Be runnin' up that hill Be runnin' up that building.

Your headphones were snug, the music offering a temporary refuge as you walked, your head instinctively nodding to the beat. Even with the volume cranked up, you couldn’t shake the awareness of every shift in the crowd, the way the jacket rubbed against your sore muscles, or the stiffness in your back and arm from the muscle tear. Concerned whispers drifted past you, catching on the currents of passing conversations, but you kept moving, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm of the song.

When you reached Damian’s locker, you leaned against it, letting the cool metal soothe your aching back. You adjusted the hood of his jacket, tugging it further down to hide the cuts around your face. With your free hand, you quickly typed out a message to Damian, your fingers flying over the screen, each tap a small burst of nervous energy.

You:

"At your locker."

You hit send, slipped your phone back into your pocket, then immediately pulled it out again. This time, you opened Twitter, your thumb instinctively scrolling through your feed for any updates on the recent incident.

Tweets about the attack were already trending, paired with blurry photos and clickbait headlines. You cringed as fan accounts for #Nightcrawler started flooding in. It was wild how fast the public’s attention could flip from genuine concern to a full-blown obsession with the latest hero—or villain.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders building as you scrolled through the flood of posts.

“Beloved?”

A tanned hand brushed gently against your arm, followed by the sight of polished brown dress shoes stepping into view.

“Dami,” you murmured with a relieved smile, leaning into his hold, your head still bowed.

Damian instinctively pulled you into a hug, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The embrace was firm but careful, as if he feared you might break under too much pressure. He could feel the stiffness in your muscles, your body wound tight with unspoken tension. His eyes narrowed with concern, but he stayed silent, letting the quiet speak for both of you.

His gaze flicked to your phone screen, catching sight of the trending tweets.

“Nightcrawler…” Damian murmured, and you lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes.

Sighing, you shifted so your cheek rested against his chest, the cool scent of his cologne grounding you. You kept scrolling, clicking on a particularly cringeworthy tweet and wincing at the fanatical comments.

“Can you believe these people?” you murmured, frustration seeping into your voice. “It’s insane.”

Sometimes you wondered how Damian and his brothers dealt with all the fanatics, the constant drooling over their hero personas—or even their civilian lives.

Damian’s grip tightened as he held you closer, his brow furrowing in disapproval as he read the tweets over your shoulder.

Repulsive. To him, it was a grotesque spectacle. The media had managed to paint the Spider into a celebrated hero, a figure of admiration, when in reality, the person behind that mask was nothing more than a monster, cloaked in deception and false heroism.

“They’re utterly obsessed,” Damian scoffed. “It’s as if they’ve completely forgotten there’s a real person behind that mask.”

“I know, right?” You sighed, closing Twitter and slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Like, I really don’t want to see those posts. They’re just—so much.”

Damian noticed your distress and instinctively started rubbing soothing circles on your back. But as his hand moved, a sharp muscle spasm seized your shoulder. You cursed, a wince escaping you as the sensation left you momentarily frozen. It felt as if someone had taken a wrench to your shoulder, yanking and twisting until every fiber protested in sharp, jarring bursts.

Damian’s hand froze.

Muscle tear. He realized.

Without a word, he guided you gently into a nearby janitor’s closet. The door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling hallway and granting you both some much-needed privacy.

Inside, he carefully placed his hand on your elbow and began to stretch the affected muscle. You winced as a sharp twinge of pain flared, but Damian’s voice was soft and soothing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, offering a small but comforting distraction from the pain.

Gradually, the pain eased, and you let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders relaxed, the tight knots unwinding.

"I love you and your weird Robin skills," you said with a grateful smile, rolling your shoulders and feeling the tension dissipate.

Damian’s lips twitched into a faint, approving smile, though his voice remained gruff. “Love you too.”

He continued to watch you with a keen, sharp gaze, noticing the hood of your hoodie pulled up. His eyes traced the shadowy outline of your face, and he realized he hadn’t seen it clearly. His expression shifted to one of concern, a frown creasing his brow.

“Why haven’t you taken your hood down?” he asked quietly, his voice low and probing.

You pursed your lips, trying to edge toward the exit. But before you could make a clean getaway, Damian’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and yanking you back into him. You collided with his chest, and for a second, it felt like you’d just hugged a brick wall in a hoodie.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, nowhere, apparently,” you sighed, realizing escape wasn’t in the cards today.

“Look. I just didn’t want to get my hair messed up,” you continued, trying to sound casual, but the words felt hollow in the small, enclosed space.

“Oh yeah…?” Damian murmured in disbelief, his voice thick with something darker. His eyes narrowed, and without warning, he bent down to your height, his rough fingers sliding up your jacket. You felt the fabric shift and the warmth of his hand against your side.

You swallowed hard, your hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders. Your nails dug into the fabric of his uniform as you tried to push him back.

“Pull the hood off,” he demanded, his hands working insistently to tug it up. You sputtered out protests, swatting at his hands, but Damian was relentless. “Habibti, let me see! Pull it up—let me see!”

Your grip on the hood tightened, your knuckles going white as you held on for dear life. But Damian’s concern bulldozed through any resistance you put up. He mumbled curses, and suddenly shifted tactics. Bending down, his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He pinned you against the wall, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as your weight pressed into his hips.

"Damian, stop!" you groaned, trying to push him away.

But he ignored your plea, yanking the hood off. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the full extent of your injuries. Cuts and bandages marred your face, some fresh, others scabbing over. Dark bruises colored your cheek, spreading out like ominous clouds.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, even though he was already cursing a certain spider vigilante in his head. Damian dipped his head low, his dangerous glare cutting through you. “Tell me who hurt you, and I’ll make them pay.”

“Baby, you’re being melodramatic. It’s just a few bruises,” you deflected, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll survive.”

“Plus, it’s not like you can just go around punching everyone who hurts me,” you huffed, wincing as you tried to pull your hood back up. Damian scowled and yanked it down again.

“Yes, I can.”

“Oh my god,” you said, raising an eyebrow and trying to stifle a smile. “I hate you so much.”

Damian tightened his hold, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Our relationship status says otherwise. And I’m not letting go until I get answers.”

You squirmed in his embrace, attempting to free yourself, but he held you tightly. “Seriously, let go.”

“No.”

“You’re going to miss your first period.”

“And?”

“Your education will be in ruins.”

“Beloved, my GPA is already at a 5.0. I’ve been at the top of my class since junior high. Missing one period won’t ruin my future.”

You groaned and grabbed the nearest object—a mop. Raising it in a mock-threatening manner, you declared, “I’m seriously considering hitting you with this until you let me go.”

Damian gave a flat “Tch,” raising a hand to the metal handle. With a casual squeeze, he bent the metal in half effortlessly. You blinked.

Okay, that's a little annoying, but also super, super, super hot.

“Seriously? You’re showing off now?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Showing off?” Damian arched an eyebrow. “I’m merely proving a point.”

“I can handle myself!” you insisted, frustration creeping into your voice.

“Clearly,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “That’s why you’re covered in cuts and bruises.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped, your irritation bubbling over.

“I would be delighted to,” Damian replied, his tone dripping with syrupy sweetness that was equal parts enticing and infuriating.

"Ugh!" you groaned, pulling the hood back over your face in a futile attempt to hide.

“Drop the theatrics and tell me what happened,” he sighed, tugging the hood back down. “I need to know so I can handle it.”

“I already handled it! I just need some rest, okay?” you retorted, rubbing a hand over your tired eyes. "I can fight my own battles, thank you very much."

Damian’s jaw tightened at your response, setting off alarm bells in his head. He’d need to dig deeper—because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that you weren’t giving him the full story.

"You're not telling me everything," he said firmly. "But I’ll find out. I always do."

“Uh-huh, sure," you said, rolling your eyes as you grabbed him by the front of his uniform and yanked him closer. “You’re such a control freak, you know that?”

Damian scowled, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “And you’re impossibly stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, you’re nosy.”

“Nosy?” He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “I prefer the term thorough.”

“Right,” you said, barely holding back a laugh. You shook your head with a smile and leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”

Damian’s eyes softened as he closed the distance between you. You melted into him, pulling him into a tender kiss. Damian hummed softly, the vibration tickling your lips and adding a cozy warmth to the moment. He kissed you again, and again, each one a little more affectionate than the last. Your laughter bubbled up, breathy and light, as you both got caught in a playful rhythm. His nose nudged against yours, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

The sudden ringing of the school bell cut through the moment.

“Mmph!” You pulled back slightly, a smile tugging at your lips as you gently stroked his cheek. “You… probably should get to class.”

It took a few more (okay, a lot more) minutes before Damian finally let you go. You practically had to wrestle your way out of his arms, like he was a kid clinging to a favorite toy. When you told him to go back to class instead of tagging along with you and Morgan, he sulked like a toddler.

Despite his stormy mood, you managed to convince him to head back. As you both stepped out of the closet, Damian trudged away with a grumble, throwing one last dramatic look over his shoulder.

“Behave yourself,” you laughed, waving him away before setting off to find Morgan.

When you finally spotted her by the entrance, she was holding up a flash drive like it was the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, you looked like you’d just been through a whirlwind: your hair was a tousled mess, your jacket was askew, and your tie was twisted at an odd angle.

“Got the goods?” you asked, breathless as you straightened your tie and smoothed down your messy hair.

“Yep,” Morgan said with a grin, her eyes darting to your state of disarray. “Damn. A janitor’s closet, huh? I see it got pretty heated in there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, scoffing and giving her a kick to the shin. “Nothing happened, you ass. We were just talking. I had to practically wrestle my way out because he was going nuts over my injuries.”

Morgan chuckled, tucking the flash drive into her pocket. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with him.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. "How did you know it was the janitor’s closet, anyway?"

“CCTV,” Morgan simply shrugged. “Was checking out the live feed for security. And I figured you two were up to something when I saw you both ducking out of the room. The system was laughably easy to hack into. I was honestly surprised.”

“You’re Tony Stark’s daughter,” you snarked. “Anything less than government-level encryption is basically child’s play for you.”

Morgan grinned. “True that. But there’s one tiny issue.” She raised a finger and twirled it in the air. “I might have tripped a few alarms.”

WEE-OWW-WEE-OWW!

The distant blare of sirens cut through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Red and blue lights began to flicker through the windows.

You stared at Morgan, incredulous.

“What. What the fuck!? What did you do?”

“Let’s just say security’s gonna be a bit more interested in our location now. Oopsie!” Morgan’s grin widened. “I had to shut down some things to avoid detection. So, the power’s going to go out in 3…2…1.”

As she finished her countdown, the lights flickered erratically before plunging the hallway into complete darkness. A heartbeat later, the wail of the announcement system cut through the silence, urgently repeating, “Please evacuate the building. Please evacuate immediately.” The strobing red emergency lights cast frantic shadows, and chaos erupted as students screamed, darting from classrooms and colliding in the dark.

Morgan spread her arms wide, a triumphant grin plastered across her face as if she’d just dropped a mic. “Boom.”

“What the hell about this screams ‘stealth’ to you?” you whisper-shouted, grabbing Morgan’s hand and pulling her toward the exit.

Morgan’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she squeezed your hand in return. "It’s way more fun this way."

You both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, your footsteps echoing through the hallways and mingling with the blaring alarms.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with a group of students stumbling through the chaos. Their faces were masks of panic. One of them tripped, sprawling onto the floor with an undignified thud.

“Watch it! Are you okay?” you shouted, skidding to a halt and kneeling to help the fallen student.

Morgan, unable to hold back, burst into laughter. “Dumbasses!”

You shot her a half-angry, half-exasperated look. “Just get us out of here before we get arrested for public disturbance!”

“Right behind you!” Morgan said, grabbing your hand again and pulling you both into a sprint. As you neared the exit, the muffled voices of security personnel grew louder, rushing to restore power. With one last burst of speed, you burst through the exit doors, the alarms fading into the distance.

Morgan looked over at you, her face glowing with sweat and a victorious grin. “And that’s how you make an exit.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

After your adrenaline-pumping escape and a bumpy ride across the city in an Uber that looked like it had seen better days—note to self: next time, cab— you finally made it back to the safehouse.

Morgan was already at the main table, surrounded by a chaotic sea of files and documents spread out across multiple screens. Her eyes were locked onto the flash drive she’d pulled from the school, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she sifted through the data.

A few steps away, you were hunched over a cluttered workbench in the tech area, surrounded by spools of web fluid and a mess of metal tools. The entire day had been spent tinkering, but finally, your whip project was coming together.

With a few final tweaks, you picked up the whip and gave it a few test swings.

You couldn’t help but think back to when you were a kid, watching Selina work her whip with that effortless skill. You’d sit in the corner of the training room, eyes wide, totally mesmerized. She made it look so easy, so natural. Inspired, you’d sneak off to your room after her sessions, grabbing whatever you could find—a belt, a rope, anything that even remotely resembled a whip. You’d slam the door behind you and practice in secret.

Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror—awkward, stumbling, and kind of a hot mess—but you didn’t give a damn. You’d keep at it, again and again, dead set on matching her skill, even if it meant looking like a total idiot in the process.

CRACK!

Morgan jumped, her chair spinning around as she stared at you with wide eyes. You couldn't help but grin as you sauntered toward her, twirling the whip around your body. The webbing swirled through the air, curving gracefully around you in a move straight out of Catwoman's playbook. With a final flourish, you cracked it down onto the floor, the sharp snap echoing through the room.

Morgan’s ears flushed red, and she shifted in her chair, clearly taken aback. “Woah. That’s hot as fuck.”

You laughed, tossing her a wink. “Glad you think so. I was channeling my inner Catwoman.”

Still a bit flustered, Morgan cleared her throat and extended her hand. You placed the whip into her palm, and she inspected it closely, her fingers tracing the intricate details of your craftsmanship.

“Seriously, though,” she said, looking up at you, “Where’d you learn to handle a whip like that?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just a little bit of practice, you know? I’ve had some pretty good teachers.”

Your gaze then shifted to her screen, where a file on Ivy's toxins was open. Charts, chemical structures, and old lab notes cluttered the display.

“Thought you were going through Octavius’ files?” you asked.

“Oh, I was," Morgan handed the whip back to you with a shrug.

"But then I stumbled on this.” She pointed at the screen. “Insane, right? Did you know Gotham University lets their Botany majors examine Ivy’s toxins? There are detailed reports from student lab projects—college students analyzing some seriously dangerous stuff. Who thinks that's a good idea?”

You arched an eyebrow. “It’s Gotham University. Top in the country. They probably consider it a rite of passage. It’s not like the city holds back on the bizarre.”

Morgan shook her head, her disbelief morphing into a bemused smile. “Seriously, though, it’s even in their chemistry curriculum. ‘Advanced Chemistry: How to Survive Ivy’s Toxins 101.’ Like, what kind of class is that?”

You chuckled. “Sounds like standard Gotham fare. The city has a way of turning even the most mundane academic subjects into survival skills.”

As you stared at the file, your mind drifted to Ivy—Pamela Isley, who had once been a big part of your life. Back when she was close with Selina, you even used to call her Aunt Isley. It felt right at the time, natural, given how much she was around.

One memory stood out: Ivy had to leave town, and she’d entrusted Selina with her beloved plants. You were just a kid, but you remember how excited you were to have Ivy’s vibrant greenery filling the place. Selina had promised to take good care of them, but… she forgot. Just plain forgot to water them.

When Ivy returned, the plants were withered and dead. For someone like Ivy—an eco-terrorist with a green thumb so legendary she could probably make a cactus bloom in a snowstorm—this was more than just a mistake. It felt like a betrayal.

The fallout was brutal. Ivy was livid, and Selina was wrecked. If you hadn’t been there to calm things down, Ivy might’ve strangled Selina with a vine on the spot.

Morgan sighed dramatically, pushing her chair back from the screen and stretching like a cat. "I’m so over these files," she announced, spinning around to face you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "We need to do something fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued as she started navigating through a map on her command center. "What are you up to?"

"Finding us a little adventure," she replied, her grin widening as she zoomed in on a spot on the outskirts of Gotham. "Look at this—an old, supposedly abandoned greenhouse. Rumor has it, it’s still full of Ivy’s plants. We should go check it out."

You blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. "You want to go trespassing in an abandoned greenhouse filled with potentially dangerous plants?"

Morgan shrugged with a carefree grin. "Why not? It’s way more exciting than sitting here with these boring files. Besides, think of the intel we could gather! Maybe even some samples. If you're serious about this hero thing, having some cures on hand could be pretty useful."

You raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, my focus was on tech companies. Not plants."

Morgan leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up. "C'mon, it’ll be fun! We could call it a ‘field trip’ for our mission."

You scoffed, but a smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed your glasses. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart and responsible one among the two of us?”

Morgan shot you a playful smile as she grabbed her jacket. “Smart enough to know when we need a break.”

She slung her jacket over her shoulder with a casual flick. “And who knows? We might stumble into something interesting or at least have a hell of a time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine, but if this turns into a mess, you’re the one explaining it to Tony.”

“Deal,” Morgan grinned, heading toward the door. “Now let’s get out of here before I lose my mind.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:34 AM - Ivy's 'Abandoned' Warehouse, Gotham City.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the overgrown landscape as you swung through the rainy Gotham air. Raindrops pattered against your suit, mixing with the cool breeze as you guided both yourself and Morgan down toward the warehouse’s perimeter. You landed softly on the other side of the fence, the wet ground beneath you squelching slightly.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, shrouded in shadows and engulfed by a thick veil of greenery. Vines and creeping plants had swallowed the building, twisting their way up the walls and breaking through the broken windows. Shrubs and wild foliage sprawled across the once-smooth concrete, creating a tangled jungle that had overtaken the area.

You and Morgan navigated through the thick underbrush, your footsteps muffled by the lush carpet of foliage.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Morgan whispered, adjusting her glasses as raindrops collected on the lenses. She reached for a flashlight, flicking it on to cut through the gloomy darkness.

“Did you really have to pick the creepiest spot in Gotham?” you muttered, glancing around warily. Your spider senses buzzed faintly, a low hum that told you to stay alert, though you weren’t entirely sure what you should be on the lookout for.

As you approached the warehouse’s entrance, you noticed the heavy wooden doors were slightly ajar, propped open by a stubborn vine wedged in the gap. You took a few steps back, then charged at the door with all your might. It crashed inward with a resounding clang, sending splinters flying and the vine recoiling.

CLANG!

You kicked the door aside and stepped into a scene that looked like something straight out of a botanical horror movie. The interior of the warehouse was a riot of green. Hanging plants and tendrils formed a dense canopy overhead. The remnants of old plant pots and scientific equipment were half-buried under layers of creeping vines and moss.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything useful,” you said, stepping inside.

The plan was simple: infiltrate the location, gather as much information as possible, and leave before anyone even noticed you were there.

Your boots squelched slightly on the damp ground as you made your way further into the labyrinth of greenery. Morgan followed close behind, her flashlight beam scanning the surroundings.

“Looks like she really made herself at home. Can’t believe she’d leave all these beauties behind,” she murmured.

After a few minutes of searching, you stumbled upon a makeshift lab tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. Old tables and shelves, now covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, held an assortment of glassware, old notebooks, and strange samples.

Morgan’s eyes lit up as she approached the lab. “This must be it! Look at all this stuff.”

Kneeling down, she began sifting through the clutter, her flashlight revealing dusty glassware, faded notebooks, and a variety of botanical samples in various states of preservation. She carefully picked up a few jars, examining the contents with growing fascination.

You stood guard by the door, senses on high alert. The slow hum of your spider senses gradually intensified, morphing into a persistent, almost blaring buzz in the back of your mind. It felt like a magnetic pull, drawing your focus to every flicker of shadow and rustle of the unseen.

Morgan, oblivious to your heightened alertness, was engrossed in a particularly worn notebook.

"This is so fucking cool," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "Check out these notes—they look like they’re from Ivy’s earlier research. She was experimenting with ways to boost plant growth, mixing toxins, and even concocting some kind of antidote."

As Morgan continued to study the notebook, the buzzing in your senses grew stronger. You tensed, feeling a prickling chill race up your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There was something else in the warehouse—something you couldn’t immediately identify, but it was there.

“Morgan,” you said quietly. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

Morgan looked up from her work, fingers curled around a test tube. “What do you mean?”

“Just keep your eyes open,” you warned, eyes narrowing as you scanned the shadows. “Start packing up and be quick. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Morgan’s fingers flew over the lab equipment as she grabbed several samples and shoved them into her bag. The air seemed to grow thicker, the plants rustling with an almost eerie liveliness.

!!!

“We need to go. Now!” you hissed, urgently grabbing Morgan and pulling her to her feet.

Morgan flinched but scrambled up, stuffing the worn notebook she’d found into her jacket. “Alright… let me just—”

Before she could finish, your spider senses exploded into a full-blown scream of warning.

DANGER.

“Get down!”

Without warning, you grabbed Morgan and pushed her down behind some crates, your suit beginning to uncloak.

A thick vine lashed out from the shadows, slamming into your side with a force that knocked the wind out of you. Pain exploded where the vine struck, radiating through your ribs as you skidded backward and crashed into a metal rack.

Your helmet hadn’t fully materialized in time, and the impact with the shelving unit sent a jarring shock through your skull, leaving you dazed and disoriented.

"A little spider has wandered into my web~"

Shit.

Warmth trickled down from your forehead where the impact had split the skin. With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself off the rack, using it for support as you steadied yourself.

"Hello, crazy plant lady," you quipped, your helmet materializing as the voice modulator kicked in.

You weren’t her estranged niece now; you were Nightcrawler, Gotham's latest hero.

From above, Ivy unfurled herself from the ceiling, smirking as she lounged on a sprawling leaf. Vines curled around her with languid grace, reacting to her slightest gesture as if extensions of her will.

"Ah, Gotham's newest little hero," Ivy's voice was a melodious yet chilling purr, her laughter echoing softly through the warehouse. "What brings you to my sanctuary?"

The slits in your mask narrowed as you drew your claws and unclipped your whip from your belt. Ivy’s eyes narrowed at the choice of weapons, a flicker of recognition in her gaze. She was clearly connecting the similarities between you and Catwoman.

"Oh, just swinging by to see what all the fuss is about. Heard you've been busy in Gotham."

Ivy's smile sharpened, a glint of admiration lighting up her emerald eyes.

"Hm. Spunk," she purred, hands moving to tangle in her hair. "I do appreciate that in my visitors."

Out of the corner of your visor, you spotted Morgan inching away. You gave her a discreet nod, signaling her to keep going while you kept your focus locked on Ivy.

"So, this place wasn’t as abandoned as I thought," you said, trying to keep Ivy talking and distracted. "For someone who supposedly retired from the spotlight, you sure know how to throw a party."

Ivy threw her head back and laughed. "Retired?" she repeated. "Oh, honey, you have no idea."

Around you, vines stirred, their sinewy tendrils snaking up your legs like snakes. Unfazed, you subtly shifted your weight, and then, with a swift slash of your claws, the vines split apart. You flipped away, slipping out of their grasp with ease.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice when my darlings are disturbed?” Ivy’s voice dripped with mockery. “Just when I finally manage to reclaim this space from concrete and steel, pests like you decide to get curious.”

“Look, I’ve got a busy schedule,” you quipped, narrowly dodging a lashing vine. “So how about we skip the tango and save us both a night of pain?”

“Oh, you’re simply delightful,” Ivy purred,sultry and chilling. “Very well, little spider. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

In a heartbeat, Ivy was in motion. Vines shot through the air like whips, each one aiming to entangle or strike. You sidestepped a thick vine that snapped past your ear and rolled under another that slammed into the floor where you’d just been. Your senses were on fire.

Beep!

In the corner of your visor, Morgan’s face flickered into view—a welcome sight amid the chaos. The camera feed was shaky, but you could make out her anxious expression as she huddled behind a stack of crates, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.

“Are you okay?” you hissed through the comms, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of vines around you.

“M Outside! Sorry! I…I didn’t realize Ivy was here!” Morgan said, her voice tinged with panic. “I thought this place was a total ghost town!”

“Apologize later!” you shouted back, ducking a swinging vine. “Just stay out of sight. I’ll catch up with you once I deal with the plant lady!”

With a quick flip, you barely managed to dodge another flurry of whipping vines. You drew back your whip and snapped it towards the incoming tendrils, slicing through them.

Ivy scowled, her eyes narrowing as she watched her plants get cut down. She retaliated, sending a fresh wave of vines hurtling toward you.

You dodged and weaved, the thick, green tendrils brushing against your suit. Each crack of your whip was followed by a sharp hiss of defeated foliage.

You charged through, ducking and weaving to avoid the onslaught. When you were close enough, you landed a solid left hook to Ivy’s face, the impact echoing with a satisfying thud. Ivy’s head snapped back with a sharp yelp of pain. You laughed, not giving her a moment to regroup, and threw another punch straight to her jaw.

JAB!

“Had enough, or should I keep going?” you taunted.

Ivy’s eyes flared with rage. “You little—”

Leaping onto a stack of crates to dodge another lash from her vines, you shot a web at Ivy. The sticky strands wrapped around her wrists, pinning her securely against a nearby support beam.

Ivy struggled against the webbing, her vines twitched with agitation as they lashed out. You kept your whip and claws at the ready, prepared for any sudden moves.

“Alright, listen up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Unless you want more of your precious plants turned into mulch, I suggest you calm down.”

“Calm down?” Ivy hissed, her frustration barely contained. “You’re the intruder here, desecrating my sanctuary. I won’t tolerate this!”

You took a deep breath, trying to defuse the situation. “Look, I’m really sorry about the intrusion. Didn’t mean to step on your botanical toes. We were just here to explore—”

“Explore?” Ivy’s brow shot up. “Is that why your friend took of my vials and papers?”

You stared at her, blinking a few times. Then, with a sheepish shrug, you said, “Okay, to be fair, you left that stuff lying around. It kind of looked like it was up for grabs. Plus, we didn’t exactly see a ‘Keep Out’ sign.”

“So, it’s a case of ‘finders keepers,’ then?” she scowled. “And here I thought you were a little more refined than that.”

“Hey!” you said, walking towards her until you were just a foot away. “I’m just calling it like I see it, lady. Maybe if you knew how to clean up, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder, the golden-orange strands cascading like vines down her back. She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your jaw, her breath warm and tantalizing against your skin.

“Well, if you’re so keen on exploring,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper, “I could show you something that’ll really satisfy your curiosity.”

!!!

Your spider senses flared with urgent warnings, but before you could react, Ivy thrust a slender vine beneath the edge of your helmet. In an instant, a cloud of pollen erupted inside your mask, catching you completely off guard. You gasped and choked, stumbling backward as your vision blurred and your nose was overwhelmed by the suffocating, heady scent of the pollen.

Your visor’s alarms blared, vitals flashing urgently:

TOXIN DETECTED.

“Damn it,” you grimaced as a searing heat began to radiate through your skin and bones. The prickling sensation quickly escalated into an intense burn, making it feel like your blood was boiling beneath your skin.

“Morgan!” you called out. “Find me an escape route, now!”

"Underestimated me?" Ivy cackled. "Thought you could resist my charms, did you?"

Morgan’s shaky voice crackled through the comms. “I’m searching for a way out! Just hang in there!”

“Oh, you won’t be escaping that easily,” Ivy sneered at you, still trapped in your webs. Despite her restraints, her vines writhed and twisted with a life of their own. “This is my domain, and you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You gritted your teeth, struggling against the searing pain as the vines inched closer. “Alright, I’m really sorry for this, but I’m done playing nice.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, you shot a web at a vase perched precariously on a high shelf. The vase tumbled through the air and crashed down onto Ivy’s head, shattering into a shower of shards and a splash of crimson.

Ivy screamed as the shards rained down, a flurry of leaves and flowers cascading over her head and shoulders, momentarily obscuring her vision.

Morgan's face reappeared on your visor, her brow furrowed with worry. “There’s a clear window—no vines blocking it! Hurry! I marked it on your map!”

Glancing at the map in your visor, you spotted the indicated window.

"This was nice, but I’ve got places to be and people to save," you heaved, your voice breathy as you kicked away a lashing vine. "So if you don’t mind, I'll be taking my leave."

THWIP.

Launching yourself through the open window, you felt the cool, rain-soaked Gotham air slap your face as you soared into the night. The roar of the storm and the distant hum of the city below filled your senses. Behind you, Ivy’s furious shouts pierced through the downpour, her curses mingling with the crack of thrashing vines slamming against the walls.

“PEST!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:05 AM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

"Robin, status?" Oracle's voice beeped in from Damian's earpiece.

Damian was perched on a rooftop, jade eyes scanning the dark expanse of Crime Alley below. The rain poured down in relentless sheets, the cold droplets cascading off the edges of his hood and dripping onto his shoulders.

From his vantage point, he could see the dilapidated buildings lining Crime Alley, their broken windows and graffiti-covered walls illuminated by the sporadic flashes of lightning. The streets below were deserted, the few brave souls out in the storm moving quickly, their faces obscured by umbrellas and hoods. Puddles formed in the uneven pavement, reflecting the occasional flicker of streetlights.

He lifted a gloved hand to his communication device, the wet leather squeaking slightly against the earpiece.

"I'm in my usual position," he reported, his voice steady. "No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'," Damian scoffed as he kept his eyes trained on the rain-soaked expanse below.

"Demon brat's got a point," Jason drawled, the sound of him slurping a drink faintly audible over the comms. "Harley still calls you Duck-Boy."

"Just focus on the job," Nightwing interjected, his voice slicing through the bickering with an authoritative edge. "Tonight’s a washout. Red Robin and I are on patrol near the docks. We’ve encountered a few low-level crooks, but nothing major."

"Alright," Oracle’s voice came through again. "Stay on high alert. Let me know if anything changes."

As the comms went silent, Damian pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up against the storm's backdrop. For a fleeting moment, his stoic expression softened. A nearly imperceptible smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at the lock screen—a picture of you, warm and content in one of his shirts, your face framed by tousled hair and a genuine smile.

He noted the time—1:05 AM. Given your unpredictable sleep patterns, you were likely still awake. Damian's finger hovered over the screen, caught between sending a quick message or making a call. But before he could decide, a sharp gust of wind swept across the rooftop, making his cape snap and sending a chill through his soaked uniform.

He slipped the phone back into his belt, shook off the cold, and refocused on the scene below. His eyes scanned the shadowy expanse: dark alleys, rain-slicked roads, and flickering, rusting shop signs.

Then, a sudden, unexpected movement shattered the monotony. A flash of red and white streaked across the skyline, its vibrant colors stark against the darkened sky. A web shot out, glinting briefly in the intermittent lightning before anchoring itself to a nearby building.

THWIP.

There was a pause.

Damian’s lips curled into a sharp snarl. His fingers tightened around the grip of his grappling gun, his mind shifting into high gear. With a scowl, he tapped his earpiece.

“Oracle,” Damian began, boots crunching as he moved to the edge of the rooftop. “I have visual on the spider vigilante. Engaging in pursuit.”

Without waiting for a reply, he fired the grappling gun. The line shot through the air with a metallic twang, slicing through the rain-soaked night. He felt the jolt as the grappling hook latched onto a distant anchor, pulling him forward.

As he swung through the storm, a fierce thrill coursed through him, like a bird unleashed with new wings. With the city sprawled out beneath him and the rain pelting against his face, Robin was ready to do what he did best.

Hunt.

 ༻⊰───⋅

"It's going to take hours to get this smell out of my suit," you heaved, wrinkling your nose as you fired a web into the distant skyline. The line stuck firmly to a building, and with a jarring lurch, you swung deeper into the city.

Morgan clung to you for dear life, her voice barely audible over the rush of air. “Not the time to worry about laundry! Focus on not crashing into something! And maybe on not dying from the poison?!”

"Hey, I’m just saying," you shot back with a strained chuckle, “if I survive this, I’m gonna need to have this suit professionally cleaned.”

Morgan’s grip tightened, and she shouted, “Survive first, clean later!"

With a yank of your web, you aimed for the next rooftop, but as you hurtled through the air, you realized that you’d miscalculated the distance. The rooftop was rushing in too fast, and panic surged through you like ice.

Your stomach lurched, and in a split-second decision, you threw Morgan forward, trying to cushion her fall. She landed with a thud, a breathless gasp escaping her as she hit the roof.

You, however, weren’t so fortunate. Your foot snagged the edge of the roof awkwardly, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

CRACK.

The sickening crack of bone snapping echoed through the air as your ankle twisted violently. The force of the impact jolted your entire body, sending you sprawling onto the rough, gravelly rooftop.

“Great…” you muttered through gritted teeth, struggling to push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Your body felt like it was on fire from the inside out, the toxin’s effects amplifying the pain with each passing second.

You bit down hard on your tongue, the metallic taste of blood bubbling into your mouth. You fought to keep yourself upright, but your legs felt like lead, and you crumpled onto the rooftop, unable to fully bear your weight.

“Shit!” Morgan scrambled to her feet, her face a mask of panic and concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

"Just… a little off target," you panted, wincing as you assessed the damage. Your visor had taken a hit during the fall, causing the data to flicker erratically. Through the static, you could still make out the crucial info: a broken bone.

“It's fine… Just a broken ankle,” you added, trying to maintain your composure despite the sluggishness creeping into your movements.

“You’re getting brain fog and dizziness,” Morgan said urgently, her fingers flipping through the notebook she’d snatched earlier. “It’s a side effect of the toxin. We need to get you to the safehouse—”

Before she could finish, you shook your head with a groan. “No. You call a cab and head there. I’ll swing.”

“Are you insane?!” Morgan nearly shouted, grabbing your arm in panic. “You can barely stand, let alone swing through the city! We need to get you help, now!”

You pushed her away, trying to ignore the throbbing in your ankle. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. The suit’s tampered, I think. Look.”

You attempted to uncloack, but the metal sputtered and glitched erratically. “See? I can’t uncloack. If you’re seen with me, they’ll find us out in no time. I can’t risk that.”

Morgan’s eyes darted between you and the malfunctioning suit, her face a mix of worry and frustration. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Stop,” you cut her off, wincing as the pain intensified. “It’s not your fault. Just get to the safehouse. I’ll manage.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Morgan’s eyes. “I can’t just leave you like this!”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said firmly, trying to steady your voice. “If we’re both caught, it’ll be worse. Now go! I’ll be fine.”

With one last, apologetic glance, Morgan pulled out her phone and dialed for a cab, her hands trembling.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Damian, concealed in the shadows of the rooftop, landed with a muted thud. He crouched behind the crumbling ledge of an old brick wall, the slits in his mask narrowing as he took in the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

He watched as you struggled to regain your footing, your movements pained and uneven. The girl beside you—her rain-soaked silhouette a blur against the storm—was clearly in a panic, her phone clutched tightly as she fumbled with it.

‘A civilian,’ Damian thought, frustration lining his features. Launching a direct attack now would be reckless. He had to be certain the vigilante was genuinely on their own before making a move.

After a tense moment, the girl finally moved and dashed down the fire escape, her figure barely visible through the downpour. Damian squinted through the sheets of rain, straining to catch a glimpse of her features, but the storm blurred his view into an indistinct smear of color and motion.

The moment she was out of sight, his attention snapped back to you. You took a deep, ragged breath, bracing yourself. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, you launched yourself into the night.

Damian followed, his movements fluid and precise as he pushed off from the ledge. His cape billowed behind him like a dark, flowing banner, and he darted into the storm.

Below, the streets were a chaotic blur of honking horns and glaring headlights, their harsh lights slicing through the darkness like knives. Heavy sheets of rain hammered down, obscuring your vision and drenching you to the bone. Water seeped through the cracks in your suit, each drop feeling like an icy needle against your overheated, feverish skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was too much. The pain, the heat, the storm—it was all too much.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale bringing more of Ivy’s insidious toxin into your lungs.

In one desperate swing, you miscalculated the web’s trajectory. It shot out too low, sending you plummeting uncontrollably below.

Cursing through gritted teeth, you were hurled down into traffic. Everything was a blur as you slammed into the side of a car, metal denting and screams deafening your ears. Your shoulder bore the brunt of the collision, sending shockwaves of pain through your bones.

For a brief, suspended moment, everything went dark.

A cold, mechanical voice sliced through the void, its tone harsh and insistent. Maggie’s synthetic voice, though devoid of human warmth, was tinged with urgency.

“Immediate response required. Vitals are critically low. Consciousness levels decreasing. Current status is life-threatening. Please respond.”

Abruptly, your senses snapped back into sharp focus. You jolted awake with a ragged gasp, your breath coming in frantic bursts. Your vision was a fractured mosaic of blinding lights and shadowy figures. The sounds of blaring horns and panicked shouts crashed back into your ears, tires screeching all around you.

Morgan’s voice crackled through the static, panic evident in her tone. “I’m at the safehouse! Where are you? I couldn't reach you! What’s going on?”

“Change of plans,” you managed, your voice strained. “I won’t make it to the safehouse in time.”

You tapped the side of your visor, making a map flicker to life through the cracks and glitches. The display was unstable, but it highlighted a route to your apartment.

“You know where my mom's apartment is, right?” you heaved. “That’s where I’m heading.”

Entering your apartment was risky, but with your condition worsening and death looming, it was the closest refuge you could manage.

Damian, hidden in the alleyway, watched you with a furrowed brow. What he initially wrote off as rookie mistakes now seemed out of character. Your disoriented movements were starkly different from the precise maneuvers he had seen in news footage and CCTV feeds. He had been tracking your case closely, and this chaos didn't match the profile he had built.

He watched as you struggled to stand, your legs shaking with each attempt. The driver's shouts were drowned out by the storm of noise around you. Your strained apologies were barely audible. Desperation marked your actions as you fired another web, using it to pull yourself up and away from the wrecked car and the angry crowd.

Damian cursed under his breath and quickly took off after you.

He tracked your erratic path through twisted, narrow streets until he saw you aim for an apartment building. With a quick stretch of your arm, you shot a web toward a balcony, but your aim was off again.

Another sloppily thrown web sent you slamming into the windows of the apartment. The metal edge dug into your ribs with brutal force, knocking the wind out of you. You gasped, your lungs burning as you struggled to draw in air. Pain radiated from your side, and shards of glass sprayed everywhere.

Damian, perched on the rooftop across the street, stared in disbelief. This was Catwoman’s apartment—Selina Kyle’s. The worst possible scenario unfolded in his mind. To him, it looked like a break-in. His jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers gripped the edge of his grappling gun, knuckles whitening with the force of his anger.

Pest.

Without hesitation, Damian leapt into action. He aimed for the fire escape with single-minded intensity, propelling himself toward it with a powerful thrust. His boots hammered against the metal steps, causing them to buckle and the entire structure to groan and rattle under the force of his descent.

In the corner of his eye, he saw your figure slip into the window.

Tunnel-visioned and driven by a surge of protectiveness, Damian kicked the door to the fire escape open, the metal panel scraping roughly across the floor. His father would have his head for causing unnecessary public damage—something Robin was frequently under fire for—but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

"Was that a crash?!" Nightwing's voice crackled through the comm line.

"I think it's coming from demon brat's side. What's the report, squirt?"

Damian merely growled in response as he began to stalk down the hallway. His tall figure, cloaked in shadows, cast long, dark lines across the floor as he moved. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and menacing over the comms.

"Someone's about to learn the price of crossing me."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Dazed and disoriented, you slipped into the building, the rough edge of the window scraping against your battered body. As you tumbled through your apartment, you hit the floor with a heavy thud, the impact shaking your entire frame. Your head struck the ground with a thump, stars exploding in your vision.

For a brief, haunting moment, there was silence—deep, oppressive silence. Then, a cold, creeping dread slithered through you.

You clawed at the floor, your body shaking.

"Mom? Mom, please! I need you!" Your voice cracked, a raw, fear seeping through every syllable. "Mom, are you there? Please, help me!"

Tears streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and blood as you cried out into the empty, echoing apartment. The lights were off, casting the space into a suffocating darkness that seemed to press in on you.

Desperately, you stumbled into Selina’s bedroom. Your heart sank as you noticed the absence of her suit—no sleek, black leather or whip. She must have been out on patrol.

A deafening crash shattered the silence as the apartment door was ripped from its hinges. Before you could fully react, a rough hand clamped down on you, throwing you to the floor.

Your vision blurred in and out of focus as you were pinned to the floor. A heavy foot pressed mercilessly against your chest, crushing your ribs with every breath. The weight lifted, then slammed down again, ripping through your suit with a sickening crunch. The suit uncloaked, its torn pieces clinging to your clothes, leaving you exposed in just your undershirt and pants.

Through the dim, flickering light, the outline of your attacker became clearer. A katana was unsheathed with a chilling rasp, its cold blade pressed menacingly against your neck. The steel gleamed ominously, catching the sparse light and reflecting a deadly shimmer. The edge was so close you could feel its icy touch, a mere breath away from slicing into your flesh.

The thought of that forced you to tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to the shadowy figure looming over you.

Tall and imposing, the figure was clad in grey and black armor, with a black cape flowing behind them. A red emblem, unmistakably the symbol of an R, was stitched onto their chest.

A cold realization cut through the fog of pain and fear—Robin?

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 ༻⊰───⋅

dundunDUN

whatchu think bookiebears

surely the batfam will handle this well

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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